Last week I mentioned that I had attended a few live WWF events. This soap opera with violence was an obsession at the time, from watching on TV to eventually screaming in stadiums. In all I saw four live shows: the first found me naive and ignorant, going in American flag face paint (because we didn't know any of the current wrestlers then, we just assumed one would be into the red, white and blue).
That one was the gateway show and soon, after watching the program religiously and becoming very well acquainted with the people's elbow; Austin 3:16; braces on huge women; face masks, and an evil genius, we attended our second and most fulfilling show outside the city: Excitement was in the air and we felt as one with the other fans… we saw the people's elbow in person and it was AWESOME! But all good things must end, just ask Stone Cold Steve Austin, a man who used to grace a talking t-shirt I gave Jim during our courtship (it yelled “And that's the bottom line!”) who is now but a faded memory.
My love affair ended abruptly during my fourth live show. Jim and I splurged and got up close floor seats where the barbarity and of my die-hard fans in “the pit” made me turn in my Triple H fever and my Undertaker excitement and never look back. I liked WWF for the fun and over the top, scintillating drama. What I didn't see on TV or up in the bleachers was the violence and terrible behavior it endorsed and perpetuated in its most loyal followers: Men were telling twelve year old girls to sit down in front or they'd do things to them that I won't mention; fans were fighting and angry and I was actually scared.
It was ugly and it was crude and I no longer felt a comradery with the crowd, but my more familiar snootiness. That night ruined wrestling for me, but I can never forget the memories.
Maybe you can experience what I once did, after all, the Undertaker is still active and the company is on tour perpetually. But I recommend getting cheap tickets, the pit fans are no good.