With their unique pen and their own sensitivity, artists give us their vision of the world around us. This week, we’re giving carte blanche to Mariana Mazza.
Posted yesterday at 9:00 am
June 20. It’s 4:30 pm. The wrestlers have arrived. Comedians too. Rehearsals begin. It’s hard for me to believe that tonight, I’ll be the few moments in my childhood that served as my caregiver.
I was moved by the jubilant shouts of supporters and cheering commentators when my mother returned from hers on Friday evening. change In the reception hall.
We are filming a special project where wrestlers and comedians will mix their talents for an evening.
I see wrestlers wrap their wrists around kind of Electricity by fixing earth. A man brushes his hands with coconut oil before tying his construction boots. His role as a lumberjack is only visual. Physically, he can play the role of a felling tree, his body is very sculpted.
Wrestling is no joke. This is serious. shots. clothing Everything is true.
My mom would leave us $20 on the kitchen counter so my brother and I could order things from the convenience store while we waited for the evening main menu. At the time, it was often Stone Cold Steve Austin, The Undertaker or Shawn Michaels waiting. In the middle of the night, when the fight started, my brother kicked me to wake me up…
Before today, I had never attended a wrestling match in a ring. Muscles contracting, faces tightening and actors moving 2 inches from my face amused me.
I was thrilled to be in our three-and-a-half-bedroom apartment in Montreal North in the early hours of the morning. I had never imagined the ropes aching in my back, the ring moving to the rhythm of our steps, and the feeling of being guided by the wrestlers as in a violent waltz.
By the end of the evening, once the adrenaline wore off, I could barely walk. I got a headache. I could feel my heart pounding in my shoulder blades. But I tried my best to look amazing. The more my nerves throbbed with pain, the more I admired these human beings who entertain people with their bodies and their cries.
Furthermore, almost none of them make a living from wrestling.
“I want to live with it, but you have to pay the bills. It doesn’t pay to scream at volleys in Quebec. »
I was amazed at the physical and mental burden the wrestlers put on themselves for one evening. But the next day some are getting up at 5 am and pouring asphalt on asphalt. As if the day before was only an illusion.
“Then why don’t you go to the United States to fight? »
“We need work permits, we turned around. There is a gang, but when you are banned for five years, it hurts to start over. »
You have to learn to fall, get up, act and dance with the public.
The struggle is real. like life
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