Jack Black may have been onto something a few years back in his movie Nacho Libre. Not just the fact that Lucha Libre is huge in Mexico but the fact that it puts the fun back in wrestling while also injecting it with an air of mystery.
Wrestling has always been about larger than life characters, but there is just something alluring about watching a Lucha Libre match that is quite different from the bouts we see here in the US. Read up on the article below and have some insight into a recent match in Tijuana, Mexico as seen by a writer from Wired Magazine.
Link to original article on Wired.com
When a friend heard I was going to Tijuana one Friday night a few years back, he shook his head and said, “Dude, you’re going to die.” I could only laugh as I said, “Naw, I’m not going to die. I’m going to lucha libre.”
Yes, that’s right, I’m talking about badass pro wrestling, Mexican-style.
As a wee Sol, I was fascinated by the professional wrestling I saw on TV and loved trying to catch them faking the drama. It was like trying to catch Santa (mom) stuffing presents in my stocking. There was something, too, about the crazy costumes and improbable personas that piqued my curiosity.There has in recent years been a plague of violence along the border, and I don’t mean to make light of it. But I figured if I was going to Tijuana looking like a goofy tourist and focusing my attention on the wrestling arena, the greatest threat I’d face would be a flying chair or two. Turned out it wasn’t even that bad. I didn’t even get Montezuma’s revenge.
So you can understand why I’d been wanting to catch lucha libre in TJ for quite some time. I got my chance while chasing down some Weird Sports in SoCal. From downtown San Diego, I took public transportation to the border and wandered along the nutty zig-zag pedestrian walkway across the border.
It’s easy to catch the action. Bouts are held almost every Friday at the Auditorio Municipal Fausto Gutierrez, a mere seven minutes from the border. It’s cheap, too, with tickets starting at five bucks.
I’m still kind of mad at myself for taking French in high school. What a waste. Sure, I can order a café au lait with the best of them, but Spanish would have been so much more useful. Predictably, plenty of people speak English in TJ, including my cabbie, who shuttled me to the auditorium. I found an ATM for some dinero and hopped in line for tickets. Few people were springing for the premier ringside section, so I joined the crowd in the cheap seats. Usually, I’ll try to wrangle a press pass, but sometimes it’s easier to go as a fan with a camera. And more fun. So that’s what I did.
I went through security with my gear with no problems. And then I found myself laughing at all the grown men wearing luchador masks being frisked by federales looking for weapons. It was surreal.
Hey Wiki. I’ve got a question for ya: What’s the story with lucha libre?
Well, Sol, in the early 1900s, professional wrestling was mostly a regional phenomenon in Mexico until Salvador Lutteroth founded the Empresa Mexicana de Lucha Libre (Mexican Wrestling Enterprise) in 1933, giving the sport a national foothold. The promotion company flourished and quickly became the premier spot for wrestlers. As television became a viable entertainment medium during the 1950s, Lutteroth could broadcast wrestling across the nation, subsequently yielding a popularity explosion for the sport. Moreover, the emergence of television allowed Lutteroth to turn lucha libre’s first breakout superstar into a national pop-culture phenomenon.
Thanks Wiki. Very insightful. And what’s the story on the masks?
Good question, man. Masks (máscaras) have been used from the beginning and have a historical significance to Mexico in general, dating to the Aztecs. Early masks were simple, with basic colors to distinguish the wrestler. In modern lucha libre, masks are colorfully designed to evoke the images of animals, gods, ancient heroes and other archetypes, whose identity the luchador assumes during a performance.
One thing I noticed is how family-friendly lucha libre is. Kids stared wide-eyed, mouths agape, at the body-slamming ballet. I’m guessing that’s how I looked when I was their age, watching WWF on the TV. I’ve seen smaller-production lucha Libre in Latino neighborhoods in L.A. and Denver. There’s a sense of love and trust between the wrestlers and the fans, and the whole thing feels like the world’s most awesome family reunion. Kids wander around the ring as sweaty sportsmen make sure not to squish them, even as they taunt fans who usually include their wives. For most of the night, I just wandered around taking photos, admiring the frenzied atmosphere and sipping on my namesake cerveza. Yep, living large.
After the bout, I caught a cab and returned back to the border after stopping for some amazing tacos. When I approached the American border officer, he looked at me straight faced and asked “Do you have anything to declare?”
“Definitely,” I said. “I declare I had a great time.”
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| Jack Black in Nacho Libre |
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| Various Lucha Libre posters from events in Reno, Nevada |
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| Luchadores masks at a market in Mexico |
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| Lucha Libre - Heros of the Ring advertising |
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| Lucha Libre ring girl |
When a friend heard I was going to Tijuana one Friday night a few years back, he shook his head and said, “Dude, you’re going to die.” I could only laugh as I said, “Naw, I’m not going to die. I’m going to lucha libre.”
Yes, that’s right, I’m talking about badass pro wrestling, Mexican-style.
As a wee Sol, I was fascinated by the professional wrestling I saw on TV and loved trying to catch them faking the drama. It was like trying to catch Santa (mom) stuffing presents in my stocking. There was something, too, about the crazy costumes and improbable personas that piqued my curiosity.There has in recent years been a plague of violence along the border, and I don’t mean to make light of it. But I figured if I was going to Tijuana looking like a goofy tourist and focusing my attention on the wrestling arena, the greatest threat I’d face would be a flying chair or two. Turned out it wasn’t even that bad. I didn’t even get Montezuma’s revenge.
So you can understand why I’d been wanting to catch lucha libre in TJ for quite some time. I got my chance while chasing down some Weird Sports in SoCal. From downtown San Diego, I took public transportation to the border and wandered along the nutty zig-zag pedestrian walkway across the border.
It’s easy to catch the action. Bouts are held almost every Friday at the Auditorio Municipal Fausto Gutierrez, a mere seven minutes from the border. It’s cheap, too, with tickets starting at five bucks.
I’m still kind of mad at myself for taking French in high school. What a waste. Sure, I can order a café au lait with the best of them, but Spanish would have been so much more useful. Predictably, plenty of people speak English in TJ, including my cabbie, who shuttled me to the auditorium. I found an ATM for some dinero and hopped in line for tickets. Few people were springing for the premier ringside section, so I joined the crowd in the cheap seats. Usually, I’ll try to wrangle a press pass, but sometimes it’s easier to go as a fan with a camera. And more fun. So that’s what I did.
I went through security with my gear with no problems. And then I found myself laughing at all the grown men wearing luchador masks being frisked by federales looking for weapons. It was surreal.
Hey Wiki. I’ve got a question for ya: What’s the story with lucha libre?
Well, Sol, in the early 1900s, professional wrestling was mostly a regional phenomenon in Mexico until Salvador Lutteroth founded the Empresa Mexicana de Lucha Libre (Mexican Wrestling Enterprise) in 1933, giving the sport a national foothold. The promotion company flourished and quickly became the premier spot for wrestlers. As television became a viable entertainment medium during the 1950s, Lutteroth could broadcast wrestling across the nation, subsequently yielding a popularity explosion for the sport. Moreover, the emergence of television allowed Lutteroth to turn lucha libre’s first breakout superstar into a national pop-culture phenomenon.
Thanks Wiki. Very insightful. And what’s the story on the masks?
Good question, man. Masks (máscaras) have been used from the beginning and have a historical significance to Mexico in general, dating to the Aztecs. Early masks were simple, with basic colors to distinguish the wrestler. In modern lucha libre, masks are colorfully designed to evoke the images of animals, gods, ancient heroes and other archetypes, whose identity the luchador assumes during a performance.
One thing I noticed is how family-friendly lucha libre is. Kids stared wide-eyed, mouths agape, at the body-slamming ballet. I’m guessing that’s how I looked when I was their age, watching WWF on the TV. I’ve seen smaller-production lucha Libre in Latino neighborhoods in L.A. and Denver. There’s a sense of love and trust between the wrestlers and the fans, and the whole thing feels like the world’s most awesome family reunion. Kids wander around the ring as sweaty sportsmen make sure not to squish them, even as they taunt fans who usually include their wives. For most of the night, I just wandered around taking photos, admiring the frenzied atmosphere and sipping on my namesake cerveza. Yep, living large.
After the bout, I caught a cab and returned back to the border after stopping for some amazing tacos. When I approached the American border officer, he looked at me straight faced and asked “Do you have anything to declare?”
“Definitely,” I said. “I declare I had a great time.”
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| Lucha Libre in Tijuana, Mexico |
