Being a fan of pro-wrestling can be a lot of fun. But actually, being a pro-wrestler is even more enjoyable. True, like any job at introductory level, the first few years are possibly the worst. It can take its toll on the mind, the body, and even the bank account. Most don't even make beyond the Indy promotions because they work a primary job to keep the bills paid. And being honest, the amount of pain we go through in the ring, you might as well admit to being a masochist.
Anyone who says wrestling is fake honestly doesn't know shit. Yeah, the endings and rivalries are scripted. A blind person could clearly see that. Yes, certain moments in matches where we do something inside or outside the ring causes fans to leap from their seats and cheer, those are planned in advance. But the majority of the match is made up on the go. And yes, it is painful.
Having a grown man's open palm "chop" you across the bare chest will sting for hours. The ring ropes are actually steel cables with a thin covering. So when "running the ropes" those things bite the shit outta' you. Ever seen us bleed? That's real blood, done by the act of "gigging" where a small razor is snuck to us and we make a small, gentle cut into our foreheads knowing we will bleed like someone poured a cherry slushie on our crowns. And lastly the "bumps". Every slam, fall, dive, you name it, we feel it. Sure, the casual fan will say "well the ring bounces so it absorbs the fall." Yeah, but it's not a trampoline either. That's thick plywood on top of a half-ass spring suspension, covered by a thin stunt mat, covered by the actual ring mat. Hell, people get rugburn on it. But I'll tell you this: every time you hear your music play, the fans scream your name, and the thunderous applause of cheers and claps for a good match... all that pain goes away, if momentarily.
But back to my point of pro-wrestling being fun. In spite of the pain, we get to see a lot of the country, and if lucky enough other parts of the world. The fans are amazing and I'd be lying if I said we didn't appreciate every comment made about us, good or bad. We develop bonds similar to actual family. Not unlike how "the crew" is in the Fast and Furious franchise. And the number of shenanigans happening backstage or on the road or at the hotels are always worth remembering. Saying that brings me to a moment I'll never forget.
I started working for a major promotion for several weeks, three months at best. I wasn't under a tiered contract. So, funding for food and travel came out of my pocket. And a number of times I had to find my own place to stay if I couldn't find anyone to let me bunk with them. If you saw me on tv I wasn't recognizable. I was a security guard who helped separate two wrestlers going on a rampage against each other during a promo. The few times I was having a match on live tv, I didn't look anything like myself. My ring gear, my physical appearance, hell even my "pro-name" was changed. Soley for the purpose of being in squash matches against bigger talent. The matches I did truly wrestle in were "Dark" matches. The kind that don't get recorded for tv, and mine weren't even filmed for YouTube. But during those matches I got to be myself and I shined like a damn lighthouse in a foggy night near the wavy shore. I was also becoming pretty popular among my peers.
One day I arrived at an arena early, as did most of the other wrestlers. My Dark match was set to happen before the start of the live show, so I had that as the primary thought on my mind. Before getting dressed for the bout, I found myself doing what so many of my coworkers do: Exploring every inch of the arena, assisting in building the ring/stage, hanging out in random locations, playing whatever backstage games are happening, and occasionally being filmed with whomever was vlogging at the time.
Finally ready for my match, I wound up wondering around and heading to catering. The plan was to get a quick protein snack before my match. By chance I happened across two people you may have heard of: Egon Sage and Carmen Solo, Egon was vlogging. I found out later in the night, Sage and Solo were "arguing" about two fast food joints, and which was the better of the two. Egon was grabbing anyone nearby and asking them to participate, as if trying to make it a point that his choice was the better. Egon saw me coming and of course asked for my input.
As I approached, I couldn't help but notice what they were wearing. Solo was always a stunning woman. Her hair was multicolored via some sort of washable spray on product. Her skin was an artificial gold caused by the spray tanning she used before getting dressed. Her clothes managed to cover up her numerous tattoos. She was wearing acid washed blue jeans that had several holes and rips throughout. A pink colored shirt with the company's logo on it, in recognition of breast cancer awareness month. And tennis shoes that looked like the love child between Vans and Chuck Taylors. Sage was a stark contrast. He looked like someone swallowed a Miami Vice Clothing Catalogue and puked all over him. It was obvious neither of them was there to wrestle but to cut promos, and possibly get into a fight.
When I got close enough, Egon asked me which of the two franchises I preferred. To be honest I still had my match more on my mind than anything. And because of that the filter between brain and mouth had completely disappeared. What I said next took all of us a bit by surprise. I looked at Egon, then to Carmen, then back to Egon and spoke.
"You know I have a major crush on Carmen, so my answer might be pretty biased."
Egon laughed like a maniac, his camera shaking like crazy. Carmen quickly turned and grabbed me by my jacket, flexing her muscles as if trying to lift me off the ground. I played along and stood on my toes to keep it funny. Considering she's 5'6" and I'm 6' even, it certainly helped get the joke over. Egon recovered and was able to record what came out of my mouth next. Staring right into Carmen's eyes, the look on my face was somewhere between a flirt, a dare, and a joke. Mind you, the filter had already disappeared. What I said next knocked the whole coffee pot over.
"Carmen, I love you. And I'd be more than willing to massage both of your feet, a minute each for every step you take tonight. But you do not scare me."
She released my jacket and immediately sunk to the floor. Ass on the ground, knees to her chest, arms wrapped around her legs, and her head lowered so nobody could see her face. She didn't do this because she was upset. Or horribly embarrassed. She did it because she was laughing so hard, she couldn't breathe, and didn't want others to see her snort laughing. However, others did notice and a few came to see if she was okay. I had to keep moving because my match was going to start soon. Sage vlogged the whole thing.
The match would go greatly and the fans who made it to the arena prior to showtime gave me and my opponent a standing ovation. It made me feel good to be in the place I was at. But I was sore and needed to see "The Doc" like so many of us do after every match. Once finished with "The Doc", I showered and changed back into some casual clothes and watched the rest of the show from whatever monitor I could find, or sneaking peaks from behind the stage curtain.
The rest of the show went great and everyone had a good time. But the night was coming to an end and it was time to get to the hotel. I was thankful the company made arrangements for me to stay in the same place as everyone else. I had grown tired of paying out of pocket for a place to sleep. It's common that wrestlers like to hang out in one another's hotel rooms and stay up damn near all night, and I honestly wasn't any different. In one room they played videogames, and in another they played Uno. I played a few rounds in both rooms but went back to mine for a snack.
It's not common knowledge if anyone finds out you have snacks, they will raid your supply without mercy or remorse. And though I try to be a nice guy and team player, I wasn't about to let anyone steal from my supply hidden in my suitcase, which was sitting on the bed. Before I could even treat myself, there was a gentle knock at my door. Naturally I groaned like a child, not wanting to share. So, I hid my stash back in my luggage and went to answer the door. Waiting on the other side was a massive surprise.
There stood Carmen Solo. Her hair, a soft brown color, looked slightly damp and completely clean of the sprayed in coloring from earlier. Her skin was returned to its natural cream color, which showed off her now revealed tattoos. Whatever soap she used must have been given to her by God to scrub away that spray tan. And her clothes. She was wearing "boy shorts", a slightly oversized and buttoned up flannel shirt, and black flip flops, matching the polish on her fingers and toes.
"Hey." she said.
"Hi." I spoke back.