The ’90s is remembered with a romanticism duly earned, a time when grunge was king before it gave way to Britpop and pro wrestling was larger-than-life camp before it gave way to the Attitude Era.
With World Wrestling Entertainment cutting loose with profanity, sex and booze and its competitor World Championship Wrestling making use of the New World Order to spice up its weekly programming, things were wild at the time.
It was all very ’90s.
And in the midst of all that attitude, there was a need for something flashy, exotic and exciting on broadcasts. Much of that flash came from Mexican wrestlers. Often clad in masks and offering up various high-flying spots, they brought the tradition of their country’s lucha libre style to North American audiences.
More often than not they were used as fodder for some star that WWE or WCW was pushing at the time, but they were great athletes nonetheless—perhaps not taken as seriously as they should have been given the era in which they performed.
Twenty years later, Mexican wrestling is alive and well. There are, however, no masks, acrobatics or other such histrionics. There is no script. There is no role to be filled as fuel for the stardom of another man.
Mexican wrestling has evolved. Mexican wrestling has an attitude.
Mexican wrestling now has Cain Velasquez, UFC heavyweight champion, a relentless talent who has sunk to the fringes of the sport due to a series of injuries that have shelved him for almost two years.
People have grown almost dismissive of his dominance in that time, forgetful of the fact that his reign of terror was essentially only interrupted by one right hand that would have felled a rhinoceros—a right hand he avenged. Twice.
Despite the inactive stint that comes to a close at UFC 188 against Fabricio Werdum, Velasquez is the best heavyweight on the planet—perhaps the best the sport has ever seen. His cardio is unmatched in the division, his functional strength is routinely glossed over, and his technical acumen is among the best in the game at any weight class.
While many fans and pundits have overlooked those facts, choosing to focus on his tendency to get hurt fighting or preparing to fight, the UFC has not. It has made Velasquez the face of its thrust into Mexico, taking advantage of his heritage and his position as king of the proverbial UFC monsters in hopes that the company may have found the next MMA hotbed.
It’s a logical gamble, given the propensity for Mexicans to root for their own and root particularly hard in combat sports. Having a hulking champion with “Brown Pride” emblazoned across his collarbone is pretty much what would have come out of a think tank were the UFC to employ one in creating the perfect star for that market.
But above all else, it’s his dominance that’s impressive. Yes, he’s missed time over the years. More title defenses would have been ideal along the way.
But when he’s in that cage? Man, when he’s in that cage.
He has the type of high-octane ferocity that gets people’s attention—the type that could carry a nation akin to what Georges St-Pierre did in Canada or Conor McGregor is doing in Ireland. The fight game is nationalistic when it’s at its best, and nothing brings out that pride like watching an untouchable countryman in combat.
UFC 188 will see the true champion return, and should he perform the way he’s proved he can, he’ll leave with his legacy furthered by a loyal fanbase running the length of Mexico. He will build that performance on forward pressure, tireless wrestling and vicious ground-and-pound once he secures the takedown.
It’s formulaic, but no one has had any type of consistent answer to it.
It’s no longer the ’90s, and Velasquez is not your dad’s Mexican wrestler. He’s the best in the world at what he does, and he’s looking to remind everyone of that fact Saturday night.
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