It’s finally here: Wrestlemania weekend is upon us.
After months of waiting, these jammed-packed three days are like Christmas for wrestling fans. We’re treated to a veritable buffet of professional wrestling action.
There’s Wrestlecon, where numerous companies work under one roof. There’ll be Ring of Honor’s show, where Kenny Omega and Cody Rhodes will finally come to blows. And then there’s Wrestlemania itself, which promises to be a memorable program, from AJ Styles vs. Shinsuke Nakamura to Brock Lesnar vs. Roman Reigns to the in-ring debut of Ronda Rousey, it looks to be-
Sorry, sorry, that paragraph probably reads like gibberish to most people. For non-fans, pro wrestling appears to be an insulated world with its own rules and bizarre language. It’s a strange pastime, to be sure. It’s certainly the weirdest thing that obsesses me.
It’s the one hobby of mine I have the hardest time explaining. The majority of people I’ve met turn their nose at the grappling game, calling it vulgar, stupid, and (GASP) fake. Wrestling is all of those things, to an extent. It’s cheap popcorn entertainment, using the rawest and simplest emotions from sports and dramas. It indulges in countless cliches and stereotypes, making foreigners the bad guy and “real Americans” the heroes. Wrestling is dumb.
But, at its best, it’s pure, distilled joy. There’s an immense satisfaction from watching two larger-than-life characters pummel each other in the squared circle as the climax to their personal conflict. Instead of talking or working through their problems, wrestlers jump right to suplexing, flipping, and punching one another. Wrestling captures the essence of great drama. Plus, you get to see people fall through burning tables, which is basically high art.
Wrestling’s always occupied an odd place in my life. As a kid, it made me something of an outsider. In elementary school, I had a small group of friends who watched WWE programming with me, but they quickly deemed it “uncool” and walked away. I stuck with it alone until junior high, where I slipped into a more casual fanship.
In college, I met a similarly lapsed wrestling fan. We watched shows together, forcing our roommates to endure the strange spectacle.
When I moved out west, I was excited. Western Canada has quite the pro wrestling history; the Hart family is practically Albertan royalty. I’ve bonded with a few wrestling fans here over our mutual appreciation for Japanese wrestlers kicking each other in the face.
Wrestling brings people together more than most forms of entertainment. I’ve met many people who’ve shared my tastes in music, movies, and books, and I couldn’t stand them. But when I meet a wrestling fan, I’ve usually met someone worth talking to.
Wrestling unites its fans because it’s such a disreputable hobby. We’re connected by our social ostracization. Our shared insanity joins us together.
And now the Mecca of pro wrestling, Wrestlemania, is right around the corner. I believe I have enough column space to describe each match in excruciating detail. First off there’s...
