Más: the Prison, the Party, the Poisoning, and the Parade

 

Yes, a *prison*.

 

 

No, this was not a gimmick match.

 

...just another day at the office

 

I actually wrestled in a Mexican federal prison. In front of resident prisoners. Contra a resident prisoner.

How did this happen? Apparently funciónes de lucha libre are a regular occurrence in some non-maximum security prisons in D.F.–at least this one particular prison has a history of lucha events. Beyond the yards and yards of razor wire, and packs of strangely nondescript, freeroaming (guard?) dogs, the El Reclosorio Oriente Varonil features sports facilities, a theatre, and classrooms. Everyone we met was exceptionally nice, from the M16-bearing guards down to every resident.

 

More than just batons.

 

I witnessed two accidents, which are both the first from any event in which I have participated. One luchador seperated his shoulder after landing a plancha incorrectly; another luchador accidentally split his head open, covering himself and all of his opponents in blood. Both of these accidents happened right before my match, which is–as one may have guessed–awesome for the nerves. In the main event, I teamed up with Jack and another luchador, against Sepulcro, Sepultura Jr., Sepultura–a resident of ROV.

 

On a very different note: the following weekend we descended upon a birthday party for the son of a fellow luchador.

*My* birthday parties were never this epic

 

 

The card featured a two-hour show, during which I teamed up with another luchador to face-off against Mimo Fantasia and Destino in the semifinals.

 

 

In other news: the parties in Mexico are awesome.

 

A little strutting after beating Destino with a stray shoe that I had found. No, really.

 

We were rewarded with an appreciative crowd–including several hecklers–, tequila, and tacos al pastor for our efforts. The party had roughly 100 people, and although I have wrestled in front of much larger crowds, the level of audience interaction at this event was almost unparalleled. In part, this may have been because of the close proximity to the crowd, wherein audience members had to move when we took the fight outside of the ring. It also may have been due to the prevalence of tequila and mescal at the event. In any case, excellent crowd.

 

Then came the day after…

Not pictured: utter despair.

 

Pictured above? Antibiotics. The doctor I saw three days later blamed the tacos al pastor, but either way I ended up missing an entire week of life–let alone training–due to los tacos. At least it was not as bad as other cases I have heard of, and it afforded me the time to catch up on all the sleep that I have missed. Since high school.

 

Fortunately I had mostly recovered by the following Saturday for the Desfile Alebrijes parade!

 

 

We were invited to the annual parade, which features a procession of artists, musicians, and–most importantly–huge paper maché monsters. The Museo de Arte Popular hosts a display of the pieces for a month on both ends of the parade, before facilitating the epic march through downtown.

Preparing to *march*

 

We were later tricked into briefly dancing Gangnam Style in the street with a troupe of 15 year-olds. Fortunately no photos or videos have surfaced. Until next week…

 

Saludos!

 

Authors note: cameras were not allowed in the federal prison, thus the first three photos have been borrowed from other websites and are not my intellectual property. Clicking the images will direct you to the respective original web pages of each image.

 

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