No other form of entertainment combines the extremes of grandeur and absurdity quite like wrestling. Maturity is perhaps the ability to accept the latter while retaining enough childlike wonder to still be able to appreciate the former.
I once sat on the edge of a string bed in a common room in East Yemen. The only other occupant was a weather-beaten tribesman who had probably emerged from the desert on some errand and would shortly return the same way he had come. A wrestling show called Nitro was blaring out of a small TV, so loud that it was testing the limits of the built-in speaker. He was there watching it when I entered the room and put down my bag. I wondered what this man, who had undoubtedly experienced the realities of tribal war, thought about the implausible events unfolding on the screen.
Every town has a few venues like Flagler Dog Track. There is something that draws you to places like this and then keeps you coming back, but then once you are there it is always about the people; this weird blend of souls who have given up on themselves but haven't yet given up on life, and others who hold down respectable jobs, although you'd never know it. When these places close or change ownership and pivot, some of the old clientèle scatter like a flock of pigeons and resettle elsewhere. Others disappear forever, as if the spell has been broken and the madness that possessed them has been cleansed. I like to imagine them leading normal lives somewhere.
It took a macho working class WWE watching jock to speak truth about the contemporary literary scene because no one else had the balls to (I include myself in that statement, hell I’ll probably delete all my substack comments before ever querying agents).
I don’t think Alex Perez realizes how important he is to the world of literature. If anyone, as critic/author/editor/social commentator, has the power to move this medium past the puritanical rut where it’s spent the last two decades, it’s him.
Takes me home to riding the skateboard seat down the neighbors driveway, dodging rocks and laughing hysterically as you wonder whether you’ll navigate that last bump safely.
As offspring of Latin immigrants (Italians, we of the Romance languages are all Latins despite what the non Latins think) to a New World you capture the parallel experiences we all have undergone ...
No other form of entertainment combines the extremes of grandeur and absurdity quite like wrestling. Maturity is perhaps the ability to accept the latter while retaining enough childlike wonder to still be able to appreciate the former.
I once sat on the edge of a string bed in a common room in East Yemen. The only other occupant was a weather-beaten tribesman who had probably emerged from the desert on some errand and would shortly return the same way he had come. A wrestling show called Nitro was blaring out of a small TV, so loud that it was testing the limits of the built-in speaker. He was there watching it when I entered the room and put down my bag. I wondered what this man, who had undoubtedly experienced the realities of tribal war, thought about the implausible events unfolding on the screen.
Every town has a few venues like Flagler Dog Track. There is something that draws you to places like this and then keeps you coming back, but then once you are there it is always about the people; this weird blend of souls who have given up on themselves but haven't yet given up on life, and others who hold down respectable jobs, although you'd never know it. When these places close or change ownership and pivot, some of the old clientèle scatter like a flock of pigeons and resettle elsewhere. Others disappear forever, as if the spell has been broken and the madness that possessed them has been cleansed. I like to imagine them leading normal lives somewhere.
It took a macho working class WWE watching jock to speak truth about the contemporary literary scene because no one else had the balls to (I include myself in that statement, hell I’ll probably delete all my substack comments before ever querying agents).
I don’t think Alex Perez realizes how important he is to the world of literature. If anyone, as critic/author/editor/social commentator, has the power to move this medium past the puritanical rut where it’s spent the last two decades, it’s him.
You made me feel nostaligic for something I've never known. Truly amazing writing.
Great piece, brother! Really enjoyed this one.
You getting loose now! I like it
Thanks bro!
You made me feel anemoia with this one.... I'm here longing for my own Juan Cena now. Great piece.
Takes me home to riding the skateboard seat down the neighbors driveway, dodging rocks and laughing hysterically as you wonder whether you’ll navigate that last bump safely.
As offspring of Latin immigrants (Italians, we of the Romance languages are all Latins despite what the non Latins think) to a New World you capture the parallel experiences we all have undergone ...