It’s As Real As Anything Else
I’ve picked up a fandom that features a cult leader, fashion police, corporate corruption, a broken faction founded on serving vigilante justice, a southern boy looking for a fight, a self-proclaimed hugger feuding with a force of nature, a group of guys just looking to spread good vibes and ice cream led by a trombonist, and a bittersweet farewell to an undead idol.
There’s also a lot of body slamming, unusually large belts, and hitting people with steel chairs.
I’ve rediscovered wrestling after what seems like 15–20 years of not watching. Back when I was a kid, when I first started watching, it felt real. The idea of a bunch of guys punching each other and throwing themselves around a ring without drawing blood and rarely ever getting injured didn’t strike me as strange. It was alluring.
Aside from the violence, the personalities were big.
All the other kids were Hulk Hogan fans. I thought his whole schtick was corny as fuck.
One of my favorite wrestlers growing up was Razor Ramon, a guy who was little too tan, a little too sleazy, a chaotic neutral. Not a good guy, a self-proclaimed bad guy, and extremely well-loved by the crowd.
I also rooted for The Mountie, a corrupt Royal Canadian law enforcer who attacked other combatants with a cattle prod after winning his matches; Irwin R. Shyster (IRS), who wore glasses, a red tie, and suspenders, demanding that other wrestlers pay their taxes; and Ric Flair, oh Ric Flair, a personality bigger than life itself — an egomaniac, he fought dirty, and could leave the ring with bloodstained platinum blond hair while screaming at the top of his lungs proclaiming his superiority over his opponents.
Having started watching wrestling again within the last few months, a few things have changed. The wrestling industry silently acknowledges that it’s all scripted without ever saying it, the “kayfabe” is handled with a deft tongue-in-cheek. I’m fully aware that it’s scripted, but I won’t take people calling it “fake” lightly.
The WWE, the biggest wrestling promotion in the world, refers to professional wrestling as “sports entertainment” — it’s as athletically taxing as any other sport, and the entertainment has all of the humor of some of our favorite comedies and often holds the drama of our basest human conditions.
My favorite example of wrestling storytelling comes from a segment called The Festival of Friendship. A little background: Chris Jericho and Kevin Owens are heels, or bad guys — they often cheat to win, and they’re also two of WWE’s champions at the time. Jericho, who has been wrestling on-and-off with the WWE since the mid-1990s, would do anything to help Owens win his matches, and this had gone on for a few months.
Fast forward to February 13th, 2017. Jericho wanted to celebrate his friendship with Owens with an extravagant show, complete with showgirls and a custom painting depicting Jericho and Owens’s friendship.
I loved the idea of having two male friends celebrating their friendship — unconditional love between men. A lot of the WWE audience bought into it, even if they were heels.
Despite what seemed like pure friendship, Owens’s desire for power and to secure his future as a WWE champion, decided to turn on Jericho and beat him senselessly. Amidst the violence, you saw Jericho as emotionally broken as he was physically broken, too weak to fight who he thought was his best friend.
I can’t remember seeing this kind of drama between male characters on any other television program…but here it was on a random episode of WWE Raw, and goddamn did it feel real.
In later confrontations between these two, the physical violence didn’t hurt as much as hearing Owens scream “WE WERE NEVER FRIENDS” at Jericho. Those words stung just as hard as the various forearm strikes I saw in their last match.
Of all things to draw me back to wrestling, it was my wife who wanted to dip her toe in the water. The Royal Rumble pay-per-view event seemed like a great way for us to see John Cena be great, and we wanted the opportunity to see one of our favorite media personalities. What we landed on was a bigger beast and a product that has come an incredibly long way — especially in terms of how it regards its female talent.
WWE is not perfect when it comes to women, but the bra-and-panties tag team matches and wet-and-wild matches are a thing of the past. Women are not fighting for the approval of its largely male audience — they’re fighting for championships just like their male counterparts. In the Lucha Underground wrestling promotion, they’re considered just as strong as the male wrestlers and fight each other.
During the recent Wrestlemania 33 event, there was a large fear on social media that one of the women’s championship matches would not make it to air, as the event seemed to be running long. This match had already caught a lot of backlash, as it was previously bumped down to the pre-show, which is regarded as a lesser event. That being said, when the women slated to compete in their championship event started making their way down the entrance ramp, wrestling fans on social media breathed a collective sigh of relief.
Wrestling is sensational, it is fantasy, it is violent — and it’s a show that gets written on a weekly basis and manages to stay captivating on a regular basis.
There aren’t many things that have made me feel like a kid in my adult life. In fact, the things that have made me most feel a child-like joy as an adult are as follows:
- Inception
- The Chicago Cubs winning the 2016 World Series
- Shinsuke Nakamura’s WWE main roster debut
That joy is real. Don’t you ever try to tell me it’s fake. Every punch, kick, and suplex is as real as any slam dunk, movie stunt, or exploding car I’ve ever seen. Every scripted word carries the same weight as any sitcom dialogue, dramatic prose, or baseball play-by-play I’ve ever heard. The roar of every crowd is the same whether it be around a wrestling ring, football field, or movie theatre.
It’s a weekly production that rarely, if ever takes breaks. The writers are largely uncredited, physical perfection doesn’t come from nowhere, and charisma isn’t an easily taught craft.
Wrestling is a marriage of sport and theatre, with a cast of characters that showcases an incredible diversity rarely seen in other facets of pop culture. There’s a celebration of different body types, skin tones, and personal identities.
Also, there’s something inherently special about seeing someone get plowed through a banquet table.
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