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 Click for sports events Lords of the Ring The fellowship of foes on the indy wrestling circuit
It's about an hour before bell time and the AWA Slam locker room is
brimming with activity.
"You got some rubber bands to hold up these fucking pants?" Dante
DVS asks. He clutches the waistband of his cream-colored sweats,
squeezing the elastic to pull it tight around his hips. He glances to
his right, where Wille "Da Bomb" Richardson looks on.
"And he broke the drawstring already," Richardson says. He shakes
his head at Dante's wardrobe malfunction, but rummages through his
suitcase to see if he can help.
At the other end of the room, the burly Buddha the Beast sits in a
chair, with the equally burly Fatal kneeling before him. Fatal tilts
his
chin up, holding his face still while Buddha gently brushes a line of
black face paint along his cheekbone.
Other men mill about as well, all in various states of undress. AWA
World Heavyweight champion Steve Corino tugs on a pair of red socks.
Eddie Venom hunches forward, lacing up a pair of vinyl boots. Referee
Steve Cain pulls a black-and-white vertical striped shirt over his
head.
All the while the room buzzes with laughter and chatter, sounds that do
not cease until the wrestlers are gathered for a quick meeting.
They form a tight circle, becoming a collective mass of muscle and
tattoos. This circle parts momentarily, making room for AWA Slam
promoter Ray Cortese and AWA CEO Dale Gagne. Each man addresses the
group, going over their expectations for the night's performance.
"Are we going out together?" Gagne asks, urging unity among men
who, in a few minutes, will be working to convince spectators that they
hate each other. The wrestlers are quiet, but they nod in the
affirmative. Cortese motions for everyone to step forward and extend an
arm, so the group can place their hands atop each other at the
circle's
center. They hold that pose for a minute, and then throw their arms up,
letting loose an excited war whoop. With that, the expectations have
been set, and everyone is ready to entertain the sold-out crowd of
approximately 500 people.
Pro wrestling has seen its share of highs and lows, and has watched
the general public's level of interest wax and wane ever since Vince
McMahon came into prominence with World Wrestling Entertainment,
previously known as the World Wrestling Federation. But it has always
had an avid following in Chicago, and AWA Slam is one of many
independently operated wrestling federations running shows in the area
on a regular basis. These organizations, which include companies such
as
All American Wrestling (AAW), Independent Wrestling Association (IWA)
Midsouth, and Windy City Pro Wrestling (WCPW), compete for a steady
base, and generally use a rotating talent roster as well as a handful
of
mainstays--booking wrestlers event by event to appear at their bouts.
Certain feds attract a very particular fan base--IWA Midsouth, for
example, used to attract a slew of fanboys enamored with light tubes
and
thumbtacks, standard props in the pro wrestling ring--but others seek
to
attract the casual wrestling fan, a diverse group of men, women and
children who enjoy the programming put on by WWE or its closest rival
Total Nonstop Action (TNA), but find themselves drawn to indy shows
because tickets are less expensive and tend to be held in more intimate
settings (park-district buildings, hotel ballrooms, National Guard
Armories) that make it easy to interact with the wrestlers.
In many ways, the shows put on by AWA Slam are not unlike those
performed by a theater troupe. Once a month, the wrestlers travel to
venues around Illinois, putting on a show that is a mixture of high
drama and physical comedy. They assume personas that draw on classic
archetypes: portraying heroes (AWA Slam Heavyweight Champion "Suicide
King" Nikki Sixx), villains (Team Dammit), warriors (Tim "Iceman"
Norton), tricksters ("The Nerd" Gilbert Lewis). But unlike theater,
wrestling performance carries great physical risk, and can take an
enormous toll on the performer's body.
"I don't know why all of us are stupid enough to do this," Diego
Corleone admits. "And we all are stupid because the amount of work
that
you put in for this in comparison to the amount of time that you
actually get in the ring is ridiculous. The only wrestlers who wrestle
on a constant basis right now are maybe [those working for] Ring of
Honor and WWE and TNA. Other than that there's really not too many
constants. And the time that you put in to learn the craft, get your
body into a certain physical condition, learn the trade, watch video,
and build yourself up by word of mouth...for all the work that you put
in, the time that you actually get out there is very minimal."
Corleone has been wrestling since 2002, and has become known
throughout the Chicago wrestling community due to his work with
multiple
local federations. He has recently been made AWA Slam's head trainer
and has high hopes for success on a national level.
"I got into this because that's my dream," Corleone says. He fell
in love with wrestling when he was seven, after watching the cartoon
"Hulk Hogan's Rock N' Wrestling" on Saturday-morning TV. Corleone
was captivated by the show's larger-than-life personalities, such as
Rowdy Roddy Piper, Macho Man and the Junkyard Dog. "When I was a kid,
I
got picked on," he explains. "And I thought, if I was like these
guys,
kids wouldn't pick on me."
Years later, Corleone plays a heel, a character even meaner than the
worst of the bullies he encountered in grade school. Corleone prides
himself on getting under people's skin, and loves to antagonize the
fans sitting at ringside.
"I enjoy doing that much more [than being a fan favorite]. You have
a wide variety of things that you can pull off."
Some people have taken his antics, which include taunting children,
name-calling and using paper bags to cover the heads of unattractive
women, a little too seriously. Reactions include beer throwing,
spitting
and death threats. But Diego takes this all in stride, and considers it
proof that he is an effective worker.
"It's like playing a character in a movie. You try to get them [the
fans] involved, you try to get them emotionally in tune with the match.
Either they love you or they hate you. You try to evoke some sort of
emotion, and that's when you know you succeed. Or at least, that's
what I try to do."
Other wrestlers use different means to capture a crowd's attention.
Alto, a 19-year-old cruiserweight wears a colorful mask reminiscent of
those worn by Mexican Lucha Libre, and bounces off the ropes--flipping
and flying through the air in execution of death-defying moves.
"With two little guys, people don't want to see a headlock for ten
minutes," Alto says.
Ring veterans, on the other hand, prefer to utilize the slower-paced
old-school style. Steve Cain, who has refereed various independent
wrestling promotions for more than 15 years, insists that this method,
which combines the use of complicated holds and ring psychology, is
just
as effective at keeping an audience's attention.
"Wrestling is an art of illusion--professional wrestling, done
right, gives the illusion that someone is getting torn apart limb from
limb. And those people in those seats are actually believing that
that's happening. If you can cause them to suspend their disbelief for
two hours, you have done your job."
But an indy wrestler's work doesn't end once the final bell has
rung. To gain recognition, members of the AWA Slam roster must also
make
efforts to promote themselves elsewhere, and many cultivate working
relationships with other promotions' talent coordinators while working
day jobs for steady income. They send highlight videos throughout
Chicago and across state lines in an attempt to attract attention for
their performances, and also secure in-ring work through networking or
word-of-mouth. The ultimate goal is to gain a level of visibility that
will allow them to score a steady stream of bookings throughout the US
and other countries, or gain an exclusive contract with WWE or other
national groups that offer lucrative paydays.
N8 Matteson, Eddie Venom and Noah Lott have worked for AWA Slam, but
are all based out of Michigan. They make a five- to six-hour trek to
Chicago whenever the call comes for an appearance, and enjoy being
involved in the wrestling culture.
Venom runs a hand through his spiky blond hair, saying, "You always
think, man, I should be doing something different with my life, and the
next weekend comes and you're still at a show anyway."
Matteson agrees. "Half the time you lose money, but it's all worth
it, it's just [for] the fun of it. Being with your friends, being on
the road..."
This nomadic lifestyle requires wrestlers to sacrifice time normally
spent with family members and significant others. They form surrogate
families with their traveling buddies, forging a series of close-knit
relationships. For the most part, all the wrestlers give each other
friendship and respect and their experiences together are looked upon
with great fondness.
Steve Gilgorovic, who wrestles under the name Adrenalin and has been
living this lifestyle for seventeen years, sums it up. "Some of the
stories you could tell, I mean, we could sit here and write a book. The
fun part is hitting the road, staying in hotels that a roach probably
wouldn't even want to stay in. There's ups, there's downs, but the
quality of friends is good, and this business is like a drug."
Steve Cain has experienced many of these ups and downs with
Gilgorovic, and he enthusiastically agrees. "I like to tell people
that
wrestling is my wife and that my wife is my mistress. Sometimes she
doesn't like that fact. But it's the honest to god truth."
It's hard to imagine that a business all about glorifying aggression
and ego could foster such a sense of camaraderie, but another peek in
the AWA Slam locker room reveals exactly that. Several guys who have
already competed in the ring sit in chairs surrounding a TV monitor,
watching Corleone's match intently. Behind them, Willie Richardson
sits
on the floor, while his tag-team partner Trauma shows concern over a
gash splitting the skin on Richardson's elbow. And Don T. Trust, the
man who poses as Team Dammit's legal advisor, shows off his dented
briefcase, laughing even though the damage was caused when one of his
team's opponents used it to smack him in the head.
"I got it on eBay," he says. "No big deal."
When the show ends, most of the locker room makes a beeline for Pal
Joey's, the lounge and steakhouse adjacent to the Comfort Suites
ballroom where they just performed. In street clothes, the wrestlers go
unnoticed, just an athletic-looking group of men and women. They enjoy
some food, a few drinks and each other's company. At the next show,
they will come together and do it again, this fellowship of men and
women dedicated to the simple pleasures of beating each other to a
pulp.
Also by Jenny Seay Silver Hairs and Super Villians
Stalking Jerome
Personal paparazzi
Just do it
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