In God’s house, powerslams and piledrivers are the mission for promoter and school leader Tortorello
Story by Drake Kizer
Photos by Basil Mahmud
In a dimly lit venue about 30 miles south of Chicago, 800 professional wrestling fans cry out to their favorite, and least favorite, competitors with reckless fervor.
“Moose!”
“Cero Miedo!”
“S-C-U!”
“This is awesome!”
They represent only a handful of the chants that rain down on the wrestlers flying off the ropes and slamming each other onto the mat. The ring is almost entirely black except for a gold “Spartan” helmet logo emblazoned in the center of a weathered canvas. Above that, the phrase “Warrior Wrestling” is etched in gold.
The passionate cries echoed through a high school gymnasium in a struggling town where wrestling fanatics paid as little as $35 or more than $100 to watch costumed villains and heroes pretend to inflict harm on their enemies — all for the purpose of keeping the students who use the gym for standard athletic fare from doing or suffering the same fate in real life.
Steve Tortorello, a lifelong fan of professional wrestling, sits and watches the action with a discerning eye. But as chatter rings through his headset, Tortorello is reminded he’s not just an onlooker.
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