This Friday I had the fortune to view Portland's most overlooked sport, amateur professional wrestling (yes, I know that "amateur professional" is semantically taxing. Just deal with it). This event occurs every Friday in a warehouse-esque sporting arena in the boonies of Saint John's. It was a true cultural experience.
You can't see it here, obviously, but this dude has the words "For Sale" on his ass.
The whole thing was pure theatrics and not just because it was pretty gay. Everyone knew their roles well---the bad guys cheated, the good guys were infinitely more attractive, and the audience hurled insults all over the place. Oh, man, the insults were amazing. Entire families would start chanting, "Suck it in! Suck it in!", "Eat a salad!", and "No more Whoppers!" at the fat wrestlers. The most unfortunate insult slewed was "Break it off!" which my companion for the evening misheard as "Rape him." Yeah... The dudes sitting next to us renamed, Cash Flo, the man who physically resembled the lead singer of Smash Mouth, "the Plumber" when his pants bearing his moniker continued to droop from his considerable gut to display his buttcrack. When one of the more elderly competitors took stage, these same young hooligans called him "Pacemaker" and attributed the old man's success to his dose of Geritol kicking in. It's not that the wrestlers were victims of the audience's taunts. They did their fair share of insult flinging. One dude threatened to beat up children and then yelled, "Shut up, Granny" at an old hunched back woman, who was so awesome by the way I let her cut me in line for the bathroom. She was wearing a purple sequined news boy hat and tried to engage in fisticuffs with the man who insulted her, thus ignoring this sign:
Richie making an entrance:
Yelling at the referee:
This was my view from my seat:
There were more than a few legitimately hot dudes, but unfortunately I didn't get any remotely decent pictures of them.
Get the best of the Mercury each week in your inbox!