Originally an email sent 4/11/07
The deal-breaker I spoke of at the end of the last email was gaining the knowledge from Alessandro (our tour guide) that this Mexican masked wrestling event is pay per view and cameras are an absolute no-no. I almost start crying right there in the cantina (the one with Pancho Villa's bullet), seriously, this is unfair. I proceed to throw a small fit and in my altered state, mumble something about becoming Pablo's wife in Mexican prison coming a close second to sneaking my camera in and getting some killer photos. I ask Alessandro if anyone from his tour has ever got in trouble and he says something about tight security and it being a small venue, adding his two cents that it's probably not a great idea.
I think to myself that if I am going to go to Mexican prison, why not over this? I decide then and there to not check my camera at the door as my tour guide highly suggests. I down a shot of Mezcal and attach my camera strap to my belt buckle, I then let the camera fall down to where no machismo laden Mexican security guard would search. I plan my attack on the walk from the cantina to the venue (I hesitate to call it an arena because it was not that big, think one step up from the crappiest venue you can get in Fight Night the video game). The way I see it, I have three hurdles to overcome; getting the camera in, taking the pictures and lastly, getting out with my camera and liberty intact.
We walk up to the arena and I am in awe. People everywhere, vendors selling masks (SCORE!), people selling beer and food, drunken middle aged men stumbling over themselves, is this heaven? This is just like I imagine a WWE event would be outside some hick town in the deep south... only MEXICAN. I am so awestruck I almost forget about the contraband in my nether-region. Alessandro gives us the OK and we start heading towards the entrance. People are checking their cameras... I start sweating. I watch some of the people in our group go first, the security guards give them a pretty through pat-down, legs and all but are respectful about the no-no areas (even with girls). I breath a sigh of relief as I am allowed entry after a half-assed pat down. I love this. Phase one: success. We enter and find our seats, which are the absolute worst seats in the house. They provide an obscured view of the top of the ring when anyone does any above the second turnbuckle. I, of course, with my gregarious personality am placed in the buffer seat separating the tourists from the locals sitting next to a lovely family (I'm directly near the kids). I want to get high flying awesomeness caught on camera and doing so with this vista will be damn near impossible, I'm going to have to get a better vantage point. Phase two is not looking so hot. The first match of the night has already commenced, I guess the cantina tour took longer then expected.
I start scoping out the security inside... this is bananas, there are guards all over the place. For what? this is a weekly event here in D.F, I still don't get it but whatever. I undo my belt sitting in the darkened back row and think about how wrong it must look if anyone is watching, me fumbling with my belt buckle to try to get my camera out sitting next to a family with little kids... sigh, you would think I'd be smart enough to go to the bathroom but I am not. luckily, it was uneventful and I got my camera out. Now I have the problem of how to take pictures, obviously no flash can be used, but it is so dark where I am sitting that the light from the display illuminates my face... this is no good. I turn the display off and manage to snag a few junky photos. All of a sudden the security guard storms over and asks me what I am doing, I say taking pictures and he starts telling me I can't do that. I feign gringo-ignorance (always a good first defense in a foreign land). He goes away. Someone hands me a beer and a bag of microwave popcorn (which they sell there, how cool is that?). Life is good, I still have my camera, my freedom and some of my dignity (arguably).
The crowd starts chanting something unintelligible as this "gay" wrester in a pink skirt and a pink mohawk comes out, his name is Maximo and the crowd goes nuts when he gets hit. Still they cheer for him as he keeps getting up after each successive beat-down. I found this more than a little disturbing but it wasn't the place to get up and start arguing for sexual equality. I just have to get photos of Maximo and pull my camera out again, I get a few shots and then the security guard comes over again. He starts yelling at me more sternly than before and I pretend I don't understand what he is talking about. I then get up and make like I am going to give my camera to the camera check lady. I leave that area, it's too hot to go back to now. I figure the only way to get some pictures is to befriend one of the pro-photographers there. I use this term loosely as I approach the only guy who isn't ringside. I start chatting him up. What's your name, where you from, I'm from NY, I'm a teacher, blah blah blah. We become cool, I look at his camera and say "wow thats nice" (it was a early model Kodak digital cam, read: crap, and I was buttering him up for the kill). He loves me. He gives me his card. Eduardo Jimenez C. (AKA the Dark Mictlan) Editorial Director for the premier "revista virtual de lucha libre" El Pancracio. Awesome, I go back to my seat armed with my new nifty yellow business card. I start taking pictures like a boss. Security arrives seconds after. I hold up my finger to my mouth in an obnoxious display of Americanism (I actually didn't do this but how funny would that have been, I did think about it though) and take my card out and declare "I'm with this guy." Mr. Security guard looks at the card and leaves in defeat. Phase 2: partial success. Partial because after this is all said and done the final match is over.
I hurry ringside to try to snap some pictures of the Russian champion only to get yelled at by another security guard who is directly guarding the champ. I decide I have pushed my luck far enough for tonight, slide my camera into my pocket and return to find the gringos and head to another cantina. All in all, the anticipation was a little better than the actual event (especially after four run-ins with security) and the pictures I got are nothing to write home about. If you see me in the near future, make sure you ask to see my yellow wrestling business card, it's still in my wallet...
Peace, love and tolerance (especially for Maximo, I felt bad for that guy)
James
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