The Responsibility of the Audience

Dear Wrestling,

I think a lot about my job as a wrestling fan. One of the things I love about wrestling is that it only works when everyone does their bit. A theatre audience can be mostly bored or unmoved, and the cast may still create magic for one person who is paying attention. That's nearly impossible in wrestling. The audience is vital to the performance in a way that is utterly unlike any other artform.

That very phrase, paying attention, acknowledges the relationship that must exist between a performer and the audience. Live performance is never TV, never a movie. To me, wrestling is the epitome of how intense that relationship can be.

Sunday evening I was at a PWX show. I've gone nearly every month this year, usually by myself. There was a delay getting people in, and from the start, the vibe was...strange. Just a little weird. I couldn't put my finger on it, and given that I walk around with at least a little anxiety at all times, I thought maybe that was all it was. And given that I chose front row seats for the first time, that seemed pretty likely. The sudden realization that I was going to be visible on High Spots in a day or two was paralyzingly alarming.

As the show got underway though, it was clear that the crowd was too quiet. That may sound judgmental, but again, there's a relationship here: a certain amount of noise is necessary for everything to work.

My heroes as a child were people like Batman, Wolverine, Cyrano, Athos. I swear to you this is true: as young as 8, I thought a lot about what my duty was. What do I owe, to whom, in what circumstances.

Over twenty years and a Religious Studies degree later, I have many fewer answers there than I used to, but one thing I am certain of is this: I owe these people my applause. I owe them my energy and my love and my fury. I owe them clapping when my hands hurt and my arms are tired because they are up there killing themselves for me.

That would be plenty, but this isn't a relationship with a vengeful, jealous god. It's a beautiful sublime act of creation between avatars of justice and cruelty and ambition, and us. We're mere mortals, sure, but we're also everything. We are the star stuff that the gods use to create--it's their story and their choices, but we, our emotions, are what they construct that story from and for.

We'd be nothing without them--and that goes in both directions. It's a mighty ouroboros of creation and pain and delight and madness and daring.

Which means, muffins all, that you gotta goddamn CLAP.

Love,

Autumn