There’s Nothing Fake About Slam Pro Wrestling’s Success in Canberra

Some people say “professional wrestling is fake”. This statement is often said with an air of disparaging, sneering judgement. When they say “professional wrestling is fake” they are saying it not to inform you, but to tease you. Every wrestling fan has experienced this conversation at some point. “You know it’s fake right? They aren’t actually hitting each other” - yes, I know that. I know that the stakes don’t matter, the feuds aren’t real and every win and every loss is predetermined.

But it didn’t feel fake to me.

Pro wrestling has never been a core aspect of culture in Australia. In countries like Japan, Mexico and USA wrestling is a well-respected, longstanding tradition. Their promotions, namely, New Japan PW, Consejo Mundial de Lucha Libre and the WWE are world renowned and often the ultimate goal for many wrestlers.

In comparison, the Australian scene is very modest. The Slam pro league and other Canberran wrestling organisations have questioned whether professional wrestling has a home in Canberra, particularly at large venues. They’ve struggled to find places that will put up with the noise, says a Slam representative. But things are changing. With Slam having a long term agreement with the Ainslie Football Club, located in the inner north of the capital, and PWA soon to be performing at the Australian National University, this seems to be less of an issue now.

There have always been fans here though. Philip Vels is a YouTuber who has been going to wrestling shows in Canberra since 2006. He recognises many of the Slam performers from older shows and defunct promotions. The fan experience is much better now because it has out-of-state wrestlers, he tells me, and it is able to fill its venue and reach a wider audience.

The first time I heard of the Slam Pro League was when a friend of mine had told me that there was going to be wrestling on that Friday night at the Ainslie Football Club where he worked. Like me, he is a wrestling fan. In primary school we had practiced power bombs and sidewalk slams on each other and our younger siblings. We would force our mothers to buy the plastic championship belts at K-Mart and then proudly hold them as we walked through the mall. In high school we kept this part of ourselves very well hidden, it was our secret obsession. In an attempt to uphold a certain ‘normal’ image, it was never to be discussed in the presence of outsiders. But now, as we were hurtling towards 20 years old, wrestling is no longer a shameful passion for us. Tonight we are brazen and unashamed, standing in the football club parking lot in an Andre the Giant t-shirt. Tonight we are free.

I had never seen wrestling in person, but I knew what to expect from watching online videos and listening to songs by the Mountain Goats. It was in the upstairs hall area and it was packed. Dimly lit with lots of excited chatter even though we were still 15 minutes away from any action. There was a mix of children and adults, the adults in the opening stages of getting gently drunk. To my right, was a kid a bit like I was in 2012, with his championship belt, excitedly kneeling on his seat, accompanied by his “professional wrestling is fake'' dad. Right in the middle was the ring, a huge, 6m x 6m structure elevated stage for all to see. Behind it was a large screen switching between the Slam logo, power rankings and videos of the wrestlers calling each other out, providing an insight into each one’s character and motivation.

In the wrestling world, it is both an honour and a huge responsibility to be selected to wrestle the first match of the night. This is often a fast-paced bout with lots of exciting moments, such as top rope work and playing to the crowd to enrapture them for the rest of the show. Tonight it was the cool, good looking, exciting Mat Diamond versus the vindictive, immoral Dan Archer. It was clear from the moment they entered the room who was the face (hero) and who was the heel (villain). We cheered for Diamond, we chanted his name. Every time the combat would swing in his favour the crowd would shout their encouragement and approval. We would yell abuse at Archer and mock his frustration that we had all picked a favourite. All heels love this, though, they bask in the hatred. It’s an artform in itself, to be as unlikeable as possible. Dan Archer has perfected this and has never been a face at any show, some other wrestler’s told me.

By the end of the first match, everyone, including the most sceptical in the room, was sold completely.

The wrestler known as the Super Bison is a Slam stalwart. He has been with the company since it was just a wrestling training gym in Dickson, back in 2018. But since Slam’s first show they’ve become successful. Consistently selling out and getting bigger and bigger crowds. The Super Bison never thought that it would get to this level. He started wrestling 5 years ago as just a bit of a fun hobby and now he is occupying the ring with some of Australia’s finest talents.

The Super Bison immediately stood out to me. He is the only masked wrestler in Slam. He never talks when in character. Counterintuitively, he tells me that this mythical, mysterious image lends itself well to the family friendly environment of Slam. Kids can see anyone they want to under the mask. Maybe their parents too.

There isn’t anything like professional wrestling. It combines the thrill and spectacle of sports with characters you might see in a movie. When you’re there in person there is rarely a dull moment. Given the frequent exchange between performer and audience member, it is easy to connect with the story. It’s no wonder Slam has rapidly gained a large following in Canberra and it’s likely a sign of wrestling’s continued increase in popularity in Australia.

Interviewees:

The Chief Rig (Performer)

The Super Bison (Performer)

Stevie Filip (Performer)

Tome Filip (Performer)

Philip Vels (Fan)