Nacho Libre

           When a friend of mine here invited me to attend a Peruvian wrestling event, I must admit I was intrigued.  I had seen the Jack Black movie “Nacho Libre,” and found it hilarious (For the records, it's called Lucha Libre, Spanish for free fight).  The real thing looked like it would be at least as funny.  Attending it on April Fool’s Day seemed even more appropriate.

            When the day came, about 250 people filed into a tiny auditorium, hidden in one of Lima’s upper middle-class neighborhoods.  The tickets were $8 each, which didn’t include the main attraction, which was some WWF Wrestlemania feed onto a big screen, right after the live wrestling.  I didn’t care about the TV stuff, I wanted to see this up close.

            While the worst seats in the house were 5 rows back, the temperature inside hovered at about 85 degrees.  My friend had brought masks, as I had the idea that being an extreme fan as a gringo would add to the day’s hilarity.   Sadly, it was way too hot to wear them, although a few people did.

            I also discovered that no one finds the words, “Nacho Libre” remotely as funny as Americans do.  Native Spanish speakers looked at me funny when I said it.  I suppose they couldn't figure out why I wanted to free the corn chips.  Maybe I thought they were oppressed.  Dumb gringo.

            We were the only gringos in the place, but no one seemed to care.  The show started about a half-hour late, and the first act consisted of a young guy called “Cobra” engaging in about 15 minutes of trash talk with an older, more seasoned wrestler.  Cobra was the obvious bad guy, with boos and hisses reminiscent of 19^th century live theater.  There was a hint of conspiracy, as a guest referee was slated to oversee the match, and he was apparently an old friend of Cobra’s.  For those not fluent in Spanish, the trash-talk was very easy to follow, since it was spoken slowly with drawn out sentences, just like the way I speak Spanish normally.

            The first real match, and I use that term loosely, was a group called “Los Numeros.”  Four guys came running out to challenge two fairly (normal?)-looking wrestlers in a two-on-two tag team match.  I wasn’t quite sure how the math was supposed to work, but these guys were into physical comedy, running into each other, and just doing goofy things.  I laughed until my face hurt.

            The next match was the classic “I used to be a good guy but now I’d bad” theme of wrestling.  The pretty-boy that everyone loved to hate ended up getting defeated, and walked away dramatically from his opponent’s handshake, only to return to club the guy from behind with…what appeared to be…a lunchbox.

            Where do they find this stuff?  Is there a store that sells wrestling supplies, which includes an assortment of various items that you may use to club your distracted opponents over the head, causing no injury but making a loud noise?  I’m sure I could Google it.

            After a few more matches inside this sweat lodge, I think I had seen every plot theme known from the last 30 years of pro-wrestling.  We did see one guy take what appeared to be a legitimate hit, when another guy drop-kicked him in the back from behind, but I almost expected the whole thing to stop while an apology was made.

            For the final match, Cobra returned with his crooked referee to fight the older guy one-on-one.  The ref became the star of the match, as his bad calls became more and more obvious, and finally he would physically interfere at times with the action.  Eventually, his own guy “accidentally” knocked him out, and a real ref came in to save the day and make the calls.  The crowd of course went nuts for this, and I was right along with them.

            While the acting was horrible, and the blows ridiculously fake, I must say that I was genuinely entertained.  I won’t be a regular attendee at such events, but I highly recommend this if you have never seen it up close.  The Luchadores are entertainers and athletes, through and through.