Lucha Libre (written August 12)

We’ve all seen the ridiculousness that is Nacho Libre. Here I should probably admit that I actually haven’t seen it, but I think I represent a minority. Anyway, full of dudes in tights wearing masks that I think are intended to instill fear in the opponent, but in reality must just make him giggle inside, fighting with moves stolen from reruns of the Three Stooges, I imagine there isn’t much to be left desired in such a movie. I know you might be thinking “who’s this guy talking about Nacho as if he’s seen it.” Well, friend, let’s just say I’ve seen more than you.

While I can’t say that in the last ten years of my life I’ve spent more than ten seconds at any one time watching a WWF match on TV, I can justify actually going to see a ‘Lucha Libre’ match by defensively classifying it as a cultural experience. In case you’re lost, naysayer, the big LL is the reality that gave wings to your Nacho flick. Anyway, let’s just say I wasn’t disappointed (until that is, after the second hour passed and no end appeared to be in sight).

The night’s main matches were preceded by maybe a dozen of preliminary impromptu matches fought between little kids, mostly between the ages of three and six, who had invaded the vacant ring. However, there was one, maybe cute in the 90’s eleven-year old kid running around clothes-lining the others. Just to knock some humility into the kid I jumped over the ropes into the ring and kicked him in the shins repeatedly until I saw tears gather in his eyes…OK so I didn’t do that. But seriously, the kid was way too big to be in there.

Waiting for the arrival of the real fighters (I’m not sure I could go so far as to call them professional) I felt as though I was in Miami about to witness some amateur backyard wrestling match where it was inevitable that one fighter wouldn’t leave the ring alive. (I chose Miami both ‘cuz there are lot of Latin Americans there and because I feel like I remember hearing Barbara Walters talk about this phenomenon on her show 20/20 sometime in the mid to late 1990’s.)

The benches were covered in black, mostly-hardened pieces of gum and the floor of the ring was stained with dried stage blood and body sweat. The lighting system above the ring couldn’t have cost more than 100 pesos ($10) and have taken more than 15 minutes. With the overhead lights replaced by the flickering of the eternally unnecessary strobe light and with Blink 182 blasting out of the dilapidated speakers, the stage was set for the night of madness to begin.

The fighters paraded out in pairs, each of whom was of course accompanied by an attractive long legged lady dressed in little more than a bathing suit. Even though I was sitting directly above where the fighters came out, my view was obstructed by a group of guys who lunged forward to get a closer look of the company kept by each fighter. Of the nine matches I would end up seeing never once did I see a clear beginning to the fight. Whether it was a notty word or a slap in the chest the fight would break out seemingly against the wishes of the melodramatic referee. Eventually the ref would consent and the fighting began.

Unimpressive physically, if any of the fighters had sometime during the night traded their Lucha threads in for a shirt and jeans they surely could have passed for any of the 100 middle-aged men that made up roughly 80% of the crowd. I must say, in their defense, you’d be surprised by how agile some 40 year old, beer bellied, unattractive men can be. Back flipping off corner posts, bouncing back and forth between the ropes and milking the enthralled crowd for all the accolades they could, these fighters, as any American male between the ages of 17 and 25 could reluctantly verify, had all the same moves as any professional WWF wrestler. Surely, differences existed.

First off, with no form of fencing protecting the first several rows of fans, wrestlers routinely forced several onlookers to desperately flee their seats. Often, the vacated seats would then double as weapons perfect for the job of making one’s opponent appear to have endured a life-threatening blow to the head. Secondly, the ref had the cumbersome task of always keeping the ring clear of small, concession-stand items that had been thrown excitedly on the stage by crowd members. I can’t imagine some sort of punishment wouldn’t be in order if a member of the crowd were caught littering in a US match.

Thirdly and perhaps most importantly, the creativity displayed by the fighters is unmatched in the WWF (or so I hear). Don’t worry, I come bearing examples. The first match ended with one fighter shaving the head of the other. Later in the second match one fighter tied the laces of his opponent’s mask to the ropes, leaving him there helplessly immobile until the ref dutifully walked over and helped out the stranded fighter. And, bringing the final match of the night to a close, after having hot salsa tossed into his eyes one fighter mistook his teammate for an opponent and proceeded to beat the crap out of him.

The night ended much as it had begun. The masked wrestlers’ overly dramatic reactions to for instance, being slapped in the chest, came just shy of spoiling the entire illusion. Similar to how I imagine the out of shape wrestlers felt, after more than two hours of Lucha Libre I had had enough.

PS. I have described the whole thing as being totally goofy and laughable, and it was, but at the same time, so is wrestling in the WWF. I just wanted to make myself clear.