Following the ‘Museo de las Momias’ our experiments in activities of questionable taste continued with a night out at the ‘Lucha Libre’ (literally ‘free fight’) that is Mexican wrestling. Very much a family affair we sat in the ‘Parque Beis-Bol’ amongst groups comprising several generations of locals as the first bouts of the night began. We’d arrived ridiculously early so sat on our concrete bench behind the chicken wire fence separating us from the ring (in ‘The Pen’), our sense of anticipation increasing in direct proportion to the loss of feeling in our buttocks.

The wrestlers in the first part of the bill looked like your Dad had decided to have a go. With podgy bodies clad in string vests, ‘budgie-smuggling’ Speedo swimming trunks and old tights they grappled with each other in amateurish style. One even looked like he was about to go fishing, wearing camouflage shorts and a khaki green body warmer. More J.R.Hartley than Giant Haystacks.

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About this author

  • Ed Gillespie

    I am Co-Founder and Creative Director of Futerra. I've worked as a teacher in Jamaica, as a marine biologist in Wales, Orkney, …

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