Let me take a page this week to tell you all about the night of professional wrestling that I enjoyed recently. That’s right, this man of mirth and girth, plus my posse of sons, son-in-law, grandsons and one other guy had a “guys night out.”
We dined in style then camped in the front row of the Mr. Chainsaw Professional Wrestling “Surprise Party” last month at the Kalkaska Kaliseum. It was delicious, it was athletic, it was dramatic, and it was something I recommend everyone experience.
Just when I thought that the modern world had run out of places for a simple guy to be entertained without getting a facefull of modern world angst I went to a small town night of pro wrestling. Unless you were in the number that attends this type of event, you might not entirely understand what I’m saying.
Let me try.
First, it’s nothing like the televised or arena style you are no doubt aware of. Every wrestler has their walkout music but that’s about it. A lap around the ring slapping hands with spectators then up to the ring is about it for starters. No fireworks, no production, but it works; excitement built and wrestling fans were there for it.
Second, these men and women were all very athletic. At least, more than I expected. Men and women, large and larger, displayed amazing coordination, strength and endurance. Smacking and hitting each other at high speeds and considerable heights with seemingly no regard for safety just to entertain a bunch of schmucks like me. Again, I was there for every second of it,
Third, and I only say this because I’ve been in a few theatrical plays, it was fairly dramatic. In other words, yes, it was professional wrestling with outcomes often pre-determined and competitions generally “staged,” but as far as I was concerned everybody was committed to the bit, well prepared to perform, and it looked quite true. And again I say that the audience was along for the show.
Fourth, and maybe most importantly, it was “good” versus “evil” and everybody knew it. Nobody had to spin things to fit their narrative, nobody had to purchase favor from 51% of the audience, and nobody had to be fairly and balanced-y informed as to which side was ours. It was obvious from the opening bell as to which wrestler was the good guy, which was the bad guy, and parties governed themselves accordingly. Good guys played fair and square, bad guys trafficked in occasional skullduggery and in the end, the good guy or gal typically won the match. Thankfully, no wrestler hid behind their official website and they all freely greeted their appreciative audience after the show.
Everybody, from the most seasoned and rabid wrestling fan to the almost 10-year-old fourth grader sitting to my left, knew which wrestler to cheer for and which one to cast aspersions toward. Given the intimacy of the arena, front row seats are mere feet from the ring, separated by a solitary piece of “Do Not Cross” plastic tape. Pro wrestling often takes place outside of the ring which meant that where we sat became part of the action on more than one occasion. In short — good times.
Good times indeed, because moments like these can be rare. Not just because I was with almost all the folks I’m related to, plus one other guy, but because we all had a great night to hoot, holler, have fun without having to wonder if we were picking the right side.
And we were all there for it.