La Lucha Libre

One night we were sitting in our bedroom reviewing our Spanish homework when the sounds of a sports announcer and a cheering crowd disturbed our studies. We couldn’t tell what the announcer was saying but it sounded exciting. We speculated that it might be a Lucha Libre (Mexican wrestling match). We asked our host mom and she confirmed that yes, there is a Lucha Libre once or twice a month at the nearby arena. We wolfed down our dinner and ran out the door. The cheering from inside the arena sounded so great that we bought our tickets without asking what exactly we were buying. We hustled up the stairs and opened the doors to the arena to find ….. a basketball game. Our hearts broke a little bit, but we sat down, ordered some beers, and cheered on the home team to a dismal loss.

Then, a few days later we were walking around town when we spotted it – a poster advertising La Lucha Libre on our last night in Queretaro. We double-checked the date, the time, the event, to make sure we wouldn’t be tricked again.

When we got to the ticket office, the guy asked if we wanted to be in the upper stands or the lower stands. Mia responded that we’d like the lower stands closer to the ring if possible. The ticket man said there were still front row seats available if we wanted. Mia asked how much. It was 50 pesos (US$4) each. Umm…of course we want front row seats to the Lucha Libre for $4! What the ticket man didn’t tell us was that when you buy front row seats you inadvertently become an active participant in the event.

When we entered, instead of the huge professional wrestling stadium that we were expecting, this arena looked like someone’s basement. The arena was much smaller and more run-down than the typical high school gymnasium, with the only lighting being a huge collection of florescent bulbs directly above the ring. Occasionally, an enormous cockroach would shuffle across the floor. There were maybe 50 people in the audience, half of them under 10 years old. The opening act was a couple of middle-age men with beer guts who could barely run from one end of the ring to the other, let alone pick the other guy up for a body slam. We took our place in the front row, ordered some beers, and said, “Well, at least we only paid 8 bucks.”

The second match was a little better, with two very large women mixing it up in the ring. By this point more people had started filtering into the stadium and the excitement level was rising. The third match was a step change in the action, with a two-on-two match between some reasonably ripped and quick dudes. The kids were shouting chants to the “good guys” and there were some powerful body dives off the top ropes.

Then the heavy metal music started blasting, and the kids grabbed their notebooks and pens and ran toward the entrance for autographs as the real luchadores entered the arena. There was a pair of Chippendales luchadores with matching fuzzy leopard skin pants. There was the tiny but fierce “Latino Fuego.” There was the Dragon, dressed in a kimono and slippers. The main act culminated in a 4-on-4 battle. Bodies were flying everywhere, including onto Mia’s lap. Guys were doing back flips from the top ropes onto their enemies stumbling around in the aisles. A steady stream of cuss words came from a group of feisty women sitting behind us as their favorite luchador was getting thrown around the ring. While this was a great learning experience in terms of new Spanish vocabulary, it also put us in the crossfire. The women were egging the luchadores on, and the luchadores were rewarding them by throwing their favorite guy out of the ring onto the cement floor in front of us. As soon as the good guy was able to stand up, the bad guy would take a running dive from the ring, through the ropes, and onto the good guy, who would then crash into the front row seats. Words cannot fully explain the magic...