Post by lambert on Jun 10, 2023 17:36:43 GMT -5
Everyone’s got an origin story. So here’s mine.
I grew up in a place called Wolverhampton, a big industrial town right in the middle of England. And when I say industrial, I mean exactly that. The whole area prides itself on that notion, and the wrestling was no different.
See England has always been a hotbed for pro wrestling. Up in the North West they farmed great ‘catch’ wrestlers, men [predominantly] and women that would tie you up in a thousand knots. And down south it was a bit more showbiz.. the bright lights of London giving it that big city razzmatazz. So for us folks in the middle we had to forge our own identity. And well, I guess you could say that was us.. industrial. Gritty, bloody, blue collar type stuff. It wasn’t pretty but then neither did we want it to be. I’d take the bus into town every weekend to watch this beautiful barbarianism. Men and women of all different shapes and sizes beating the LIVING SHIT out of each other. Come the end, if they both could stand, they would embrace and celebrate as though neither or both had won. No glitz. No glamour. Every so often a rivalry would erupt between the better two or three or four fighters and it would ascend above all other matches and you daren’t not go back the following week for fear of missing the next chapter in their story. That’s just how it was.
A friend of a friend got me in backstage one day and I started photographing the men and women in all their dirt and grit and blood and glory. It was beautiful. I didn’t know much if anything about photography, but like a true millennial I made it look better than it was on social media. If nothing else I could work out an Instagram account. That was my avenue in and I never intended to look back.
Three weeks later I was stepping foot in the West Midlands Wrestling Academy. It wasn’t much of an academy in fairness, more of an old dusty warehouse with a dilapidated ring in the middle of it. And I wasn’t there long either. The way I saw it every night spent there was another night I could be out there fighting for real. I think deep down I liked the idea of getting paid rather than paying someone else to punch me in the face but I knew there were basics and fundamentals to this I needed under my belt so I stuck it out the first couple of months. Not everyone was going to be a ‘student of the game’. I didn’t want to be the woman of a thousand holds, I knew that early on. So I begged the promoter to let me curtain jerk a few times and made way up that ladder from there on in. Learn on the job, as they say. It was fun at first but things went better than I expected and after a few years I got the itch. I reached a cross roads and though right.. I could stay here and kick old timers in the head at our public fight club, wake up every Monday morning and head to ‘work’ to make ends meet, before doing it all over again. Or spread my wings and test myself. Quite frankly I like being out my comfort zone. Whether it’s the fear of monotony or something deeper I dont know at this point. But when you have a dream you have to go through the fiery furnace of this world to get there. It doesn’t come to you direct. I’m going to reach the pinaccle of the this profession. I will stand upon the mountain top. My path will not be linear. Nobody’s ever is. But right now I’m looking right down the tunnel of adversary and I see Punky and Zara and all these other Mono-names coming at me for the same crown.
Next week I’m fishing for dinner in a pool of opportunity. An opportunity to be champion.. if only for a minute. Well that’s then.
Right now, feed me your starters.
I will devour.