Mexican wrestling, known as Luche or Luche Libre in the local tongue, whenever I have researched a trip to Mexico it is listed by many as a "must see". I had, on previous visits, never been able to work it into my plans. On this trip I was determined not to miss it.
In Guadalajara the shows are scheduled every Tuesday and Sunday. I Uber to the rather sketchy area where the arena is located. The driver asks me a question, in Spanish, which ends with the word Coliseo, the name of the arena. I conclude, due to the final word, he is asking me if I am headed to the arena. "Si" I reply. "Ah Luche", he says with a grin.
There is a festival atmosphere in the open air entrance to the arena. Trademark Luchador masks are being sold by entrepreneurs carrying tall wooden poles with row after row of the colorful masks hanging from crossbars. People are laughing and joking, intent on having a good time. I purchase my ticket, cash only, front row, it costs the equivalent of about $17. I, as everyone else entering the arena, am patted down by security as I go through the turnstiles, enter the indoor portion of the arena and find my seat.
Due to the erratic nature of my travel over the last 2 days I had not had an opportunity to eat correctly and am also somewhat dehydrated. I purchased a very full cup of very tart melon, one of a number of offerings of food and drink carried by vendors working the growing crowd.
The lights dim and a row of women in skimpy attire and ludicrously high platform shoes form a line on one side of a ramp leading from backstage to the ring in the center of the room. A chubby announcer in a too small suit enters the ring, grabs a mike and the fun begins. As the wrestlers are announced they run down the ramp, jump into the ring, leap onto the ropes by the turnbuckles and raise their arms in the air to the cheers, and occasionally jeers, of the audience. It is a spectacle of bright, colored, flashing lights, bright, sometimes ridiculous costumes and admirable athleticism. The performers, really, this is as carefully choreographed as a ballet, range from paragons of rippling, muscled masculinity to slightly overweight types one might expect to see drinking too much beer in a neighborhood bar. The "good guys", whose corner I was seated behind, trended toward the aforementioned muscled types. They displayed their gym built bodies and bodacious backsides in colorful tights or trunks, eschewing unnecessary clothing items such as shirts. The "bad guys" tended to be more full figured, their darker and more modest attire a sharp counterpoint to the flashy, more revealing fashion choices of their counterparts.
They flip, flop and chop each other. Even though the matches are choreographed, there are loud bangs as large backs make contact with the floor of the ring and occasional thwacks as solid pecs are struck by meaty forearms. Much of the action takes place outside of the ring. As the Luchadors, as the wrestlers are refereed to, "throw" each other through the ropes of the ring, they follow them and continue to do battle within a foot of the attendees in the front row or chase each other up the aisles. The matches are fast paced and occasionally chaotic. They follow one after another at almost breakneck speed. They are silly, entertaining and a surprising amount of fun. The costumes are a kaleidoscope of capes, some looking as if they were made from drapes, metallic warm up jackets with the name of the wrestler emblazoned on its back, worn with matching tights and boots, ass hugging trunks and of course the ubiquitous masks. One, billed as a sort of jungle man, appeared in leopard print trunks and horns in his long, curly mass of hair. He did remove the horns before the match began.
A great time was being had by all until.......
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