Invisible Friends

There's an amazing amount of hubris in wrestling. And by hubris I mean ancient Greek, Oedipus Rex level hybris. There are people who believe that the show begins and ends with themselves. For awhile, I thought that people like this were putting on an outward act of arrogance, in an attempt to get other people to believe them. But it wasn't long before I realised that "oh no, they really believe it, don't they?" It's these people whom I want to mind-jack. It's a mentality that's fascinating - in the same way that documentaries about serial killers are.

In abstract, these type of people are, at best, quaint, comic figures; in person, they're an endurance test.

I actually try to avoid talking about this type of person, most of the time. The simple reason is that they crave attention, and have little misgivings if it's positive or negative - the important thing is that they are being discussed.

Why bring it up here, then? Is this the point in my life where I burn the small bridges that I have in British wrestling? No (I will do that in good time). The important thing to point out is that you - yes, you - are not the sole reason that the show was as good as it was.

This weekend gone, I was reminded how much I owe to people that nobody else notices.

I can't remember where I heard it first, but I've heard it repeated quite a few times: "the sign of a good referee, is that you don't notice he's there". This is true of everyone whose job doesn't involve wearing spandex.

There are so many little things to be done, on even the smallest of shows. If these things are done correctly, then nobody will be thanked for a job well done; if something fucks up, then somebody will not hear the end of it. The best example I can think of, is music. Music, for me, is when the match begins and ends. It acts as your introduction and also signals that the referee did, indeed, count three. I hate it when something as simple as music messes up. It makes me want to grab the sound guy, shake him about, and shout "YOU HAD ONE JOB! ONE JOB!"

I've yet to assault any music men, but I've also yet to thank any of them, too. I'm not even sure how they'd react if I did approached them and said "thank you for playing my music correctly". If anything, they'd probably assume I was making fun. So let this be my unspoken nod to everyone who continues to do their job correctly, and type the pleasure, the privilege is mine.

Ideas Man

One of the biggest joys I've had in wrestling, was when another wrestler asked "how did you think that up?" Referencing a maneuver which had me jumping over the top rope, into the ring, catching the back of my fallen opponent, rolling through, and landing in a sleeper hold, with both hooks (or "feet," as they're more widely named) in position. The only thing I could say in response, when asked, was that I'd been taught how to flip an opponent over when you already have control of their back, and that I could visualise it working from a flip into the ring, too. It just made sense.

That being said though, I'm not a real believer in originality. At least, not complete originality. In my - admittedly, somewhat limited - experience, everything worth doing has been done. I mean this fundamentally. Fundamentally, every story is a retelling of the same structure; every hero and villain is a new face on an old archetype; every love song says the same bloody thing. I don't think this is deliberate in every case, either. There're examples of myths, which are all from separate civilisations, which have no known link to one another, that tell parallel stories. All the way to modern day, these stories are retold: the story of Moses follows the same structure as the origin story of Superman,  as well as Harry Potter. (Not joking.) Yes, when we get to specifics, they're universes apart, but fundamentally, they're all the same.

People put such a prize in originality, but never even examine if it's truly possible.

In modern media, people are said to "pay homage" to their favourite works, when there's an explicite allusion to it in their own work. It's gotten to a point now, where the word homage is spoken with a tongue in the cheek, or a roll of the eyes. I've taken to calling it "stealing like an artist" (a phrase I have, indeed, stolen). I don't romanticise the borrowing of ideas. They're taking ideas they like, and putting them in their own voice. And there's nothing wrong with saying it in you're own voice - that's what self expression is.

For example, there came a time when I thought I needed a change in look. (The specifics of why are unimportant.) So, rather than the typical trunks and boots, associated with the technical style of professional wrestling, I opted to take a more modern approach. I designed some Vale Tudo esque shorts, and laced up my amatuer wrestling shoes, for something I thought looked a little more unique - to everyone else, that is.

Exhibit A

Exhibit B

The majority of the look - as you can see - is taken from the Sambo submission wizard, Volk Han. And it gave me a grin, knowing I was parading around in gear that was so explicitly similar. I was showing off my stolen wears, in public, and getting away with it.

I could create a list so numberous, that any respect you may have had for me crumbles away. But if it did, ask why is it that originality has such a weight to it? All I have to give is myself, and I am a subject of my experiences.

One idea I had for a match came from a comic I read; an idea for another, came from a film; a few times, I've used a single line, in a song I like, to anchor my line of reasoning, when I've had to talk on a microphone. All of these things have an origin which is external to me, but they've helped me do or say what I needed to, and I did so in my own voice. The key, is that I expressed myself.

Mr Popularity

There's an internal debate I have, regarding popularity and art: if something is more popular, is it better art? I don't mean, by this, is popularity the only aesthetic quality to draw conclusions from. What I mean is, can popularity be considered one of numberous factors, when judging art? Some days I answer yes, and some days, no.

The argument is often presented in wrestling that the more popular a wrestler is, the better that wrestler must be. I think it's better typified in film, though. For example, the films of Michael Bay are not generally considered to have well developed, deep characters, or plot. But, his films have the appeal of grand spectacle, and have made hundreds of millions of dollars. Now, let's look at another director, in Park Chan-wook. There's a decent chance that you've never heard of this South Korean director. In terms of worldwide recognition, you're going to find more people who've seen Transformers, than Oldboy - there's a high probability that you'll find more people who've seen Transformers, than've even heard of Chan-wook's work.

So, what has this director, whom I'm assuming you've never heard of, made? Plenty, but I'll focus on the above-mentioned film, Oldboy. (We'll go by IMDb information, as we're discussing mass appeal.) Considered one of the top hundred movies made; the highest rated Korean language film; was nominated, and awarded, numerous honours - including recognition at the Cannes film festival; highly praised by Quentin Tarantino; it's worldwide box office gross was a little under fifteen-million dollars. Compare that to the latest Transformers [Dark of the Moon] gross, which was over a thousand million (an American billion) dollars.

As products to be marketed to consumers, there's no comparison. As an expression human existence, there's no comparison.

I am firm in my belief that not all art is for all people. Just because you can't follow Ulysses, doesn't mean it's a bad book (and there's my pretentiousness quota met).

If you've read these ramblings before, you'll realise I have a certain opinion on critics. Now, allow me to express my opinions on audience: sometimes, it's their fault - "it's you, not me."

I'll just let that sit with you.

Taken that in yet? (If not, reread the above.)

Good.

However - allow me to let you in on the parradox - I also assume the audience was never "bad".

Yes, I believe that there are bad audiences, whilst, at the same time, believing that there is no such thing. Why? Because, challenging others never generates self-improvement. But, in believing that it's sometimes the audience's "fault", you remove yourself from blame and it helps with the formation of ideas:

In the cognitive gestation period, the audience is a mere abstract; it's up to them to get "it", and how could they not? You trust in them, and inhibitions fade. When that idea falls flat, you search for everything you could've done differently.

Maybe art isn't for everyone, but can art ever be good in itself?

The idea of art which is good for itself, is something that never sits quite right with me. (Not the most logical of prepositions, I grant you.) I suppose I have a problem with the concept of art which has no audience. There is always a listener for the speaker, even if all you're doing is talking to yourself.

Which leads me back to my intial problem: is popularity a factor when appointing aesthetic value? Not really. This and that is for someone, but the eventual immensity, or modesty, of those someone's doesn't make it any better. At least, that's how I feel today.

Just jump

I remember, before I even started training, I wanted to do the diving headbutt. The gymnastic moves look the coolest, and that's why they're so popular and prominent in modern wrestling. I always imagined it took a true acrobat's balance to springboard; the tope suicida looked ridiculously dangerous; the frog splash was in abundance; the diving headbutt was the way to go, for me. I'm sure I accumulated hours of air time, in my younger years, jumping from the couch onto a pile of stacked pillows, in the living room. Periodically, a parent would peak in a wonder what their son was doing to make such a racket. Inevitably, I would be shouted at, and my antics curbed until the next weekend, where watching the latest episode of Raw would send me right back to the armrest. I'd stand, arms outstretched, ready to swandive, with no promise of a gold medal - an underachieving daredevil.

No one ever taught me how to do a diving headbutt. I always assumed I could do it (the arrogance of youth). So, when the time came for a crash mat to be present in the training ring, I climbed the ropes, with little hesitation, dived off, and landed squarely on, what was essentially, a big blue pillow. We moved the target around the ring, and I easily aimed the jump each time. The furthest I could hit was the middle of the twenty-foot, training ring - which I thought wasn't bad for little, unacrobatic me.

Eventually, of course, we had to take the mat away. The opponent was the target, not the softest part of the ring. The test was if I could still commit to that landing. Armed with nothing but hubris and the knowledge that you had to bring you arms in, to protect your sternum, as you hit, I climbed the ropes and jumped. WHAM! That wasn't so bad - prefered the mat being there, I'm not going to lie, but it wasn't as bad as I was expecting. All it had required was a good jump.

Sometime later - now armed with the diving headbutt, as well as hubris - I asked another person at training how to springboard. The entirety of the instruction I recieved was to push with my arms and jump with my legs. ("That's it?! That's all there is to it?") I honestly don't know what else I was expecting - maybe some secret handshake you did with the ropes, in order to get them to agree to holding you up in the air. But that was, actually, all the instruction I needed. There is an invisible sense of balance and timing involved in the movement, but it's subjective, and only refines through repetition. Just jump.

When my courage had built up enough, I asked about the tope suicida ("the suicide dive" is not an encouraging name, after all). "Get some momentum and jump." Again, that was it. That was all there was, and is, to it.

The phrase "just jump" is still somewhat of a joke, amongst a few of us who trained together: if the subtleties of a specific move escape you, just jump, it'll work itself out. It's actually not that bad a piece of advice, if I'm honest. Sometimes you need that attitude to succeed, even in inconsequential situations.