Escape Into Professional Wrestling
Roman Reigns and The Bloodline
I have a day job. I work 9-5, Tuesday through Friday. It pays the bills and provides me and my wife with healthcare. My commute is a seven minute walk and my supervisors are kind, thoughtful people. As I age, the more I value these benefits. I see these aspects of my job as rare and precious, but when you’re in the daily grind of human existence it’s easy to lose sight of the good and slip into rumination on the bad. I’m in therapy, I take antidepressants and anti-psychotics, and I practice several cognitive behavioral therapy (CBT) techniques to cope with the darker corners of my consciousness. Even so, with all these benefits, it’s still not enough to get me through the day.
“Well it pays the bills…” or “You have healthcare…” or “You have a good therapist…” doesn’t answer a particular yearning in the soul. What is that need - that part of you that’s unmoved by the objective positives in your life?
What is it you’re searching for?
Escape.
That’s what you need. A reprieve from all your troubles and all your cares, something to get lost in that isn’t, strictly, reality.
That’s where professional wrestling arrives to save the day.
This past week I worked harder at my job than usual. I have new responsibilities and, as a result, I have meetings and deadlines that I never used to have. I need to be more thoughtful with my time and plan out my day at the very start. I systematically checked off my list of tasks and by the end of the day I was spent, having accomplished them all. I walked home feeling satisfied, like I’d accomplished something, and in need of a respite.
That’s when I remembered it was Friday and that SmackDown and Rampage would be on.
I cannot adequately describe how happy that realization made me. Suddenly my day opened up. I got a second breath and felt like anything was possible. I eagerly anticipated what might happen on both shows, particularly any Bloodline segment on SmackDown. I imagined sitting comfortably in my bed, as I smiled and watched The Usos vs The New Day (an excellent match that solidified The Usos record-breaking reign). I knew that as I watched wrestling, no thoughts about my job or my mental health would enter my mind. I would be allowed, even encouraged, to set reality aside and escape into a land of acrobatics, muscles, and verbal sparring.
This escape is not to say these shows are without depth.
The Bloodlines story, in particular, is layered and complex.
It works so well because there are characters who want things. Jey Uso wants the approval of The Tribal Chief, Roman Reigns. In a backstage segment on the latest episode of SmackDown, it looked like he finally got it. He leaned into a hug from Roman and took a deep breath, slapping Roman on the back two times. Those who’ve been watching this story unfold understand the significance of that gesture. Like me, many viewers certainly felt a strange blend of emotions, primarily happiness for Jey despite being a heel yearning for the approval of another heel.
The reason it works so well is that we all know what it’s like to yearn for approval, especially from family members and people we look up to. This is at the heart of Sami Zayn’s aim with The Bloodline (though his intentions are not as pure as Jey’s). Sami, much like Jey, wanted Roman’s approval but the somewhat squirrely way he went about getting it betrayed the sincerity of his intentions. Nevertheless, he finally got it along with his own “Honorary Uce” tee-shirt, and it was also embodied in a meaningful hug from The Tribal Chief.
Sami Zayn and Jey Uso come face to face.
All this to say, while some might call pro-wrestling escapist art (and they wouldn’t be entirely wrong) it still possesses depth, nuance, and narrative significance. Some mistake “escapism” for “lack of thought” when really, it just means “art to get lost in”.
Like any absorbing art, I don’t watch pro-wrestling, get reminded of my real life, and then toss my hands in the air and say I can’t watch this. Even when a film or television show hits close to home I don’t cover my eyes and shut my ears. The experience of any art involves a certain amount of escape, even when it’s reminding us of or critiquing some aspect of reality.
AEW is especially good at representing broken or damaged characters (it’s a bit more based in realism than WWE).
Where WWE tends to be the land of polished super heroes, where mental illness is represented as flashy camera cuts and cryptic symbols, AEW allows its characters to talk or visually represent their flaws. Eddie Kingston comes to mind as an open book in his promos, discussing his “mental crap” and his struggles “in the business”. While his work is grounded firmly in realism, the effect it has is one of making the listener feel less alone. This is why Eddie has “gotten over” with AEW fans. His performance is honest, and the flaws he’s shown gives us permission to reveal our own. It’s a beautiful process that yet again allows the viewer to “get lost” in the story.
Eddie Kingston of AEW.
Even Britt Baker, beautiful, funny, and motivated entirely by self interest, is still human and vulnerable in AEW. She’s a prototypical villain, but there’s an important visual reason she remains human in our minds.
We’ve seen her bleed.
Britt Baker bleeds in a match against Thunder Rosa
This is something several AEW wrestlers have over their WWE superstar counterparts.
Seeing a wrestler bleed immediately changes your thought-process around that wrestler. They’re unavoidably human and vulnerable and how they persist even with a debilitating crimson mask reveals their character. I still vividly recall the imagery of Britt’s lights out match with Thunder Rosa, both of them doused in red, creating a modern classic before our very eyes.
AEW’s second-most escapist act (Danhausen takes first place), Orange Cassidy, is still incredibly complex. His light shin-kicks, his hands in his pockets, and his cool, unaffected air serve dual purposes. First, his behavior is a critique of “cool” tropes, revealing how silly it is to try hard at not trying hard. Next, his behavior is a smokescreen meant to lure his opponents into a false sense of security before he strikes with his always fiery offense. You are permitted to laugh and cheer, think or not think, with this character. And, surprisingly, his arc circles back to being actually cool because his performance is so good.
Much like a Pixar film offers something for both child and parent, pro-wrestling offers something for non-thinker and thinker alike (often both simultaneously).
Orange Cassidy of AEW.
These characters point toward the function of pro-wrestling in our lives.
The medium fluctuates between the highs of spectacle and the “lows” of real, human drama. Experiencing that back and forth arrests the wrestling fan’s attention, turns them away from the immediacy of their troubles, and gives them something remarkable to believe in. For this reason, pro-wrestling is an incredibly affective form of escapism. Even those who aren’t fans cannot help but get lost in the motion of bodies and the fiery words of a good orator.
Pro-wrestling performs something akin to a public service, refocusing our attention on the fun and magnificent things in life, while also giving us great examples of human frailty.
It gives us what our 9-5 jobs and our benefits can’t.
It gives us a reason to leap out of our chairs and cheer.
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