ICYMI: Number 2

Posted on May 23, 2013 by Rachel

When Andrew arrives at the pearly gates and they evaluate what he did with his life, watching wrestling matches will rack up more hours than any other single task. The guy’s done a lot of DVD miles. Every week he picks one of his favourite matches to share with you. Here’s number two…

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There’s been a lot written about Mick McManus following his death earlier this week, but it seemed only right that I should pay my respects in this week’s ICYMI.

McManus was one of, if not the, preeminent villains (not heels, villains) during the World of Sport era. As a child I found Kendo Nagasaki sinister, Giant Haystacks imposing and Catweazle creepy as hell. But McManus scared me. He was, despite his 5’6″ stature, someone who looked like he would genuinely hurt you if he felt it was necessary. Yet despite this he was, by every account, a true gentleman; in fact after retiring from the ring he became a noted expert in the field of porcelain. Not something you might expect from the likes of Randy Orton perhaps.

For younger (and overseas) readers it might be hard to grasp just how big a deal wrestling was in the UK once upon a time. Televised twice weekly and drawing larger audiences than the FA Cup final it often preceded, British wrestling was immense. The National Union of Shopkeepers unsuccessfully lobbied the TV channel to ask them to move the broadcast slot from Saturday afternoon as housewives weren’t leaving the house to buy groceries. The Royal Family were known to be fans, and McManus was photographed with the likes of Prince Philip and then Prime Minister Harold Wilson.

McManus died at the age of 93 after refusing to eat following the death of his wife in January. Despite pleas and visits from friends including Sir Richard Attenborough, he slipped into a coma and passed away.

ICYMI: Number 1

Posted on May 16, 2013 by Rachel

When Andrew arrives at the pearly gates and they evaluate what he did with his life, watching wrestling matches will rack up more hours than any other single task. The guy’s done a lot of DVD miles. Every week he’ll pick one of his favourite matches to share with you. Here’s his first…

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Before the yeses and the nos and the hugs… before the Sierras and the Hotels and the Indias, the Echoes and the Limas and the Deltas… there was, well, there was loads actually.

Between them Bryan Danielson and Tyler Black amassed 15 years worth of matches before signing with the WWE and becoming Daniel Bryan and Seth Rollins respectively. Working for US indie promotions such as IWA: Mid South, PWG and Ring of Honor the two met on a number of occasions; both as opponents and, as is the case here, as team mates.

This week’s match is for the Ring of Honor World Tag Team Championship and features the team of Danielson and Black taking on The American Wolves (Davey Richards and Eddie “not the Olympic ski jumper” Edwards) with Wrestlegasm favourite (and now WWE trainer) Sara Del Rey at ringside. If you’ve not seen much of Rollins/Black before his SHIELD tenure you should be in for a pleasant surprise, especially when he pulls out the Phoenix Splash and God’s Last Gift.

Hope you enjoy and I’ll be back next week with another match you might not have seen before.

What you see when you’re not looking – Part Two

Posted on May 6, 2013 by Rachel

The first ‘What you see when you’re not looking’ post was originally going to include this topic. Then the first turned out to be longer than I expected and I didn’t want to do this point a disservice by tagging it onto the end of something else. So, this is part two – on why wrestling has to stop clinging to the sex industry.

When we took a step back from blogging and observed without commenting, it became clearer to me just how much the sex industry remains unnecessarily intertwined with the wrestling business. The truth is, we should have cut those apron strings years ago. It’s outdated. It’s harmful to the business as it moves forward and becomes more popular – especially with children – and it’s damaging to the position of women in the industry. WWE is probably cleaner than it’s ever been, but on the independent scene, wrestling’s fixation with the sleazier side is reigning in its potential to be a legitimate and credible form of entertainment. It’s not good enough to say that wrestling is sleazy and always will be. It can change, if promotions are inclined to put the wheels in motion.

For all the rose-tinted harping back to the late 1990s and the 2000s, it was murky. When the American government feel the need to intervene, you know you’re getting something wrong. It was time to start cleaning up wrestling. The government’s concerns largely surrounded health, but wrestling needed an overhaul in every way. The landscape has changed dramatically since I first became a wrestling fan in 1997. It’s changed since we started this blog in 2009. But it’s hit a stumbling block, particularly when it comes to women.

I’m confident we’ll never see a repeat of Trish Stratus barking like a dog on her hands and knees on worldwide television again. I sincerely hope that bra and panties matches have been left in the ‘what were we thinking?’ category of wrestling history. But the connection to the porn industry that hangs around wrestling like a stale smell the day after a party is just one of the reasons I sometimes find it embarrassing to plug it as entertainment to my friends and family and to the young children in my life.

I fully appreciate that not all promotions are looking to be family friendly, although I think they could do a better job at letting families know when a show won’t be for kids. I also acknowledge that being a woman in my early thirties, I’m looking for something very different to what I was searching for when I was in my late teens and early twenties. Your tastes change. You become more discerning. You have a clearer view of what you will and won’t let slide without comment. When I was much younger, when hormones were raging, I was terribly unsure of myself and every conversation felt like it had to be loaded with sniggering innuendo and sexuality. I wasn’t as concerned with women’s place in wrestling. I knew it wasn’t right, but I didn’t really know how to protest it. I have changed, the world has changed and wrestling has changed. It just needs one last, very easy push to make itself properly current.

Outside the CHIKARA and Shimmer bubble, wrestling still feels sexist. It makes me sad when fans at British wrestling shows are genuinely surprised when the couple of women on the card put on a great match. It’s especially disappointing when they feel the need to point out that they’re ‘Really good, and not just good for girls, either’. WWE has to take some of the responsibility here. For almost everyone it’s the first wrestling they’re exposed to. If their promotion of women involves nothing but one-minute matches and boyfriend or beauty stories, we’re not telling the young people and children watching that women have more to offer. It should be a given, but it isn’t. It just feeds the notion that the female purpose in wrestling is merely decorative. The rest of the responsibility lies with anyone who doesn’t make an effort correct these archaic views.

Women already struggle to get their names on the card in both mainstream and indie wrestling (British and overseas) simply because the impression is that crowds won’t get behind them. When, for example, porn stars or exotic dancers are hired to act as valets, interval entertainment or even makeshift wrestlers, the female wrestlers find themselves competing with both the male talent and the additional bookings. Very rarely are men hired in wrestling because they’ve had a career in the sex industry. You’ll never see a man on the roster overshadowed by someone who works in porn. It’s blatant pandering to dinosaurs of the game and hormone infested young men who have money to burn. Just because the lowest common denominator sells, it doesn’t mean you should sell it. If your wrestling and your stories are good you shouldn’t need porn, and a little social conscience goes an awful long way.

I’m not on a crusade against sex. We’re all grown-ups and we all enjoy our sex lives. I’m not even trying to banish pornography. It’s not my cup of tea, but as long as it isn’t hurting anyone, I don’t subscribe to the idea that it’s universally a terrible thing. Most crucially, I’m not suggesting we rid wrestling of ‘attraction’. It’s a highly visual medium and aesthetics are crucial. Wrestlers, particularly in the mainstream, are hired for their good (or less so) looks to fit who the company wants them to be; just like actors in a TV show. It’s obviously not the only reason talent are hired, but having ‘a look’ that you then shape the stories around – whether appealing to the eye or not – is a fundamental part of wrestling. The irony that I’m writing this post on a website called Wrestlegasm isn’t lost on me. And I’m definitely not ignoring that ultimately wrestling is a load of oiled, half-naked folk rolling around with each other with a story as its backdrop. But there is a stark difference between Dolph Ziggler and AJ Lee kissing on camera to sell their relationship, for example, and sex for the sake of selling sex. The latter is what we need to move away from.

Wrestling, and indie wrestling especially, needs to think carefully about the language it uses, too. You can only pull the Jack Swagger/Zeb Colter trick of being outlandishly politically incorrect if you’re making it absolutely clear that the views your ‘characters’ are peddling are completely unacceptable. Without the caveat of million-dollar TV contracts hanging over your head, there’s little incentive to get that balance right every single time. It’s not enough just to book women on shows. How they’re treated is important too. On the unregulated and non-televised circuit, women are sometimes on the receiving end of unsavoury sexual banter. Eva Wiseman recently wrote an excellent column in the Observer on lad culture in universities. She talked about how you can find it difficult to remove yourself from derogatory behaviour and language because when you’re in a group where it’s expected, you play along to fit in. It’s the only option. There is an awful lot of that in wrestling. I believe it’s one of the reasons so many people leave wrestling as they grow older.

There’s a great deal of tolerating what was once acceptable and it’s very disappointing. I’d like to see braver booking, cleverer stories and less reliance on the sex industry to raise interest in wrestling products. The gap between the two needs to grow larger. Fans will follow where promoters lead. They just need to have the courage to move forward.

9 Stages of Giddiness

Posted on April 14, 2013 by Rachel

I had planned on writing a long and worthy review of Wrestlemania, but as this past week has been quite the whirlwind, I decided just to run through all the WWE stuff making me happy at moment. Let’s just have a chat.

That hug

The chances of John Cena not winning the WWE title at Wrestlemania were slim. Really slim. The promo videos charting his hidden emotional collapse could have been a swerve, but they’re rarely that sneaky when it comes to Cena. His turmoil is over, the Rock’s job is done, time for a new story. Mmmm. New stories. At stupid o’clock in the morning after having too little sleep and too much junk food I was loopy enough to find even the cat nuzzling my hand an emotional experience. But that little chat and the hug Cena and Rock shared at the end of the show genuinely moved me. Considering all their history, it felt poignant. It’s so easy to be in love with wrestling when the sun is about to come up and you haven’t really slept yet. I know it was a predictable outcome, but everyone secretly loves those practically post-coital, crowd whipping winner speeches John Cena gives the night after regaining a title.

Ziggler! Finally!

The problem with Raw being live at 2am is that unless you avoid the internet until you have an opportunity to watch it, you’re going to find out what happens. It’s so rarely worth the abstinence that Raw spoilers have just become a British way of life. It only becomes a problem when gargantuan, memorable moments take place. Case and point: Ziggler’s cash-in. Andrew and I both ruined that for ourselves when we simultaneously opened Instagram and Facebook and held pictures of Ziggler wearing the belt up to each other. D’oh!

Spoilers aside we watched Raw later that evening and blimey, that cash-in was bloody great. The reward for being disappointed every time Dolph didn’t appear at the top of the ramp with that battered briefcase and a referee in hand (including at Wrestlemania) was that explosive moment. It made my tummy flip. It made me squeak. We have long been devoted to Dolph Ziggler around here and having paid his dues both in-ring and on the mic, he’s finally got a major title for more than a few seconds. We’re thrilled!

The Shield

There aren’t enough words to express how much I completely adore The Shield. This is why the blog post I keep trying to write about them is still in ever-changing draft form. Every time that radio crackle permeates whichever arena they happen to be in, my shoulders involuntarily rise to my ears. I am smitten, and not just in that lustful, early CM Punk sort of way. You’ll know what I mean if you’ve been visiting this blog for the past four years.

They’re so perfectly balanced I almost can’t stand it. A few weeks ago while watching The Shield on Smackdown, I turned to Andrew and suggested that I write a blog post on how threesomes work. Once the terror/intrigue had passed and we ascertained that what I actually meant was ‘trios’, I set about trying to put it into coherent words. As soon as I figure out how to make ‘I love them so much it aches’ sound less juvenile, it’ll be posted.

Aesthetics

Wrestlemania looked beautiful. 29 may not have been full of surprises or curveballs. Even I as a Triple H fan have to admit his match with Lesnar was way below par. As an event, though, Wrestlemania looked gorgeous. I’m a sucker for New York City at the best of times, but that setting, the stage, the colours, the fireworks…. For the first time in ages I felt envious of people experiencing the spectacle live and not necessarily the matches. As always, a slightly predictable Wrestlemania is STILL WRESTLEMANIA, GUYS. If you said you were glad you didn’t buy it when all you did was read a results page, you mugged yourself.

NXT

The ludicrous gymkhana that was the old NXT holds a special place in our hearts. It was ridiculous, but we watched several series of it religiously. I will always feel a nostalgic flutter when I hear those first few bars of Wild and Young. The new NXT is a whole different animal. Ditching the middle ground between developmental and TV, then really investing in the way new talent is presented is the best thing WWE have done in a long time. NXT now feels like an exciting indie promotion, with stories, characters that aren’t charicatures and potentially huge rewards for working hard. Also, William Regal and Kassius Ohno kicking the nonsense out of each other. What more encouragement could you possibly need?

I don’t know about you…

This video, mainly for Punk’s interpretation of the chorus. I would pay an awful lot of money to have CM Punk softly read me the lyrics of an entire Taylor Swift album. I think it might help me sleep better at night.

HHH and Stephanie on Twitter

If you read the long piece I wrote for the Fair to Flair Quarterly a long time ago, you’ll remember that Stephanie and Hunter’s fictional and real relationships were the penny dropping moment in my understanding wrestling journey. It’s the reason I find them so fascinating, both individually and as a couple. When they both joined Twitter I was beside myself. When Stephanie joined, Andrew texted me immediately to tell me. I’m far too old to be fangirling over anyone, yet weeks on I’m still trying to think of something I can tweet to Stephanie that doesn’t suggest I’m 15 years my junior. To say that I’m in a constant state of marking out is putting it mildly.

Fandango

I have so much to say about ole Johnny. Soon.

Our long weekend

You know sometimes when life has been busy and you just need to kick back, order junk food, be irresponsible with your sleep pattern (and your bank account) and do something fun? That’s what we did over Wrestlemania weekend. If you’re interested in all the delicious rubbish we ate and what we look like in our pyjamas, there’s a short post about that here. It was a brilliant four days.

Approx 3am.

What you see when you’re not looking

Posted on February 6, 2013 by Rachel

When you’re removed from a community you see it with different eyes. You spot the stuff you missed before because you were caught up in the same old arguments. Sometimes you observe heartwarming things that you’re proud to be associated with, and sometimes you spot themes that are far less endearing. The least appealing traits I’ve been watching lately are bad spin and its closest bedfellow, promotion snobbery.

Dara O’Briain has a brilliant segment in one of his stand-up shows about how much he despises music snobs and so-called guilty pleasures. “Music snobbery is the worst kind of snobbery. Oh, you like those noises? Those sounds in your ear? Do you like them? They’re the wrong sounds! You should like these sounds in your ear!” Dara clearly never spent time with wrestling fans. We’re champions at snobbery. We are the worst.

Over the past six months or so I’ve sat back and watched fans make other fans feel bad about their wrestling viewing choices. The barbs seem even more spiteful when that choice is WWE. During the interval at the WWE show we mentioned in our last post, I checked Twitter to find that people attending indie shows that night were trashing the very event we were watching. Who were they to tell me it was awful? They weren’t even there! We were having a ball.

Taking the most popular route is selling out, right? No. It’s just enjoying something that a lot of other people also happen to like. Equally, there are just as many mainstream fans who believe if it’s not on TV it can’t be good. I know, because before I experienced my first indie show almost 10 years ago I used to be one of them. I would encourage everyone to explore beyond their usual boundaries. Hopefully you’ll find something new. If nothing else it gives your favourite promotion some perspective. But if you decide that what you really love is the mainstream, that’s alright too.

In that same section of his show, Dara O’Briain goes on to talk about how infuriating it is that people who dip into the mainstream are forced to call it their guilty pleasure because it’s just not underground enough. The thing is, though, we’re wrestling fans. There is no cool.

A few weeks ago I found myself watching a documentary called Allotment Wars. Bear with me. I watched agog as gentle gardeners sabotaged others’ competition crops, raided plot holders’ sheds and called the police on a youngster who found himself a tenner in rent arrears. A couple of old friends fell out two years ago. You could feel from their interviews that the fight and their continuing rivalry had left them both burning with rage.

Out loud I shouted “What is wrong with these people? None of this actually matters in the grand scheme of life!” I scoffed at their silly bickering over carrot soil and congratulated myself on being too well-adjusted to be involved with a group that deals in such juvenile squabbling. Of course, until I remembered that if there’s one thing that can be desperately uncool, petty and all puffed up with misplaced importance, it’s being a wrestling fan.

The older you get the more people shoot you that ‘Wrestling? Really?’ look. The older you get the more awkward a positive response feels. None of us got into this big ball of ridiculous to score cool points. I’m trying to avoid a High School Musical moment here, but if we’re all in this together why are we so intent on playing games of one-upmanship? Who are we trying to impress? It’s weird. Your thing is not better, it’s just different.

The worst byproduct of this behaviour is bad spin. Bad spin is what bad politicians do. They make themselves look the more progressive option by rubbishing the competition. Most of the time they’ll say nothing about what actually makes them so wonderful. As long as they’ve planted that ’them bad, me better’ message, the job’s done. It’s lazy and transparent.

I hate seeing this tactic in wrestling. Whether it’s tweets from well-meaning fans or promotions themselves, I want a wrestling company to do more to excite me than make hollow claims about being ‘better’ than WWE. I don’t want to hear that your show is superior to another popular thing if you can’t even tell me why. I want to know what sets it apart from the rest and makes it unique amidst a world full of weekend wrestling watching options. Otherwise, it just feels like you’re covering up your failings by clinging on to your opponents’ faults. It turns me off.

We all watch wrestling for different reasons and we switch promotions to alter our experiences. A tiny indie show will never deliver the reliable gloss of Monday Night Raw. Monday Night Raw will never achieve the unpredictable intimacy of a tiny indie show. I don’t want them to out-do each other. I want them to put every ounce of energy into being the best at the very specific brand of wrestling they deliver, whatever that happens to be.

It’s completely possible to love both equally, just like it’s fine to listen to Katy Perry one minute, then jump to that band you saw with 19 other people in an unlicenced indie club. It’s alright if you like the PG era. It’s fine if you also go elsewhere for something more grown up sometimes. If you thought WWE peaked when it was still called WWF, that’s fine. But it peaked in 2002 for you. The kids in the front row right now have no idea what you’re talking about. The Attitude Era is an overpriced vintage t-shirt for them and that’s okay too.

If you were stood at an ice cream stand with a friend and they chose a different flavour to you, you wouldn’t throw their cone in the bin and insist that only your flavour’s worth eating. What you’d probably do is encourage them to grab a spoon and have a taste of yours. Let’s do more of that. Let’s cut each other some slack, understand where opinions start and facts stop, and pass out more sample spoons. The flavour doesn’t matter as long as we’re all having fun. Unless, of course, you want to buy me a TNA sundae. ‘Cause that thing’s gonna need an awful lot of cherries on top!

Paul Heyman Called Me Ma’am

Posted on January 30, 2013 by Rachel

Back in November Andrew and I went to a WWE Raw house show. It may sound like an unremarkable and standard night out for wrestling fans, but this was a rather special show for us. There is a very personal account of why this was such a difficult challenge for me here, but stay with us for the duration of this post before clicking away. This story is about how I found myself unexpectedly backstage and how I made an attempt at keeping a cool head while literally faced with my heroes.

We bought the tickets months in advance, not entirely sure we’d be able to go. A few weeks from show time, I contacted WWE’s international PR office and requested a press photography pass. I signed the waiver and sent it back. This document basically meant I wouldn’t sue the McMahons if, for example, CM Punk crushed and killed me following a top rope dive while I skipped around the ring with my camera. I can’t walk especially well, let alone skip, so no fear of death. But hey, what a way to go!

With just a few days left to cross off the calendar, the PR agent seemed to have gone underground without getting back in touch as he’d promised. I packed up my DSLR on show night and we headed for the arena hoping I was on the list and able to collect my golden ticket at the front desk.

The Friday night traffic made us late. The show was starting just as we walked through the arena doors. On the plus side, no queue. On the downside, nobody knew where my press pass was. I was anxious that we were missing the introductions and as I wasn’t on a particular commission, I very nearly told them I’d do without my camera. Just at that moment, the box office clerk asked one of his staff to escort us to the production office.

We walked. Then we walked some more. It soon became apparent that we were heading for the curtain. I gave Andrew the side-eye and whispered “I think we might be going backstage.” His “maybe” exuded constraint, his face was more ‘holy shit!’ Here’s the thing. When you’re a member of the press, you’re not supposed to get starstruck. You’re meant to hold your nerve and be one of the guys, whether you feel in control of your emotions or not. I didn’t have a sane grip on what was about to happen, but I kept a strictly professional face.

We reached the curtain and several arena employees started radioing each other about my arrival. Andrew and I excitedly glanced at each other some more before I had to leave him at the black fabric doorway and allow myself to be ushered to the production room. It felt like entering a dishevelled royal palace; murky, but oozing mystique. At this point I really was backstage. Andrew will tell you that I left him to fend for himself. And I did, reluctantly. But ‘alone’ meant hanging out at the side curtain with John Laurinaitis, so it wasn’t all that bad.

Waiting at the gorilla position were Tensai and Michael McGillicutty. They were excessively oily and kicking their legs to keep warm. They puffed their cheeks out in preparation for their match as we glided through their view. I was pretty stoked. Just being able to see two WWE guys psyching themselves up for combat was exciting. As we walked into a new corridor, I quietly revelled in the fact that I’d be able to relay this sweaty scene to Andrew when I returned. And then John Cena walked towards me.

If you were reading this blog before we relaunched you’ll know that, despite his criticism, I generally tend to defend John Cena. Considering I’ve probably heard his theme music thousands of times by now, those first few seconds still make my shoulder muscles tense in the most wonderful way. To summarise, I AM BACKSTAGE AND MOTHERFUCKING JOHN CENA IS WALKING MY WAY! Also, he’s much more human-looking in person. It was a comforting discovery. John clearly had somewhere to be and so did I. Our shoulders scuffed. We passed like ships in the night. It was beautiful, man.

I entered the production room. The show was being managed entirely from this small space. Cables for collections of personal electronics ran around the room while faces I didn’t recognise replied to emails and referees reclined on couches with drinks. I sat demurely while the manager made his way over to the room. It just so happened that they sat me in sight of the door. The door was open and directly opposite the male locker room. Life is like a locker room door, you never know what (who) you’re gonna get.

It became clear that nobody needing press clearance had been passed on to WWE tour staff. Dealing with those of us just trying to get back into the arena with our papers rubber-stamped was becoming an increasing and understandable headache for the show directors. They wanted us out, but not until they knew we weren’t fooling them. From across the room I caught the eye of another guy waiting for his pass. He had the same look of outer-calm-inner-squeal that I did. If our eyes were talking to each other, they were saying, “OMG. This shit cray, right?”

The locker room door opened and closed every ten seconds or so. I didn’t want to be ‘that girl’, but with the wrestlers dashing from room to room laughing and joking with each other, it was hard not to gawp. Dolph Ziggler, Zack Ryder and Antonio Cesaro, among others, skimmed past me. If I’d thought it through I could have angled myself so that Claudio could see my CHIKARA emblazoned jacket. We could have shared a deep and meaningful discourse on the BDK and the hole left in the roster following his promotion to the big leagues. It wasn’t to be. Finlay had just arrived. The production room was getting hectic. I was starting to feel awkward and unwelcome. So began the interrogation.

WWE are immensely protective of their product. Basically, you want them more than they need you and we all knew it. The manager had arrived and both my fellow camera carrier and I began pleading our cases. We shouldn’t have had to do this. We already had pre-clearance. And just as one of the referees began blistering me with “Yeah, that’s what they all say!” when I swore I wasn’t selling the pictures for profit, the manager took the paperwork and asked me to sit outside while he finished the necessaries. “You know the rules. No finishers and absolutely NO VIDEO!” I didn’t argue.

I grabbed my walking stick and made for the door, almost walking into Paul Heyman as I left. “Whoa! Busy room tonight. Oh pardon me, ma’am.” Ma’am. Paul Heyman called me ma’am and stepped aside gently, giving me room to walk through. I’ve spent years thinking he’s slippery and impolite and with one ma’am I was converted. I’m a Paul Heyman girl. Now. Of sorts.

So I waited. To my right the roster were in a little cubby hole watching the show. I was surprised. I always imagined that at WWE those ‘we’re all watching backstage’ shots were staged for TV. They’re not. Everyone’s watching everything. It’s nice to know they care that much. It’s unfair to have expected that they don’t.

I looked to my left. Kane shuffled my way. I looked to my right again. Dolph Ziggler approached Kane with a smirk. Just inches from my knees they had a cryptic conversation I didn’t and wasn’t supposed to understand. All I could ascertain was that something had been suggested to Kane. He had apparently seemed unhappy about it. He wasn’t. He was alright. Dolph was pleased to hear that. Seriously, no idea. I started texting Andrew, who was still waiting at the curtain, to make it look like I wasn’t listening. Because, you know, I’m totally cool with all this. Match-ready Ziggler stood at my side with his lean limbs making me feel like the chubbiest thing on the planet was no problem. I’m fine with this. (I was not fine with this.)

With that, I was allowed to leave with my clearance in place. I rescued Andrew from Johnny’s side and we sauntered across the arena. Stewards booted out the kids who thought they’d got lucky in stealing our roomy aisle seats and I whipped out my officially approved zoom lens.

My favourite image backstage wasn’t seeing John Cena’s breeze as he sailed past me, or Dolph Ziggler’s sickeningly defined, well, everything. It wasn’t even becoming a born again Paul Heyman girl on the basis of one, gentlemanly word. It was Eve Torres rushing around in her ring gear, tanned within an inch of her life and with her hair twisted up into enormous velcro rollers. It felt private, like I was peeking in on something I wasn’t supposed to see. It was one of those moments I’d loved to have captured on camera, but you can’t. I couldn’t. This was their space to be themselves. It’s where they’re ‘off’. These people spend their lives continually being asked to pose and smile when they don’t feel like it. Behind the curtain, they don’t have to be anything.

The show itself was brilliant. Kane and Daniel Bryan commanded the crowd with their genuinely laugh-out-loud comedy. I finally understood why Damien Sandow is so highly regarded. CM Punk allowed his happier side to shine through as he interacted with the audience and the gathered masses flipped their lids for Ryback. Everyone loves a three word chant, right?

We went home with burgers and a glow about us. It sounds saccharine, but it really was one of the most perfect evenings of my life and the best things about the night couldn’t be bought with a ticket. It took me about four days to fully recover physically. Worth every minute.

Images property Rachel Davies

Hello again!

Posted on January 24, 2013 by Rachel

We’re back! Yay! We’ll give you a moment to throw some airpunches.

Following an unplanned but necessary break, we decided it was time to spruce the place up a bit and return to the wrestling blogging community. The words ‘gluttons for punishment’ come to mind.

2012 didn’t really happen for us blog wise. Our intentions were good and we dipped in and out here and there, but the truth is there was so much else going on, blogging dropped off our to-do list. It wasn’t so much that life got busy. Modern life is always stupidly hectic. It was just that different things were taking off for us and sometimes you have to put projects down for a while until there’s room to pick them up again.

The positive thing about this period of respite was that we didn’t duck out of wrestling itself. In many ways, we’re more involved now than we’ve ever been before. Andrew in particular has thrown himself into the British wrestling scene, which is experiencing an exciting revival at the moment. We’re coming back with a collection of new insights and experiences.

Believe it or not, we really did miss being here. There were several moments where we had things to say, but just didn’t want to do hit-and-run blog posts. We have no grand plans right now. We’ve got no regular features in place yet. We’ll just slowly make our way through our notebook of post titles and see how we go. We’re treating this as a fresh start, so everything we wrote between 2009 and 2012 has been moved to the Vintage Wrestlegasm tab.

New posts will begin popping up over the next few days. Group hug?

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