Telling Wrestling Fans That Wrestling Isn't Real

When I was a kid, I loved wrestling. I would pick my younger brother up and, using the techniques I'd just seen on TV, throw him against the furniture until the sofa broke, someone bled or my mother caught and hit us both – me for tombstoning him onto the carpet, him for being tombstoned (fair).

But we don't fight any more. And do you know why? Because eventually we figured it out: Wrestling is not real.

On Monday night, the WWE's Wrestlemania Revenge Tour arrived in London. Maybe out of a sense of duty, maybe because of the bitterness that comes when childhood illusions are shattered, I went down to The O2 to turn a fire-hose of adult cynicism on the people who'd turned up there for an evening of harmless fun. Don't these idiots know that wrestling's not real?

The first people I met were Tim, Carl, Ben and John (that's going from third on the left to right, I didn't find out the first two guys' names, they just wanted to help hold the sign). I asked them what "WOO WOO WOO YOU KNOW IT!" meant, and they said it was the catchphrase of a wrestler named Zack Ryder. "He's the man!" they assured me. I find your enthusiasm heartening guys, but IDK, a guy who goes around saying "WOO WOO WOO" a lot? Doesn't sound very manly to me. Sounds like the opposite of a man, like a baby or a siren.

This is Amy and Stuart, they're brother and sister and wrestling is something they've bonded over since they were kids. Naturally, I asked them if they knew that wrestling wasn't real. Stuart kinda got pissed. “What do you mean it's not real? The outcome's pre-determined, but the bumps are real. You can't train anyone to fall off a 30ft ladder. You can't train a bruise!”

Ah, the old "it's fake but it hurts!" defence, the one wrestling fans have clung to ever since the ruse was blown in the 90s. Are you sure that's the Thames I can see over there, because it feels like you're in denial.

These guys were cool. WIth their puppy fat and BHS clothing, they reminded me a lot of myself and my brother back in the halcyon days before I realised the world was lying to me (that's Dad in the middle). Their hero was a wrestler named Daniel Bryan. "You don't know who Daniel Bryan is?" they asked me. "He's a legend. A legend of the vegans."

It seemed like wrestling had changed a lot since I was young enough to give a shit about it. Veganism would not have been tolerated by "Stone Cold" Steve Austin. Nor by tag team The Brood, who actually drank blood. Also, the hair. What's that about? Alex and his friends said they'd styled theirs to look like Zack Ryder, the same meathead the boys outside with the sign earlier were here to see. But who was this Zack Ryder?

Oh wow, here he is!

Oli, 24 (left) and Ryan (AKA Zack Ryder), 27.

Oli: [excitedly] Ask him about Zack Ryder.

VICE: What do you think about Zack Ryder?
Ryan: [in a weird fake American accent] He's amazing, bro!

Is that who you are?
[stares incomprehensibly] Bro?

What happens when you scan the QR code on your crotch?
Get down on your knees and find out. I'm serious, bro!

I'd rather not.

Do you know this woman?
No.

Have you been getting a lot of female attention?
Oli: [whilst Ryan is having his picture taken with another lady] Yeah we have, definitely. Although, a lot of dogs.

So what does your guy do then, what does he say?
Ryan: [loudly] WOO WOO WOO!

You know that wrestling's not real?
[still in fake American accent] Choreographed, indeed.

But it's not real.
Choreographed, indeed.

Like Made in Chelsea?
[slipping back into normal voice] No, and if you'd ever done it you would know it hurts like fuck. I did it for two years and I don't do it any more because I'm a pussy.

I did do it. I used to do it a lot, actually… WTF, are you wearing wellies?
Yes.

These guys had bought their belts off the internet. Apparently they don't make the one that Hassan (right) is holding any more, so he had to pay some guy on eBay £250 for the buckle and then get a custom real-leather strap fitted for another £150. Nathan's shabby old thing only set him back £230. He assured me, though, that he was getting it "re-leathered" soon and has “a glass cabinet at home that I keep my belts in”, which really put my mind at rest. All in, Hassan reckons he's spent £2,000 on wrestling belts, while cheapskate Nathan guessed “maybe £1,500”.

As you might be able to discern from the picture, these guys were big fans of "CM Punk", which isn't a musical genre, but actually a muscle-bound, straight edge wrestler. Daniel (left), who actually is straight edge, said that he loved how CM Punk was giving people who hate parties the hero they desperately need in the sports entertainment world, but also acknowledged that it might just all be, y'know, not as authentic as Fugazi.

“At the end of the day, he's meant to be straight edge, but maybe it's just a role he plays – you know, like in Eastenders.”

Finally, just as everyone was heading inside to watch the action unfold, I ran into Tom (left), a 24-year-old PE teacher and his friend Chris, who is 25 and manages a bar. It was their first time to a wrestling event, and usually they keep busy in the ways that most young men who wear Nylon gillets keep busy, "clubbing, going to a bit of rugby, festivals, that kind of thing."

So what had drawn them to WWE? "In wrestling, there's more birds!" Chris explained. "Give me a women's-only Royal Rumble, I'd be all over that!"

What about women's-only rugby? Would they be prepared to pay to watch that?

"Depends on the uniforms," said Tom. "I'd be all over that!"

"Touch rugby!" said Chris.

"Touch up rugby!" replied Tom.

"Touch cunt rugby!" squealed Chris.

Then they both went "Wheeeeeey!" and high-fived.

Despite the banter brothers' best efforts, in the end, I learned that wrestling fans don't deserve to be on the receiving end of my bitterness. Sure, I'll probably never be able to take a bunch of grown men who watch other, stronger grown men pretend to hurt each other seriously, but these WWE loons seemed no different in their fanaticism to, say, football supporters or badger baiters.

In fact, their passion for the fake sport reawakened something in me that had been lying dormant for years. Maybe, just maybe, I could steal back some of that magic I once felt as I threw my brother's barely animate body against the corner of the coffee table, over and over again.