James Rosario is a film critic, punk rocker, librarian, and life-long wrestling mark. He grew up in Moorhead, Minnesota/Fargo, North Dakota going to as many punk shows as possible and trying to convince everyone he met to watch his Japanese Death Match and ECW tapes with him. He lives in Asheville, North Carolina with his wife and two kids where he writes his blog, The Daily Orca. His favorite wrestlers are “Nature Boy” Buddy Rogers, The Sheik, and Nick Bockwinkel. Art Fuentes lives in Orange County, Califonia and spends his days splashing ink behind the drawing board. One Punk’s Guide is a series of articles where Razorcake contributors share their love for a topic that is not traditionally considered punk. Previous Guides have explored everything from pinball, to African politics, to outlaw country music. Razorcake is a bi-monthly, Los Angeles-based fanzine that provides consistent coverage of do-it-yourself punk culture. We believe in positive, progressive, community-friendly DIY punk, and are the only bona fide 501(c)(3) non-profit music magazine in America. We do our part. One Punk’s Guide to Professional Wrestling originally appeared in Razorcake #101, released in December 2017/January 2018. Illustrations by Art Fuentes. Original layout by Todd Taylor. Zine design by Marcos Siref. Printing courtesy of Razorcake Press, Razorcake.org ONE PUNK’S GUIDE TO PROFESSIONAL WRESTLING ’ve been watching and following professional wrestling for as long as I can remember. I grew up watching WWF (World Wrestling IFederation) Saturday mornings in my hometown of Moorhead, Minn. I loved—and hated—all the late ’80s stars like Randy Savage, Ultimate Warrior, Andre The Giant, Mr. Perfect, Ted DiBiase, Bobby Heenan, Roddy Piper, and of course, Hulk Hogan. I had no idea then, at age nine or so, that I was living in a state steeped in wrestling history. I wasn’t even aware that there were other wrestling companies out there fighting for my viewership, and that it was a cutthroat business with a mafia-like history of backstabbing, double-crosses, and betrayals. While I was watching Hulk Hogan beat up every bad guy who came his way, I had no clue that just a few years before, he had been lured away from the AWA (American Wrestling Association)—a longstanding and successful wrestling promotion based in my home state—to the WWF, their New York rivals. Hogan’s jump from Minnesota to New York was devastating. It ultimately put the AWA out of business. These kinds of stories were absolutely fascinating to me. As I got older and started to read books on the subject, I was so excited to learn of the history that happened right in my backyard and beyond. Once the internet became available and the information started to flow, I had a field day. From that point on, it was my goal to know more about the history of pro wrestling than anyone else in the room. I may not know who the current WWE (World Wrestling Entertainment) champion is, but I can tell you all about which belt was used for “Nature Boy” Buddy Rogers’ month- long, 1963 WWWF (World Wide Wrestling Federation) championship run and why. As the years passed, I noticed more and more punks getting into wrestling. I started to wonder why. Lars Frederickson, of Rancid fame and lifelong wrestling fan, said, “Maybe because it’s like an outcast thing.” It’s true wrestling fans, like punks, suffer from a certain stigma. Often, true fans of both are encyclopedic in their knowledge, making them an outsider surrounded by casual fans. Even when punk became a hell of a lot more tolerated by the mainstream in the mid-1990s (even lucrative), its true base remained marginalized. Wrestling has always carried a similar mark. Even at its most popular, much of wrestling’s fan base is the object of criticism, insults, and stereotypes. The wrestling arena, just like the basement or DIY venue, is somewhere you can go to be among fellow freaks and weirdos. Punks and wrestling go back to the genre’s inception, and in one case, strangely, even before that. In the early ’70s, Portland, Ore.’s Pacific Northwest Wrestling (PNW) territory had a young heel (bad guy) who was breaking all the rules. Beauregarde (real name Larry Pitchford) was a rocker who couldn’t be tamed. He was one of the first wrestlers to use original music to accompany him to the ring. He even released an album in 1971 of psychedelic-influenced tunes. On it, a seventeen-year-old named Greg Sage played guitar. A few years later, Sage went on to form the highly influential Portland staple, The Wipers. The Dictators, another influential band, had an affinity for wrestling that manifested in the band member’s stage names. “Handsome” Dick Manitoba, Ross “The Boss” Friedman, and Scott “Top Ten” Kempner all took their names in an effort to mimic their beloved sport and its assortment of flamboyant characters. Early L.A. punk band the Angry Samoans lifted their name straight off the popular tag team The Wild Samoans, who spent most of the ’70s and ’80s in the NWA (National Wrestling Alliance) and WWF. Legendary punks, The Cramps, in 1981 released a cover of the amazing song “The Crusher,” which was originally performed by Minneapolis garage band The Novas in 1964. A few years later saw the appearance of The Dwarves, and most noticeably their guitar player, HeWhoCannotBeNamed sporting a Mexican Lucha Libre mask on stage. (Although, I suspect the mask is more of a ploy to hide his identity than a true display of wrestling affection.) In the late 1980s, wrestling got its first true punk rock spokesmen. The always controversial ANTiSEEN from Charlotte, N.C. were hardcore wrestling fans who took their love to sometimes extreme levels. Singer Jeff Clayton often carries a microphone stand wrapped in barbed wire on stage and uses it to bust himself open, bleeding all over the place. The band has an unabashed affection for wrestling’s golden age (the 1950s through the early ’80s), as well as more extreme aspects such as Japanese death matches and the early years of ECW (Extreme Championship Wrestling). Tony Erba, of the insanely wild ’90s Cleveland, OH bands H100s, 9 Shocks Terror, and Gordon Solie Motherfuckers is another well-known wrestling aficionado and connoisseur of the sport. I got my first death match tapes from his Crimson Mask Video VHS distro after meeting him at a show in Minneapolis in the late ’90s. As with ANTiSEEN, record titles, album artwork, and other merch from these bands often displayed Professional wrestling has its roots right here in the U.S.A. with good old American con-men and entrepreneurs. wrestlers from the golden age on up through the ECW era. The Sheik, Fred Blassie biting Rikidozan, and Axl and Ian Rotten’s infamous “Taipei Death Match” have all made appearances. The ’90s powerviolence scene had some wrestling representation as well. Most famously is perhaps the cover of Spazz’s 1997 LP, La Revancha, which features Cuban born wrestler, Konnan, waving a Mexican flag while wearing the AAA (Asistencia Asesoría y Administración) heavyweight title belt. But, it was the Pennsylvania band, The Ultimate Warriors, however, that really connected the break-neck aspects of both lifestyles. Their 2002 album, Our Gimmick Is Wrestling, is a non-stop barrage of samples and references to wrestling’s most violent, charismatic, and down- right weird aspects. Then there’s the curious case of Bob Mould. In 1999, the one-time singer and guitar player for legendary Minneapolis punk band, Hüsker Dü, found himself in a unique position. A die-hard wrestling fan since childhood, Mould was somehow invited by then Executive Vice President of WCW (World Championship Wrestling), Eric Bischoff, to a few of the company’s live events. This led to him being hired to fill the “gorilla position.” His job was to be the last person a wrestler saw on their way down the ramp. From there, he gave them any last-minute changes in their matches, as well as communicated with the referee via wireless ear piece. Perhaps the strangest of all, though, is the brief moment The Misfits became wrestlers. In 1999, Canadian-born, Mexico-trained wrestler, Vampiro, was causing WCW bookers some headaches. They had no idea how to use this odd, corpse-painted, dreadlocked, yet popular, weirdo. So, Vampiro made a few suggestions, one of which was to bring in his favorite band to act as his entourage. The Misfits’ tenure was short lived, culminating in a cage match between “Dr. Death” Steve Williams and Jerry Only, with the rest of the band dumping barbecue sauce all over Williams’ manager Oklahoma (Ed Ferrara), but it was a sight to be seen. (“Here comes Doyle, and the other one!” Bobby “The Brain” Heenan remarked as he called the action during a Misfits match.). But it’s not just the punks who are into wrestling. The wrestlers are into punk too—at least a few of them, anyway. The punk rock “look” has been used in wrestling for decades. From The Road Warriors’ spikes and mohawks throughout the 1980s, to The Rockers and The Midnight Express with their amazingly ’80s pseudo-new wave spandex, wrestling has always tried—and mostly failed—to properly capture punk rock. The reason for this is simple. The wrestlers weren’t punks. As with television and film portrayals of the subculture, the attempts at capturing the spirit, look, and attitude of punk falls laughably short of authentic.