Esther Barnes
English Theme
September 26, 1932
Be prepared to turn up your nose and remark, “How could you be so common?”, when I tell you there are few things I like better than to attend wrestling matches. The fiercer they are the better I like them.
I wonder, though, if professional wrestling is all fake and showmanship or if it is real. After watching the fights which took place at the Legion hall, September 9, I find it difficult to make up my mind about them.
In the first place, all three of the matches were fought under Texas rules. This means, in case you don’t keep up with your wrestling, that nothing is barred but eye-gouging and strangling and they are not barred if the referee isn’t looking.
I saw a wrestler, when the referee wasn’t looking, deliberately take his fingers and clutch the windpipe of another until he was black in the face.
On the other hand, I saw wrestlers fall on the floor in an attitude of exaggerated pain from blows that didn’t even land.
It is true that wrestlers can don expressions of the most terrific agony when they aren’t being hurt at all, but again, when one fighter slams another to the floor and jumps on his head with both feet and then gives him a couple of kicks in his ribs, it is bound to be felt.
The first match between “Wild Red” Berry of Pittsburgh and “Chief” Buffalo of Quebec, though not the main feature, was the most interesting one to me. It was the dirtiest fight I ever saw. This fighting under Texas rules has a most unusual effect on people.
During the most exciting moments I couldn’t stay in my seat. This must have been annoying to the stranger on my left because every time I jumped up and yelled he insisted on grabbing my arm and jerking me down. We almost had a wrestling match of our own. Bald-headed business became so enthusiastic that they acted as though it was all they could do to keep from entering the ring. One man even used a pop bottle on one fighter when he was thrown from the ring. They even went so far as to jump out of their seats, grab the ropes and hold them back so that the wrestler who is taking punishment can’t grab them.
Several times after a favorite had been fouled, the anger of the audience was so great that I thought there was going to be a free-for-all. When one fighter struck another a deliberate foul with his fist, a fat cop was so angry he insisted that the referee stop the bout, which, of course, the referee couldn’t do as he hadn’t seen it himself.
And this is nothing against the referee. A man would have to have six legs and eyes in the back of his head to keep a fight clean. The dirty fighters are especially adept at dodging the referee. Holding a man in a headlock, they take their free hand and grasp his windpipe. When the referee runs around to watch it, the fighter, with a quick movement, shifts the headlock, putting his back to the referee, and starts strangling again. They can shift back and forth in this manner much faster than a referee can run around them. Poor referee, it seemed to me as if he got the worst end after all. Sometimes he had to sock the fighter several times before he released his hold.
After sitting through three matches I felt as if I would never speak again. My throat was dry and burning, my hands were sore from cheering, and I wasn’t positive whether had a left arm or not. The stranger certainly tried hard enough to relieve me of it. But I got even with him by beating on him and jumping up and down on his hat in especially tense moments.
Teacher’s comment: S+