When I see these guys, with their Mediterranean visages and spectacular physiques, I imagine them as the descendants of ancient Roman soldiers, lost and confused in a modern world. Lacking the old measures and symbols of valor and achievement, they are constantly embroidering themselves with the simulacra of battle scars and aristocratic finery: eyebrow shaping, complicated hairstyles, scorched-earth depilation, glittery T-shirts, pimped-out V8 chariots, and other bright accoutrements. As with their ancestors, the drama of their lives again and again returns to ostentatious displays and violent contests of wealth and power and sex. It is the drama of the arena, the curia, and the opera house, brought low for the subjects and the times.