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Issue 49 |
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Ghoti Goes A Wrassling.. (By Ghoti) It's a sad state of affairs when a man ends up amongst a pack of female professional wrestlers simply in search of a little excitement. Yet Fukuoka is a smallish town after all, and people get bored even in the big cities. So it's essential to be alert at all times for anything of more-than-passing interest. Actually, now I think of it, passing interests are even better, as otherwise they tend to hang around, cause conflict with each other, divorce, deportation, jail and other things even I would rather avoid. Professional wrestlers fit rather nicely into this category, as they are sure to be on a bus out of town within 24 hours. Which brings me back to the point, it's a sad state of affairs when the desperate search for cheap thrills leads to girls named Asia Kong and Dump Matsumoto. (Hi Ma, this is the gal I'm a gonna marry. Her name's Dump. Please don't say anything to offend her, Ma, cuz I love you too.) It's an even sadder state of affairs, crushing actually, when these Amazons don't live up to one's expectations. Aside from saying their good mornings at 3 in the afternoon, these high rolling yankee girls live like traveling nuns. No smokes, no liquor and no men. Their entire existence is devoted to those 20 minutes in the ring doing flying kicks, rump jumps, and dragging each other around by the hair, all the while screaming like pre-menstrual banshees on amphetamines. They are a close knit group, as would be expected, with their social life largely among themselves. Besides, there's nothing better than wrapping your legs around your co-workers face and flipping them out of the ring on a daily basis to build up that special kinship between you.. Enough of my life though - let's introduce the ladies.. The All-Japan Women's' Pro-Wrestling Circuit, while not as popular as the Mens' Wrestling, commands a fiercely loyal following, selling out most places they perform. Keep in mind that while Michael Jackson had trouble filling the Dome, the wrestling circuit can do it on a regular basis. The true fans, of whom there are many, not only never miss a local event but willingly travel to Tokyo for the more important matches. This rather defies rational explanation, especially since the fight is about as authentic as yer' standard high school dramatization of Lady Chatterly's Lover. I never fully realized the insight of P.T. Barnum until I saw the mesmerizing effect this completely ridiculous performance has on its audience. This is proof that lowbrow stupidity is at the heart of all of us, college professor and street thug alike. These women, who not 3 hours earlier were graceful, quiet and even coy with their sleepy-eyed greetings, strut up to the stage in all manner of outrageous attire, looking like a cross between Cleopatra and Las Vegas showgirls, and proceed to whip the audience into a frenzy with a little pre-fight posturing. The costumes, though, come off almost as soon as the hit the ring and greet their adoring audience. My favorite (See? This stuff is infectious!), a shapely young lady named Shimada, must have sacrificed the entire peacock population of Japan to make her wardrobe - all to be removed save a tasteful leather wrestling bikini once she was at ring center. No sooner are unnecessary clothes off than the banshee screams and the acrobatics start. (Yeh. Me too. Been there, done that.. ) Now, from the point of view of acrobatics, they are quite impressive. But from the fighting point of view..well, I'll let you in on a little secret. They fake it. (Yeh. Been there too..) It may look good on television, especially after the Fuji TV guys have edited out all the missed kicks, but the usual flying face kick sent the patiently awaiting victim flying across the mat without even connecting. Now, a lot things did look impressive, but I suspect they 're all carefully rehearsed for maximum visual effect and minimum pain. Not that this was as bad as discovering the department store Santa was actually a gutter drunk in the off-season, but one expects slightly more convincing illusion to draw the crowds that pro wrestling does. They didn't even try - the wrestler always managing to get up just before the referee counted her out, even if the ref had to wait awhile for it to happen. The audience ate it up. Aside from the fanatics with painted faces who screamed for their favorite wrestler to hang in there, the audience was quite eclectic. All Japanese manhood was represented - students, salarymen, chimpira, farmers, and creative types with black suits and ponytails. The 20% of the audience that was female was also almost uniformly attractive and stylish. The boorishness I might have expected was notably absent. In fact, I recall a far more brutish and unrefined audience at a local transvestite club I investigated a couple of years back. Things are not always as we expect in this strange little country. The women wrestlers, meanwhile, are having the time of their lives. They are treated like pop idols by their fans, and will all generally retire around the ripe old age of 25. Some will go on to be television "talent", while others may settle into the comfortable domestic tranquility of ordering about a thoroughly intimidated husband. Of the two retired wrestlers present, one was the aforementioned Dump-san, who is now a regular television personality, and the other was the manager of the act- a pleasant woman, even if she reminded me of a particularly vicious bull-dyke who had me cornered in the men's room of a radical lesbian bar in San Francisco a few years back. (Yes, such a bar does have a men's room, though it's safer to hold back and wait until you can urinate somewhere slightly safer, like Rwanda.) Nonetheless, they were all on the bus the next morning to head off to Tagawa, followed by seven straight nights in seven different towns throughout Kyushu. They return frequently to Hakata station, accompanied my three male midgits, two of whom do a bit of wrestling themselves. (One so remarkably resembles a beach ball that he is virtually impossible to pin down. He just keeps rolling about until he's back on his feet.) At the price, it will certainly make a more memorable evening that another forgetful night at the movies. Might even inspire a bit of heated foreplay.. Issue 49 |
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