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Atlantic
06-07-2025
- Entertainment
- Atlantic
The High Art of Pro Wrestling
Here's how I know I'm not a real fan of professional wrestling. Because every now and again, when I'm at a wrestling show in Massachusetts, where I live—whether it's a World Wrestling Entertainment event at the TD Garden, in Boston (19,000 people), or a Rad Pro Rasslin' event at the Elks Lodge in Newburyport (78-ish people)—and I'm watching the wrestlers strut and grimace and go flying, and wedge themselves, red-faced, into a wrangle of limbs, and grab the mic and make their speeches, aggrieved or blustering or ramblingly odd, I'll find myself thinking: Uh, couldn't this, shouldn't this, all be just a little bit, you know, better? This thought would never occur to a real fan of pro wrestling. But I'm sensing a furrow in the readerly brow: Pro wrestling ? Isn't that the fake stuff? Rigged battles, hollow contests, the wrestlers cartoonishly lumbering and bellowing, the crowd in a low-rent delirium of suspended disbelief or hypertrophied half-belief or something? The tights, the glitz, the nonsense? Yes, it is; yes, it is. It's also an extraordinary, and extraordinarily vital, cultural form: essentially American in its clanking, fantastical performance of Self, but also pre-American, reaching back into carnival, burlesque, masks, magic, the dark roots of theater itself. Which is why I love it. Let me explain. Pro wrestling is storytelling. It has good guys (babyfaces) and bad guys (heels) and in-between guys (most wrestlers). It has archetypally compelling scenarios: little man fights big man; battered underdog finds wild reserve of pugnacity; old-timer staggers out for one last contest; preening overlord humiliates all, et cetera. The action is fictional, in the sense that the outcomes are prearranged—agreed upon by the promoters, the wrestlers, and their writers or 'bookers' (if they have them)—and many of the moves are choreographed, but it's also real. Those crashings, those sounds of impact cannot be counterfeited; those wrestlers, night after night, are 'taking their bumps,' their real-time, real-pain, real-surgery-will-be-necessary-one-day lumps. The ring itself has a double nature: Made momentarily weightless, twanged skyward by the angelic tension of the ropes, the wrestlers thunder to Earth as they land on the canvas. (Or on the flooring around the ring. Or on the ringside table of the commentary team, scattering the mics.) No repeal of gravity. Huge, artificial characters, stalking around within touching distance (don't touch the wrestlers!), within smelling distance (inhale the wrestlers!), getting shouted at, shouting back; an audience primed for disorientation, ready to be taken almost anywhere; the entire space activated, energized, hummingly theatricalized. That pro wrestling so often seems—to me—to be underachieving, allowing its almost unlimited artistic-dramatic potential to dissipate in lame bombast and puffery and stomping-about, is part of its endless fascination. This, as I say, is not how a real wrestling fan thinks. My friend Lexi, with whom I go to all the wrestling shows—she has been my Virgil in this noisy, gaudy underworld— she's a real wrestling fan, from childhood. She is a connoisseur of both the theatrical and the technical elements of pro wrestling. All the characters, all the moves. Her sense of irony is acute. But with Lexi—as with every real wrestling fan—there's a mysterious, enchanted approach to the whole wrestling gestalt going on. A primordial buy-in, before the thinking starts: the Wrestling Mind. Imagine a place where you don't have to choose between the real and the unreal—a place, in fact, where the nonstop oscillation between real and unreal is ritualized and crudely yet brilliantly dramatized. But to truly get there, to truly dig it, you need to enter the Wrestling Mind. And for a finicky aesthete like me, that's a problem. Drinking certainly helps. (Nothing drastic: A couple of nice Bud Lights will do. I'm a cheap date.) Still, while all around me the real wrestling fans are whooping and roaring and cracking mean, hilarious jokes, throned high and superb in the Wrestling Mind, I'll be levels below, fussing around with my critical misgivings. Such as: This wrestler's monologue, in which he's vowing loud vengeance upon his current nemesis—why is it so clunky, so verbally stale? He's seized the mic; he has our attention. There might be 10,000 people listening intently. Why isn't it funnier? Why isn't it sharper? Why isn't it more insane? Why isn't it an Elizabethan diatribe, full of strange and bloody imaginings? Why isn't it better written? Or: How come there's always this air pocket of anticlimax after the wrestler's entrance music stops? Especially at the big shows, in the arenas. Cody Rhodes walks out, peroxide stare, looking like the security detail for an alien emperor, and the whole place rattles in an ecstasy of concrete and heads-thrown-back to his heavy-metal anthem, ' Kingdom ': 'Out the curtain, lights go up, I'm home. Whooa-ooa! ' But then the wrestler reaches the ring, the song ends, and— whoosh —the voltage drops … bathos dilates … desultory crowd-buzz … Here we are now, entertain us … It feels like a failure of dramaturgy. Seriously: Shouldn't somebody fix this? Considered as spectacle, pro wrestling—especially at the local level—fits almost perfectly the description of 'Rough Theatre' given to us by the English director and radical Shakespearean Peter Brook in his book The Empty Space. (The fact that he doesn't mention wrestling once makes it even better.) 'Salt, sweat, noise, smell,' Brook writes, 'the theatre that's not in a theatre, the theatre on carts, on wagons, on trestles, audiences standing, drinking, sitting round tables, audiences joining in, answering back.' Pleased by the show, spectators will chant This-is-awe-some! or Ho-ly-shit! and the wrestlers will throb happily and seem to float. But a match that leaves the crowd cold will congeal before your eyes. It's alarming to watch: The wrestlers are huffing and puffing and sweating like fiends to 'get over' (elicit a reaction)—but apparently someone has installed an evil energy-draining, drama-draining magnet under the ring. Nothing works. Nothing can work while this terrible magnet is operative. They heave, they thrash, they pound the canvas with their palms. Nothing. The crowd will not engage, insisting rather on exercising its fatal mandate of indifference. Such loneliness in the ring! This is the despair of wrestlers: unredeemed perspiration, useless bruises. So for all the scriptedness, the 'fakeness,' there's an unpredictability. An air of reckless improv. Of hazard and mood swing. One take, no do-overs. Brook again: 'The Rough Theatre doesn't pick and choose: If the audience is restive, then it is obviously more important to holler at the trouble makers—or improvise a gag—than to try to preserve the unity of style of the scene.' In my mind's eye now is the wrestler Dj Powers, expert purveyor of oiled-up heel attitude, at an event in a bar called Electric Haze in Worcester: Heckled from all sides, fuming on a pyre of abuse, Powers is screaming, 'Shut up! You love me! ' as he launches himself from the top rope. Narrative breakout, narrative fire: That's the goal. Your storyline catches on; it keeps the people coming back. For all concerned, this is the ultimate pro-wrestling high. If it happens, then you're on a 'run'—a gorgeous (and very profitable) slalom through the Wrestling Mind, fed into, collaborated with, psychically crowdfunded by the fans. It can last six months, a year, two years even, depending on how skillfully it's handled. Most of the time it doesn't happen. But sometimes it really, really does. In Say Hello to the Bad Guys: How Professional Wrestling's New World Order Changed America, the ESPN reporter Marc Raimondi chronicles one of those times. His book is sort of a cultural study, sort of a business story, but primarily it expounds upon a very powerful moment in wrestling storytelling: when Hulk Hogan turned heel. July 7, 1996, Daytona Beach, Florida. The event is the ' Bash at the Beach,' a televised showcase for the Ted Turner–owned World Championship Wrestling, rival to Vince McMahon's World Wrestling Federation. In the ring, two flaming heels, two bullyboys—Scott Hall and Kevin Nash—are brawling with, and somewhat getting the better of, a three-man tag team: Sting, Lex Luger, and 'Macho Man' Randy Savage. Nash has already kicked Savage in the gut—the cheap shot, the low blow!—thus guaranteeing the odium of the arena, and Luger has been knocked out cold (really? fakely? unclear!) and gurneyed away. So now it's two on two, Hall and Nash versus Savage and Sting, and we're in the wallowing, slo-mo, death-blow phase of the match, the moves heavier and more reverberative, the wrestlers shining with exhaustion. Soon all four wrestlers are prone on the canvas, stunned, rolling feebly. (This is a standard tableau in pro wrestling, its version of the last scene of Hamlet : bodies everywhere.) But wait! Someone is storming toward the ring. Who, what? ' Hulkamania! Hulk Hogan is here! Hulk Hogan is here!' scream the announcers, their voices blending in frenzy. 'Go get 'em, Hulkster!' Okay: pause. Rewind. A little context here. At this point, Hulk Hogan—real name Terry Gene Bollea—has been on the WCW roster for roughly two years. Prior to that, he wrestled for Vince McMahon in the WWF, where he and McMahon created the extraordinarily successful Hulk Hogan character: a babyface all the way, an all-American hero, beloved of children (his little Hulkamaniacs), clad in bright reds and yellows like a beautifully muscled crayon or piece of candy. A hunk with platinum hair, platinum mustache; friendly, bald crown; kind, droopy eyes; and a patriotic, virtue-promoting line in big-man patter—'Train. Say your prayers. Eat your vitamins. Be true to yourself, true to your country. Be a real American. Ooof!' So the expectation, as Hogan makes his way toward the ring, is that he's going to lay the heels—Hall and Nash—low. Hogan climbs into the ring; he tears off his SpongeBob-yellow tank top; he dazzles the terraced fans with the gleaming caramel planes of his torso. And then he bounces once off the ropes and does a leg drop—not on Hall or Nash, but on 'Macho Man' Randy Savage. Treachery! After which he stands up and gloatingly high-fives the two heels. In the arena, joy's fuse is quenched. Stillness. Sour, scattered sounds of outrage. The commentary team is apoplectic with despair: 'What the hell is going on? Oh my God! Are you kidding me?!' The announcers' horror rises. 'A career of a lifetime right down the drain, kid.' A hail of fast-food wrappers and paper cups starts falling in the ring. 'He has slept with the devil!' There had been heel turns before, and there have been heel turns since—but this one was a doozy. Who gets the credit here, the writer's credit? That would be Eric Bischoff, WCW senior vice president. Having lured Hogan over from the WWF, Bischoff had noted a gradual ebbing in the current of Hulkamania. 'After the new car smell went away,' he told Raimondi, 'it was kind of like a 'seen that, done that, been there, what's next' kind of thing.' Bischoff was also in the mood for some sensational, reality-busting storytelling. 'When you see things you've never seen before, your brain automatically shifts into 'Oh my God, I've never seen this before—it must be real.' ' He pitched it to Hogan in 1995: What if he became a bad guy? Hogan threw him out of his house. A year later, he was ready for it—although not without his doubts, as he told Raimondi. 'I went, 'Oh boy, when I turn heel, this is going to either destroy my career or this is going to be the greatest thing that ever happened in wrestling.' ' At Daytona Beach, the Hulkster went on to announce that he, Nash, and Hall were now a team: a heel trinity called the New World Order, which was soon the hottest thing in pro wrestling. Hall, Nash, and Hogan—now wearing black and cultivating vicious dark stubble around his platinum mustache—were stylish meanies. They were stylish meta-meanies: Nash and Hall broke into the control room during WCW's show Monday Nitro and pushed the producers around—wrestling as reality TV. By now it will be clear that the real world, where most of us spend at least a couple of hours every day, is basically a footnote to pro wrestling. But it does exist, so it is necessary to recall the image of Hogan ranting at the 2024 Republican National Convention. 'Let Trumpamania run wild, brother! Let Trumpamania rule again!' Wrestling as politics, politics as wrestling: Many have pondered the connection. Did the success of the New World Order seed the culture with a virus of heeldom triumphant, which would eventually flare up and flourish in the gleeful malevolence of Trumpism? Did Bischoff's bravura storytelling end up breaking off another chunk of consensus reality, like ice from a melting glacier? Raimondi hauls in some sociology professors at the end of his book, for intellectual heft, but his case is already made: The ones least caught out by the rise of Donald Trump were the real wrestling fans. To them, it was all very familiar. Pro wrestling happens (mainly) in the ring; it also happens in the imagination. Those booming, rattling arenas, and those riotous little halls, are imaginary spaces. Sometimes the action is rough theater; sometimes it's opera buffa; sometimes it's sheer absurdity; sometimes it's close to tragedy. Could it be better? Better written, better organized, a more efficient vehicle for whatever it is in the moment? No doubt it could. But if it was better, it would be worse.
Yahoo
09-06-2025
- General
- Yahoo
Look Back: Honoring the Stars and Stripes on Flag day
Jun. 8—For more than 130 years, the Wilkes-Barre Benevolent & Protective Order Elks Lodge 109 has hosted annual Flag Day ceremonies honoring Old Glory. One of the biggest ceremonies was held in 1925 that included a parade that began at the lodge's home on South Franklin Street, Wilkes-Barre, and ended with a massive event with the raising of the American flag at the 109th Field Artillery Stadium. "Before the exercises there was a parade of Elks, war veterans and Boy Scouts through the central city to the baseball park, where the participants disbanded and filed into the grandstand for the services which were held directly in front of the grandstand in plain view of the 1,000 spectators," the Wilkes-Barre Record reported June 15, 1925. Principal speaker was U.S. Department of War Judge James Francis Ryan with Wilkes-Barre Mayor Daniel Hart summarizing Wyoming Valley's participation in wars and conflicts from the Revolutionary War through World War I. June 14 every year is Flag day in remembrance of the Continental Congress' adoption of the Stars and Stripes in 1777. During the 1925 exercises by the Elks B.P.O. Lodge 109, a miniature floral replica of the Liberty Bell was created and led the parade across the Market Street Bridge to the baseball stadium behind the 109th Armory. Members of the Elks drill team placed the floral Liberty Bell at second base as the Elks honor guard marched to the pitcher's mound with the American flag. Once in position, the Alexander Band played patriotic music at the same time a man dressed as Yankee Doodle Dandy and a woman dressed as Betsy Ross appeared next to the honor guard. One of the earliest Flag day ceremonies found from Times Leader, Record, Evening News and Daily News-Dealer archives took place in 1894 by students at the Union Street Grammar School on Union Street, Wilkes-Barre. "The closing exercises of the Grammar grades were held yesterday afternoon in the assembly room, 200 people being present and thoroughly enjoying the program," reported the Daily News-Dealer newspaper June 15, 1894. In the ensuing years after the Union Street Grammar School held what was believed to be the first school hosted Flag day ceremony, other schools in the Wyoming Valley began their own Flag day exercises, which usually concluded the school year. In 1898, Flag day exercises was held next to the iron deer in the courthouse yard adjacent to the courthouse that once stood on Public Square. The following year, 1899, members of the Wyoming Valley Chapter of the Daughters of the American Revolution celebrated Flag day by marking the sites of Fort Durkee and Fort Wyoming on the river common with American flags.
Yahoo
01-06-2025
- General
- Yahoo
‘A Bed for Every Child' program helps provide beds for children in need across Mass.
WESTFIELD, Mass. (WWLP) – A local Elks Lodge took part in an initiative ensuring every child in Massachusetts has a safe and comfortable place to sleep. A Bed for Every Child is an initiative with the Massachusetts Coalition for the Homeless, a commitment to ensure that every child in the state has somewhere safe to rest. Holyoke Farmers' Market kicks off 2025 season 'We all know how important a good night's sleep is, and these kids aren't getting it when they are sleeping on the floor or whatever or in the homeless shelter,' said Lewana Dyer, Treasurer of the Westfield-West Springfield Elks Lodge #1481. 'So we are trying to satisfy some of that need.' The Westfield-West Springfield Elks Lodge #1481 is bringing together not only its members but also members from other Elks Lodges across western Massachusetts, community members, and even a couple of Boy Scouts, building 20 beds for children in need. The Lodge has been planning and fundraising for this event since October. 'We had a comedy show, we had dinners, members donated, the community donated,' Dyer said. Each bed kit costs $350, but with the money raised, they were able to provide more than just a bed for 20 kids on the wait list. 'We have sheet sets, we have blankets, we have pillows, we have backpacks, we have toys,' Dyer said. 'We have stuffed animals to go along with the beds when they go.' Members and volunteers that weren't able to get down on their hands and knees to build the beds could participate in the Inspiration Station, where they could create unique medallions for each child's bed. 'While each one of these beds may be built uniformly, there is a special element that folks are signing the back of the decal,' said Tina Baptista, Program Director of A Bed for Every Child. 'It's custom and it really just helps make these beds extra special for the child who will soon receive it.' The Westfield-West Springfield Elks Lodge hopes to make this an annual event going forward. WWLP-22News, an NBC affiliate, began broadcasting in March 1953 to provide local news, network, syndicated, and local programming to western Massachusetts. Watch the 22News Digital Edition weekdays at 4 p.m. on Copyright 2025 Nexstar Media, Inc. All rights reserved. This material may not be published, broadcast, rewritten, or redistributed.
Yahoo
31-05-2025
- General
- Yahoo
Webb City groups donate to provide service dogs to veterans
WEBB CITY, Mo. — Thanks to the cooperation of five groups in Webb City, another area veteran will be paired up with his own highly trained service dog in the coming year. Jimmy Burgess and his service dog, Riley, were on hand at the building in Webb City that houses the American Legion Post 322 and Veterans of Foreign Wars Post 7630 on Friday morning to accept a check on behalf of Heartland Canines for Veterans for $25,000 from the Elks Lodge of Webb City, the American Legion post, the VFW post, the Women's Auxiliary for the American Legion post and the Dawson Heritage Foundation. Burgess said the money will go to pay for the training of another service dog, which generally costs about $19,500, and to pay for Burgess to be trained as a master trainer of service dogs. 'We want to start training dogs internally instead of always having an outside trainer,' Burgess said. 'Right now, we outsource our service training, but that costs us quite a bit of money and it limits the number of dogs we can train in any certain timespan depending on the money we have to spend. 'We figured with it being our 10th year, it was time for us to get our own internal plan for training.' Burgess said this is the second year these particular groups have raised money for Heartland Canines in one of their 'One of Us' campaigns. He said the goal at Heartland Canines is to have one master trainer so he can train others to train service dogs. 'So the idea behind having an internal trainer is that we can continue to train because I'm already on staff,' Burgess said. 'Also, we're going to start an actual veteran training program so I'll be able to train other veterans in the dog-training community' Burgess said Heartland Canines will be celebrating the graduation of another service dog and the creation of a veteran-service dog team at the coming Veterans Outreach Night hosted by the Joplin Outlaws at Joe Becker Stadium on Saturday, June 14. Gates open at 5 p.m., and before the game, Burgess and his staff will introduce the new team. The dog was trained thanks to a donation by Jack Henry and Associates. More details about Heartland Canines for Veterans can be found at
Yahoo
11-04-2025
- Health
- Yahoo
Community supports Chicopee Police officer battling cancer
CHICOPEE, Mass. (WWLP) – A fundraiser for a local frontline worker Thursday night, battling cancer. Chicopee Police Officer Joel Martinez was diagnosed with cancer more than a year ago. Family, friends, and local officers from across the region gathered at the Elks Lodge in Chicopee for a benefit dinner. More than 125 tickets were sold at the event to help support his treatments. Travis Odiorne with the Chicopee Police Department told 22News, 'It's always great to show that the community comes together to support us when we need it we do a lot for the community and it reinforces the fact that we need it cuz they always come out to support us when we need it.' A donation page has also been set up to help Officer Martinez. WWLP-22News, an NBC affiliate, began broadcasting in March 1953 to provide local news, network, syndicated, and local programming to western Massachusetts. Watch the 22News Digital Edition weekdays at 4 p.m. on Copyright 2025 Nexstar Media, Inc. All rights reserved. This material may not be published, broadcast, rewritten, or redistributed.
