Shaun Leonardo - El Conquistador

 

 

In 2010, I'm standing in this grimy little gym in Oaxaca, Mexico, finally watching la lucha libre. Now, for those of you that don't know what that is, la lucha is the arts of Mexican wrestling. The pageantry and acrobatics are second to none. While the storylines and narratives of good versus evil would feel familiar to you, there's a special magic to la lucha, because in Mexican culture, it is sacred. 

 

Now, I've always had a fascination with la lucha ever since watching it on the TV with my dad. It's always been so spectacular. But those warriors were so foreign to me in their masks and regalia, flipping every which way. But I would learn later that those same warriors were your everyday teachers, taxi drivers, office workers. But in the ring, when that mask came on, they were gods. 

 

As a scrawny kid from some insignificant neighborhood in Queens, New York City, I wanted to feel that. I wanted to know what it meant to be a hero. And so, now, standing there, I was in complete awe, so much so that I wait for hours after the event just to approach a promoter and ask if I might start training with the local luchadores. 

 

Now, two important things to note. I'm not Mexican. [audience laughter] Yes, I'm Latino, but I'm from Queens. [audience laughter] Maybe more importantly, at the time, I had zero wrestling experience. [audience laughter] But I may have fibbed just a little bit and told the promoter that I was a wrestler back home in the United States. Whatever it was, he goes backstage, comes back with a little piece of paper with an address scribbled all over and says, “Show up here Friday.” He didn't say when. Just show up here Friday. So, I did, but five hours too early. But I waited and I waited. 

 

Then, after a while, in comes the trainer, and it is the legendary Rigo Cisneros from Nacho Libre fame. I lose it. He comes up to me, silently sizes me up, and in the quietest voice goes, “Hop in the ring.” The ring, the ring is an iron frame with plywood on top, some sprinklings of rubber and an old vinyl billboard securing it down. Not the bouncy thing y'all are imagining. [audience laughter] 

 

The wrestlers were amateurs twice my size. Everything I did was clumsy and tense. And so, they saw that and decided to deliver the punishment just to see if I would come back the next day. And so, the slaps to the chest started stinging that much more, the body slams a little more vicious, and the blows, the falls or bumps, as we call it in wrestling, that much more aggressive for me than anyone else in the ring. 

 

But I came back and I kept coming back, because where I'm from, giving up is not in the cards. And after three months of training, I'm finally granted my first match. And because of my hard work and likely the novelty of an American luchador, I am slated in as the sub main event. 

 

Now, to be clear, that is not the main event. I'm still the warm up act. The night comes and it's the same rickety ring in some makeshift arena with folding chairs. But the lights and the mariachi music is blaring. And it feels glorious. They call out my name. All the blood rushes right out of my body. It all becomes a blur. But I pull myself together, I get pumped and I step out in all white and gold, the knight in shining armor with a 14-foot velvet cape. [audience laughter] I hit that ring and I'm looking good. And then, I get my ass kicked. [audience laughter] I lose that match bad. [audience laughter] 

 

And so, I go backstage, beaten, battered, but at least, it's all over. And Rico Cisneros, the trainer, comes over and says, “Go back in the ring. Get the crowd pumping and go save the good guys.” I said, “What the hell are you talking about?” But I panicked, I run out there, I do what I'm told, only to get annihilated again. [audience laughter] By the end of the event, there are three bad guys, rudos, as we call them. One, pinning my shoulders down onto the mat, the other kicking me repeatedly and the third unmasks me. The ultimate embarrassment in Mexican wrestling. 

 

And so, I leave with a mixture of emotions. I'm embarrassed. I'm defeated. But despite the beating, I feel like I achieved something amazing. I had become a Mexican wrestler, for Christ's sake. [audience laughter] I had lived out a childhood fantasy. But I decided, enough fun, the adventure was over, time to go home. 

 

So, I'm back in my little ass appointment in Queens when I get a phone call a month later from a promoter asking me if I would consider wrestling the welterweight champion of the world. [audience laughter] So, it seems this American luchador had caused quite a stir, and the audiences were still talking about this guy. 

 

So, it was meant to be set as a special event for the 75th anniversary of the largest Mexican wrestling promotion in the world, and staged at the National Museum of Mexico City, which is literally a palace. How could I say no? [audience laughter] I'm terrified. But I had to see how far I could take this thing, so I accept. My opponent, the welterweight champion of the world, his name was Sangre Azteca. Aztecan blood. I failed to mention that my wrestling name was El Conquistador, [audience laughter] the Conqueror. [audience laughter]  

 

Now, for anyone here that recalls their colonial history, the conquerors didn't do such nice things in Mexico. [audience laughter] It was a match made in heaven. The storyline was set. But upon touching ground in Mexico, I'm explicitly told there is no way I'm winning this match. And then, I'm told that Sangre Azteca refuses to choreograph the match. 

 

Now, if you know anything about wrestling, you know that the outcomes, yes, are predetermined, but that also the matches are more or less scripted. So, now, not only am I being forced to lose the match, I could get really hurt. This has gone too far. 

 

Ironically, I'm billed as the good guy, or técnicos, as we call it in Mexican wrestling. But when the announcer finally calls out, El Conquistador de Nueva York, the entire audience turns on me. [audience laughter] Now, Mexican wrestling is a familial affair, so the abuelas, the grandmothers, everyone down the down to the kids start cursing at me. I feel like the entire arena wants to see me massacred. 

 

And in front of over 1,000 audience members, Sangre Azteca and I go mano a mano, one on one, two out of three falls for more than 45 minutes. We go at it. We're going blow for blow, putting each other in submission moves. We're fighting on the outside of the ring. We're kicking and we're going hard. At one point in the match, revved up by the insults of the audience, I look down on my opponent, who I just body slammed and I smack him. [audience laughter] This was a terrible mistake. [audience laughter] 

 

All of a sudden, the chop started stinging that much more, the punches and kicks a little heavier and things are going a little too far. But we go at it, and I stay in there. And for the climax of the match, I climbed up to the top rope to finish him off with a high-flying maneuver. And it's just like I imagined as a kid, it's magical. I'm soaring through the air, [audience laughter] only to get caught off midair with a dropkick to the chest. [audience laughter] And he pins me for the 1, 2, 3. I lose again. 

 

I'm leaving the ring confused, beaten. A swarm of kids surround me, asking me for autographs, embracing me, taking photos. It's bizarre. I bend down to greet a few kids and I feel this little pat on my shoulder. And a little boy says in my ear, “Si tu puedes.” Yes, you can. I'm beaten. And this kid wants to believe, wants to believe that this character should keep fighting. And so, I do. I take that childhood fantasy, and I turn it into an eight-year career as El Conquistador. [audience cheers and applause]

 

Now, it's been almost 10 years since the last time I stepped in the ring. But of course, I think about my adventures as a luchador all the time. But more than anything, I think about that little boy's words, because when times get most difficult for me, and these last two years have been some of the most challenging, tragic years of my life, of so many of our lives, El Conquistador reminds me that it's not always about winning. It's not about being the hero all the time. It's about moving through the failures and getting up after the losses. Because as that little kid said, that kid that just wanted to believe, si tu puedes, yes, you can, yes, we can. Thank you.