i am creating videos for Split Zone Duo
I am going to try to use this website more often to update you on what’s been going on in my professional life. Twitter was the primary source of Hector Diaz updates, but for various, various reasons, I’m trying not to use that platform as much, though it still provides a lot of value to communities.
The last time I updated this website, I was employed by SB Nation / Vox Media. As of January, that’s no longer the case. And while that was unexpected, I’m excited to see what happens next. I have not landed a full-time role at a major publication yet, and that is the eventual goal (for now), but I’m happy to be working on a new social project with some old friends.
I’m producing weekly short form videos for Split Zone Duo, a college football podcast hosted by Alex Kirshner, Richard Johnson, and Steven Godfrey. They’re good friends and we used to work at SB Nation together. If you’d like to, you can follow their social channels:
Twitter
Instagram
Facebook
TikTok
YouTube
Patreon
They’re passionate about what they do and they’ve gained a tremendous audience. I’m looking forward to help them build on that.
0 notes
Soaring Heights in Boyle Heights' Industrial Temple
Professional wrestling is admittedly a niche product but Lucha Underground is dismantling the taboo by becoming all-inclusive, one headscissor takedown at a time.
At a first glance, the name Lucha Underground harbors two popular thoughts. For one, the operative word is Lucha, as in Lucha Libre, the high-flying finesse wrestling style that makes Mexico spring to mind. Conversely, Underground implies that the promotion is akin to an alternative phenomenon. But both terms mean much more than that.
Simply put, Lucha Underground is a microcosm of the wrestling world and its neighboring community.
The venue where the matches are held and the show is recorded is commonly referred to as the Lucha Underground Temple, borrowing aesthetics from the world of Lucha Libre which takes its wrestling so seriously at times that it is often sacred in and of itself. Consider, for instance, the iconic accouterments associated with the style. Ever since wrestlers like El Santo first donned the masks, fans have been enamored with secrecy of these masked men. Any design, whether simply or complex in nature, immediately elevates the performance factor. In most cases, the masks themselves have developed cultures of their own through tradition.
But as you head to one of the Lucha Underground tapings on a weekend, where they film multiple episodes for their show in a given day, you realize that the temple is not a romanticized monolithic structure that is as beautiful on the outside as the set is on the inside. It's a warehouse. And not much stands out. It blends in with all the other warehouses near the I-5 freeway in Vernon and Boyle Heights in South East Los Angeles. The area itself is hidden in its own right. Most overlook the area since it is dominated by the industrial. Fabric and manufacturing plants would have you believe that no one lives here. On weekends where tapings are held, the area seems like even more of a ghost town since the most people who work in the warehouses; comprised mostly of older Latinos from the area, work Monday through Friday. The only remnants of activity that remain on the weekends in the exclusively industrial area are a few scattered trucks and a flurry of bottle caps left on the floor and pressed onto the asphalt, presumably from lunch breaks.
The temple is located in Boyle Heights, CA just a few miles away from downtown in an area more closely associated with factories than people. The few miles surrounding the temple are often overlooked in the greater context of the Angelino scope. Factories of all sorts dominate nearby Vernon, CA. In fact, not many people actually live in the city. They all commute to work from nearby towns like Boyle Heights, heavily dominated by Latino immigrants and their children.
The only thing that separates the Lucha Underground Temple from the rest of the neighboring warehouses is a small crimson billboard up top that reads "Lucha" in black. The sign itself is so discreet that you’ll probably find yourself circling the area until you accept the Temple’s locale.
Outside of the warehouse are waves of people, mostly Latinos from the arena, looking to make their way into the Temple. Outside is a food truck serving dishes from falafels to carne asada fries. It’s a small gesture to those in attendance that speaks volumes for what the fans will witness once inside; it’s a hybrid of old-generational resources with new-generation ambitions.
The transformation of a nondescript warehouse into a hotbed of anticipation is a sight to behold. The crowd rushes in the room filled with only a small bar, a few cardboard cutouts of the wrestlers, and a merch table with one of five shirts to choose from.
Though nothing is visible to the anticipatory Lucha Underground fan, they can definitely hear something. A band is playing a few feet from them though judging by the lack of vibration, that band isn’t on the same plane as them. Instead, the band is elevated on a platform right above the tunnel where most of the wrestlers will make their grand entrance. They, like the entire Lucha Underground product, project an ethos of both the older generation and the new. Their sound is a mix of heavy metal and rock en Español. The heavy guitar riff in each track is no more important than the accompanying accordion. Mothers, fathers, and grandparents enjoy the tunes as much as their children. It’s music reminiscent of a late night family parties around the same area where the tacos are abundant, the conversations are plentiful, and the singing is loud and passionate.
Separating the crowd from the ring is a rusted hallway, dimly lit, which only increases suspense for the fans entering the bright, made for TV-lit Lucha Underground set. The set itself is reminiscent of the nearby warehouses; it’s gritty, beat up, and definitely humbling. The one difference, of course, is that the set was intentionally created that way whereas the warehouses were organically morphed into that.
But as the hallway widens into the set, there is another wrestling ring nearby. Seats, benches, lighting, or cameras don’t surround this ring. In fact, the ring has nothing to do with the production of the television show being taped. If anything, this ring is the conversation piece prior to entering the whole of the Temple.
Though the typical pro wrestling fan is often envisioned as a young male, Lucha Underground—and indeed Lucha Libre in general—encapsulates a wider range of fans. For many, pro wrestling was a conversation starter between generations. Many of these younger fans grew up with their grandparents watching wrestling promotions such as CMLL and AAA on Spanish-language channels and using it to create lifetime bonds. You can see this happens as grandparents and their grandchildren find a seat prior to the opening bell.
The fans sit around the ring in what looks more like theater seating than a random assortment of folding chairs that you would typically see at your local independent wrestling promotion. For those unable to grab a seat, they are welcomed to walk up the stairs—the same ones that a few wrestlers will make eventually their way down from— and enjoy the action.
The lights dim and the bouts begin. What follows is a mélange of contenders. Some are masked and others aren’t. A few are known because of their former stints in WWE, undoubtedly the biggest venue for pro wrestling in North America. There are others who have had less exposure but are as experienced through their time in the independent circuit. The rest have close ties to Mexico and their wrestling promotions.
Johnny Mundo, known to WWE fans as John Morrison--a hip homage to Doors front man Jim-- is one of the first wrestlers to make his way to the ring. With unparalleled gravitas and the flashy bedazzled shades to boot, Mundo appears from a door near the standing fans. After the fog clears and the lights magnify his rock ’n’ roll aura, he flips his hair, adjusts his oversized fur coat, and begins to high-five ecstatic fans within his trajectory as he reaches the flight of stairs.
Though Mundo’s exposure has slightly decreased since leaving WWE in November of 2011, he seems comfortable and content being a part of Lucha Underground’s inaugural season. Part of that is due to the creative freedom that WWE lacks given that same exposure.
With WWE you always try to plan out short-term storylines more because it’s difficult at times to execute long-term ideas due to travels and other inputs,” says Chris DeJoseph, a producer for the show. DeJoseph spent a few years as a creative writer for WWE. DeJoseph not only understands the creative limits from Vince McMahon’s company, but also experienced it firsthand.
DeJoseph’s new boss did not have much experience running a wrestling promotion like McMahon does, but his impact through the El Rey Network gives Lucha Underground it’s distinct feel. Lucha Underground, like all things within the El Rey umbrella, are the machinations of director Robert Rodriguez, creator of films like the cult hit Machete.
That same ethos of exploitation film permeates throughout the Temple. “Here we work with Robert and the network and they let us plan and execute long-term storylines which has been refreshing. That way they pay off better. It’s a great thing for a writer. And for a fan, I think it’s an even better thing. “
But even Lucha underground is privy to some last minute changes. “Some story lines we have planned since the very beginning of this show. Some things change. Part of that is because of the audience. They pick their favorites and we listen to them.”
DeJoseph’s creative freedom allows more wrestlers to showcase their talents. WWE suffers from an identity crisis when it comes to their women wrestlers. Those that are heavily featured are referred to as Divas and given slim pickings when it comes to television exposure, which has prompted many fans—and talent—to voice their frustrations via #GiveDivasAChance. Meanwhile, their developmental program’s burgeoning segments feature women showcasing their wrestling skills that are on par, if not better, than their male counterparts.
Lucha Underground implements the latter, especially through wrestlers like Sexy Star. A veteran from Monterrey, Mexico, Star’s traditional Lucha Libre style has won the Lucha Underground crowds over. As opposed to the women of WWE, who do not compete against the men, Sexy Star wrestles them and convincingly beats them regularly. She doesn’t need to flaunt her sexuality to get camera time. DeJoseph agrees. “I don’t think we have as many stereotypes as other wrestling shows. Everyone can come fight in the temple. Men can fight in the temple. Women can fight in the temple. Exoticos (male luchadors performing in drag) can fight in the temple. It’s a beautiful thing.”
Because Lucha Underground gleans more characteristics from television as opposed to a live show, they have more creative freedom to use actors. One of these characters is the dastardly on-screen proprietor of Lucha Underground, Dario Cueto.
At the end of a match, Cueto might make his presence known as he appears from a door near the ring. It’s his office, where assumedly watches all the matches. It is also a popular setting where melodramatic and theatrical segments are filmed. Cueto, a slim man wearing a cheap suit and slick back hair, waits for the audience to stop its jeering before he begins to speak on the microphone.
On occasion, he delivers masochistic news to the competitors in the ring. He promises to deliver a great match, much to the chagrin of the wrestlers. Their plight is the fan’s entertainment. Cueto knows this. As he adjusts his microphone to decree, in English, the next match, fans begin to hiss and chant “Asshole, culero.” Cueto easily brushes it off and directs his attention to the ring.
Because Lucha Underground airs in both English and Spanish, the Spanish-language edition airs on Univision’s sister channel UniMas, Cueto also has to do another take. As soon as he finishes his declaration in English, he looks around, takes a deep breath, and recites the statement once more--only this time, Cueto is speaking Spanish. The fans follow suit. They now chant “Culero, culero.” They know the protocol.
For now, the Lucha Underground tapings have all been filmed for the first season. The temple has once again taken the form of a simple warehouse, with the set being torn down. There is no official word on whether Lucha Underground will be renewed for a second season, but it’s booming popularity within the pro wrestling community and the community of fans travelling in Southeast LA, might guarantee a return. If you happen to be on your way downtown and pass the swarm of warehouses, don’t be surprised to hear that familiar chant of “Lucha, lucha, lucha” nearby.
6 notes
·
View notes