Shits and Giggles
I had seen still pictures of 27-year-old Scottish pro wrestler Lionheart and quickly clicked away to something else. He is handsome, I think, but until yesterday I did not find him sexy. Then yesterday I watched Lionheart wrestle CJ Banks in a 13-March-2009 event for Shooting Star Wrestling in the UK. It was like fireworks going off, and by "it" I mean my pecker.
You can watch the full match on YouTube here and here, but I can't guarantee your response will be anything like mine. The action is slow by US, Mexican, or Japanese standards. There's nothing spectacular about the holds, some of which are rather clumsily applied. It's obviously fake. And the storyline is straightforward, perhaps too much so, and, let's face it, cliché ridden. But still there are things about the match that do the trick for me.
First of all, there's Lionheart's opponent, CJ Banks, a guy who manages to look like a cross between a weasel and a grub--but in the sexiest way possible, and, yes, I mean that sincerely and, strange to say, with no disrespect to Banks. This guy turns me on. The five-pounds extra baggage around his waist is a perfect match to Lionheart's--all the better for slow sweaty clenches to come. His pit-bull grimace is churlish and salacious at the same time. And when he hikes up his trunks to contemptuously expose first one butt cheek then both to the booing, hissing spectators, I knew this was the pasty-faced cowardly heel for me.
Here are two men of even size and comparable build. Lionheart plays by the rules. Banks cuts every corner he can. The roles are clear even as the ref pats them down for foreign objects--Lionheart puts on his toughest fight face, while Banks glowers at the crowd like a mustachioed villain in a silent movie. The match barely starts--the two have not even locked arms--before Banks slithers out of the ring under the ropes. Already, I'm salivating for Lionheart to get his paws on this wuss.
Really, it's Banks that sells the action. Lionheart doesn't have to do a whole lot at first, except look stalwart and determined, a hero of the people. But notice the way Lionheart easily slips Banks into a painful standing armbar, and the way Banks's growling sells it. Then when Banks gets a notch up on Lionheart, he crows ... like nobody's ever wrestled this good before in the whole history of wrestling. Man, is this guy gonna get it!
Lionheart remains the strong and silent type. He wrestles like he does this to cure cancer, looking the other guy up and down like the guy's some kind of complicated bomb he's got to defuse. Every now and then he raises his arms and starts clapping, getting the kids in the crowd to clap with him, as if he needs the steady beat of palms slapping palms to clear his head so he can slice into this loser and bust him up but good.
Just the anticipation of the moment when Lionheart will (inevitably) put Banks in his place and give him the beating he deserves is too sweet for words.
Any fan of pure masculine showoffery should smile the moment that, as the crowd taunts Banks, he gets the upper hand on the hero and, hands behind his head, does a little Alex Wright-style bump and grind. Then, right after, when Lionheart musses him up and tosses him out of the ring, Banks fumes and sputters at his pint-sized haters while Lionheart takes the opportunity to do some push-ups.
When the tide turns, we see the villain show how dastardly he can be, by turns tormenting Lionheart's knee with sadistic glee and flinching every time the giddy onlookers desecrate his name. The hero works up a fine pink sweat, never pleading for mercy, taking the punishment like a man, biding his time till he can deal Banks his inescapable comeuppance.
I'm sorry, but I'm a sucker for this kind of phony-baloney burlesque, unsophisticated, sophomoric, dumbed-down entertainment, though it may be. These extreme caricatures of good guys and bad guys, play-acted broadly, just for the crowd's shits and giggles, by two sweaty guys in pretty good shape, wearing trunks and boots, can be just as sexy to me as porn--more so, in fact, than a lot of porn.
You can watch the full match on YouTube here and here, but I can't guarantee your response will be anything like mine. The action is slow by US, Mexican, or Japanese standards. There's nothing spectacular about the holds, some of which are rather clumsily applied. It's obviously fake. And the storyline is straightforward, perhaps too much so, and, let's face it, cliché ridden. But still there are things about the match that do the trick for me.
First of all, there's Lionheart's opponent, CJ Banks, a guy who manages to look like a cross between a weasel and a grub--but in the sexiest way possible, and, yes, I mean that sincerely and, strange to say, with no disrespect to Banks. This guy turns me on. The five-pounds extra baggage around his waist is a perfect match to Lionheart's--all the better for slow sweaty clenches to come. His pit-bull grimace is churlish and salacious at the same time. And when he hikes up his trunks to contemptuously expose first one butt cheek then both to the booing, hissing spectators, I knew this was the pasty-faced cowardly heel for me.
Here are two men of even size and comparable build. Lionheart plays by the rules. Banks cuts every corner he can. The roles are clear even as the ref pats them down for foreign objects--Lionheart puts on his toughest fight face, while Banks glowers at the crowd like a mustachioed villain in a silent movie. The match barely starts--the two have not even locked arms--before Banks slithers out of the ring under the ropes. Already, I'm salivating for Lionheart to get his paws on this wuss.
Really, it's Banks that sells the action. Lionheart doesn't have to do a whole lot at first, except look stalwart and determined, a hero of the people. But notice the way Lionheart easily slips Banks into a painful standing armbar, and the way Banks's growling sells it. Then when Banks gets a notch up on Lionheart, he crows ... like nobody's ever wrestled this good before in the whole history of wrestling. Man, is this guy gonna get it!
Lionheart remains the strong and silent type. He wrestles like he does this to cure cancer, looking the other guy up and down like the guy's some kind of complicated bomb he's got to defuse. Every now and then he raises his arms and starts clapping, getting the kids in the crowd to clap with him, as if he needs the steady beat of palms slapping palms to clear his head so he can slice into this loser and bust him up but good.
Just the anticipation of the moment when Lionheart will (inevitably) put Banks in his place and give him the beating he deserves is too sweet for words.
Any fan of pure masculine showoffery should smile the moment that, as the crowd taunts Banks, he gets the upper hand on the hero and, hands behind his head, does a little Alex Wright-style bump and grind. Then, right after, when Lionheart musses him up and tosses him out of the ring, Banks fumes and sputters at his pint-sized haters while Lionheart takes the opportunity to do some push-ups.
When the tide turns, we see the villain show how dastardly he can be, by turns tormenting Lionheart's knee with sadistic glee and flinching every time the giddy onlookers desecrate his name. The hero works up a fine pink sweat, never pleading for mercy, taking the punishment like a man, biding his time till he can deal Banks his inescapable comeuppance.
I'm sorry, but I'm a sucker for this kind of phony-baloney burlesque, unsophisticated, sophomoric, dumbed-down entertainment, though it may be. These extreme caricatures of good guys and bad guys, play-acted broadly, just for the crowd's shits and giggles, by two sweaty guys in pretty good shape, wearing trunks and boots, can be just as sexy to me as porn--more so, in fact, than a lot of porn.
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