From Stephen Platinum: Or Roland Barthes’ Seminal Take on Pro Wrestling, “The World of Wrestling” Takes a Bundle of Light Tubes to the Sku...
From Stephen Platinum:
Or
Roland Barthes’ Seminal Take on Pro Wrestling, “The World of Wrestling” Takes a Bundle of Light Tubes to the Skull. Then the Jagged, Threatening and Hungry End of a Broken Light Tube Gets Pressed Into Its Forehead As It Screams
The moment that John Wayne Murdoch took the top half of a broken door – or was it the bottom half? – and struck Alex Ocean’s head as hard as he could with me standing a mere two or three porn dicks away I knew I fucked up.
It
wasn’t just that the many aggressive strikes to Alex Ocean’s head with Death’s
Door accordioned the neck of the young and tattooed Ocean that put the
reptilian portion of my brain into a debate on whether I would cock my internal
gun for a fight or flee with two words “away” and “faster” pressing against the
back of my very open eyes, urging me towards escape. It wasn’t just the shot from Murdoch that
tore a pussy in the back of Alex’s head creating a venti-sized spill of blood
that quickly coated the back of his head…and right ear and a multitude of
summoned streaming lines of angry army ants marching lines on his face, across
the continents of ink throughout his skin and down to his boots. The blood
pooled, it spattered, it collected like an urgent warning on the floor. What blood lived on the floor near me was
cleaned up. After each battle in the
81Bay Brewing Company whether it was Eric Ryan defeating the very game Jimmy
Lloyd, Dominic Garrini managing to put down the crowd-baiting Eddy Only, Justin
Kyle winning a fight with Bruce Santee which featured these two men - MEN’S men kind of men, waylaying one another
with strikes that invoke then surpass the term “strong style,” to Akira and
Nolan Edward managing to have my favorite match on the card, featuring some
pretty great wrestling in addition to falling off of the top of the caged ring
after an exchange of strikes while straddling the fence and going through an
ICW “table” which I called anything where something flat was placed on
something to elevate at least one side enough to create a crunch, a
splintering, a visual break in the something flat and the subsequent effect to
the victim. And after each match, the
blood was cleaned up somewhat and the ring made clean. We are in the age of COVID after all. The call repeatedly for people to mask up was
a big a surprise at the relentless and shockingly varied action.
There
was Atticus Cogar defeating Reed Bentley in my new favorite match of the card
until John Wayne Murdoch demolished Alex Ocean.
And until SHLAK, the force of unNATURal who does not look or seem like
ANYONE else massacring Neil Diamond Cutter.
You read that name right. You
read them both correctly.
That
all happened at the brewery.
But
that limited description, flowery language aside, doesn’t encompass a damn
thing. What I witnessed caused a revelation
within me. More accurately, a Japanese
expression of “satori” – badly translated as “sudden enlightenment.” That satori can be summed up as follows:
Deathmatch wrestling IS wrestling. And
it is the epitome of pro wrestling, boiled down and risen up to wrestling’s
most basic elements over-emphasized, which is what wrestling used to do with
pride – overdo it, manipulate your emotions to cause connection and garner the
right kind of energy to enhance, endear, repulse and free the fan of boredom
and from resources.
Roland
Barthes wrote, “…wrestling
is a sum of spectacles, of which no single one is a function: each moment
imposes the total knowledge of a passion which rises erect and alone, without
ever extending to the crowning moment of a result.” No form of pro wrestling at
it is presented today are these very things – a sum of spectacles, each moment
a passion without extending to the crowning moment of a result – like
deathmatch wrestling. The spots – the
flaming panes of glass they throw themselves through, the endless litany of
light tubes smashed on their heads, the hard bumps and the wicked strikes – are
spectacles in and of themselves. Each
one its own entity. That’s why the
results can be posted as I did and it doesn’t come close to capturing the
meaning. It’s not the winning and the
losing, ultimately, it is the telling of a story through repeated
spectacles. Does it matter that John
Wayne Murdoch won the 60-minute Iron Man Deathmatch over Orin Veidt on Saturday
November 14th, 2020 in the main event? Ultimately, not as much as the fact that they
DID the thing. And it didn’t suck. It was hype uncut. My friend and I spend many a conversation
saying that they couldn’t possibly live up to an exciting 60-minute Iron Man
Deathmatch. Their bodies would
fail. Creativity would fail. The Deathmatch spots would be done too
infrequently, or not feel like they were moving towards a crescendo, or would
leave the combatants too weak or hurt to finish strong.
I was
wrong.
Barthes
again, “Thus the function of the wrestler is not to win; it is to go exactly
through the motions which are expected of him…Wrestling…offers excessive
gestures, exploited to the limit of their meaning…in wrestling, a man who is
down is exaggeratedly so, and completely fills the eyes of the spectators with
the intolerable spectacle of his powerlessness.” In the Deathmatch sometimes hits are
“sold.” Sometimes they are not, to
create an effect. These excessive
gestures, these choices made are to attach themselves to and also create
meaning. Meng blasts SHLACK with a light
tube bundle in Port Richey and the massive SHLACK falls and the crowd
roars. Why? Because pro wrestling legend (which bring a
connotation of being ‘old school’ and ‘traditional’ and other square-ass terms)
Meng has embraced the Deathmatch aesthetic by using the light tubes, the most
obvious signifier of Deathmatch wrestling.
SHLACK “sells” because Meng is worthy of that respect. It isn’t about SHLACK’s obvious power and
standing, it is about elevating Meng.
And Meng elevates ICW No Holds Barred and the Deathmatch thing. The result of the match? WHO FUCKING CARES. But it was a no contest. If it makes you feel better, here’s the
breakdown of the card on Nov. 14th:
SHLAK vs. Meng was declared a no contest.
Eric Ryan defeated Dominic Garrini.
Reed Bentley defeated Jimmy Lloyd.
Atticus Cogar defeated Neil Diamond Cutter.
G-Raver defeated Eddy Only.
Reed Bentley defeated Jimmy Lloyd.
Atticus Cogar defeated Neil Diamond Cutter.
G-Raver defeated Eddy Only.
Alex Ocean defeated Akira.
John Wayne Murdoch vs. Orin Veidt went to a 1-1 draw.
John Wayne Murdoch vs. Orin Veidt went to a 1-1 draw.
John Wayne Murdoch defeated Orin Veidt.
What does that matter as opposed to the success of the card in general? They had 140+ on Friday night. If ringside is paying 75, and general
admission is 40 dollars, can even the most ardent critics pretend that is not a
good gate in this day and age? And on
night two, which insiders thought would have 70 people, they had 50 ringside
and I counted at least 70 MORE. That’s
an over $6000 gate.
And
what are people there to witness? They
are there to be scared. They are there
to feel alive. They are there to feel
proud of the boys. Proud of the
promotion. They are paying for access to
the wrestlers and with one another. The
show that ran a mile away? 20 people
were there for a ticket that was less than half the cost of ICW’s cheapest
seat…or stand, more accurately. And
while the fans at the other show saw some good wrestling, the fans at ICW knew
they were at an orgy of spectacle. Wrestlers from the other show came to check
out ICW, not the other way around. Not one person seemed disappointed that
watched. I can’t remember attending a
live event in recent memory that I could say the same. Everyone at each night of ICW left happy and
sated.
MoreBarthes: “What is portrayed by wrestling is therefore an ideal understanding of
things; it is the euphoria of men raised for a while above the constitutive
ambiguity of everyday situations and placed before the panoramic view of a
univocal Nature, in which signs at last correspond to causes, without obstacle,
without evasion, without contradiction.” Herein lies the appeal of Deathmatch
wrestling. To be sure, most don’t
understand. But the number that do grow
each day, each event, each potentially dangerous spot. Jon Moxley has truly introduced Deathmatch to
a national audience. ICW gets
stronger. The days decades ago when I
would hear about a Weed Wacker used at CZW and how that was going to kill the
business (as I was going through tables, getting hit with 2x4s to my head
unprotected and falling off of balconies and tossing fireballs at women and
getting them tossed back at me) now seemly are charmingly novel as other things
that once foretold the end of the world that now wind up a part of normal live,
even family life. Deathmatch will
someday become Luke Campbell of the 2 Live Crew having a reality show about his
family – it is Guns and Roses playing on the grocery store muzak…or more
accurately through a satellite radio station.
It is the formerly drug-addled tragedy Robert Downey Jr. being Tony
Stark, and the Baddest Man On the Planet Mike Tyson being a voice on a
cartoon. This isn’t to say that
Deathmatch will become soft. It is that
we will crave what it offers. And for
many, they already do. I didn’t see the
absence of what made wrestling great when I was there to witness ICW these last
two nights. I saw elements of what I
loved about pro wrestling presented at the tip of a spear, stabbing me through
whatever intellectual defense of “respect for wrestling” or whatever Jim
Cornette would squawk. I felt in danger,
I was concerned, I was invested. I
marveled at the spots.
I
saw wrestling myths be unmasked.
“Wrestling is like a magic trick.”
That’s stupid. People know how
things are done. Deathmatch forces
belief upon you. “Once you do something
extreme you have to keep topping it.”
Deathmatch rules are complex and ever changing. And when I say “rules” I don’t mean the
created standards of behavior for pro wrestling to mimic a sport. I mean the things that the crowd
acknowledges, and the stories told and understood.
Deathmatch
wrestling is still outlaw and still cool for those that attend. Pro wrestling in general often feels as if
people are enduring or justifying it.
Deathmatch wrestling doesn’t seemingly care about being justified, least
of all for the people that go to watch.
In pro wrestling the line between fan/mark and the wrestlers and
promoters often felt blurred to the point of non-existence. In Deathmatch wrestling it is clear – these
are a special breed of performer. They
are not like us. Or I should say more
accurately, you. And therein lies the strength. Therein lies the line that once existed in
all of pro wrestling. But even if people
in the crowd may LOOK like many of the Deathmatch wrestlers, there is a part of
the mind of the fans that knows that these guys who really do it right – from
acknowledged legends-in-the-making like John Wayne Murdoch, to monsters made
into human flesh like SHLACK to those that vie to gain more in the Deathmatch
world having passed sometimes literal trials by fire like Nolan Edward – that
they are different in mentality, they are willing to hurt more bleed more fight
more risk more than the people watching.
And the people watching love them for the difference, not resent
it.
And, be
honest with yourselves if not to me – can you point to another aspect of pro
wrestling right now where that is the case?
Is anyone truly special? Do
wrestling fans think being a regular ole pro wrestler is unattainable? Do wrestling fans think that they couldn’t
book better?
Deathmatch
wrestling, I now know, IS pro wrestling. And it is here to stay. You can decry it as they once did
rock-and-roll, rap music, tattoos as common expression, swear words, LGBT+
culture, or equality for others as the latest sign of the end of the
(wrestling) world. Or you can try to
marginalize Deathmatch wrestling as “niche” or an abhorrent, unworthy
bastardizing of a pro wrestling ideal.
But the truth is far more frightening for the self-appointed guardians
of the truth of a business that’s always been based on the fake, and has merely
shifted the con from kayfabe to the illusion of wrestling being a unique form
of entertainment. The truth is, the WWE
is not a wrestling company. They are a
television content supplying company ONLY.
AEW gains strength when they perfect the moments and accept a wider net
of what can shock and engage and entertain.
Other wrestling groups are mostly underwater, unseen in a way that
matters, and only occasionally come up for air and be seen and filled with hope
only to slip under the waves again to struggle again for the relevancy and
adoration on the water’s surface.
Deathmatch
wrestling grows. And just as people in
wrestling had to make choices to accept pro wrestling or reject it once the
first guy bounced off of the ropes or threw a dropkick or was Gorgeous George
or publicly hung out with their supposed opponent or did the exact same match
at house shows around the horn or admitted in court it was fake or went online
and thanked their opponent or decried the loss of kayfabe while making a living
analyzing wrestling as a true critic, people in wrestling, fans and others,
have made decisions on when to get off the ride. Deathmatch wrestling is the thing that’s got
the cool new ride feel at the park of pro wrestling. And no matter how much people will try and
bitch, it is here most decidedly to stay in influence if not in practice - not
because it violates what pro wrestling is, but because is it able to invoke the
feelings and adapt to what it takes to manipulate the audience while
simultaneously embracing them that pro wrestling has always(supposedly) been
about.
How many
wrestlers now have read Barthes? How
many will now? Apply a litmus test of
what wrestling is supposed to do, how is it supposed to make you feel, how are
protocols being established and enforced and changed, and you’ll find that
Deathmatch wrestling will surprise you with how much better they address those
things. This doesn’t mean you have to be
a fan. But it does mean that to merely
clutch pearls and complain about Deathmatch out of hand means that you ARE
getting old. In the bad way. You’re the
elders from “Footloose.” You’re the moms
that ban Disney from their houses.
You’re the old men trying to use WAP as a political tool.
Deathmatch
does scare me. It does, at times,
repulse. But damned if it doesn’t make
me feel alive watching it. And it
invites me to want to defend it. And
that is surprising. And if you can
surprise me in a good way? That’s the
first big step to getting to me.
And
finally, to the pro wrestling savvy – many will be tempted to say that “I want
to do one Deathmatch.” Others will say
that they could do Deathmatch easily, since that is just a substitute for “not
being able to work.” To them I say, your
wanting to be a part of it, even to publicly reject, shows the power that
Deathmatch has. It exists and it grows,
and that causes the problems and desires.
But the truth is, that those that want to do one Deathmatch for funsies
aren’t worthy of it. And those that
criticize often fail to understand it and would say that there’s nothing worthy
of understanding anyway. And that shows
that Deathmatch holds another distinction of pro wrestling that the rest of pro
wrestling no LONGER holds. Deathmatch
wrestling is exclusive and strangely selective.
Not everyone can do it. And it is
frightening and threatening. Which makes
it feared. Which makes
it…respected. Will it be loved by pro
wrestling’s fickle community?
Unknown. But it will survive
because it is feared. And it is safer to
be feared than loved. That’s an adage
Deathmatch wrestling understands that pro wrestling has forgotten.
Mythologies by Roland Barthes, translated by Annette Lavers, Hill and Wang, New York, 1984
http://homes.chass.utoronto.ca/~ikalmar/illustex/Barthes-wrestling.htm
