My first Mondo Lucha, and the final smackdown for The Beast

Every type A neurotic needs a type B chill counterpart, someone to invite them to stuff that would have never crossed their desk, someone to suggest you have an experience that “could go either way” on the scale of comfort, fun, and advisability. Mine is E. And because E. is my type B counterpart, I never say no to her ideas, like when she suggested we attend the September 18 Mondo Lucha brawl at Turner Hall Ballroom. Makes sense, I thought, to go to a rowdy late night indie wrestling match together one week before she expected her first baby. I knew that soon we wouldn’t see each other for a while, so my response was an immediate “hell yeah.”

It is hard to remain completely ignorant of professional wrestling, even if you haven’t paid much attention to WWE and WrestleMania. You know it involves brawny guys and dramatic storylines, smoke machines and spotlights. In Mexican wrestling, the fighters wear lucha libre masks to protect their true identities. Mondo Lucha is only kind of all that, but leans heavier into the variety show spectacle with live music and burlesque intermissions. In fact, many of the fighters are not your stereotypical hyper-masculine contenders. These luchadores range from sexy goth girls to burnout musicians, clad in glitter and fringe, using thematic props in the brawl like items in Super Smash Bros. There’s an opossum and, I think, a hyperactive billy goat in the roster. In the ring they know where to find the camera and exactly when to strike a pose. It’s draggy and campy and self-aware, with enough sincerity to endure (for 18 years and counting) through these ironic, disillusioned times.

We arrived after all the chairs and most of the standing room had already been filled. A sympathetic usher took one look at E. and insisted our group go to the top level, so she could sit if she wanted. Once above the crowd, we could see the whole spectacle, rather than catch brief glimpses of fighters as they were flung into the airspace above the ring.

Melees had a way of exposing underdogs and antagonists, playing to a satisfying essentialism that hardly exists in daily relationships. It is sweet to see good guys win and bad guys get slapped in the face. And it’s a lot of fun to participate in socially acceptable booing. Emcee Jay Gilkay introduced contenders with measured mania interspersed with touching off-script commentary about the men behind the mask. His high-energy narration connected what we witnessed to the larger Mondo Lucha lore, so that even newbies like ourselves felt tapped into the fandom.

The most dramatic of these dynamics was saved for the final fight of the evening. Little did I realize that my first Mondo Lucha was also the final smackdown for the show’s icon, The Beast, a Cold War villain-turned-hero (f.k.a. KGBeast, his name self-modified following the Russian war on Ukraine).

After much pumping up from Gilkay, The Beast emerged. Even at a distance he was huge—his signature red sling barely containing a wrecking ball of a bod. His character is the strong, silent type, and throughout his final match absorbed verbal taunts and physical blows with the stony confidence of a seasoned pro. The challenger and the evening’s gleeful villain, Darin Corbin, was a character best described by my friend M. as “a guy from West Allis,” whose costume consisted of black and white pants with a little red fringe down one leg and a black tank top that read “Walking HR Violation”. In his pre-fight taunt, he mocked his opponent’s vow of silence. “My only stipulation for tonight,” he jeered into the microphone as the crowd booed and hissed, “is to make you utter two words: I! Quit!”

As they brawled, the two fighters played into their contrasts. Where Corbin was cocky and loud, Beast was sure and silent. Their choreography covered the whole surface area of the ring and played up tensions by alternating pins and chokeholds. When The Beast finally had his opponent in a bind, Gilkay rushed ahead and shoved the microphone to Corbin’s lips. The villain moaned and struggled, but in the end succumbed to his own stipulation, howling into the mic, “I! Quit!”

The audience erupted. When the scummy loser scuttled off into the shadows, The Beast stood in the ring heaving from effort and by now only half-clad in his getup. Off in the recessed areas of the stage, a crowd began to appear.

“Ladies and gentlemen, the reigning champion, the poster boy of the show, and one of my very best friends—give it up for The Beast!”

All the performers emerged, watching as Gilkay extended gratitude and respect on behalf of the audience and fans for all The Beast had done for Mondo Lucha over the years. “After 18 years, tonight was his final match. But one question remains on our minds on this occasion,” he called with a flourish, turning toward the champ. “Will he finally speak?”

Mixed responses from the crowd. Still waters run deep, they say. Would a comment from The Beast, who never speaks, disturb the mystery that defines this masked hero? The Beast held the microphone as the crowd quieted, brought it to his scarlet mask, and bowed his head.

“Thank you.”

“It is customary,” Gilkay continued over the applause, “for a retiring fighter to leave his shoes in the ring.”

By now, the other luchadores were no longer hanging back on the stage. They circled the ring as The Beast lowered himself to the ground and began, eyelet by eyelet, to undo his crimson high tops. And when he finished, he sat for a moment, surrounded by his peers and admirers, many waving cutouts of his masked face on tongue depressors and many more filming the moment on their phones. He planted his white socks on the floor, set his high tops in the center, and climbed out of the ring for the last time.

I didn’t expect to be moved during Mondo Lucha, but I was. While it’s fun to imagine the world as a tangle of intersecting storylines between heroes and villains, my belief can never be suspended for long. I think that’s where a type A or B counterpart fits into your life. If you don’t have a counterpart, take a page from the Darin Corbin/The Beast dynamic and go find one. Get body-slammed outside your comfort zone.

Actually, never mind. Don’t hold me or Milwaukee Record accountable for that suggestion. But do go see the next Mondo Lucha on January 22 at The Cooperage.

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