MEXICO CITY -- They carried Super Porky away on a stretcher.
Thousands of people, crammed around the wrestling ring, screamed encouragement for the fallen warrior, a 308-pound walrus of a man stuffed into chocolate-colored tights, as six burly security guards strained to lug him off.
Dr. Wagner makes his grand entrance before a Lucha Libre match at the Arena Coliseo in Mexico City. Pro wrestling is Mexico's most-watched sporting event after soccer.
(Photos Andrea Bruce Woodall -- The Washington Post)
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Photo Gallery: Professional wrestling has become the second most popular spectator sport in Mexico next to soccer.
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"POR-KEY! POR-KEY!"
In the ring, Super Porky's two tag-team partners still were taking a beating. The same three wrestlers who had body-slammed him into unconsciousness (or at least a stage version of it) were putting the big hurt on his buddies in a routine that was a cross between a Three Stooges skit and a Hulk Hogan brawl.
It was a classic night of Lucha Libre, the campy professional wrestling spectacle that is Mexico's most-watched sporting event after soccer and whose popularity is growing rapidly in the United States. Lucha Libre wrestlers now attract sellout crowds in Los Angeles, Chicago and other U.S. cities. They have appeared in U.S. commercials for Toyota and Burger King, and their likenesses are showing up on everything from children's lunchboxes to video games.
The sport also inspired the animated children's show "¡Mucha Lucha!" It is among the most popular shows on the Cartoon Network and Kids' WB network, the latter of which reaches 92 percent of all U.S. homes with a television set. Two weekend Lucha Libre shows on the Galavision cable network, which reaches 80 percent of Hispanic households in the United States, more than doubled their adult male audiences in the past year, a network spokesman said.
Just as enchiladas and Cinco de Mayo celebrations were once virtually unknown in the United States, Lucha Libre has gone mainstream with the explosive growth of the U.S. Latino population, said Javier Martinez, an English professor at the University of Texas at Brownsville. According to the U.S. Census, there are now an estimated 40 million Hispanics in the country, about two-thirds of them of Mexican descent.
"The imagery of Lucha Libre is spreading throughout American culture," said Martinez, who discusses the wrestlers in classes that examine literature and culture.
Lucha Libre, which translates roughly as "free fight," is a sport that combines genuine wrestling skill with outrageous showmanship. It was originally inspired by U.S. professional wrestling in the 1930s. The wrestlers are known for their masks and tight-fitting Lycra costumes. While they occasionally whack each other with a folding chair, they mainly stick to well-choreographed, remarkably acrobatic moves.
Each match is designed to be a struggle between good and evil. The Bad Guys, called rudos, usually wear black and taunt the crowd, which loves to taunt them back. The Good Guys, called tecnicos, wear brilliant candy colors that make them look like Power Ranger action figures come to life. The crowd cheers them on and they generally win, but not always.
"It doesn't matter who wins or loses, as long as it's a good fight, as long as it's hot," said Jesus Reyes Gonzalez, who fights under the name Mascara Año 2000 (Mask 2000), one of the snarling bad guys whose flying body slams sent Super Porky to the showers.
The sport has even inspired a subculture of political activists who advocate their causes dressed in Lucha Libre garb: Super Barrio, champion of the rights of Mexico's poor; Super Ecologist, fighter for environmental causes; and Super Gay and Super Animal, masked crusaders for gay and animal rights.
Lucha Libre has become increasingly popular with Mexico's salaried middle class and, as it spreads north of the border, among well-off people from Houston to Toronto. But here in Mexico, its most fervent supporters are from the working poor, known in Mexico as the "popular classes."
The Arena Coliseo is a sagging old joint in the heart of one of central Mexico City's toughest neighborhoods; over the front door, weeds grow out of the "L" in Coliseo. Men with shotguns guard the day's ticket revenue, even though the most expensive ringside seats sell for less than $5, and all children under 10 get in for about a dime.
