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 News Around the Republic of Mexico | August 2007 
Mexican Wrestling Students Have Big Dreams
 Jeremy Schwartz - Statesman.com
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| | Although many people try, only a few wrestlers make it to the pros. Last year, about 100 wrestlers earned their licenses from the Mexico City Professional Lucha Libre Commission. One of those who succeeded, 'Furia 2000,' posed after conquering his opponents at the Zapata Gym in Mexico City. (Sarah Meghan Lee/American-Statesman) |
Mexico City — On the fifth floor of a dingy gym in one of this city's most dangerous neighborhoods, an unusual group of students fling one another around a wrestling ring, swan dive off the top rope and try to master painful leg locks.
There's a plumber from Puebla, a grocer's son from Nuevo Laredo, a middle-aged mother of two, a 13-year-old middle school student, a promising hopeful from Japan. But one thing unites this diverse collection: They have dreams of becoming stars in the wild world of masked Mexican wrestling, known as lucha libre.
Three days a week, Mario Balbuena Gonzalez, a squat 48-year-old who has wrestled for more than 30 years as El Apache, puts the students through hellish workouts that leave most on the verge of dry heaves. Some of the students are on the cusp of their professional career while others have seen the sport only on television and are pursuing fantasies they've nurtured since childhood.
"I just want to be a superstar," said Fred Vera, 23, who left his family's grocery store three weeks ago to train in the capital.
Vera had fought in some lucha libre matches along the border but knew that to make it big, he had to come to the sport's physical and spiritual home. "I know that this is the best (class) in Mexico. ... I know I can do it, but it's really hard."
Mexico is experiencing an explosion in the number of people who hope to become wrestlers.
About 100 fighters earned their professional license last year, more than double the number 10 years earlier, the Mexico City Professional Lucha Libre Commission said.
The commission's director said it is on pace to hand out even more licenses — similar to boxing licenses in the United States — this year.
Lucha libre (which roughly means "free fighting") is considered by some to be Mexico's most-popular sport after soccer. Its popularity is bleeding across the border because of immigration, movies like "Nacho Libre" and cross-pollination in American wrestling leagues. Lucha libre matches are held regularly in Mexican American communities throughout the South and Southwest, and Mexican leagues have staged successful tours through the United States.
Unlike American wrestling, in which massive physiques are a prerequisite, lucha libre is a dream open to the most ordinary of bodies.
"Anyone can be a luchador — short guys, fat people, skinny people — anyone can come in here as long as you can do the moves," said Jesus Gonzalez, a plumber from the state of Puebla. At 5 feet 3 inches and 123 pounds, the diminutive 25-year-old is trying to perfect the high-flying, acrobatic style that characterizes lucha libre.
And more than ever, lucha libre is welcoming women. One of the youngest students, 13-year-old Sandra Belen, persuaded her mom to sign her up for Balbuena's class during summer vacations. As Sandra flies through the air and throws men twice her size, her mom, Carmen Castillo, can be found in the corner of the gym, shielding her eyes. "It's a little strange to me, but if she likes it, I have to support her," she said.
Despite the growth in the number of professional wrestlers, only a tiny percentage will become big stars. The rest will toil in an unforgiving world that one lucha libre expert calls "a horrible life."
Balbuena said the students who make it to the pros face a life of constant injury, a brutal travel schedule, and months away from family.
"Sometimes you're injured, and you have to keep fighting," said Balbuena, his forehead a maze of scars collected during 35 years of wrestling. "The public doesn't care about your injury. They say, 'He's my hero. He's made of steel.' ... We give ourselves to our public."
So why do so many leave everything behind to pursue it? "Lucha is magic," said Mexican filmmaker Isaac Bengurion, who has made eight documentaries about lucha libre. "They are looking for the fame, they want the people to ask for their autograph, they want people to recognize them."
Although lucha libre has crossed over into the mainstream of both American and Mexican pop cultures, it remains a sport nourished by Mexico's working class. Both the great arenas and small gyms are still in Mexico City's toughest neighborhoods and sprawling slums.
"The (upper-class) people who want to see the fights have to go to these places," Bengurion said. "They try to blend in, but with their $100 shoes, they stick out. It's kind of funny."
In far western Mexico City, the Emiliano Zapata Gym holds lucha libre matches on Sunday evenings, drawing a crowd of families who sit on foldout chairs under a makeshift corrugated tin roof. There's no distance between the spectators and fighters, and a steady stream of insults and banter flows throughout the night.
As in all lucha libre matches, the fights at Zapata are staged between tecnicos (the good guys) and rudos (the bad guys). Each side has a cheering section, and as the night gets darker, the atmosphere gets increasingly more chaotic, the moves increasingly more treacherous. By the final fight, the small gym is shaking with chants and shouting, and nearly everyone is on his or her feet.
"It's a way to get rid of all the stress of the week," said Armando Ortega, a 26-year-old fan. "We here are mostly all workers, and we work hard all week."
The weary wrestlers at Zapata leave the ring as a throng of kids crowd around for autographs.
Vera, who is from Nuevo Laredo, hopes such adulation is in his future. After almost a month in Balbuena's class, he got a tryout with AAA, one of two major Mexican wrestling associations, and his chances of going pro seem promising.
"I miss my family, ... but I want to stay here," he said. "It's like a dream I don't want to wake up from."
Jeremy Schwartz is the Mexico correspondent for Cox Newspapers. He is based in Mexico City. |
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