Wrestling, the Ultimate Spectator Sport

It’s Saturday night and I’m huddled on an unlit side of the Royal Canadian Legion in southeast Calgary.  Groups of people murmur in the darkness, our only illumination coming from a few dim streetlights hidden behind two tall, creaky pine trees.

I’m feeling a little uncomfortable in this situation, but this time, I’ve taken my son, sister, nephew and my mom with me.  We have come to watch my nephew wrestle in a Real Canadian Wrestling event.  His stage name is Evan Adams.  But I’ve known him for the past 24 years as Adam.   

 He has chosen a somewhat off beat passion and I want to see him perform…or compete.  I think it’s a combination of the two.  I am well aware of this type of wrestling, because as a kid, I grew up watching Hulk Hogan, Randy Macho Man Savage and Andre the Giant.  I’m pretty sure I know what to expect, and I’m curious to find out if things have changed since the WWF days.

I shift my feet on the icy sidewalk and hunker down into my jacket.  We wait for almost half an hour outside until the line starts moving. 

I’m surprised at how many people have come to see this.  We enter the building, and it’s packed with standing room only.  What I thought would be more like a gym, is actually a ballroom-style venue.  But instead of a dance floor, a wrestling ring has been set up in the middle.  There are chairs, but not enough for the couple hundred spectators.  We squeeze down an isle and find seats for my mom and sister.  My son and I find a fold-up table that seems to have been randomly stuffed in a back corner and we gingerly make it our perch.  Then we wait.  I really struggle with patience, and this situation is definitely testing it.  I look around and realize though, that the opportunity to do some prime people watching has presented itself.  This place is a gold mine. 

People in all shapes, sizes and demographics are here. A tired looking older woman wearing black skateboard shoes, tight black jeans and a T-shirt that is too small sits at the front.  I notice her because her shoulder-length hair is stripped in bright shades of pink, blue and green.  Behind her, a rather large pair of senior citizens sit sipping Big Gulps and beside me, a man with a Bill Cosby sweater, faded jeans and running shoes sips on a rum and coke.  Across the room, a group of young boys sit in wiggly anticipation; all of them are wearing wrestling masks of various designs.  A couple people have even brought their newborn babies. 

A half hour later, the show begins.  A woman, who I deduce is the MC, strolls into the ring to announce the first competitors.  In her black and white stripped pants, stiletto heals and black leather jacket, she reminds me of a female Beetlejuice.  

A middle-aged man in a red and blue Speedo emerges from a back room and strolls around the ring.  I think he is the “bad guy” in this match, because suddenly from all around the room, people are screaming and calling him names.  Soon after, his opponent enters and the crowd’s volume increases.  It feels like I’m in the middle of an authorized street fight.  The match begins as the two men take turns throwing, slapping and jumping on each other.  This lasts for 20 minutes until a winner is declared. 

I’ve been to a lot of competitive sporting events in my life, but this has got to be by far one of the most unique if not entertaining experiences I’ve had.  Watching this kind of wrestling on television is nothing like being here in person.  Unlike most sports, in wrestling, yelling insults and giving the finger to the competitors appears to be encouraged.  Likewise, the wrestlers have no problem throwing out aspersions of their own. 

During the next several matches, endearing phrases such as “pecker head” are uttered with great frequency.  At one point, someone from behind me yells out something to do with having bigger man parts than the wrestler.  The wrestler seems to have no problem with returning these witty insults with sharp comebacks like:  “Suck my sweaty balls you big, fat bastard!”

A group of people sitting beside me starts chanting, “shave your back!” to one fellow who has a rather thick layer of hair all over his body.  Another, more rotund wrestler comes out wearing a singlet, which basically looks like a one-piece bathing suit for men.  Unfortunately for him, it appears to be too small—a detail that doesn’t escape the crowd’s notice.  A chant of “fix your wedgie!” starts up and doesn’t diminish until the match is over. 

Despite the yelling and general chaos, the competitors put on a fairly impressive athletic display.  They jump from the top of the ropes, and land with precision on each other with practiced skill.  It is a red neck Cirque de Soleil.

My nephew’s fight is an all-out war, with three or four teams of two battling it out for the tag team title.  To my surprise, Adam is one of the bad guys.  I like it.  He breaks all kinds of “rules” during the match, sneaking into the ring when he shouldn’t to land a hard punch to an unsuspecting competitor’s back, while the referee’s back is turned.  I try to catch his eye during the fight, but he is completely immersed in character and I think, would probably shout something nasty at me if I yelled at him.  Eventually, they end up winning the fight and claiming the title.  I’m impressed by his passion and skill.  It’s hard enough being an athlete and competing at a high level.  In this kind of wrestling, to be “in character” is one more thing to think about while balanced precariously on top of the ropes preparing to thunder to the mat on top of someone else without really hurting them.

I’m an athlete, but the introvert in me would rather pull my nails out than be up in the middle of that ring. 

Although, I have to admit there is a certain allure to being allowed to punch someone in the neck and not get arrested for it.  Maybe I should start practicing.