¡Viva Lucha Libre!
At one point, a group of guys in the crowd who were drinking beer and carrying on their own commentary throughout the matches disagreed with one of the ref's calls and let him know it. “¡Pinche referee de la pulga!" (“Shitty flea-market referee!"), one of them shouted. The audience burst into laughter, drowning out the return insults of the referee as he gestured toward the men from the ring. Later, when the reigning champion won a match against a younger opponent, he stood on the ropes and held up his arms to the adoring audience as if to say, “I am the greatest!" Most of the audience agreed, chanting his name back to him.
This is Lucha Libre, or Mexican wrestling – a mixture of sport, drama, comedy and sheer showmanship. The second most popular sport in Mexico next to soccer, Lucha Libre is older and flashier than American wrestling, and its fighters (called luchadores) are superstars in the Latin world. As evidenced by the success of the recent Jack Black film “Nacho Libre," everything Lucha Libre has been exploding lately in the U.S. The masks, posters and other paraphernalia can be found at hipster boutiques, and the matches are going more mainstream. A major Lucha Libre event between well-known luchadores can draw thousands – whether here or in Mexico. But the sport flourishes at all levels, especially in its local, down-home incarnations.
This was the kind of match my friends and I attended on a recent Friday night. The event took place a couple of blocks from a friend's art gallery on San Antonio's West Side. He had wanted to check out the matches ever since noticing the handmade sign on the sidewalk that read “Lucha Libre – Viernes 8:00, Gratis." Especially with free admission, it didn't take much convincing for the rest of us to join him.
Texas and the Mexican flag are among the emblems on the winner's belt
The setup was simple, and the action thrilling. The ring sat in an unpaved parking lot next to a nondescript building. Audience members sat around on metal folding chairs, eating tamales and hot dogs and drinking beers purchased at the makeshift concessions booths. After a few of those beers and getting caught up in the enthusiasm of the crowd, it was easy to get into the action. We alternately cheered and booed, laughed and shrieked, as the luchadores did their moves. By the time a match ended and they came off the stage, we rushed them for pictures just like everyone else. They were such gods! For the finale, a couple of luchadores came roaring in on a Harley, spewing gravel across the front-row audience members, who loved them all the more for it.
Lucha Libre appeals to all ages. I saw older folks cheering on the fighters while their grandchildren chased each other through the crowd. Married couples and groups of friends chatted with each other excitedly. Between matches, the ring was opened up and kids flooded the stage, where they danced to conjunto music, emulating their favorite lucha moves.
As if all of this weren't charming enough, I found out the event was benefiting a good cause. One of the adorable older ladies working the food booth told me the proceeds from concessions go towards their senior center. “When someone in our center gets sick and has to go to the hospital, or if they die, this money helps their family pay for expenses," she explained. In other words, beer money from a Lucha Libre match pays for grandma's medical bills or grandpa's funeral. Now that's one kick-ass insurance policy.
