SmackDown in Town

I saw the semis stacked on Hopkins Plaza on my way to work this morning. There must have been six of them, visible from Mt. Vernon, covered with pictures of snarling beasts and alluring temptresses. The circus is back in town. But not the Barnum and Bailey version.

WWE's traveling road show, SmackDown, has landed. The ringmaster blows his whistle at 6:45 and the theatrics begin. The performance will be taped in high def for broadcast Friday night.

Say what you will about pro wrestling being entertainment as opposed to sport. (Even Shaquille O'Neill got into the act last night, behind the microphone for the live Raw presentation in DC.) While far from the Greco-Roman Olympic bouts, pro-wrestling has its own following.

A few years ago, I was returning to Camden Yards for an evening meeting and caught the light rail at Cromwell. Found myself on the 1st Mariner Express, with a carload of fans bound for the arena. I struck up a conversation with a contemporary who had his young son with him. They had traveled from the Eastern Shore for this evening. The kid was so excited he could barely sit still. Reminded me of scenes from long ago. Like junior high, watching Channel 11 on black and white.

Hey, remember Bruno Sammartino? I asked the guy.

Not only did he remember Bruno, he'd gone to see him at the Civic Center (that's what it was called in the 60's.) Haystacks Calhoun, too. Those were the days. He went with his old man, every year. And now he was still going to the same place with his son. What a great tradition.

Wrestling, in whatever form, on whatever medium, will always hold a place in the heart of Baltimore. Unlike duckpins, it seems to have survived evolution.

I probably won't be there tonight. But I'll have to observe the assembling multitudes outside the arena when I leave work. Fathers and sons, a few aspiring divas, the star-struck and the honest to goodness fans. If you aren't there, you can catch it Friday night on cable.