Crossing Borders

I am a big fan of Oliver John — the bald, no-nonsense, masculine, sturdy, square-jawed daddy with the red strap draped over his shoulder in this photo.  I’ve featured him before on this blog, and don’t be surprised if you see him here often…

Recently, studly John invaded Mexico to face off against Mexican legend, El Hijo del Santo — the son of the Saint.  Look at their size difference as Oliver stares down the smaller Mexican!

Santo is a sacred hero in Mexico.  Watching the Mexican fans all hot and bothered as their super-hero gets his ass stomped is always a pleasure, especially if the oppressor is a foreign invader.

Oliver John is part of one of my favorite wrestling stables known as the “Border Patrol” — three muscular Authority Figures who seem to enjoy oppressing their hapless Mexican victims.

I’ve blogged about the Border Patrol before too, and don’t be surprised if you see a lot more of them on this blog as well because I really dig their gimmick (and their looks).  They’re beefy, heartless, brutal, and they sure look amazing in their skin-tight trousers with the stripe down the leg.

To the fans of lucha libre, this hard-ass Tag Team represents the arrogance, power, and oppression of the USA in general.  To the Mexican viewers, these studs are the ultimate Foreign Bastards.

How can poor Santo ever match strength with this spectacular man’s man?

Why is the defeat and degradation of our Super-heroes always so arousing?

I know I am supposed to cheer for the rule-abiding under-dog, so why am I eager to see Oliver John hurt the poor Good Guy — to utterly crush the out-matched hero between those massive legs and tall black boots?

Oliver John is known as “El Patron de la Migra” — the Boss of the border patrol.  He is the Alpha Male among alpha males, the Big Swinging Dick of all dicks.  You can listen to a sexy interview on YouTube where he wears a torn mask and threatens harm to another Mexican superstar (Blue Demon) in a raspy, randy voice:

“I’m not only gonna tear your mask, I’m gonna tear the flesh on your skull.”

Oliver John is also called “Old School” because he was trained to wrestle in the 1980’s so he employs some of the classic moves and gimmicks from the good old days when televised wrestling was my porn.  This is yet another reason I heart Oliver.

The contrasts in looks and style between the opponents tell the stories of Authority Figure vs. Masked Rebel; evil black gear vs. holy white gear; unmasked American vs. hooded Luchadore; muscular brute vs. regular looking underdog.

As a member of the Border Patrol, Oliver John is hated by the Mexican fans for symbolizing the oppression of their people who strive for prosperity and freedom.  But for this match, he has crossed over the border, boldly entered their country to kick their fellow Mexican’s ass right on their soil. His invasion, his penetration of their country, is symbolic of a rape.  His rough treatment of the “Saint” — a national treasure — adds a rough, unjust flavor to the scene.

Color me sadistic, but I would prefer to watch Oliver John just kick the Holy Hell out of the Saint — absolutely wipe up the ring with his face and toss him out of the ring like a crumpled up napkin from Taco Bell.

But I suppose the humiliation of Santo on his own soil, among his own people, would be too disheartening and cruel.  That is the stuff riots are made of.

Instead, the fans are treated to the Little Luchadore that Could.  The moral of the story is that talent and skill — the knowledge of numerous exhausting wrestling holds — can overcome beef and brawn.  Santo is able to break the back of his American oppressor, emasculating Oliver John by making him cry like a bitch in his Camel Clutch.

Fortunately my beloved Border Patrol did not just slink back across the border with their tails between their legs.  Instead they ganged up on El Santo, three against one, and tried to rip the mask off his face.

This sends the message that triumph is temporary and the threat of invasion is relentless.  The beatings will continue until obedience improves.  El Santo may have won the battle, but the Alpha Males always win the war.