SB Nation    •   12 min read

WWE Unreal is just the latest in a long line of wrestling exposés

WHAT'S THE STORY?

WWE

WWE Unreal, the new Netflix reality series that shows how WWE makes the sausage, is making waves for “exposing” the business. But in pro wrestling, that’s hardly groundbreaking.

For nearly a century, the industry’s secrets have been laid bare more than once. If anything, Unreal is just the latest chapter in a long tradition of pulling back the curtain.

In the 1930s, after being ousted from wrestling’s inner circle by his fellow promoters, a bitter Jack Pfefer did the unthinkable. He took his grievances

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to the media, sharing wrestling’s secrets with a New York newspaper. He revealed that matches were fixed and that Jim Londos, the “sport’s” top star, won the world championship through an executive order instead of fair competition.

Pfefer’s exposé further tarnished wrestling’s already shaky credibility. Fan interest waned. Media coverage dried up — except for pieces ridiculing the genre. Yet the business rebounded, thanks to a more theatrical approach, supercharged by the growth of television and driven by characters such as Gorgeous George.

Then, in 1984, with cable TV becoming the hot new thing, wrestling took off thanks to the expansion of WWE and a phenomenon known as Hulkamania. Paired with MTV and pop singer Cyndi Lauper, the “Rock ‘n’ Wrestling” connection brought wrestling — specifically WWE — to unprecedented heights.

But by the end of the year, all of that stood to be undone as a 20/20 special sought to learn the truth about pro wrestling.

Even though most already knew the truth, curiosity about wrestling’s inner workings remained. And once again, it was a pair of disgruntled wrestlers leading the way. The most vocal was Eddy Mansfield, who gave a blunt response when asked if this was real wrestling.

“It’s not real, not at all,” said Mansfield. “If somebody believed that, they’d be stupid.”

He then proceeded to show reporter John Stossel the tricks of the trade, including openly blading on camera. Of course, not many people remember that. Instead, they remember a smarmy Stossel getting slapped twice by wrestler “Dr. D.” David Schultz after telling Schultz, “I think this is fake.”

Interestingly, during the segment, then-WWE owner Vince McMahon was asked a question that had flustered many wrestlers before him: Is professional wrestling a legitimate sport? Rather than offering a direct answer, McMahon sidestepped the issue.

“It’s not perhaps a legitimate sport in terms of what someone would think of in a traditional way,” McMahon said. When pressed on what it is if not a sport, McMahon simply replied, “I don’t know.”

Ironically, it was McMahon’s wife, Linda, who had plenty of answers nearly five years later. Testifying before the New Jersey Senate to free WWE — err, wrestling — from regulations applied to boxing and other combat sports, she described pro wrestling as “an activity in which participants struggle hand-in-hand primarily for the purpose of providing entertainment to spectators rather than conducting a bona fide athletic contest.”

The admission came just months before WrestleMania V, WWE’s biggest event of the year. Unlike in the 1930s, when similar headlines in New York papers hurt the business, more than 750,000 homes bought the event on pay-per-view — a company record at the time.

History repeated itself in the late 1990s, as WWE’s Attitude Era and its war against rival promotion WCW gripped the nation. In the fall of 1998, pro wrestling’s secrets were revealed in a network special titled Exposed! Pro Wrestling’s Greatest Secrets. There, viewers learned nearly all the tricks — from body slams to blading. Yet, the 60-minute program did little, if anything, to curtail pro wrestling’s popularity.

Now, here we are, almost 30 years later, and it’s WWE dishing the dirt. That’s important because this time, it allows WWE to control the narrative — telling viewers not only what they should know but what the company wants them to believe.

Personally, I’m not in favor of such programming. As a fan, I think it takes away from the magic of pro wrestling and changes the way one would normally watch the show.

For example, I love the movie Point Break. In it, there is a fantastic chase scene as Keanu Reeves pursues bad guy Patrick Swayze on foot. Their chase goes through the streets of Southern California, into people’s homes and backyards. At one point, Swayze chucks a pit bull right at Reeves’ face.

To be sure, this is one of the most exhilarating scenes in the movie. But a few years ago, a friend sent me a story outlining behind-the-scenes facts about the movie. According to the piece, Swayze had a knee injury, and so a stunt double did all of his running.

Now, like all of you, I know Hollywood employs stuntmen for select scenes. But because of how well they’re hidden, we often don’t think about it. Here, I had no reason to believe that wasn’t Swayze doing the running because Reeves was on screen hoofing it.

But now, when I watch that scene, I don’t get lost in the moment. Instead, I act like a “smart fan” every time, as I tell my wife, “You know, that’s not really Swayze running. Yeah, he had a knee injury, so they got someone else to do it.”

That’s the kind of fan I have become, and I’d argue that knowing as much as readers think they do about pro wrestling takes away much of the joy of getting lost in the moment.

Still, what WWE Unreal won’t do is lessen the appeal of pro wrestling. As long as the public remains curious, and an opportunity to monetize that interest exists, we’ll likely be having this same discussion again in another decade or two — when the next program “exposing” the business makes its way to viewers.

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