Pro Wrestling Is Magic

As I sit prepared to write the first column for the newly reborn NEPAwrestling.com I've got F1rst Wrestling's iPPV broadcast from The Mall of America playing in the background.

It's a rather poignant backdrop for the memories I'm feeling as I write.  That feeling is crystalized when the participants of the opening match are revealed. It's a wonderful visual to see Arik Cannon and Darin Corbin kick off the show in front of a packed crowd of fans in the Mall of America.

It feels poetic to me because Arik Cannon and Darin Corbin were a small part of the promotion that held many of my most special memories in pro wrestling. Seeing them perform in front of such a large audience fifteen years after watching them in small Pennsylvania towns and cities like Emmaus, Allentown, and Easton is both satisfying and surreal.

This column isn't about that promotion though, in fact it's not about any promotion. No, this column is about feeling, and the emotional power of experiencing live wrestling in community.

Shot of the ring at Frontier Pro Wrestling at Colossalcon East

"Pro wrestling is magic" is the beautiful and  favorite mantra of my good friend pro wrestler Eric Pinhat. Eric is part of the NEPA tag team "The Diamond City War Machines" with partner Brad DeMaio. 

It's the feeling that keeps us all coming back to the violent ballet that is the sport we love. 

It's what electrifies your imagination when the lights go out during a match and your mind runs through a million guesses as to who could show up next. 

That quick flash in the pit of your stomach before an unbelievable and dangerous display of athleticism.  It's also the tears of joy experienced after a favorite makes their long awaited return from injury or hardship.

It's a feeling that is as indefinable as it is ephemeral. You'll struggle to understand it if you haven't felt it yourself. However once you experience it, the emotional high it can deliver is unparalleled, and for the vulnerable it can literally be the difference that keeps them going one more day.

"Oh no" you are saying to yourself, "I accepted that this column would have feelings but I expected them to be exclusively about pro wrestling". Well this isn't that kind of column; but I hope you'll continue to read it anyway.

Pro wrestling is magic to two obsessed little boys. The only anchor of stability and normalcy that the children of a fracturing family could cling onto for comfort. 

In the WWF's world the rules made sense. The good guys won, cheating was (eventually) punished and above all there was a sense of order that wasn't constantly violated with an ever-changing ruleset.

Pro wrestling became our strongest shield against the trauma of a verbally and emotionally abusive father who had us trapped under his dominion. 

We gravitated to the Ultimate Warrior; hoping that somehow as "little warriors" maybe we could have the strength to protect our mom and keep our family together.

We practiced our strongest moves on our WWF Wrestling Buddies and scripted out countless WrestleMania main events with our LJN action figures. We cherished our WWF trading card collection and marveled over the exotic face paint of Demolition, The Powers of Pain and of course The Ultimate Warrior.

Masked Wrestler Hydra and Kyle Giarratano 

I think fondly of a day when my mother took us to the "Fine Arts Fiesta" festival to get our faces painted. As the children lined up, tiny faces studying the designs offered, my brother and I had no need.  We had come prepared; each clutching a different WWF Classic trading card of the Ultimate Warrior.

We sat in excited glee as the artist painted our faces to match our invincible hero.  Infectious laughing and posing gave way to full blown Ultimate Warrior impersonations as we ran around the festival enveloped in the fantasy of being WWF Superstars.

All essential fantasies exist on a timeline. From when we create them for our survival to when we bury them with honor and distinction for performing their duty. I wish deeply that this memory could be one solely of joy and reflection; devoid of the trauma and neglect that shaped so many of my formative years.

I did warn you though, this isn't that kind of column.  

When our day neared its end a familiar pall of uncertain dread crept in. Despite my young age I was aware on some level that the people we were at the festival and during the car ride were not the people we would be allowed to be at home.  

We knew not to bother showing off our intricately designed face paint; we'd learned long ago that not only did he not care, he couldn't even bother to pretend.

So we hid in our room, and as two young wrestling obsessed boys it wasn't long before our room transformed into an arena and my bed a wrestling ring. A particularly devastating move sent me tumbling off the bed and into a plastic dartboard that was on the back of our bedroom door.

The sound of cheap plastic cracking against the floor reverberated within us. Without being given the luxury to even admit we did anything wrong, we were quickly in survival mode.

The bedroom door flew open and the anger bellowed forth in seconds.  "I said to wash that SHIT off of your faces and get ready for bed! You broke this shit while you were knocking around! You can't take care of any of your shit because you're so careless now get in the bathroom then get to bed!".

The door slammed shut as quickly as it opened and my older brother and I stood obliterated. The tears always came often and were easy for me. Hot salt mixed with craft paint. My brother never showed it. A sentinel and a defiant child.

We went to the bathroom and we wiped off our Ultimate Warrior paint in silence. In the quiet I remember my brother helping me because my little arms couldn't reach the towel.  Before we turned off the light we turned to the mirror and gave one last flex. The bastard can't take the warrior out of us.

As we grew and our parents mercifully divorced the reason for needing pro wrestling in our lives left, but our love for it never did.

We forged a bond that allowed us to try and understand the world together. I'm not sure I'd be alive now if I had grown up as a "singles wrestler" instead of as part of a tag team.

From Left to Right: Brad DeMaio, Kyle Giarratano, Eric Pinhat, & Matt Deuerlein

I appreciate greatly that you are still reading after that little diversion, but I felt it was important to acknowledge and illustrate that I'm not exaggerating the impact pro wrestling has had on my life.

The feelings may lay dormant but when you love it the fire never really extinguishes. It hovers just under the surface, simmering and waiting for the next chance to ignite.

Pro wrestling is magic because try shouting "you stink!" To Von Rothbart during a performance of "Swan Lake" and see if you don't get asked immediately and quietly to leave.

It's one of the only performance arts where the audience can impact both the quality of the performance and its outcome! I've never seen a play change its ending and direction in real time based on the reaction of a crowd. Although it would be pretty funny if Romeo and Juliet swerved an audience every once in a while.  

Pro wrestling is magic because everyone wants to experience good triumph over evil. While it felt weird to jump up and cheer after Brody killed the shark in "Jaws", losing myself in emotion when my best friend won The Young Lions Cup is one of my fondest memories.

Wrestling's charm is that in an increasingly alienating, hollow, and shady world it allows us to all get together and let out emotion and feel like we are a part of that battle for good and evil, if only vicariously.

The reason it means so much to so many of us is because in pro wrestling the characters DO exist outside of the reality of their four cornered world. Imagine meeting Rocky Balboa not Sylvester Stallone. Or being able to thank Conan the Barbarian for modeling the strength and courage you needed to survive.

Pro wrestling is magic because it can have that power when executed at the highest level and I know now more than ever people could really use a few hours every once in a while to feel -- to rise and fall and rise again as part of a community.

Kyle with Matt Turner, half of tag team Blue and Gold with Andy Header (not pictured)