Carnival Entertainment
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a Tables, Ladders, and Chairs match, an athletic exhibition in which participants
used the aforementioned furniture as launching pads and weapons.
In the most fundamental sense, casinos and wrestling go together because
they mix the fake with the real. Sure, wrestling is “fake,” but competitors like Mick
Foley live each day with very real pain from injuries accumulated during their
careers. Casino gambling is fake, or fixed, to the extent that the odds are unfair, but
people gamble away very real money there. “Fans” of both devote a great deal of
time and emotion to something that they know is a paradoxical fiction. If a favored
wrestler gets a big push and title run, it is only because the bookers have found it
expedient to give it to him; if a gambler hits a big jackpot, it is only a statistical
fluke and not because of any inherent skill on her part. Perhaps the knowledge that
it is all really “fake” makes losing, either vicariously or personally, all the more
acceptable.
This is not to say that casino gambling and professional wrestling are cut
entirely from the same cloth. There are telling differences between the two. Casi
nos, as a rule, have less control over their presentation than wrestling promoters.
Most casinos have several thousand employees and are open twenty-four hours a
day. Thousands of patrons each day claim a piece of the casino’s cultural space.
Even the most obdurate fa9ade would show cracks under such pressure, and the
casino is no excep tion. Rude or insensitive employees, commiseration with fellow
players, and a sudden attack of regret can make the player instantly aware of the
carnival illusion of casino gambling.
Professional wrestling, by contrast, has a far more controlled presentation.
There are perhaps fifty “sports entertainers” fortunate and skilled enough to have a
spot on the WWE wrestling, and each is responsible for anywhere from three to
thirty minutes of television time in any given week. The wrestling hierarchy is
divided between “jobbers” (wrestlers who consistently “do the job,” i.e., lose to
established stars), mid-carders (who win fairly often and get a good deal of televi
sion time), and main eventers (who headline television events and get the lion’s
share of television time). Each wrestler knows that, should he decide to “shoot” or
in any way break the credibility of the worked storyline and in-ring action, there
are wrestlers below him who would not hesitate to take his “spot,” and hundreds of
minor-league wrestlers who would gladly take his place with the promotion. So
marks can be reasonably sure that, if it appears on television, it is a work, and part
of the promoter’s presentation. Whereas casinos must constantly work to maintain
their illusions, for a wrestling promoter the job is much easier.
Professional wrestling is, however, primarily a spectator “sport,” while casino
gambling is a participatory form of entertainment. The catharsis of wrestling is
vicarious—while fans are invited to live their fantasies through the superstars of
wrestling, only a select few are ever able to build the physique—and incredible