Wrestling With America

Society thrives on spectacle. The homoerotic pageantry & simulated violence of professional wrestling carry the same cathartic release as Shakespearean classics—revenge, tragedy, the slow rot of a man consumed by his own soul. Wrestling isn’t just entertainment. It’s a mirror held to society, exposing every imperfection we try to ignore.

The greatest trick professional wrestling ever pulled was convincing the world it wasn’t real. But what is more scripted—sports entertainment or society? Look no further than Donald Trump, the grift that keeps on giving.

That’s not defamatory. It’s historical fact.

Trump is one of the few men to appear on both versions of the WWF—before the pandas won their lawsuit & after. He wasn’t just a guest; he was inducted into the WWE Hall of Fame, cementing his place alongside legends of simulated violence. He claimed to have hosted WrestleMania IV & V at Trump Plaza, even though the events were held at the Atlantic City Convention Center. A man rewriting reality before our very eyes.

His most famous storyline? The Battle of the Billionaires in 2007. He feuded with Vince McMahon—WWE’s chairman, cartoon supervillain, & real-life sexual predator. The two men stood in the ring, comparing testicle sizes live on national television. “Vince’s grapefruits are no match for my Trump Towers,” Trump boasted.

This “battle” wasn’t fought by the billionaires themselves, of course. They each chose men to fight for them. McMahon picked Umaga, a tattooed Samoan powerhouse. Trump picked Bobby Lashley, a young Black wrestler sculpted from muscle & marketing potential. No one questioned the symbolism—two white titans of industry sending men of color to beat each other to a pulp in their name.

Wrestling was never just entertainment. It was empire.

Trump’s love affair with WWE didn’t end there. He once “bought” the company from McMahon in a storyline so economically disastrous that WWE’s stock price plummeted in real life. They had to retcon it out of existence. It was a dry run for his presidency—take over, burn everything down, then pretend it never happened.

& yet, WWE still welcomed him into their Hall of Fame.

Trump didn’t just admire wrestling. He governed like a wrestling promoter. He weaponized spectacle. He knew chaos sells. He surrounded himself with wrestling’s worst—like Hulk Hogan, a racist caricature of the American dream, trotted out at rallies to remind people when America was "great." He installed Linda McMahon, Vince’s wife, into his cabinet.

Linda McMahon, who spent years acting out corporate villainy on WWE television, now dismantling the Department of Education.

Linda McMahon, who played the scorned wife of an on-screen sexual predator.

Linda McMahon, who once sat catatonic on live TV, drugged into submission by her billionaire husband.

Linda McMahon, who watched as Vince McMahon choked their daughter with a lead pipe in a WWE storyline.

When people tell you who they are, believe them.

But, Mat, I thought professional wrestling was good for society. So far, you’ve listed three people—each nefarious & narcissistic in their own way. But narcissism isn’t the only thing they share. They are all hardcore, unapologetic American capitalists.

I hate capitalists—as did most wrestling fans who enjoyed the product during its peak in the mid-to-late 1990s.

Back then, the hero wasn’t a flag-saluting Marine reject. No, back then, WWF/E relied on the appeal of Stone Cold Steve Austin—the blue-collar, beer-drinking, tough SOB who became a household name by flipping off his boss & kicking his teeth in. When Austin wasn’t feuding with Vince McMahon, he tangled with Hunter Hearst Helmsley—Paul Levesque within WWE, better known as Triple H. A professional wrestler, booker, & husband of Stephanie McMahon, Levesque spent his career cycling through personas: an aristocratic snob, a leather-clad degenerate, the self-proclaimed Game (with cheats installed), & eventually, an evil corporate overlord.

A man with a deluge of regrettable television incidents, including simulated sex with a corpse, drugging multiple women—some for the purpose of sexual gratification—& hanging out with a born-again Christian with a receding hairline while they told people to suck it alongside a little person dressed as a leprechaun.

America turned the channel on professional wrestling—it shows.

When the Monday Night Wars of the late ‘90s fizzled out & demand cratered, professional wrestling clung to its carny roots. Docuseries like The Dark Side of the Ring & Netflix’s documentary on Vince McMahon highlight the horrors of the business. The Wrestler, starring Mickey Rourke—who himself made an appearance at WrestleMania—even received critical acclaim for its portrayal of those who trade their bodies for money.

At its worst, wrestling is ego-driven, capitalist smut.

At its best, it is America’s most honest mirror.

Each decade of wrestling history tells us exactly what America valued at the time.

The 1960s belonged to Bruno Sammartino, a poor Italian immigrant who held the WWF World Championship for nearly eight years. He represented the working class’ resilience & determination to be great.

The 1970s belonged to the actual American Dream, Dusty Rhodes. A loudmouth son of a plumber, uniquely charismatic & passionate, Rhodes spoke to the souls of those experiencing economic turmoil.

The Reagan-era 1980s ushered in Hulk Hogan, the cartoonish American hero who urged kids to say their prayers & take their vitamins—leaving out the steroids, cocaine, & prescription drugs that fueled his rise.

Very emblematic of Reagan.

Then came the Attitude Era of the late ‘90s, when Stone Cold Steve Austin, flanked by the insanely charismatic Dwayne “The Rock” Johnson, embodied anti-corporate rebellion. But the post-9/11 WWE pivoted hard. The Bush-era military-industrial complex gave us John Cena, a soldier-turned-action figure, marketed as America’s last good guy.

For those driven away by American ego, a brief reprieve came in the 2010s, when CM Punk & Daniel Bryan became avatars of the fans—allowed to air grievances but ridiculed for being too much like the viewer.

It was a strange time to love something that seemed to hate you.

Much like America now.

Today’s face of WWE, Roman Reigns, represents a return to tradition & dominance. He is family to The Rock, tied to generations of wrestling royalty, part of a lineage that now owns a stake in the company itself. Wrestling’s biggest star is an extension of its past, just as America clings to its own dynastic legacies.

Because when Americans deny their own trashiness, they deny themselves the chance to be absolved of it.

& so, they remain guilty.

MATHEW SERBACK’s work has appeared in the Under Review, including his short fiction, “Death & the NFL Draft & Social Justice...,” and he has upcoming publications with Midwest Weird and Quarter Press. Additionally, he released an arthouse documentary on YouTube that delves into cPTSD and poetic expression. His work focuses on amplifying the voices of society’s others, blending urban and classical styles in a way that is uniquely his own.