Satellite
  • Day 22

    Rasslin'!

    January 3, 2020 in Mexico ⋅ ⛅ 14 °C

    If there's one thing that every tour guide and blog say you must do in Mexico City, it is to attend a night at the fights. Not just any fights, but the Mexican version of the WWF, Lucha Libre, where the majority of the combatants are masked and sport all sort of colorful costumes.

    Lucha libre differs from the WWF in that the majority of the matches were two or three member tag team, best of three fall battles. The referee seemed to be in the ring only to count "uno, dos, tres" as at times all the wrestlers were in the ring at the same time with no intervention by the ref.

    But what sets this variety of the sport so far apart from the Hulk Hogan version is the level of acrobacy practiced by the fighters. These very large men and women were continuously flying through the air, turning cartwheels and leaping from the top rope to crush their opponents. They would fling each other about the ring, delivering thunderous slaps to the face and wrapping their legs around each others necks before performing a twisting maneuver to spin their adversary to the mat.

    The Mexican fans are rabid for the sport. About half of the crowd in the jam-packed arena was wearing a replica mask of their favorite fighter. When the bad guys would win a fall, there were loud choruses of boos and whistles, but when the good guys took a match, the cheers were deafening.

    We were seated next to the broadcast booth and even one of the commentators was masked. We figure he must have been a retired wrestler who provides insider color commentary for the broadcast. Of course. His true identity must remain a secret.

    In fact, the worst thing that can happen to a luchador is to have his mask removed. This occurred on two occasions on this night and both were met with audible collective gasps from the audience as the fighter struggled to conceal his face while attempting to retrieve his mask.

    The women wrestlers may have been female, but they surely were not ladies. The bad gals were every bit as vicious, acrobatic and ruthless as their male counterparts.

    The whole spectacle lasted just a little over two hours and provided the best entertainment bang for the buck I've ever had.

    I will surely return to the arena on my next visit to Mexico city and, who knows, maybe I'll even spring for a mask and call myself "The Roch"!
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