SPUN around, turned upside down, and twisted into all sorts of shapes, I’ve never been inside a washing machine, but I now know how it would feel.
And it is all thanks to two of Mexico’s top wrestlers, who touched down in London to give us Brits a taste of what they call “Lucha Libre” in the ring.
After a 42-year career, El Hijo del Santo, 61, is setting off on a tour of Europe as he prepares to hand the reins to his son, Santo Jr, 27.
He will be the third generation descended from the most legendary wrestler in Lucha Libre history — El Santo — known for his silver mask and 50-strong films, in which he defends peace and justice in the Central America country.
Ranking only behind football in its popularity in Mexico, wrestling fills stadiums with thousands of chanting fans, young and old. And now it is my turn to give it a go.
To transform into a “Luchadore”, I am christened with a new name — El Hombre Ingles (The Englishman) — and draped in a red-and-silver sequin cape.
Then comes the mask, the defining symbol of Luche Libre.
Masking up is about a lot more than just looking fancy, as Santo Jr explains.
“Ever since the pre-Hispanic times, Aztec warriors and Mexican fighters would use animal masks to summon their power. It’s a symbol. It’s more magic when you don’t know who is underneath.”
For a Luchadore, there is no greater shame than being unmasked by an opponent in the ring. And despite working under every major Mexican wrestling outfit and doing stints in World Wrestling Entertainment, El Hijo has not once been seen in public without his mask.
“When we’re wearing the mask people are always around us asking for photos and stuff,” he said, with help translating from his son.
“But whenever the mask is off no one knows who you are. We have a lot of privacy because of it.”
His dad El Santo also stayed masked throughout his career until during an interview just one month before his death in a goodbye to his fans.
Such were the lengths he went to hide his identity, he even travelled in a separate airplane to his team so that no one saw his face when he went through customs. And when El Santo passed away in 1984, he was buried wearing the mask.
His funeral was one of the largest Mexico had ever seen, attracting over 10,000 mourners.
El Hijo, who was one of 11 children, tells me the moment he inherited his dad’s mask remains the highlight of his career. Back in the ring, El Hijo locks arms with me and I prepare for battle.
But it is hopeless. I am picked up with ease and thrown to the ground.
I even become victim to the family’s favourite finishing move, “la de a caballo”, where El Hijo sits on my shoulders and stretches back my head. It is certainly a humiliating end to my wrestling career.
When asked how easily other famous fighters could fare at their sport, the pair are sceptical. “They would need time to adjust,” says Santo Jr, “but if Conor [McGregor] wants to hop up in the ring, I’ll be happy.”
Later, I see El Hijo, Santo Jr, and other wrestlers come together at East End boxing venue — Bethnal Green’s York Hall.
Fighter after fighter enters to dramatic music, each with a unique costume and persona. It is entertaining — and there is plenty of very real rivalry between them.
Even the ref got dragged in at points and a mouthy fan quickly shut up when the wrestler he was taunting sat right next to him.
Many people have the same question when it comes to professional wrestling: is it real? From my second row seat, a couple of kicks and punches do look on the slow side. But these are far outnumbered by very-real kicks to the face and body, and slams that shake the floor.
Likewise, it is real enough when El Hijo and Santo Jr come together as a double team to defend the legacy of the silver mask and the man who first wore it. In the end, it is not a question that matters.
Just don’t expect to see El Hombre Ingles return any time soon.
