In Lock Up: Professional Wrestling in Our World, author Ray Lopez offers his take on the world of professional wrestling and vice versa.

Lock Up was published in early December by Mascot Books, a ‘hybrid’ publisher — one that occupies a middle ground between traditional publishing (which makes money off the sale of produced books) and self-publishing (where the publisher is paid by the author to actually produce the books, then the author goes off and sells them). Per Wikipedia, Under a hybird publishing model, the publisher and author share the costs of publishing and distributing a novel. The publisher is then responsible for producing and distributing the book although the author pays a fee to cover the cost of some of the component services. See? I learned something even before we got to the wrestling stuff!

Mr. Lopez is a lifelong wrestling fan, which comes across throughout the book. He is also a lawyer, which is abundantly clear from his approach to the material. As a fellow lawyer I’ve learned that whether we’re in the office or off the clock, we don’t talk so much as we argue — even in the most casual social situations.

First, a pet peeve. When I review others’ work I rarely comment on things like factual errors, or grammar or spelling mistakes. I leave that for experts like Greg Oliver, who has read enough of my own work to know that I make my share of mistakes. That said, Lock Up could have used an extra round of proofreading. There are multiple misspelled words, including wrestler names (“Roman Reign”) and incorrectly used homonyms (“lightening” instead of “lightning”, or “waive” instead of “wave”). I wouldn’t be as bothered by the latter but the correct forms of these words often appear within a page or two of the mistake.

I can accept being wrong. I often am. But if one is going to be wrong, at least be consistently wrong. There are enough mistakes and inconsistencies throughout Lock Up to threaten to take me out of the book entirely

Maybe that’s unfair of me, but I call it like I see it.

I read Lock Up as a conversation with the author, a fellow fan, who thinks about the characters and themes and storylines that define pro wrestling beyond this week’s TV results. Mr. Lopez has clearly given his subject a lot of thought, and approaches wrestling from multiple angles: he begins his book with a typology of gimmicks, including examples (several of which I disagree with); attempts a broad stastistical analysis of several superstars; discusses wrestlers who broke through to mainstream media success, and offers his take on wrestling’s troubled history with representation regarding race and gender.

Whether I agree with his conclusions or not, these were the most successful parts of the book. Mr. Lopez shifts between recent history, his analysis of the problematic nature of the issue at hand and his own feelings as a fan. These were the most conversational sections of Lock Up and in my view likely the best suited to slamwrestling.net readers. These sections are also optimistic, acknowledging that pro wrestling struggles with social issues like most forms of entertainment and social institutions, but that progress — however tenuous — has been made. Mr. Lopez hopes that progress will continue, especially as wrestling becomes more corporate and mindful of diverse paying audiences.

Mr. Lopez’ book is perhaps best understood as a series of arguments across different formats. He couches these arguments in his certainty as a fan and begins Lock Up by addressing a common straw man argument raised by sensitive pro wrestlers: how can he purport to criticize pro wrestling when he has never stepped into the ring?

I agree with his answer (partly because I’m here writing about wrestling myself, and partly because I’m about to be critical of this book despite never having written one myself). At some point, if you immerse yourself in any field of endeavor you gain an appreciation for its technical and artistic merits. You also learn what you personally enjoy and what you dislike. Effective criticism involves a thorough discussion of the former while acknowledging the latter — and hopefully not letting one’s personal biases overtake one’s public analysis.

That said, if one is going to venture a public opinion it is important to have one’s facts in order. Given Mr. Lopez’ legal background and current litigation practice I’m sure he’s heard the old saying “if you have the law on your side, you pound the law. If you have the facts on your side, you pound the facts. If you have neither the law nor the facts on our side, you pound the podium.” Pro wrestling is often lawless — the violation of social norms and the fact that pro wrestlers constantly engage in staged assaults that would land anyone who is not President-elect in jail establishes that fact.

Defending his approach to wrestling criticism, Mr. Lopez name-checks the late movie critic Roger Ebert as someone who was removed from actual filmmaking but was respected for his views. In fact, Ebert collaborated with sexploitation filmmaker Russ Meyer several times early in his career. He co-wrote the cult film Beyond the Valley of the Dolls with Meyer, which was released in 1970. Ebert worked with Meyer throughout the 1970s on projects including Up!, Beneath the Valley of the Ultra-Vixens and other films, and the proposed Sex Pistols movie Who Killed Bambi? One could argue these experiences cast doubt on Ebert’s taste in films, or his ability to judge prestige cinema, but he worked in the field and helped make movies that were popular in some circles.

Probably not the most important oversight, especially in a book about pro wrestling rather than film, but it was one of several that made Locked Up a bit of a challenging read. A fun conversation with the author about a mutual hobby becomes frustrating as disagreements about facts and their interpretation emerge.

Case in point: Mr. Lopez begins with an extensive typology of pro wrestling gimmicks, explaining the differences between the babyface and heel versions thereof. He provides several examples of each and treats them as authoritative. It’s a solid effort but in my estimation, he misses a few fundamental tropes.

Mr. Lopez identifies many of the stereotypes that inform heel gimmicks, but curiously leaves out a central “bad guy” figure — the queer-coded, effeminate heel. It’s an odd choice which is striking since he picks out several examples and slots them in among muscular “pretty boy heels.” With respect, I think these villains warrant their own category, as they go back to the beginnings of television. Gorgeous George was flamboyant, calling himself the “Toast of the Coast” and the “Human Orchid.” He employed both male and female servants whom he mistreated, dyed his hair platinum blonde and set it in a woman’s “marcelle” style, wore feathered robes to the ring and had it (and opponents) sprayed with “disinfectant'” before he would touch other wrestlers.

The stereotypically “gay” heel has been a key part of wrestling ever since. Lock Up may not read as an authoritative history of pro wrestling, but misidentifying a central gimmick raises questions about the analyses. We can trace this particular gimmick from Gorgeous George to Chris Colt and Pat Patterson. Patterson was out privately but never overtly as part of his gimmick, although heavily coded references like his adopted hometown of San Francisco were there. Colt was more open about his sexuality and introduced subculture elements like leather and spikes to his presentation. From there we can cite Adrian Street, who contrasted his over-the-top look with a gritty, realistic style; and Adrian Adonis, who swapped out his own leather biker gimmick for makeup and boas, and made a show of prancing around the ring despite his reputation as a tough guy.

I can understand ignoring history to a point, but within Mr. Lopez’ frame of reference we have examples like “The Genius” Lanny Poffo, who iterated on the theme in two ways: tying effeminacy to his gimmick’s obnoxious “smarter than you” intelligence, which Damien Sandow would do later; and portraying a total lack of self-awareness of how his behavior was read by the audience. Poffo takes us to Goldust and the tag team of Billy and Chuck.

Within the past few years we have seen NXT acts like the Velveteen Dream, Maximum Male Models (who went so far as to hook up with Billy and Chuck’s former manager, Rico Constantino), and current SmackDown tag team Pretty Deadly. Mr. Lopez captures many of these acts, but he stops short of calling them out for what they are — a funny choice when he speaks to other forms of representation at length.

Lock Up is strongly slanted towards the wrestling that I imagine he grew up watching, mostly WWE and WCW from the mid-1980s through today. It’s a fair approach. I had a conversation with work colleagues at lunch and wrestling came up: their frames of reference were the same. I also think it’s an area where Mr. Lopez misreads his likely audience, taking an unduly restrictive view of which promotions and wrestlers ultimately “count” in his story of pro wrestling.

Mr. Lopez considers promotions that have national broadcast exposure worthy — so in the 1980s he includes the AWA, NWA/WCW and WWF (as it was). In the 1990s, WCW and WWF make the cut. It’s less clear whether ECW does as well. In this millennium, it’s similarly unclear to me whether ROH or TNA/Impact count — though I could have tried to read that part without my glasses. International promotions like NJPW and AAA do … sometimes, but not always.

I’m not a numbers guy, but as someone who is interested in in-group/out-group dynamics, I found this approach confusing and reductive. TV is important but given the growth of the internet especially in wrestling circles, it hasn’t been the sole determinant of a promotion’s (and by Mr. Lopez’ logic, a wrestler’s) value in decades. WWE, the current wrestling market leader, is abandoning cable in favor of Netflix’s streaming service for its flagship shows and Premium Live Events. I don’t think it’s fair to dismiss other companies’ reach or talent who thrive outside WWE’s purview. Mr. Lopez’ approach ignores much of the history of pro wrestling and key parts of its current culture: today we speak about GCW or Major League Wrestling or Pro Wrestling Guerrilla as “Super Indies.” We also have the NWA chugging along in much-reduced but still-profiled form. Surely territory-driven stars like the Von Erichs, Harley Race or Jerry “The King” Lawler deserve to be mentioned alongside current wrestlers like Edge/Adam Copeland, Bryan Danielson or Kane (these older stars do show up at various points in the book, which I found a tad confusing).

Lawler’s omission is particularly curious. Lawler won most of his titles in the Memphis territory he part-owned, but secured a rabid fan base and became a household name. He is also culturally significant. This is evidenced in the next chapter of Lock Up, where Mr. Lopez considers the relationship between mainstream celebrity and wrestling — and the wrestlers who best transition to more “legitimate” forms of entertainment. He names his awards “The Kaufmans” in honor of the late comedian Andy Kaufman, who gained permanent notoriety among wrestling fans by — you know it — heading down to Memphis and feuding with Lawler.

The challenge comes when Mr. Lopez tries to apply some analytical rigor to his favorite stars. He devotes a chunk of his book to charting wrestlers’ primes — evaluating their gimmicks, roles on TV and title histories in an attempt to provide some kind of SABR-metric analysis of a male soap opera. It’s an interesting approach — one he uses for stars from Bruno Sammartino through Roman Reigns. It’s a fun idea although I disagree with some of his characterizations of wrestlers’ gimmicks, a holdover from the previous chapter. For example, he seems to suggest that Edge spent a good portion of his WWE career working as a “foreign” character. Edge is from Toronto, Ontario, and with the exception of a brief period where Vince McMahon insisted that babyface Canadians be billed from an American city, he always has been (he has lived in North Carolina for years). He has referenced his background on occasion but I don’t recall him ever playing it up as a foreign menace. (There have been plenty of evil Canadians — Edge’s own tag team partner Christian was a charter member of the Un-Americans stable.)

A bigger issue comes with the use of graphics and illustrations in general. With utmost respect to Mr. Lopez, he provides page after page of this sort of analysis, in very small, light type, with graphs that are indistinctly shaded. He also notes the total number and length of a wrestlers’ title reigns but doesn’t break them out in a meaningful way. For someone with a passing knowledge of data analysis, the result is well-intentioned but ultimately frustrating.

Mr. Lopez seems aware of the contentious nature of his decisions, and the claims that he makes. Arguing with fellow fans is part of the fun of wrestling and writing about wrestling. At points it seems like he invents topics for the sake of provoking discussion. Mr. Lopez devotes two chapters of his book to fictional Presidential contests between pro wrestlers. Not such a strange idea given the last few US election cycles, but I’m not voting for Harley Race as President, and Andre the Giant is constitutionally ineligible since he wasn’t born in the US. Also, they’re both dead.

A section where he compares wrestling dynasties to famous political, sports and entertainment families also feels like a stretch. Mr. Lopez likens the Von Erichs to the Kennedys, while the Harts get the Jacksons. Nationality aside, I would argue the reverse given Joe Jackson’s and Fritz Von Erich’s allegedly abusive parenting styles and the fact that Kerry von Erich was way more over in Dallas than JFK.

A mock draft is fun, but a staple of podcasts. A hypothetical tournament where Chris Jericho’s various personae battle for supremacy is a cool idea — one we occasionally glimpse through teacher-student feuds, or fake Undertakers and faker Kanes. If you’re the sort of fan who appreciates deep cuts, it might be fun to extend the premise. Instead of Y2J vs. the Learning Tree, I’d be interested in a bracket where the Christmas Creature fights Isaac Yankem, DDS, in a Black Friday match.

For lawyers, argument is sport. I’d love to engage Mr. Lopez in a debate about his opinions — but for all of his efforts to provide a factual basis, appeal to loose statistics or give analogies to reality TV families, what Mr, Lopez offers is, in the words of the The Big Lebowski‘s Dude, “Yeah, well, you know, that’s just like, uh, your opinion, man.”

For what it’s worth, I ultimately enjoyed Mr. Lopez’ take on all things pro wrestling. I suspect he would make an excellent podcast host (or guest, if he doesn’t have time). He offers a variety of approaches to wrestling fandom, which I certainly respect. Lock Up’s best use might be as a conversation starter during a pay-per-view gathering; it posits several fun “what if” moments and invites different perspectives on pro wrestling and it’s relationship to the broader world. If you can look past the technical issues or share it with someone who will fire back in real time, it could be a lot of fun.

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