Is it ever ok to beat up children? As a high school teacher my job is dependent on avoiding that impulse. The law unequivocally sets in stone its unacceptability, even if the child in question is the fruit of your own loins. On the mats preying on the young is something that is most definitely frowned upon too. Although, jiu-jitsu offers ample opportunity for the opposite, I have spent an inordinate amount of time being beaten down and humbled by ‘mere children’; last year, I spent eight weeks on the shelf after having my ribs broken by a fourteen-year-old. In pro-wrestling, at last, I found a medium where it is perfectly acceptable to kick the shit out of kids, or at the very least simulate doing so.
Beginning my pro-wrestling training, I discovered very quickly that it’s something, which, on the whole appeals to young dudes. In comparison with BJJ which attracts both those who fear the mirror’s reflection and its daily promise of more wrinkles and grey hair as well as spritely young cats to whom immortality seems certain. Professional wrestling is the proverbial young-man’s game; training with young teens and being questioned on whether I own a ‘fidget spinner’ could not make me feel more old.
West Yorkshire based promotion UKW provides an excellent service in training young grapplers and getting them ready for the ring. Each month they put on their own junior show pairing young students with opponents of a similar experience level. This gives them an opportunity to hone their skills by performing in front of a small audience made up of family and friends. While definitely not a junior, I was looking for as much ring experience as possible and thus jumped at the invitation to perform on one such show when asked by my instructor.
I was to have a match with a trainee named Zenith, who at only fourteen-years-old already had two years of experience. An initial issue arose while planning the match, by virtue of the fact we were both heels – he was a ‘chicken-shit heel’ that relied upon nefarious antics to win, while, I played a badass heel that choked cats out. We essentially planned a glorified squash match – whereby I would handily beat him using my grappling-based move-set. He would use his underhanded tactics to get a couple of ‘hope’ spots in before I relieved him of his consciousness. I thought it was a concise little match that effectively told a story. Unfortunately, it was a story that nobody wanted to hear.
We were put in the main event of the show – which, as it turned out was a death kiss. The problem being, the penultimate contest had seen two talented high flying teens, who were going all out in an athletic back and forth contest, with acrobatics galore, and a clear hero and villain. The crowd ate up what was a really fun match. Watching in the back and knowing I was expected to follow that, I was consumed with impending dread.
I’d heard from a number of different sources, it was more difficult wrestling in front of a small audience – to me this seemed oxymoronic – less people should in theory mean less pressure. I couldn’t have been more wrong. I could viscerally feel the mood of the sparse crowd, and it was not positive. When people would comment on a crowd being ‘flat’, I had no real understanding of what this really meant – I certainly found out that night. The crowd of about twenty-five parents treated me with complete apathy. In an art form where success is predicated upon eliciting a reaction (positive or negative), it really doesn’t get any worse than that.
In hindsight, two bad guys wrestling, left no-one for the crowd to become invested in, they had just seen kids doing back-flips; watching a dude slowly contort another’s limbs failed to compel them in any meaningful way. Perhaps more importantly they had no interest in seeing a grown man aggressively beating up a helpless teenager!
Famed wrestling journalist / historian Dave Meltzer often refers to Terry Funk and his innate gift for sensing the mood of an audience. Funk was able to switch up matches on the fly, when he felt they weren’t resonating with those in attendance. He would ‘call an audible’ to his opponent and they would pursue another avenue to engage the crowd. That is all very well and good for the ole Funker, who has over fifty years of in-ring experience – I was in my second ever match and I was yet to acquire this skill. It didn’t take a wrestling savant like Funk to ascertain that my match was dying a death, but I just carried on and suffered through the entire thing conscious of the fact, yet unable to do anything about it.
Rather than acting magnanimously upon my ‘hard-fought’ victory, I cut a promo deriding my opponent and the crowd, who by this point I honestly despised. They still didn’t give a shit, in fact half of them left while I was in the middle of it. My self-esteem was literally in the toilet.
The biggest highlight of the night for me came when one of the young grapplers told his adversary to “smell my victory”. Unless his opponent was suffering from an acute form of Synaesthesia such a request would be physically impossible, but, nevertheless, it was a hilarious way to tell someone they’re a loser!
That night was definitely a learning curve, a resounding failure, no doubt the first of many in my foray into the world of professional wrestling. I certainly discovered that beating up kids is not as satisfying as one would imagine.
Check it out below in all its glory: