Morality in a headlock

ADMITTING that you were a lucha libre fan -- that is, the real lucha libre of red-faced headlocks and monstrous body slams, not the sissified incarnations one sometimes finds on this side of the Mexican border -- used to be like admitting that you were a freak for roller derby, another fine athletic endeavor that dare not speak its name.

In the United States, the spectacle of masked behemoths executing maneuvers with names like “Tope de Cristo” (diving head butt) and “Python Grip” (no explanation needed) used to prompt sneers from high-brows who failed to see the merits of the epic dramas pitting tecnicos (good guys) against rudos (bad guys).

As lucha libre aficionados like me know, these epic matchups are more than mere displays of strength, agility and Greco-Roman girth. In fact, they are sweaty morality plays, reenactments of the eternal cosmic struggle between Virtue and Evil. In Mexico, luchadores such as El Santo (The Saint) and Blue Demon fill the role of folk heroes that in the United States is commonly assigned to Hollywood and Marvel Comics superheroes.

Several of Mexico’s most famous luchadores are flesh-and-blood athletes who have served as advocates for important social causes. Unlike the millionaire actors who play Batman, Spider-Man and their big-screen ilk, most luchadores remain working stiffs. That enables a closer connection to their Mexican fans, most of whom know all too well what it’s like to be kicked around in life.

Lately, lucha libre has been acquiring a kitschy cachet. The 2006 Jack Black comedy “Nacho Libre” brought the sport to suburban cineplexes. (Next Sunday the combatants invade the Sports Arena.)

Ingenious new fusions of lucha libre and burlesque are popularizing the sport, but perhaps at a price of taming its renegade heart. I fear the worst: lucha libre boutiques on Melrose, lucha-themed restaurants on the Strip. It’s enough to make a tecnico tremble.

-- Reed Johnson