Minnesota's pro wrestling scene is thriving -- and more independent than ever

The wrestling match was not going well for the man in the yellow mask topped with fuzzy ears. Summoning his last strength, he raised his hands, bent his fingers and scratched at the empty air in front of him. Hundreds of fans in the crowd meowed in response.

"It's almost like Tinkerbell's clapping to bring her back to life. It's almost the same thing with meowing," said Wildcat, aka Benjamin Sailer. "When I can get them to meow, now my energy is coming up. I'm coming back to life."

That professional wrestling match at the First Avenue nightclub in Minneapolis over the summer was one of dozens organized every year by independent promoters in the region. The matches — organized in bars, high schools and community centers — represent one of the more active independent professional wrestling scenes in the country.

Growing up in North Dakota, Sailer always knew he wanted to be a wrestler. He played three sports in high school, but it was the drama of wrestling that appealed to him.

"You're a full-contact performing artist, I suppose. It's a unique blend of theater and athleticism," Sailer said. "To me it's the greatest art form on the planet."

Sailer started wrestling under his own name after he turned 18. He came up with the idea of Wildcat about five years ago.

A Facebook page is even maintained in the character's voice where upcoming events are posted and the character talks about his crime fighting exploits. "Winthrop seems like a small, quiet American town," a post on the site read a couple years back, "but you never know where evil lurks."

To dismiss professional wrestling because the plots are staged beforehand would be a mistake, Sailer said. The story arcs are collaborations between wrestlers and promoters that are solely intended as a special sort of entertainment.

"Whether you're chasing a championship belt or just trying to rectify a feud, you've got to leave your ego at the door," Sailer said. "You've got to think about what's going to be interesting for the audience, what's going to get them to come out next time."

Gregory McDonald, owner of Prime Time Wrestling, has a college degree in theater and has acted everything from productions at the Guthrie Theater to commercials. He said the story of each character advances during every match.

"By nine months, you will have followed the protagonist and antagonist, watched the highs and the lows of the storyline, watched a climax in January and in May we come all together and wrap all the stories together," McDonald said. "It's a nine-month long soap opera with a lot of stunt men."

Evil wrestlers are known as the heels and the good ones are known as babyfaces. McDonald compares the drama of a professional wrestling match to a two-and-a-half-hour play.

"We have frogs. We have cats. We have aliens from outer space. We just have a lot of fun and figure out a way to tie all this together and tell a story," McDonald said. "If you back up the good guy when he comes in, and support him like you would in Hamlet, you actually have fun."

Minnesota has long been known as a mecca for the sport, largely due to the influence of Verne Gagne, who ran the American Wrestling Association out of Minneapolis until 1991.

McDonald said the independent professional wrestling companies in the country have been thriving.

"All we have for a major card now is the WWE, if there are only so many spots on the WWE card, where do the other talented guys go?" McDonald said. "The younger guys are available for us."

Prime Time Wrestling was the organizer of a unique free series of wrestling matches at Calhoun Square in the trendy Uptown area of Minneapolis, which have exposed the sport to some new possible fans.

"We get some hipsters down there that usually wouldn't go out of there way to go to a wrestling match," McDonald said. "They see it, they walk in, and seem to stay and like it."

It's not unusual for 300 people to attend a Prime Time Wrestling event, said Razzlin' Rick Krenske, who writes a longtime blog documenting the region's independent wrestling scene. Krenske said at least half a dozen companies now organize matches in the Twin Cities.

Krenske was introduced to wrestling by his friend John Devine, who later went on to wrestle as Horace the Psychopath. He said most performers in the region see wrestling as a hobby, and some may not want to make the physical sacrifices necessary to compete full-time at the national level.

"We've got some darned good wrestlers around here that could have advanced to the WWE," Krenske said, "but these are people who have treasured their families more than the idea that they would be a star in the WWE for a couple of years. They've decided not to move on."

By its nature, a sport where men and women leap through the air and pretend to pummel one another can lead to actual injuries, even when the wrestlers are working together.

Sailer, who wrestles as Wildcat, has experienced torn muscles, dislocations, a broken jaw and concussions. At the age of 31, after a dozen years wrestling, Sailer said he's now in the twilight of his career, although he's still got some years left.

"Every time you go out, you roll the dice, and I've rolled the dice a thousand times," Sailer said. "I just always wanted to make sure that I got out in one piece, and could still function and live a normal life after it."

Wildcat is set to perform in a tag-team match with a wrestler named Farmer Frog at Calhoun Square on Saturday, Sept. 26.