Fight Night - WWE comes to Wembley!

I went to watch WWE Live on Sunday night. It's not a normal night out for me by any means. My evening of choice would probably be something involving some live music or a play, maybe some comedy or at a stretch, a musical. I have been known to enjoy opera, jazz, the odd classical quartet or just a bog standard pub quiz.

It was not my idea at all but I have to admit to rather enjoying myself.

It also got me thinking about what exactly is entertainment. I was sat there in a draughty auditorium, surrounded by erstwhile fans of the "sport" of wrestling, listening to kids scream and chants start all around me. There was booing and cheering, depending on the character in the ring. Sometimes, the crowd was not sure and so, there was a confused combination of both support and derision. Flashing lights and loud music filled the arena and there was a lively announcer with a microphone to herald loudly the arrival of the new opponent with their own unique signature display on a big screen.

It's come a long way from Graeco-Roman wrestling, that's for sure: a tussle on the sand. They're wearing spangly costumes for a start as opposed to the ancients who just liked to do it in the buff. I couldn't help but think at times that those sequins probably chafed. Ever the pragmatist. And the hair! So much hair but only on heads, not on chests. And the women! So much pleather.

I have to admit to having reservations about wrestling and why it exists at all in more recent years. When I first got together with my hubby, we spent long evenings watching The Undertaker and Triple H and The Rock and I can remember thinking then, Where is the joy in this? It all seems like a lot of macho posturing to me. And the fights between Vince McMahon and "Stone Cold" Steve Austin just induced a sneer from me, the like of which The Rock has never seen or been able to emulate.

His weekly watching of the wrestling has diminished somewhat as we have moved around and it has not been so readily available or so easy to find on the TV channels and so, I'm a bit out of touch with who the big stars of today are and happy in my ignorance.

But my youngest has discovered clips of wrestling on the internet and so, my consciousness has been made aware of Roman Reigns and John Cena. It was for him that we found ourselves at Wembley Arena, eating hot dogs and waiting for the big show to start.

It was his birthday present. I was there for the ride.

(As an aside - great name for a wrestler that - The Big Show. Someone should look into that.)

It was surprisingly good. The opening bout was a tag team battle between The Brawling Brutes, one long-haired and slighter, one broad shouldered and triangular, and of Irish descent if the music is anything to go by. They were up against the Street Profits, sequin-clad boys from the street supposedly, dressed in the waspish colours of black and yellow. The rest of the crowd were clearly aligned with The Brawling Brutes - they were the goodies.

After much goading of the crowd by Street Profits, the wrestling match started and there was a lot of face slapping, throwing around and bouncing off the ropes. But I think what I appreciated more at this live experience is the athleticism of the wrestlers. There were a LOT of acrobatics throughout, whether this was throwing someone over their head into a full body slam, jumping off ropes at height into the ring and missing the opponent completely or grabbing someone around the neck with thighs to bring them down into a rather compromising headlock.

It was, I have to admit, quite thrilling.

I even joined in with some booing where I felt it was appropriate and laughed heartily at some of the exaggerated antics of the fighters. At times, it was quite cartoonish!

There were several fights throughout the evening, culminating in "The Main Event" which was L.A. Knight versus Solo Sikoa, and this involved props. The climax of any wrestling evening seems to be when chairs or a table are brought out and in this bout, we had both as well as some sort of stick, shaped like a baseball bat but flatter. Who knows what that was called officially but whatever its name, it managed to inflict some damage to L.A. Knight's back a number of times, much to the chagrin of the crowd.

But it wasn't long before good won out and L.A. Knight was victorious, chairs were dented and a table snapped in half and Solo Sikoa staggered away, humbled and dazed. Very satisfying indeed.

It was a truly unique experience and entertaining but I also found it quite thought-provoking.

Firstly, the watching of people fighting each other. It's not really my bag, watching one person beat the crap out of someone else. I could never go to a boxing match. I just don't like it. But this was fakery of the finest order, despite the protestations of my youngest that it was "all real". It wasn't. It was choreographed and structured and whilst there is no doubt about the strength and fitness of the wrestlers, it is a show, like Cirque du Soleil or, more appropriately, pantomime.

If you don't know pantomime, let me explain. In Britain, we have a tradition where city theatres put on a play at Christmas or around that time, usually loosely based on a fairy tale (Cinderella), nursery rhyme (Mother Goose) or well-known story (Aladdin or Peter Pan) where costumes are over-the-top and audience participation is encouraged. There are clear goodies and baddies and I have had many an enjoyable afternoon or evening cheerily shouting "Boooooo!" or "Oh no, it isn't!" or the favourite, "He's behind you!" at a stage full of waning soap opera stars and their precocious young replacements, just starting to make a name for themselves.

That's what WWE reminded me of because that's what it is. All the posturing and goading of the crowd, the catchphrases and knowing what to shout out to rankle the athletes - this is American pantomime. It seemed relatively harmless.

Of course, it is jazzed up considerably by the inclusion of bona fide athletes who train and eat the right things and take their job and what is expected of them very seriously. And quite rightly. Because if they don't, I can see serious injury happening. There was one match where the two wrestlers were entwined like a big human ball of sequins and colours and arms and legs (and hair) and rolled, like that, around the stage, a feat which was not lost on me for its co-ordination and spectacle.

And it is in this human versus human battle taking place in a dedicated arena that the obvious comparison with gladiators has to be made. I mean, no blood was shed on Sunday night and they weren't fighting to the death but when a kid behind me screeched "Bring out the table!", I did think that in ancient Rome, the citizens in the Colosseum could just as easily be crying out "Bring out the lions!" with the same, if not increased fervour.

The closest that we got to lions tonight was the faux fur coat that Shotzi, a female wrestler, came out in at the start of her match. Thank goodness.

But the idea is the same. It seems that as a race, we like to see people fight. The popularity of WWE, boxing and UFC is testament to that. I wonder at what stage it would become barbaric in our minds, enough for us to decide that we should put a stop to it.

WWE was playful in its fighting but it required precision and an aspect of safety consciousness in order for it to be well executed. It is not, in my opinion, as brutish as boxing or UFC, but it is still combat between two beings.

It got me asking the question: Have we really evolved that much over the last 2000 years? Which led me to: Did the Romans ever analyse their barbarism? Or did it just become a part of their everyday lives to the point that they were inured to what they were witnessing?

I suppose we don't fight to the death anymore and yet, people become broken from these mini battles. Boxers get Parkinson's and aneurysms and I saw one clip of a UFC fighter whose leg snapped in two while fighting, which was just repugnant on so many levels.

But then, injuries of these kind are encountered in lots of sport where physicality between teams is a key component. Look at rugby and American/Canadian football or ice hockey and, to a lesser degree, football/soccer. All can result in serious injury through bodily contact. Sport would never be banned so where does the line get drawn?

As you can see, it got me thinking on more than just a surface level.

And then, this morning, my husband also reflected on his experience last night and in the baying of the crowd and the enjoyment of the wrestle, he drew a comparison to The Running Man, the short story by Stephen King and the film starring Arnold Schwarzenegger. For those who don't know, the film is mainly based in a futuristic gladiatorial arena where supposed "criminals" are forced to compete against resident hunters, paid predators in costumes lit-up and sequinned, with individual identities and character names like Dynamo, for example. This is all televised and staged but essentially, people are killed for entertainment. And the crowd love it.

I could see what he meant. It was reminiscent of that, only without the loss of life and no chainsaws in sight.

We have not reverted to having gladiatorial games for entertainment other than ones like WWE where professionals are involved and it is staged, and ones that do have members of the public compete are relatively innocuous shows of strength, speed and athletic prowess like Ninja Warrior and The Titan Games.

This idea is still very much in the realms of fiction and forever may it stay there, being used by satirists and writers to highlight how we should NOT treat each other. With wars raging the world over, the nightly news displays enough examples of man's inhumanity to man without us having to resort to real-life shows depicting it.

None involve fighting to the death...yet.

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