by and an eye-caption. A terrific proposition by any

 

by Peggy S.
Butler

 

 

In
a sport that seems to have more than its share of controversy, distinguishing
between reality and fantasy has proven difficult  for many fans. 

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Since its
origin, the chief question among wrestling enthusiasts has remained constant,
is it real?  According to the millions who tune in to watch the WWF each
week, the answer is,  of  course . Granted, the men and
women who profit from wrestling are excellent actors. How else can you explain
their phenomenal popularity?

 

As a woman
who’s  expressed skepticism about  the WWF, I finally got
the chance  to determine  if  wrestling is real or
fake, depending on which side of the ring you’re on. The newspaper I
worked for wanted to do an  article on wrestling from a woman’s
perspective, and assess the legitimacy of 
the “sport” from ring side.  But
there was just one hitch, none of the 
female employees wanted the assignment.

 

To sweeten
the offer,  the editor promised the
winner a front page by-line, complete with photos and an eye-caption.  A terrific proposition by any stretch of the
imagination, unfortunately no fish were biting. That is, until I decided to
take the challenge.

 

Many people view wrestling as more of a theatric gymnastic
exercise, rather  than a contest between
two competitors who attempt to throw each other by grappling. On the night of
the “Big Match” I was extremely  nervous,
because I was unfamiliar with the rules of 
the sport.  But those  jitters quickly disappeared when I was told
by the referee that the match I would be viewing is the battle royal. According
to the man, who has been a referee for 15 years,  20 wrestlers would be involved, and their
goal was to throw each other from the ring via the top rope until only four
wrestlers remained.  The incentive was
induced by a $30,000 purse being paid to the winner. Are we having fun  yet?

 

As the match began, hysteria and pandemonium ensued.
Wrestlers of all sizes began the roughshod ritual; choking, elbowing, punching
and kicking indiscriminately anyone in the 
ring. A flurry of blows and knees to the abdominal and thoracic areas
gave rise to flesh colliding crescendo emanating from the attacks  on each participant. As I watched, appalled
with mouth partially opened, huge men were hurled like projectiles from the
ring until only four remained.

 

As the action continued, my eyes gazed over the
audience. Boy, based on the obnoxious behavior of the fans, you would have
thought we were watching a  dog
fight.  I swear, some of  those folks appeared to be foaming at the
mouth. And the   frivolity was equally
divided along gender lines. While the men screeched  and unleashed a barrage of expletives, the
women balled up their fists and mimicked the wrestlers. Believe me guys when I
say, these women aren’t the type you’d like to meet in a dark alley.

 

With the contest down to eight, the crowd surged with
excitement as they cheered for their favorites and taunted those who were less
favorable. The names of the wrestlers were more formidable than the dastardly
game they played. Sure, I’m familiar with names like Batista, Triple H,  and John 
Cena. But  have you ever heard
of  Bahama Nightmare, The Big B, Thong
Maroney, Snakepit,  Dr. K or Soul Train?
Sounds like an orchestra for Weirdos R’Us.

 

The match ended with the victors triumphing over what
seemed to be impregnable foes. And with that in mind, I walked away with a new
perspective on wrestling. It’s not only boring, but one would have to be a
complete moron to mistake this mindless display” for sports or entertainment.

 

Listen up promoters, if you’re going to promote
wrestling as a sport, at least employ guys with athletic prowess and the
ability to move at will. Snake Pit and Thong Maroney, were so huge, they had
difficulty breathing, let alone moving.  
Moreover, Snake Pit, who appeared to be in his mid 60s, was clearly out
of his league among his younger rivals. That’s why if wrestling was real, the
rest of  the guys would have wiped the
floor with this grand fatherly figure. And speaking of Thong, that little piece
of material emanating from his rear end should be called a fang, instead of a
thong. At least try to find a pair of trunks in your size dude. Whew!

 

As for those
imposing moves, I have to admit that some of the wrestlers put on a good show.
I noted with curiosity, the humorous antics of Soul Train, when Dr. K put him
in a figure four leg lock. Wrapping his arms around Soul Train, Dr. K
positioned his body so that Soul Train was lying flat on his back. Next, he
grabbed the man’s legs and twisted them. Sensing it was  time 
for a  close up, Soul Train let
out a guttural growl and looked into the camera. The crowd was eating this up,
but upon further inspection I noticed a slight smile on his face. This guy was
clearly enjoying the response he was getting.

 

So what is wrestling? 
Orchestrated fantasy of course. But to those who fail to differ, I have
only one thing to say, BITE ME!

 

 

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