Many of my childhood memories are built around wrestling: my cousin locking me in a sharpshooter in our grandpa’s garage, jumping off of a friend’s couch and delivering a frog splash on an Ultimate Warrior doll, and spending every Monday night watching Raw Is War. I remember watching the Undertaker prepare a sacrifice of Stephanie McMahon, John Wayne Bobbitt saving Val Venis’ linus, and Stone Cold driving a beer truck up to the ring and dousing his boss in suds.
Even then, I thought it was silly the way people would decry wrestling’s authenticity. Of course it’s fake, but that’s missing the point. I guess it’s easier now that the World Wildlife Fund has turned the WWF into World Wrestling Entertainment. Now it’s right there in the name.
I often hear people saying how Taco Bell tacos aren’t real tacos, which is true to a point. But that doesn’t make them any less delicious. Would it be better if they changed the name to something else? I guess life would be much easier if people were more straightforward.
Take the “JESUS HATES YOU” people that were on campus last week. They pop up every couple of months, taking over the grass in front of the University Bookstore with their signs, telling us how we’re going to hell. If it wasn’t for the Juggling Club, whose area was unfairly taken over by the sign holders, they’d be my favorite piece of on-campus entertainment. They’re like the WWE, if only the wrestlers let the audience come into the ring and become part of the show.
Sure, they’re offensive. They seem to be equal opportunity offenders, lashing out at every social and cultural group. But that’s the fun of it. You almost want to go out there and see if they’ll tell you why you’re going to hell. Of course, if you do, you’ll have to get in line.
The crowds that gather during these visits come close to stealing the show, which is no easy feat. They holler and they make their own show. There’s real vitriol in these people. Just like Mankind flying off of a 16-foot-high steel cage and through a table, this type of anger can’t be faked. And this dedication to the craft really pays off.
Take one of the participators, for instance. He stood front and center – and he stood strong. He was prepared to go blow-for-blow with the peaceful demonstrator, whether he liked it or not. In a crowd of a dozen, he was really a driving force. And that was before he brought out his secret weapons.
Like a steel chair across the ol’ melon, this guy delivered what should’ve been the knockout blow when he started poking fun at a sign holder’s shoes and haircut. Against seemingly insurmountable odds, the sign holder kicked out of the three count and continued fighting.
Of course, I grew out of wrestling in high school. As fun as it was, there was enough drama in my life already that I didn’t need to go seek out more. I still revisit it from time to time, tuning in on Monday nights. The faces aren’t the same, but the action is.
There’s something about unadulterated antagonism that makes me feel young again – like a child.
Stephen Sabetti is a senior journalism major and the assistant investigations editor for the Daily Forty-Niner.
