Getting bloody with Count Dante
Andrew Tweedy
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Beer, Blood and Cornmeal: Seven Years Of Incredibly Strange Wrestling, by Bob Calhoun. (ECW Press), 300 pg
photo: Pat Johnson Studios Photography
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San Fran's cult wrestling scene of the '90s is profiled in Beer, Blood and Cornmeal
Some time around the turn of the century, professional wrestling reached the peak of an enormously successful revival. You couldn't flip through the local sports channels without seeing Stone Cold Steve Austin defiantly cursing out his employer, Vince McMahon, on national television. He and his cronies had become monstrous pop-culture icons. But in the dark corners of sports entertainment grew another monster: a wrestling league where size was outshined by wit, and dramatic storylines were rooted in the completely ludicrous attire. Masked luchadores like the scrawny, tutu-wearing El Homo Loco could obliterate the chiselled, all-American U.S. Steele and be received like royalty. Lions mauled Christians to thunderous applause, and El Pollo Diablo (the Devil Chicken) ruled the ring. Beer, Blood and Cornmeal: Seven Years of Incredibly Strange Wrestling is author Bob Calhoun's firsthand account of just exactly what happened during the triumphant rise and inescapable fall of San Francisco's DIY wrestling scene in the late 1990s.
From the trenches of the dingy South of Market watering holes they tore up the ring like untrained, poorly conditioned amateurs. They slammed through tables and pounced on opponents from the rafters above, while bands like NoFX and The Dwarves played sets between matches. What was a delicate, well-rehearsed process in the big leagues was nothing more than a caution-to-the-wind leap of faith in Incredibly Strange Wrestling (ISW). This unpolished, unglamorous aesthetic
gave it an authenticity akin to the early days of punk rock.Calhoun played Count Dante, the crude, quick-witted commentator who worked the crowd while tactlessly supplying plotlines. He was also the creative mastermind behind the scenes, bearing witness to all the insanity, both mock and real. He watched the wrestlers rise to local celebrity. But for some, the lines between character and actor began to blur.
Calhoun's reflections on his time in ISW make you feel as though you are ringside, experiencing it with him. His insightful social commentary adds an unexpected dimension as well, enlightening outsiders to San Francisco's rich history and extremely unique culture. He manages to portray the sheer ridiculousness of ISW without ever coming across as ridiculous himself, weaving it all together with his great sense of self-deprecating humour and downright disbelief.
Much like the punk rock movement that it took after, ISW's growing popularity was ultimately its downfall. It was never meant for the mainstream. It was too controversial, too fragile, and, ironically, too real to ever succeed.
