I can’t remember exactly when my old colleague Scott and I became aware of our shared passion for professional wrestling. It may have been when I wore my vintage “Hustle Loyalty Respect” cap for our school’s hat day. We exchanged a few obscure references that only seasoned smart marks would recognize and were allies in the trenches until I got a transfer to a different school and rode off into the sunset.
Scott told me he had done a little ring announcing back in the day. “Promoting, really,” he said mysteriously, but didn’t elaborate. I was intrigued! I invited him to the 907 shows when I was announcing but he was still avoiding gatherings. To my delight, he found me in the chairs at the recent WrestlePro Alaska show. I regaled him with all the local backstory and he came at me with inside jokes and clever analysis as we watched the most compelling WrestlePro Alaska production I’ve seen since before the pandemic.
I hadn’t even told Scott about this blog when we worked together as I was still wallowing in a brutal four-year writer’s block, the one I broke through so spectacularly this past summer. Before the WrestlePro show was over, I handed him the URL for this scandalous project written on some mangled scrap of paper I found in my purse and with an ancient sharpie I had in there for some reason. A few days later he dropped this wonderful little piece in my email . .
Being a legit former military chaplain (CPT [Separated)], my Iraq deployments fight with my seminary days over who will be featured in any given nightmare. Wrestling, however, has always been good to me.
Like organized religion, wrestling has been a large part of rural Midwestern culture since the 1950’s. My family was no exception. On a Sunday morning after church, one of my grandfathers and I explored the roles played by wrestling’s good guys, bad guys (particularly foreigners), and “losers.” My other grandfather was an even more regular viewer.
The old AWA territory had going for it that not much happened during the long winters. My hobby became ice-fishing, but my passion was watching pro wrestling. In the 1980’s, cable TV opened my world to Georgia, Florida, NWA, and World Class. The UWF tried to go national on the local stations while the WWF succeeded seemingly everywhere.
When I received my first parish assignment, I had access to a gymnasium. Thank God my supervising pastor had been a wrestling fan too, growing up. A classmate of his had opened a wrestling school with an attached promotion. I contracted with him to put on a fundraiser. Even without big-name established stars, I sold 900 tickets (more than most ECW shows I am quick to add) and netted thousands for our parish school. Being the only show open during a 20-below blizzard helped sales, even if it reduced turnout. The federation’s owner let me ring announce the co-main event. Even my pastor took a lap inside the ring with our ring-girls, who had the night off from the local “establishment.” I was happy-tired putting away chairs past 2AM that night and could check off forever my dream job as a promoter.
Moving to Alaska for civilian-secular work, I have had to cut back on many of the comforts of the lower 48. For a while, watching UFC and practicing HEMA satisfied my inclination for hand-to-hand contests. The pandemic shutdown didn’t help matters. But I did head to downtown Anchorage for the October 1stWrestlePro Alaska card. Guru Diamond Dallas Page was there with new health protégé Buff Bagwell. Especially after the scares and losses of this year, I was so glad to see “Marcus Alexander” in good spirits and improving condition. Since he was working face, I forgive him for not using his crutch as a foreign object during his “match.” I got to see Jay Lethal perform, and I swear he did his “Machismo” gesture on the top turnbuckle just because he saw me signal for it. The last highlight of the night was Orange Cassidy’s move set where coming off the top turnbuckle, cries of “Please, don’t die” become “Please, don’t try.”
The best highlight was a wrestling conversation, the likes of which I had not experienced since high school. I had been cooped up too long, and appreciated the update from a former coworker who also still teaches in the area. I have since found her blog. The articles highlight not only the local wrestling scene but also detail how wrestling is life. Her feminist philosophy comes through. My own religious psychology may be from a contrasting perspective, but neither can hide that we both are life-long smart marks at heart.
–Father Scott
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