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It's an unconvincing pin. Hank, baby-faced and balding, stands about 5 feet tall. He wrestles as "Head of the Executive Committee," under the awe-inspiring motto "Blood, Sweat and Paperwork." Not that his slightly larger opponent looks stronger; both contenders are a little dumpy. Resplendent in baggy, black sweats and a mask with pipe-cleaner antennae, the Beetle is the WWC underdog. Out of half a dozen matches, his only victory was against Little Hitler, who never wins.

The pin happens 30 seconds into the match, far too soon to declare a winner. The Beetle wriggles out. He grabs Hank's nose and slaps him on the head, poking him in the eyes for good measure. Hank reacts like George Foreman has socked him. The Beetle grabs a plastic sled that happens to be leaned up against the wall. He hits Hank over the head with it. The sled dents. "That steel sled is brutal!" shouts announcer Kazu Ohashi. Travis Dale, floating in the background, is a model referee: He never wrests the foreign objects from the contenders. The boys flail at each other for a while, visibly tired. Appearing to hit someone can be just as tiring as crippling them; restraint takes effort. Hank bops the Beetle with a saucepan and the Beetle goes down. "This might be it, folks!" Kazu intones.

It isn't. A good ending requires foul play. The Beetle's arch enemies -- Dick Turpis, Fatt Devn the Nape Fucker and Wrasslin' Janet Reno -- are there to oblige. Reno (a tall, mustached man in a chintz dress) flashes the Beetle, who collapses. The bad guys pull the limp Hank over the Beetle's body -- the winning pin! -- and exit, beating up the ref on their way. As the camera fades out, the Beetle, Hank, and Travis lie scattered on the floor, giggling. A concerned voice off-screen asks, "Are you OK?"

Clearly, pro wrestling in the hands of the World Wrestling Collective is not the pro wrestling of the World Wrestling Federation. Sometimes an homage, but more often a parody, the WWC sprinkles its fights liberally with absurdity. Any sacred cow of professional wrestling is ripe for hamburger. In 1998, the WWC took on American nationalism, long a pro wrestling staple. The WWC's blond, blue-eyed American Poster Boy, sporting a T-shirt from Henry Kissinger's law firm, rushed into his first match shouting, "Drink Coke! Vote Republican!" The spectators, some of them inveterate flag-burners, chanted "U-S-A! U-S-A!"

The WWC pokes fun at the feeble moralizing that pervaded the WWF in its infancy. The Beetle mugs at the camera and gruffly urges, "Brush your teeth, kids." One wrestler recorded a thoughtful public service announcement: "Hi, folks. My name is Mark. I play a wrestler named Little Hitler. [Pause.] Don't be Little Hitler, kids."

The WWC is not alone. Boston University has a pro wrestling group, as does Penn State. (Penn State holds matches, while B.U. students gather to watch pay-per-view events.) Similar organizations are rumored to exist at universities from Cambridge, Mass., to Santa Cruz, Calif. Not that a college's promotional literature will mention its pro wrestling organization. Most pro wrestling groups keep their distance from student activities offices.

There are a few reasons for this low profile. Liability is an issue. Boston University's club was told it would not get school money if members actually wrestled. According to club president Evan Scheck, "The student activities board said, 'We can't support a club that's going to bring paramedics in once a week and cart a kid away.'"

Penn State's Nittany Wrestling Federation assuaged administrators' concerns by obtaining a promoter's license and having wrestlers sign liability waivers. Its wrestlers, who are muscle-bound jocks compared to the WWC's pudgy novices, train with the pros. WWF wrestler Samu has participated in Nittany events. Founder Alex Abrahantes touts the NWF as "the only legitimate wrestling promotion operating out of a college in the United States."

Liability aside, a pro wrestling club isn't likely to be the highlight of a college tour. Many people think pro wrestling is for kids and rednecks and not an appropriate fixture at high-class institutions that traditionally boast rowing and lacrosse teams. According to Sheck, certain B.U. students "make snotty remarks" when the club is out publicizing events. "I'm sure there are people who can't believe that the day came to pass that there's a pro wrestling club at B.U.," he says.

Next page | Vital free-speech outlet or idiotic testosterone show?