On the Scene | Youngsters wrestle for pro careers

It's almost hard to take him seriously, this skinny fellow in pink and turquoise spandex.

He is shirtless, his hair is spiked with gel and he boldly claims to hail from "the projects of Neverland Ranch."

But in the South Philly venue known simply as "The Arena" - a hotbed of that blue-collar, indulgent but damn-if-it-ain't-entertaining art form known as professional wrestling - the man called Pinkie Sanchez takes a tone that belies his flamboyant persona.

"I learned a lot of life lessons through wrestling because I was so immersed in it, since I was a little kid," the 18-year-old said as he watched a match between three masked "luchadores" and three martial-arts-influenced Japanese fighters.

"That's why I'm out here right now watching this. I wanna be the best wrestler, so I'm watching the best wrestlers right now."

Wrestling, as every preteen learns at one time or another, isn't real. It's a non-sport. A soap opera on steroids.

The moves? Staged. The animosity? Feigned. The results? Predetermined.

So the idea of striving to become the "best wrestler" might seem about as trivial as going after a fantasy baseball title or a Dungeons & Dragons trophy. But the need to put in your time and earn your dues is as necessary as it is in "real" sports, if not more so.

That's why for guys like Pinkie Sanchez who are trying to break in, the word "fake" doesn't really register.

The passion? The commitment? The bruises? Real, real and real.

This weekend, the Arena saw all of it. Chikara, a Philly-based wrestling company, put on its annual "King of Trios" event, a three-man tag-team tournament that allowed the business's up-and-comers to compete under the same roof as some of the industry's seasoned veterans.

Pinkie Sanchez, for instance, got a chance to strut around the ring and deliver his patented "Flying Ass Buster" in his team's first-round loss before WWF veterans Al Snow and D'Lo Brown delivered crowd-pleasing performances in the main event.

And there might not be a better place on Earth for it to go down than this hole-in-the-wall on Ritner St.

A former warehouse and bingo hall, the Arena has gone by many monikers - ECW Arena, Alhambra Arena, Viking Hall - but the spirit of the place hasn't changed in its time as a wrestling venue.

With only a capacity of a few hundred, there isn't a bad seat in the house. The cozy confines make the crowd's every chant as infectious as the generations of bacteria that surely reside in the ring's sweat-soaked mat.

"This arena's why I wrestle. This arena is the greatest arena to wrestle in in America," Sanchez said. "It's better than Madison Square Garden, it's better than Wachovia Center or fuckin' Thunder Dome or whatever."

Added Snow: "Getting a chance to come back to Philadelphia, it's like coming back home again," he said. "It's like a second home for me."

So just what is it about the City of Brotherly Love that makes it the ideal place to bash some heads in?

It's more than bloodlust. While there is no lack of head smashing and body slamming, the suplexes and aerial moves hold more aesthetic appeal than anything else.

The absolute absurdity of the event certainly adds to the allure - a masked, sea-creature-themed wrestler named Hydra conducted his interview using only deep, guttural bellows - but it's more than that, too.

It takes a different kind of fan to obsessively follow the travails of guys with names like Grizzly Redwood and Fire Ant.

Some call wrestling drama. Others maintain it's an athletic endeavor. But Chikara has attracted its following by being some perverse art form in between.

"They don't wanna see no half-ass wrestlers" Sanchez said of the fans. "They don't wanna see no wannabes. They wanna see real wrestling."

With a fan base like that, you can be sure guys like Pinkie Sanchez will be at the grind in the Arena, putting every ounce of themselves into every match.

The wrestlers might not have any influence on the outcome, but over the years, the fights have certainly influenced them.

"Wrestling is everything I am," said the fellow in the turquoise and pink spandex. "Everything I want to be."

Sounds pretty real to me.

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