My Wrestling Manifesto

I've been watching wrestling for as long as I can remember. My grandfather was a wrestling fan. Back when the World Wrestling Federation was just becoming a national empire, my grandfather would have my brother and I over to his house to watch every pay-per-view. Watching Wrestlemania, SummerSlam, Survivor Series, and the Royal Rumble was a treat that I looked forward to and I would get anxious in the 3 or so months in between each event. He would heat up frozen pizza and we would sit down to watch Demolition, Hacksaw Jim Duggan, the Legion of Doom, and even the Gobbledy Gooker. Occasionally, when he didn't have the money to order the PPV, we would sit there and watch static as Gorilla Monsoon, Bobby "the Brain" Heenan, Jesse "the Body" Ventura, or even Lord Alfred Hayes would describe what was happening in vivid detail, as if they knew we couldn't make out what was on screen.

When my grandfather passed in 1991, I continued watching wrestling, even if only to honor him in some way. In fact, it grew to be an obsession of mine. I would watch every episode of Superstars, Saturday Night Main Event, and even began watching WCW Saturday Night. This was the time when the characters became a bit cartoonish, but at the age of 8, the line between fantasy and reality was still blurry. I thought The Undertaker would never be defeated. I was so afraid of Papa Shango that I feared that black ooze would begin to pour out of my wrists at any moment.

As I grew older, I realized that wrestling was just stories acted out for my entertainment. I, however, didn't care. Even at age 11 I could tell that when Monday Night Raw and Monday Nitro debuted that things were changing. The Aldo Montoyas and Max Moons of the world gave way to the Attitude Era and the NWO. When Rocky Maivia, Bret Hart, and Hulk Hogan turned heel, I turned heel. I rooted for the antagonists and it just felt right. As the Attitude Era started to wind down and the Invasion began, I started to drift away from the squared circle.

After a 6 or so year hiatus, I made my triumphant return to the biz. But, as often happens in wrestling, all the faces (and heels for that matter) had changed. But so had my interests. I didn't really care so much about the main event scene. I didn't see John Cena, Randy Orton, and Batista rise to the top like I did HBK and HHH.

My focus is now on transition, trying to spot a push or a future story line in its infancy. If you need examples of what I'm talking about, try these. Chris Jericho changes from the man of 1,004 holds to Nick Bockwinkle, ECW becomes the Nexus, CM Punks kills Jeff Hardy, the Evolution of Cody Rhodes, TNA is WCW without the TV deal, and how to ruin any good heel: the crowd-forced face turn. While my counterpart on this blog @Garytt waits to catch lightning in a bottle, I'm on the lookout for the spark that lights the fire.

My Wresting Manifesto

My first memory of a pro wrestling event was one that I didn’t get to attend. One of my three older brothers had won a four-pack of tickets to a WWF house show in Portland, ME. I must have been no older than 5 or 6 at the time, but I remember watching “WWF Superstars” with them, and was obviously insanely jealous that I couldn’t go to the show. When they came home, this jealousy just got that much worse. Not only did they get tickets to the show, but they also got into a backstage meet-and-greet with some of the wrestlers. I remember one of my brothers even brought home an autographed picture that one of the wrestlers had drawn for him!

Amongst many other things, I know two vital pieces of information that I didn’t know then:

a) the picture was terrible. It was a stick-figure bird that didn’t look a damn thing like a bird. Or much of anything.

b) It was drawn by Koko B. Ware. Which explains the bird. It also explains why I shouldn’t have cared nearly as much as I did.

But here’s the thing about pro wrestling for a kid: it’s a form of entertainment that contains everything you could love from comics, TV, movies or sports – over-the-top characters, epic battles of good versus evil, great sports action – nowadays, that includes people doing some absolutely INSANE spots. Bright lights, flashy superhero-esque costumes. It had everything. What wasn’t to love? So when my brothers came home with stuff from the wrestlers, that was a huge deal. Also keep in mind that to a kid, all things on TV are created equal. A huge movie star is akin to a second-string athlete is akin to the local news anchor is akin to a mid-card-at-best pro wrestler. There’s no difference – they’re all celebrities.

Obviously, my perspective now is much different than it was then. I still get a kick out of the storylines and the characters, but I’m as interested in the presentation and the business aspect of things – as much as will become public knowledge, at least. But the thing that has never left me is a never-ending appreciation for what these guys and gals do. They’re always on. Unlike TV shows or “legitimate” sports, wrestling has no season. They don’t get to turn off their character and take six weeks off once shooting is done or once the season finale airs, and their press obligations are done. These people are on the road 50 weeks out of the year. And if you look into the charity work that a lot of them do in addition, they are as giving with their time as anyone you’ll ever meet. I’ve no doubt this is a labor of love for most of them, and you can’t help but respect that.

CM Punk recently said that he’s “here to make this shit cool again.” I don’t know if it’s quite there yet, but who cares? I’ve never seen a group of entertainers more passionate about what they do, or more excited to share it with their fans. There’s a connection there that other outlets can’t quite capture – they don’t have quite the right blend. It’s time once again for pro wrestling to be on equal footing with the rest of the entertainment world, and to regain the respect it deserves. I hope we can help with that. Enjoy.

My Wrestling Manifesto

My first memory of professional wrestling feels like just yesterday. Having been born in 1986 with two older brothers, you would think that my first wrestling memory involved Hulk Hogan, Macho Man Randy Savage, or the Ultimate Warrior. However, being in a family without cable television, it took a while before I was exposed to professional wrestling. I remember borrowing a video tape from a friend. On that tape was SummerSlam 1994. From that moment on, I was hooked. I watched Bret Hart battle his brother Owen Hart in a Steel Cage Match for the WWF Championship. I would sit at the dinner table and talk to my mother about the storyline. Owen, the jealous younger brother betrayed his older brother Bret after years of resentment. My Mom smiled and found comfort in the fact that maybe, just maybe I could learn a lesson from these crazy storylines.

In the summer of 1996, my parents bought me tickets to finally go see my first live event. It was not a pay-per-view or Monday Night Raw, but rather a house show (non-televised event) in Providence, RI. I saw The Undertaker battle Mankind, Steve Austin fight Savio Vega, and Shawn Michaels go head to head with Vader.

We first got cable television in my house in 1997. My birthday coincides with WrestleMania every year (a fact that I believe contributes to my longstanding connection with the sport). I begged my parents to let me order WrestleMania 13, an event that would go down in history as the night Stone Cold Steve Austin became the “Toughest S.O.B” and Bret Hart turned his back on the fans turning heel. A graphic popped up on the screen. WrestleMania XIV would be held at the FleetCenter (now the TD Banknorth Garden) in Boston, MA in 1998. I begged and pleaded to go. My mother then uttered a sentence that will stick with me forever, “Let’s just wait. Who knows? In a year, you might not even like this stuff anymore.” Well Mom, 17 years after my first encounter with professional wrestling, and I am still here. In 1998, for my 12^th birthday, I sat in the 11^th row next to my Dad and watched Stone Cold Steve Austin win his first WWF Championship. A night I will never forget.

Professional wrestling is a performance art. I watch a wrestling match the same way I watch a ballet at a theatre downtown. Sure, some of the story lines can be over the top and warrant excessive eye rolls and shaking your head. I sit through the ninety nine lack luster performances in hopes of experiencing one match that captures that “lightning in a bottle” type brilliance that keeps me watching. Much like ballerinas, pro-wrestlers enter a ring and tell a story with their bodies. They get no second takes. They put their bodies on the line in hopes of bringing a crowd to their feet and hearing them pop with excitement. They are performers. I love watching them perform and I am not alone.

The goal of The Near Fall Journal is to create a place where you can read intelligent articles analyzing the present happenings in pro-wrestling while also looking back at the past and appreciating classic moments, matches, and performers that will live forever. I hope you have as much fun reading as we will writing. 

My Wrestling Manifesto

I have been a fan of Professional Wrestling since I was 4 years old (1991). 4 years old is also when my Professional Wrestling career took off. I believe I still hold the record for most victories over that couch pillow (before I was screwed out of the title at "Summerswam" by my cat, Daisy, arguably the worst special guest referee in history).

Wrestling, and the way I experience it, is all about live performance. Live performance by THE GREATEST ATHLETES IN THE WORLD. Some of the greatest PERFORMERS in the world. Without an OUNCE of RESPECT from the general public.

It is about moments of greatness. For me, it's not only about the current product/ storyline, but about the total equation. Like anything else in sports OR performance art, it isn't what's on the surface. The surface is merely the destination. Derek Jeter didn't start with 3,000 hits.

I'm interested in the journey. The journey of men (and a few women) who give their entire life to the mastery of an art, knowing they'll never be considered artists. Athletes who have trained their bodies to do impossible things only to be called fake.

All of it. for fleeting moments of greatness. To entertain us. The minority brave enough to call ourselves "wrestling fans" and shout it to the heavens. We share a very powerful experience.

I'd like to thank Edge for summing up my thoughts on wrestling just a few months ago. During his final farewell address, a career cut short by injuries suffered from a lifetime of tremendous sacrifice, he ran back up the ramp...wanting to do his entrance one last time. One last eruption through the curtain. One last explosion of energy from the fans.