Wrestlemania

As we walked into the Sprint Center arena, we were greeted with the blinding flash of roaming spotlights, the bustling congestion of a sold-out crowd, and the booming sound of recorded Guns n’ Roses music. My husband Steven and his friend Jud, both lifelong WWE fans, directed my friend Amanda and me to our seats on the furthest row back in the lower section. With the ring perfectly centered in the middle of the arena floor, I couldn’t see a bad seat in the house. As I sat down, I dialed a quick call to Dad. “Hi Daddy. We just sat down. From the main cameras we are straight back behind the ring in the lower level. Last row. You may not see us onscreen at all tonight, but maybe you’ll hear us. Don’t forget to record it. Love you too. Bye!” After a few minutes of hot dog eating, beer drinking, and rousing discussion with my friends, the lights went down and a massive cheer went up as the crowd jumped to its feet. The announcer told us we would soon be on live TV and started the countdown: 5, 4, 3, 2, 1…

This was my first live wrestling event, after years of curiosity from watching it intermittently on television. Some of my earliest and most pleasant memories were watching pro wrestling on TV with my father, rooting for the good guys and booing the bad guys. At the end of every episode, I would say, “Let’s wrestle!” and Dad would set up the “ring”, a.k.a. a square blanket on the floor that represented a ring. He crouched in one corner while I stood in the opposite one and Mom would yell, “Ding, ding, ding!” to start the match. Dad had the unusual handicap of having to wrestle from his knees in order to even the odds based on my short stature at the time. Most of my moves consisted of elbows and knees, and my devastating finishing move was the toe-hold, which in my case meant that I pinched Dad’s big toe until he tapped out. My Dad sold the pain with whoops and hollers and flailing until he landed one of his limbs on the “ropes” (the edge of the blanket). This was when Referee Mom called a break on the hold and we had to return to our corners and start again. Dad’s main move was the “body slam” which consisted of him scooping me up and pretending to land me on my back, which in reality was a safe and gentle landing. Of course he always let me win, and he always let me be the good guy. Mom would hit the count of three on the mat and I always got the pin. 

Watching wrestling with Dad created a family bond as we watched the athleticism and story lines roll across the screen. We had a shared point of reference in pop culture, and in a world and a time when the idea of a generation gap became prevalent, we found something that crossed that gap and linked us as fellow wrestling fans. Over the years, I grew away from this fandom, but after a few decades I finally returned to it in my adult life. I can draw a direct correlation between this return and my father’s illness starting in 2016 and his eventual death in 2017. As his mobility became more limited, our time together contained more television, and we used that time to go back to watching wrestling. Only 8 months after my first live wrestling show, my father would be gone. The first thing I did after the show was call Dad and tell him all about it. Even though he was watching on TV and not in the arena, the event made me feel closer to him than ever. After his death, I found that wrestling became a comfort to me, a reminder that my father would always remain in my most pleasant memories if I continued to find my own happiness in this shared fandom. Some wrestling fans can tell similar stories, but whatever way a wrestling fan came into the fold, it has created a diverse yet cohesive nation of devotees.

“You know it’s fake, right?” 

“It’s not a real sport.” 

“The fans are stupid and gullible.” 

“It’s all scripted.”

“They’re a bunch of clowns.” 

What does professional wrestling say about us as a culture? Is it a sport? Is it entertainment? Is it both? How do we explain or defend the inherent violence? What effect does it have on those who watch it? While it has its fair share of critics, it also has plenty of supporters as it has grown into a billion-dollar industry. It is often a polarizing topic, with proponents singing its praises and detractors running it into the ground. It seems everyone has an opinion on professional wrestling, formed by their own observations, regardless of how limited or ample the scope of those observations may be. As a fan myself, I have plenty to say to those who would dismiss my entertainment preferences and call me names instead of striving to understand what wrestling means to its many fans. Love it or hate it, professional wrestling shines a light on the ideals and shortfalls of our society. To better understand ourselves, we would benefit from learning more about this cultural phenomenon and its impact on our society.

Wrestling as popular entertainment began in the 1800s alongside the rise of carnivals, sideshows, and vaudeville. Based on the ancient combat sport of wrestling, professional wrestling added drama and theatricality to the presentation of the matches, creating a spectacle that could draw large crowds. Its popularity experienced a number of rises and falls over the decades, often in opposition to times of war and peace. When real life was providing less conflict, professional wrestling would regularly fill the gap. The professional wrestling industry’s efforts to make its way onto every television in the world reached its peak with the advent of MTV in the 1980s. The marketing push even had its own title, The Rock and Wrestling Connection. Cyndi Lauper was the musical catalyst of the movement, and it resulted in a cross-pollination of wrestlers onto MTV and Cyndi onto WWE programming. It created a huge new surge of fans who were eager to buy whatever they could and watch wrestling shows in droves. Names like Hulk Hogan, Andre the Giant, and Rowdy Roddy Piper were familiar to fans and non-fans alike, as these stars made their way into pop culture icon status via movies, television, cartoons, and even action figures. For me, this time period brought me back to the television alongside my Dad, and although I had grown too big to wrestle like before, I still enjoyed talking about these sensational characters with my Dad. Although he lamented the “Hollywoodization” of his gritty, mean pastime, he still enjoyed the wrestling he got to see as a result of its larger presence on TV. 

As wrestling’s popularity grew, so began the shouts of detractors, calling it fake, contrived, scripted, and ridiculous. My Dad never addressed these issues, as he felt anyone hurling them had no idea what they were talking about. The vibe I always got, not only from Dad but from my own deduction, was that it was an enjoyable way to be entertained by the athleticism of the performers. Even from a young age, I never felt this was a true depiction of these wrestlers’ real lives or real attitudes. I knew I was getting a show, and I loved it. I put pro wrestling in the same category as cartoons or sitcoms, not the nightly news or a documentary. Hearing critics call it fake seemed less about pointing out the truth than about running down fans as stupid or ignorant. It was a way to start a fight. In truth, no one could actually get punched or head-butted that many times and not be a passed-out, bloodied bag of bones. It was part of the story, and fans bought in. For critics to think that fans didn’t know this was an insult. 

This form of entertainment, like so many others, requires a suspension of disbelief. For decades, wrestlers kept their private lives hidden from fans to make the stories seem as real as possible. This façade was known as “kayfabe”, a slang term used in the world of wrestling that meant the wrestlers were to be in character every time they were in public. In real life, all the wrestlers, good or bad, were usually friends who worked together to create the outlandish stories that fans consumed with glee. Good guys, known as “faces”, could never be seen in public with the bad guys, or the “heels”. This upholding of kayfabe extended well into the end of the 20th century and was notoriously broken with an event known as the Madison Square Garden Curtain Call in 1996. At the end of a stunning match and after the cameras had stopped rolling, four of the wrestlers, two faces and two heels, hugged each other and held each others’ hands up in victory. Fans in attendance gave a mixed reaction of elation and confusion, and in hindsight this moment was the beginning of fans being allowed to see the wrestlers as real human beings and not as caricatures. Although the wrestling community thought this might be the end of the road, it instead ushered in a new era of wrestling fans who knew the difference between real and fake but still loved to watch. These changes in the wrestlers as well as the fans show the evolution of the sport as well as our society’s understanding of real and fake, news and entertainment. 

Professional wrestling shows us some important aspects of our society and our ideals. We want to see the good guys win and the bad guys lose. We want to see that hard work and determination can pay off. We want to watch these people beat the heck out of one another so we can get it out of our system and not choose to beat someone up in real life. We want to see that sometimes even the best of the best can fail, just like we do. We also want to see that they can pick themselves back up and get back in the fight. It is cathartic and cleansing to imagine ourselves in the wrestlers’ shoes, to live vicariously through their story lines so we can feel the same redemption the wrestlers do. While there are plenty of stories of kids “trying this at home”, it doesn’t seem to increase violent acts from fans. If it does no harm to our society, why do critics want to say that it is harmful? Wrestling fans are far smarter than non-fans give them credit for, and they only wish to be able to be fans in peace without all the criticism. 

One of the largest criticisms of wrestling that has been roundly deserved is its treatment of women. For years, women’s wrestling was pushed to the periphery of the sport, if not completely absent from it. As more women got involved, the men running the organizations routinely put them in subservient positions, making them arm candy for the men or putting them in lingerie and in mud pits. It took years before women’s voices were finally heard and they were put on a more equal footing with men. Two years ago, the “Diva” title was replaced by the “Women’s Championship”, and more women were accepted into the training program. This year, WWE has marketed the “Women’s Evolution” with an entire pay-per-view show devoted to only women’s matches, and they are regularly scheduled as main-event stars. Professional wrestling’s ability to change with the times will help keep it relevant and exciting as it moves into the future. They may make mistakes and run a little late in making these changes, but its current vision is moving forward. In any case, wrestling shows us what we want to see. It gives us the moments of tragedy and triumph that inspire us to survive and thrive in our own lives.

“BURN IT DOWN!” The whole crowd leaps to its feet as the sounds of heavy metal music pound away and the battle cry of WWE superstar Seth Rollins comes screaming in unison from 18,000 faithful fans. Our star marches down to the ring as he shouts his grateful response to the crowd, holding his fists to the sky and brandishing his shining Intercontinental Championship belt. As he enters the ring, the fans await the next gladiator he will face as he continues his wildly successful run as champion. Whatever side the fans land on, they are experiencing joy and catharsis, a welcome departure from the realities of life, if only for a moment. From the back row of the lower section, I smile, and I know Dad is smiling with me.