In Iowa, where wrestling is king, the type of grappling that I make a big deal about is the kind that the everyday person probably associates with steel chair shots to the skull, dramatic soap opera reminiscent theatrics and fake move sets.
It’s hard for me to love anything else more.
Being a silly fanboy is enough to confuse people — “But it’s fake! They know how to fall, that’s not realistic” — the absurdity of “sports entertainment” as the abhorrent, but unequivocally strong promoter Vincent Kennedy McMahon likes to call it, is specifically what draws me to the spectacle.
It’s not just WWE that draws me into wrestling, but it is the starting point for many wrestling obsessers’ fandoms.
On any given week where I have the time, I’ll watch RAW on Monday, Smackdown on Tuesday, NXT on Wednesday, perhaps watch the Pay-Per-View show once every few weeks on Sunday, and spend our scouring the internet and Twitter to find cool moments frozen in time that have been captured from independent shows or lesser known promotions.
This past Saturday, after a full day at State Cross Country in Fort Dodge, I sped back to Clive (West Des Moines) to catch a show called Pro Wrestling Revolver.
Sami Callahan (actual name Sam Johnston) native to Bellefontaine, Ohio, close to where I grew up, has led what he believes is a movement in to Clive twice this year in the form of Pro Wrestling Revolver.
I’ve attended both shows, with the other having come in May.
Names like Billy Gunn, Brian Cage, Jack Swagger, Matt Riddle, Ricochet, Jeff Cobb, John Morrison, Tessa Blanchard, Keith Lee, Moose, and more have been at the shows I’ve been in attendance at.
These names will mean nothing to a non-fan. To me, this was a huge deal.
Saturday’s show at the Seven Flags Event Center was a constant roller coaster of emotions, including laughs, shock and awe as a result of impressive athletic feats and incredible comedic timing.
A man was thrown off a balcony into a crowd of people. A man was suplexed onto a piece of cardboard riddled with barbed wire propped up by steel chairs. Eight men simultaneously kicked another man in his nether-region, only to come away with ankle and knee injuries.
A grown man offered a sucker from his pants to a building full of people, and many were giddy at the possibility of being handed the sucker. And then the wrestler put the sucker in another man’s mouth.
Yes, from the outside, it was weird.
From the inside, it was weird.
Embracing professional wrestling is embracing the absurdity that comes with it. Forget the realism of what a move will do to another person, and just appreciate it when someone like Ricochet (Prince Puma in Lucha Underground) demonstrates his athletic ability with a 450 splash off the top rope (multiple flips into a frog splash onto another wrestler).
Jeff Cobb showcasing his uncanny lower body strength by using gut wrench suplexes on the “Super King of Bros” Matt Riddle had me jumping out of my seat.
I watched many people unashamedly singing Savage Garden’s “Truly Madly Deeply” as a tag team called the “Besties In the World” were introduced to the ring.
A wrestler going by the name of “Manscout” drew a better reaction than many of the other wrestlers for doing nothing but staying in character by reading his scout’s manual and standing at rigid attention while falling backward after a harsh looking knee strike.
The antics of the wrestlers in and outside of the ring had me in laughing fits.
What these people are able to do, and the physical torment they put their bodies through continues to astound me to no end.
It is one, big, athletic soap opera, and if you think of it as anything more than that, you’re probably taking it more seriously than I even am as a devoted fan.
It’s ok if you roll your eyes at someone being passionate about it, but just know, that pro wrestling on the whole is of better entertainment value to me personally than about anything I appreciate in life right now.
Wrestling is a (mostly) stress free escape, in which you can appreciate the athletes put in a narrative-driven story for the sake of entertainment.
It is one big, athletic soap opera.
And that’s the bottom line.
E-mail: kacarter@crestonnews.com
Twitter: @Kaleb_M_Carter
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