Reality Check: The Life of a Pro Wrestler
By Cameron Bucar
I was 5 the first time my father handed me a pair of tickets to witness professional wrestling live at the Civic Arena in Pittsburgh. I had begun watching wrestling a couple of months prior and couldn’t be more exited to witness the action in person.
The drive to the event took only an hour, but it felt like days. My father parked the car in some old, rundown parking lot that charged $20. As we got out of the vehicle, my father turned to me and said something that would stick with me throughout the evening, and frankly for a very long time.
“Now just remember that this is all fake,” he said.
“These guys aren’t really beating each other up.”
His statement took me by surprise. What did he mean by saying it was “all fake”?
From that point on, I watched wrestling differently, wondering what was real and what was fake. Nearly 13 years exactly from that day in Pittsburgh, I found myself standing backstage at a pro wrestling event. Only this time, I wasn’t attending as a fan, but rather as a performer. After months of training and preparing, I would soon find out for sure how true my father's statement was.
I began training to become a professional wrestler when I was 17. The training cost $800, and was held three days a week. When I was growing up as wrestling fan, I knew certain aspects of the profession were pre-determined. I knew that the competitors weren’t out there to seriously hurt one another, and I knew that the big moments in the matches were scripted, with the winner and loser also being predetermined long before the match began. But overall, I knew that there had to be more to this profession. In professional wrestling, injuries happen at the blink of an eye. Many of these injuries, unfortunately, end up being serious.
During my training, I luckily hadn’t encountered any injuries, but I definitely felt sore and exhausted. Falling in a wrestling ring, or “taking bumps” as they call it in the business, is certainly no joke. Falling on the canvas will instantly steal the breath from your body, and failing to tuck your chin before impact can lead to a serious headache, or even worse, a concussion.
It was during a normal training session that my trainer, Bill, broke the news that I would soon be having my first wrestling match in front of a live audience. I became instantly thrilled, knowing that I had come that much closer to living my dream. I was nervous, as well, but it wasn’t overwhelming to me. Besides, this was all fake anyway, right?
I stood backstage at the Monessen Civic Center, not thinking that soon I would be wrestling in front of a crowd, but thinking about the terrible odor that flooded the halls. I wondered if the hideous smell was a sign of things to come and if the stench represented what my performance would allude to that evening.
“What’s wrong? You worried your gonna stink up the joint tonight?” Bill said, as he walked by me in the hall.
He couldn’t have said that at a worse time. To top things off, my opponent for the evening, a man who used the wrestling alias "J-RU," had not arrived in the building yet to discuss our match. Since this was my first match, my trainer had decided that I would play a masked character. That way, if I lost my cool in front of the crowd, my image wouldn’t be ruined in the wrestling world forever. I was glad he was confident in me. Moments later, the show began and I could hear the announcer welcoming the small crowd to the event. Soon the entrance music for the night’s first competitor echoed throughout the building and the opening match kicked off. My match was scheduled to go on third, yet my opponent’s whereabouts were still in question.
J-RU finally arrived at the start of the second match. I ran up to him and quickly introduced myself as his opponent for the evening. He could tell by my enthusiasm and, frankly, just by looking at me, that I was a scared little rookie. I imagined that he would have had an entire match planned out for us inside of his head, covering the entire five-to-seven minutes our match was expected to last. J-RU looked at me.
“Well, kid, let’s just go out there and wing it,” J-RU said. “You’ll be fine, and I’ll just let you know what I’m feeling when we're out there.”
I couldn’t believe it! That wasn’t how things were supposed to go.
I believed everything was scripted, like a film on the silver screen. How could I ever go out there without a game plan and expect to come out in one piece? My slight case of nervousness suddenly leaped to new heights.
I walked through the curtain and entered a foreign land that I had only encountered before as an outsider. The entrance music that played was a creepy circus tune that seemed to scare the children in the audience. They introduced me as “The Masked Assassin” and that I hailed from parts unknown. I was playing the villain in the match and I played it off by yelling at a couple of children in the first row. It may have been tasteless, but it certainly worked.
Once J-RU entered the ring, I knew that there was no turning back. But I remembered what my father had said 13 years earlier, that this was all part of a scripted show.
Suddenly, the bell rang and J-RU ran at me, blasting me with a punch to the chin. I instantly felt the pain piercing my jaw, but before I could take my next breath, I was hit with another blow. The next five minutes, which felt like five hours, consisted of me taking slam after slam. This match wasn’t about me getting in any offense, but about how well I could learn to take maneuvers. Near the end of the match, J-RU had placed me in one of the corners of the ring. I wasn’t sure what was coming, but I knew it wouldn’t be pleasant.
That was when J-RU proceeded to dive into me with a flying elbow attack that would result in his elbow stabbing me in the throat. I knew it had to have been an accident because J-RU immediately apologized. But his apology was held up by another vicious elbow to the throat, this time making an even greater impact.
Directly after that, J-RU grabbed my head and planted it in a firm grip and then dropped me directly on the canvas, face first, for a move that is titled the “DDT." J-RU covered me for the three count and just like that, the match was over.
As I lay on the canvas, dizzy and in pain, I could hear the crowd cheering J-RU’s name. It was in that moment that I knew I had survived my first test, but overall, things were not as my father had proclaimed them to be.
After the match, I sat backstage and wondered if I would be all right. I felt totally exhausted, and it was hard to swallow. I felt as if my throat might have been permanently damaged.
I took myself back to the time my father had pronounced to me that wrestling was completely fake and that there was no real danger in the sport. I wanted to yell at him and couldn’t wait to show him the swelling and bruises I had obtained during the match.
Moments later, J-RU approached me.
“Hey, kid, you did really well out there tonight,” J-RU said. “You handled yourself well, and most important, you listened. I hope I wasn’t too hard on you out there.”
I took a deep breath, which was nearly impossible to do with my swollen throat, and I thought to myself:
”I didn’t feel a thing.”
Find out more about Cameron Bucar on his personal blog.
I was 5 the first time my father handed me a pair of tickets to witness professional wrestling live at the Civic Arena in Pittsburgh. I had begun watching wrestling a couple of months prior and couldn’t be more exited to witness the action in person.
The drive to the event took only an hour, but it felt like days. My father parked the car in some old, rundown parking lot that charged $20. As we got out of the vehicle, my father turned to me and said something that would stick with me throughout the evening, and frankly for a very long time.
“Now just remember that this is all fake,” he said.
“These guys aren’t really beating each other up.”
His statement took me by surprise. What did he mean by saying it was “all fake”?
From that point on, I watched wrestling differently, wondering what was real and what was fake. Nearly 13 years exactly from that day in Pittsburgh, I found myself standing backstage at a pro wrestling event. Only this time, I wasn’t attending as a fan, but rather as a performer. After months of training and preparing, I would soon find out for sure how true my father's statement was.
I began training to become a professional wrestler when I was 17. The training cost $800, and was held three days a week. When I was growing up as wrestling fan, I knew certain aspects of the profession were pre-determined. I knew that the competitors weren’t out there to seriously hurt one another, and I knew that the big moments in the matches were scripted, with the winner and loser also being predetermined long before the match began. But overall, I knew that there had to be more to this profession. In professional wrestling, injuries happen at the blink of an eye. Many of these injuries, unfortunately, end up being serious.
During my training, I luckily hadn’t encountered any injuries, but I definitely felt sore and exhausted. Falling in a wrestling ring, or “taking bumps” as they call it in the business, is certainly no joke. Falling on the canvas will instantly steal the breath from your body, and failing to tuck your chin before impact can lead to a serious headache, or even worse, a concussion.
It was during a normal training session that my trainer, Bill, broke the news that I would soon be having my first wrestling match in front of a live audience. I became instantly thrilled, knowing that I had come that much closer to living my dream. I was nervous, as well, but it wasn’t overwhelming to me. Besides, this was all fake anyway, right?
I stood backstage at the Monessen Civic Center, not thinking that soon I would be wrestling in front of a crowd, but thinking about the terrible odor that flooded the halls. I wondered if the hideous smell was a sign of things to come and if the stench represented what my performance would allude to that evening.
“What’s wrong? You worried your gonna stink up the joint tonight?” Bill said, as he walked by me in the hall.
He couldn’t have said that at a worse time. To top things off, my opponent for the evening, a man who used the wrestling alias "J-RU," had not arrived in the building yet to discuss our match. Since this was my first match, my trainer had decided that I would play a masked character. That way, if I lost my cool in front of the crowd, my image wouldn’t be ruined in the wrestling world forever. I was glad he was confident in me. Moments later, the show began and I could hear the announcer welcoming the small crowd to the event. Soon the entrance music for the night’s first competitor echoed throughout the building and the opening match kicked off. My match was scheduled to go on third, yet my opponent’s whereabouts were still in question.
J-RU finally arrived at the start of the second match. I ran up to him and quickly introduced myself as his opponent for the evening. He could tell by my enthusiasm and, frankly, just by looking at me, that I was a scared little rookie. I imagined that he would have had an entire match planned out for us inside of his head, covering the entire five-to-seven minutes our match was expected to last. J-RU looked at me.
“Well, kid, let’s just go out there and wing it,” J-RU said. “You’ll be fine, and I’ll just let you know what I’m feeling when we're out there.”
I couldn’t believe it! That wasn’t how things were supposed to go.
I believed everything was scripted, like a film on the silver screen. How could I ever go out there without a game plan and expect to come out in one piece? My slight case of nervousness suddenly leaped to new heights.
I walked through the curtain and entered a foreign land that I had only encountered before as an outsider. The entrance music that played was a creepy circus tune that seemed to scare the children in the audience. They introduced me as “The Masked Assassin” and that I hailed from parts unknown. I was playing the villain in the match and I played it off by yelling at a couple of children in the first row. It may have been tasteless, but it certainly worked.
Once J-RU entered the ring, I knew that there was no turning back. But I remembered what my father had said 13 years earlier, that this was all part of a scripted show.
Suddenly, the bell rang and J-RU ran at me, blasting me with a punch to the chin. I instantly felt the pain piercing my jaw, but before I could take my next breath, I was hit with another blow. The next five minutes, which felt like five hours, consisted of me taking slam after slam. This match wasn’t about me getting in any offense, but about how well I could learn to take maneuvers. Near the end of the match, J-RU had placed me in one of the corners of the ring. I wasn’t sure what was coming, but I knew it wouldn’t be pleasant.
That was when J-RU proceeded to dive into me with a flying elbow attack that would result in his elbow stabbing me in the throat. I knew it had to have been an accident because J-RU immediately apologized. But his apology was held up by another vicious elbow to the throat, this time making an even greater impact.
Directly after that, J-RU grabbed my head and planted it in a firm grip and then dropped me directly on the canvas, face first, for a move that is titled the “DDT." J-RU covered me for the three count and just like that, the match was over.
As I lay on the canvas, dizzy and in pain, I could hear the crowd cheering J-RU’s name. It was in that moment that I knew I had survived my first test, but overall, things were not as my father had proclaimed them to be.
After the match, I sat backstage and wondered if I would be all right. I felt totally exhausted, and it was hard to swallow. I felt as if my throat might have been permanently damaged.
I took myself back to the time my father had pronounced to me that wrestling was completely fake and that there was no real danger in the sport. I wanted to yell at him and couldn’t wait to show him the swelling and bruises I had obtained during the match.
Moments later, J-RU approached me.
“Hey, kid, you did really well out there tonight,” J-RU said. “You handled yourself well, and most important, you listened. I hope I wasn’t too hard on you out there.”
I took a deep breath, which was nearly impossible to do with my swollen throat, and I thought to myself:
”I didn’t feel a thing.”
Find out more about Cameron Bucar on his personal blog.