Written by Imagine Wrestling trainee Johnny Dibert
[05May19]
When the idea of a trainee writing a blog was first proposed, I jumped at the idea. “How hard could it possibly be,” I thought to myself. Afterall, I fancy myself as something of a writer, with a small selection of my past work in other styles of writing having been published. I figured it would be a cake walk, an easy way to pad my portfolio while promoting a product I honestly believe in –but, then, reality set in. Like a lot of things pertaining to pro-wrestling, the reality hit harder than I could have imagined.
After adjusting the ice packs on my knees and slowly easing myself onto my couch, I sat and stared at the blinking cursor on my computer screen. It did not take long before my ego was crushed while struggling to write the first few words. Suddenly, I felt as though I was reliving my first few weeks of training, back when I could barely perform an adequate headlock or even a basic collar-and-elbow tie-up. Over and over again, the blinking cursor taunted me like an opponent who was always one step ahead.
I considered what I could possibly write or say which would live up to the standards set by my trainers: Kato, an accomplished and respected veteran of the wrestling scene in Pennsylvania and the surrounding areas who has achieved successful in all aspects of professional wrestling; and Manny Fernandez, a legitimate NWA legend who has been successful for over 40 years. “Who the hell am I,” I thought, and it was just as I was about to tap out that I realized the reality of what I had to say. Feeling humbled as I have gained an education in professional wrestling has been part of my journey over the past six months, and that was something real which an audience might understand as I did my part to pull back a little bit of the curtain to reveal some of the reality behind the show. Both pride and humility have been a big part of the road so far, and this is my story as it currently stands.
[The First Day]
My first day at the warehouse (“The Imagine Dojo”) was sometime in mid-to-late December of 2018. Offhand, I do not remember the exact day, but I do remember the general timeframe because I had finished my Sophomore year as a communications major at Penn State Altoona. I had noticed advertisements for Imagine Wrestling on social media, but I did not originally reach out with the intention of training to be in the ring myself. I certainly had something of a love for the business, having grown up with early memories of sitting on the floor as my grandfather yelled at some of his favorites on TV to “get out of the way, you dummy,” as an opponent rushed into a corner with a hard-hitting clothesline and having fond later memories of anxiously flipping channels during the “Monday Night Wars.” But the dream of me actually stepping through the ropes was something I had semi-accepted as having already passed by more than a few years ago, so my original intent was to (hopefully) be involved in some creative or production capacity, getting some hands-on training to supplement what was being taught in classrooms at Penn State while being involved in a business I grew up watching. My initial conversations with Kato were (thankfully) something of a failure in that regard because, there I was: trudging wearily up the metal grate steps of a warehouse on a Sunday morning, my eyes barely open, wearing gray sweatpants and a yellow t-shirt as the cold Pennsylvania air bit deep into joints that had left their best days behind them.
“Man, what am I doing here?”
That question was not something I merely thought to myself. I mumbled it to myself as I hesitated to reach out toward the door handle of the first door. I paused to debate with myself, and I am glad that nobody else was outside because I likely would have been committed had anyone else been around to witness my hand gestures toward some imaginary other me with whom I was in conflict.
In the interest of attempting to keep my story family friendly, I will not reveal what exactly I said to myself in response. For now, suffice to say that my life (in general) had been in the process of being rebuilt and improved upon for a few years after some low points, so this was one of many turning points which could have gone either way, but the part of me that wanted to open the door won. After harshly berating myself, I vaguely remember thinking some cliché platitude about “half the battle is showing up” or something like that as I pulled the door open.
And, so, there I was…
…standing at one end of a hallway…
…and the door to Imagine at the other.
Suddenly, I was not pushing myself forward anymore. Despite not yet having done anything, I felt a strange sense of pride pulling me toward the second door. Something about the logo staring back at me from the other end of the hallway made what I was about to do seem real, and I realized that –no matter what happened or how things went— I had an opportunity to actually follow through with one of my own dreams, rather than sitting on my couch at home for another however-many years and wondering why I had never done it. It was real to me, both of me.
Opening the second door, I had my first glimpse of the dojo’s training ring. It has an appearance that is humble and non-descript as rings go (and is not nearly as nice as the newer ring which Imagine Wrestling used for Volume 1 or what will be used at Volume 2 on Saturday, May 18). The canvas of the training ring is a simple black which has seen some use, and the turnbuckles are a rather plain red, but I was a lot more excited than I allowed myself to show as I found a chair and a quiet corner to change my shoes.
I changed my shoes discretely because I wanted to avoid giving any reason for why I could not get in the ring. The shoes were not (exactly) the problem; I was because I was still dealing with the lingering effects of injury (from things I will explain in future blog posts). Honestly, as I looked at the other people already in or around the ring, I resolved to says as little as I possibly could about myself, my background, my age, or any previous life experience I had because –no matter how good or how bad things were about to go— I did not want to offer any excuses or explanations concerning why I could or could not do something well. My goal was to present myself as just some kid showing up to try wrestling, so I quietly tied my shoes and then approached the one person I recognized: Kato.
Kato explained to me that, before I would be allowed to do anything in the ring, I would need to sign a waiver. Going through with signing the waiver was the easiest part of the process; it was roughly the same as what any high school would require before a prospective player could go onto a football field or play basketball or do much of anything else. I had undoubtedly signed more of my life away for a lot less from other endeavors, earlier in life, so signing a standard sports liability waiver to be allowed to gain some feeling of what it was like to be inside the ring was a no-brainer. I signed the waiver, I walked up the steps (which were not yet the nice blue color used now), and I stepped through the ropes of a wrestling ring for the first time in my life.
My first lesson was not written anywhere; it was one of etiquette, as everyone approached me, shook my hand, and we exchanged introductions. Shaking hands when meeting (and then again before departing practice or a show) is a part of wrestling etiquette and a sign of respect which is every bit as important in the Imagine Dojo as a respectful bow would be among peers in a karate dojo. What I did not know at the time is that I was also being welcomed into a brotherhood and being introduced to a group of people who, over the following weeks and months, would turn into a sort of misfit family.
It was here that some humility and doubt started to nag at me again. Of the trainees, I was by far the oldest, with the other three “trainees” who were present being far younger than I. The prospect of a combination of extra years and doing my best to push through physical limitations hurdles weighed on me. Beyond myself and the other three trainees were several guys who already possessed experience in wrestling and who have been active workers, with physical attributes you might imagine when picturing a professional athlete. In total, I remember about ten guys being there.
“All, I have to do is get through one day.”
That was the thought which entered my brain as I watched the other (younger) trainees start to go through an introductory routine. I figured that, if I could at least power through one day –no matter how badly it might go— I at least made it this far and might be accepted enough to pick up on doing some of the creative and production stuff I had originally asked about. The introductory routine consisted of stretching, some light physical activity to get the blood flowing, and performing a series of “bumps.” Soon, it was my turn to perform the same.
-to be continued-
You must be logged in to post a comment Login