The Evil History Of Pro Wrestling | Bill DeMott

In pro wrestling’s olden days - when WWE was still the WWWF, before Brian Pillman first flirted with the worked shoot on mainstream television, before the content industry rendered the fading concept of kayfabe a long-lost artefact - wrestlers were broken in the hard way.

Back then, kayfabe was upheld, even if most people knew deep down that the pseudo-sport was indeed rigged - but the illusion was considered vital in order to convince the public otherwise and sell tickets for intense grudge matches. If an aspiring wrestler walked into a training school and was told on day one that it was all fake and here, this is how to protect yourself when taking a staged bump, somebody was bound to leak that information. This did not happen; instead, wrestlers were taught legitimate holds and stretched to the point of agony and injury before their trust was earned. Infamously, Hiro Matsuda broke Hulk Hogan’s leg on his first day of training in the most extreme example of this objective: to make the aspiring pro wrestler feel like they proudly belonged to an exclusive secret society that only inducted those tough enough. The badge of honour and the endorsement came with it a pact to protect the secrets of the industry. This was the common interest that united the brotherhood.

Years later, things changed. The process of becoming a pro wrestler was still very painful, but largely, not quite so toxic. Even the fabled dojo system of Japan, so legendarily awful that the masochistic Chris Benoit didn’t feel like he could cope with it initially, followed this new direction of travel. The secret was out, never to return. Why bother holding onto it with the literal grasp of an excruciating submission hold?

When Paul ‘Triple H’ Levesque took over WWE’s developmental system, fans rejoiced. The man saved many lifelong supporter’s fandom. NXT wasn’t just very good, especially relative to the incoherent, goofy, and punishing main roster: it was nice.

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