🎄 Headlocks & Holidays: How Pro Wrestling Made Christmas (and Thanksgiving) Magic

 

There was a time—not really that long ago, though it feels like another lifetime—when the holidays didn’t just mean turkey, tinsel, and family gatherings. For wrestling fans, especially in the territories, Thanksgiving night and Christmas night were as much a part of the season as pumpkin pie and wrapping paper.

If you grew up on Georgia Championship Wrestling, Mid-South, Memphis, Crockett, or any of the old regional promotions, you know exactly what I mean. The holidays weren’t a break from wrestling. They were built for wrestling.

🦃 Thanksgiving Night: The Other Family Tradition

Before the days of Survivor Series and corporate pay-per-views, Thanksgiving night was sacred territory. Promoters knew something simple but powerful: after a full day of food, family, and football, people were itching to get out of the house.

And what better escape than a hot, smoky arena where the babyfaces were fighting for honor and the heels were ruining everyone’s holiday spirit?

Thanksgiving shows were often the biggest gates of the year. Fans packed into the Omni in Atlanta, the Mid-South Coliseum in Memphis, the Greensboro Coliseum for Crockett’s Starrcade, and countless small-town armories and civic centers.

It wasn’t just a show—it was a ritual. A tradition. A night where the crowd felt like one big extended family.

🎄 Christmas Night: Wrestling’s Unlikely Winter Wonderland

Christmas night wrestling is something younger fans almost can’t believe existed. But it did—and it was huge.

Promoters understood the rhythm of the holiday. Morning: presents. Afternoon: food. Evening: “Alright, we’ve been cooped up long enough—let’s go see some wrestling.”

And the wrestlers? They worked it because that’s what the business demanded. Some of them joked that Santa brought them a booking sheet instead of a day off. Others embraced it, knowing the holiday crowds were some of the loudest and most emotional of the year.

There was something special about those Christmas cards. The lights felt brighter. The cheers felt warmer. The feuds felt more personal. And the fans—maybe a little sentimental from the season—were ready to believe in heroes.

🌟 Promoters Knew the Power of the Moment

Holiday shows weren’t just about selling tickets. They were about emotion. Promoters saved big blow-offs, cage matches, and title bouts for these nights because they knew the crowd would be electric.

Thanksgiving and Christmas were perfect storytelling anchors:

• Thanksgiving was for grudges, betrayals, and big turns.

• Christmas was for redemption, triumph, and the babyface finally getting his moment.

It was wrestling as a seasonal ritual—mythmaking with a side of cranberry sauce.

🎁 For Fans, It Was Pure Magic

Ask anyone who grew up in that era, and they’ll tell you: There was nothing like piling into the car after dinner, heading to the arena with the cold air biting your face, and stepping inside to the warmth of the crowd and the roar of the ring.

It felt like stepping into a second home. A place where the holidays didn’t pause the action—they amplified it.

Those nights stitched themselves into memory. Not because of any one match, but because of the feeling. The sense that wrestling was part of the season, part of the rhythm of life, part of what made the holidays feel complete.

🎅 The Business Has Changed, But the Memories Haven’t

Today, the territory system is gone, and holiday wrestling isn’t the institution it once was. But for those who lived it, those Thanksgiving and Christmas cards remain some of the most vivid memories in all of wrestling fandom.

They remind us of a time when wrestling was local, personal, and woven into the fabric of community life. A time when promoters understood the heartbeat of their towns. A time when wrestlers gave up their holidays so fans could make memories with theirs.

And maybe that’s why those nights still glow so brightly in our minds. Because they weren’t just shows. They were gifts.

Why Politics Should Stay Out of Pro Wrestling

 

Professional wrestling has always been a strange, wonderful hybrid of sport, theater, and mythology. It thrives on exaggerated personalities, long-term storytelling, and the shared suspension of disbelief between performers and fans. For more than a century, wrestling has survived wars, cultural shifts, and generational changes—not because it chased political relevance, but because it offered something rare: escape.

That escape is exactly why politics and pro wrestling are a volatile mix.

Wrestling Is a Refuge, Not a Rally

Fans come to wrestling for many reasons: nostalgia, community, catharsis, heroism, villainy, and the simple joy of watching good triumph—or fail spectacularly. Wrestling crowds are some of the most diverse audiences imaginable. Republicans sit next to Democrats. Libertarians cheer alongside progressives. Some fans follow politics closely; others avoid it entirely.

The one thing they usually agree on?

They didn’t buy a ticket to attend a political lecture.

When political messaging—overt or implied—enters the wrestling space, it fractures that shared experience. What was once a unifying escape becomes another arena for division, and wrestling loses one of its most powerful qualities: universality.

The Mick Foley Situation Highlights a Larger Problem

Recent headlines involving Mick Foley’s decision to distance himself from WWE over political associations have reignited debate about politics in wrestling. Foley is widely respected—not just for his legendary in-ring career, but for his intelligence, compassion, and willingness to speak his mind.

And that’s the key distinction.

Mick Foley, the private citizen, has every right to his political opinions. So does any wrestler, promoter, or fan. The issue isn’t having political beliefs—it’s when and where those beliefs intersect with wrestling itself.

When wrestling becomes a platform for political alignment, endorsement, or opposition, it puts fans in an impossible position:
Enjoy the product while swallowing a message you may strongly disagree with—or walk away.

Neither outcome is good for wrestling.

Wrestling Works Best When It Speaks in Archetypes

The most successful wrestling stories are built on timeless themes:

• Good vs. evil

• Power vs. rebellion

• Pride vs. humility

• Order vs. chaos

These archetypes resonate across cultures and generations because they are human, not partisan. Once those themes are reframed through modern political lenses, they stop being universal and start being exclusionary.

The heel shouldn’t represent a political party.
The babyface shouldn’t feel like a campaign ad.
The ring should never resemble a press conference.

Fans Are Exhausted—Wrestling Shouldn’t Add to That

We live in an era of nonstop political noise. Social media, cable news, podcasts, and algorithms ensure that no one ever really “logs off” from the culture war. Wrestling has long been one of the few places where fans could unplug, cheer, boo, and feel something uncomplicated for a couple of hours.

When politics enters the ring—whether intentionally or by association—that sanctuary erodes.

Wrestling doesn’t need to be relevant to today’s political arguments.
It needs to be timeless.

The Business Cost of Political Entanglement

From a purely business standpoint, politicizing wrestling is risky. Promotions rely on broad appeal, merchandise sales, live attendance, and long-term brand loyalty. Alienating even a portion of the audience for non-wrestling reasons makes little sense.

History shows that wrestling thrives when it focuses on:

• Talent development

• Compelling stories

• Athletic credibility

• Emotional investment

Not ideological signaling.

Let Wrestlers Be Wrestlers—And People Be People

This isn’t a call for silence or censorship. Wrestlers are human beings with beliefs, passions, and convictions. They should be free to express those views outside the wrestling product, just like anyone else.

But the wrestling ring should remain neutral ground.

Because once fans feel like they’re being sorted, judged, or targeted based on their political beliefs, wrestling stops being wrestling—and starts being something far less magical.

Final Thoughts

Pro wrestling has survived for generations because it knows what it is—and what it isn’t.

It isn’t a political movement.
It isn’t a moral tribunal.
It isn’t a battleground for modern ideology.

It is storytelling.
It is spectacle.
It is escape.

And in a divided world, that escape may be more important than ever.

You Can Leave Wrestling — But Wrestling Never Leaves You

 

2025 has quietly become a year of goodbyes in professional wrestling.

On the national stage, legendary names, such as John Cena, announced their retirements. On the independent circuit—especially here in Kentucky—we saw respected veterans like John Noble and Shane Andrews step away from the ring. Add in the reports of a dozen or more major stars calling it a career this year alone, and it’s hard not to notice a pattern.

It feels like wrestling is closing a chapter.

But anyone who has spent real time in this business knows better.

Because wrestling has a way of reopening doors we swore were shut for good.

Retirement in Wrestling Is Rarely Final

If retirement truly meant the end, the industry’s history would look very different.

Ric Flair retired… then returned.
Hulk Hogan retired… then came back in various forms.
On the Kentucky independent scene, names like “Showtime” Shawn Christopher and “Beautiful” Billy Maverick resurfaced after years away—men many assumed were done for good.

And I’m no exception.

I walked away from promoting in 2007.
Returned briefly in 2010 for a Hardcore Championship Wrestling show.
Then stepped away again—this time for years.

Yet in 2025, I found myself back in the business once more.

Not because I planned it.
Not because I needed it.
But because wrestling has a pull that’s hard to explain to anyone who’s never lived it.

Wrestling Isn’t Just a Job — It’s an Identity

Most careers allow you to clock out at the end of the day. Wrestling doesn’t.

When you’ve bled in a ring, driven hours for little or no pay, worked through injuries, and shared locker rooms with people who become family, wrestling stops being something you do and starts being something you are.

You don’t just miss the matches.
You miss the locker room.
You miss the road.
You miss the feeling of being part of something that only a small group of people truly understands.

Even the frustrations—the politics, the injuries, the heartbreak—become oddly familiar comforts over time.

The Applause Is Only Part of It

People often assume wrestlers come back because they miss the spotlight.

That’s only half true.

What many really miss is purpose.

Wrestling gives structure to chaos. It gives meaning to pain. It turns struggle into story. When that’s gone, there’s a void that other careers rarely fill. Normal life can feel quiet—too quiet—after years of adrenaline, crowds, and constant motion.

And once you’ve experienced that rhythm, it’s hard to accept silence.

Time Changes the Role — Not the Love

Most wrestlers who return aren’t chasing the same things they once did.

They come back older.
Wiser.
More selective.

Some return as mentors.
Some as promoters.
Some for one last match.
Some just to be around the business again.

But the common thread remains the same: wrestling still matters to them.

The ring may change.
The role may change.
The body certainly changes.

But the connection doesn’t.

Once It’s in Your Blood…

There’s an old saying in wrestling that once it’s in your blood, you can never truly walk away.

It’s not romantic.
It’s not poetic.
It’s simply true.

Wrestling is more than entertainment. It’s a culture, a brotherhood, and a proving ground that shapes people in ways few other professions can. You can retire from wrestling—but wrestling rarely retires from you.

So when someone announces they’re stepping away, the respectful thing to do is honor that moment.

But never be surprised if, someday down the road, you see them walk back through the curtain.

Because in professional wrestling, goodbye is often just another pause between chapters.

Know Your Worth… But Also Know Reality: A Message to Independent Wrestlers

 

Yesterday I was chatting with another wrestling promoter about talent recruitment. We were talking about expanding rosters, bringing in fresh faces, and giving new talent a platform to shine. But he told me something that made my jaw hit the floor — the biggest issue he faces is the number of independent wrestlers asking absolutely enormous fees.

I’m talking about guys with zero national exposure, some without even established regional presence, quoting $200… $250… sometimes more.

Let me be blunt:
That is insane.
No independent wrestler with no TV time, no major buzz, and no track record of drawing outside their home county is worth that kind of money. There are legitimate legends who don’t charge much more.

Let’s break this down.

The Math Doesn’t Lie

Say you’re an indie wrestler with no known draw outside your usual loop. A promoter a few hours away contacts you for a booking. You hit him with $250.

Do you realize what that means for the promoter?

At an average ticket price of around $15, he has to sell 17 tickets just to pay you alone.

Now ask yourself — and be honest:

Are YOU personally putting 17 people in those seats?
In a town you’ve never worked?
In front of an audience that doesn’t know you exist?

Highly unlikely.

Everyone wants their gas covered. Everyone wants to make a little profit. I get that. But most of you aren’t making multi-state drives. Most promoters are booking within a 3–6 hour radius. That means:

• Gas: $30–$50

• Food: $10–$20

• Total actual expenses: $40 - $70 - probably closer to the $40.00 range.

So how does that jump to a $250 asking price?

It doesn’t.
At least, not logically.

It’s different if a long-distance drive requires a hotel room — totally understandable. But most of you aren’t in that situation.

If You Want Big Money… You Need to Draw Big Money

If you truly believe you’re worth $250, then you should be able to personally put at least 15 butts in seats. Period.

If you can do that?
Great — you’re worth what you’re asking.

If you can’t?
Then be realistic.

This business has always been built on one thing:
Can you draw?
Everything else — talent, workrate, look, buzz — is secondary to this single question.

A True Story Promoters Should Pay Attention To

There used to be a promoter in my area who ran one of the worst shows you could imagine. I’m talking glorified backyard wrestling with a ring. The quality was abysmal.

But every month he packed the local armory with 300–400 people.

So naturally, I thought:

“If he can draw that with that, imagine what I could do with a real top-notch show.”

I booked the same venue.
And I got destroyed.

I pulled over $1,500 out of my own pocket just to make sure every worker and every expense was covered.

What was he doing that I wasn’t?

I found out:
He was telling his workers,
“If you want to be on this show, you must sell X number of tickets. If you don’t, you aren’t working.”

Guess what?
They ALL met quota.
And he packed the armory every show.

I’m not saying you have to love that system.
But you can’t argue with results.

Maybe More Promoters Should Consider It

Maybe promoters everywhere should start implementing a similar policy for wrestlers — especially for those asking for ridiculous amounts.

And not just unknown workers.
Some “names” should be held to the same standard.

I know of one ex-WWE guy asking $25,000 to work a show.
Another mid-card former WWE star is asking $9,000.

Really?
Come on.
That’s not happening.

If a wrestler — indy or TV-exposed — can’t draw enough tickets to justify their price, then the promoter is the one eating the loss. And most indie promoters can’t afford to do that.

Wrestlers, This Is Not an Attack — It’s a Reality Check

I respect all of you.
I respect the bumps you take, the time you invest, the money you pour into gear, travel, and training.

But you have to know your worth — and at the same time, know the market.

Before you quote a price, ask yourself:

“Can I personally draw enough people to justify this fee?”

If the answer is no, then maybe the fee shouldn’t be that high.

Remember, your payday isn’t just what the promoter gives you.
Most promoters don’t take a cut of your merch.
That’s your money.

And if you’re working a new area, congratulations — you’re expanding your brand, reaching new fans, and building future demand.

All that has value too.

Promoters and Wrestlers Can Both Win — If Everyone Stays Realistic

At the end of the day, most promoters want to pay talent fairly.
Wrestlers want to get paid fairly.

But independent wrestling only works when both sides operate inside reality, not fantasy.

If you want $250?
Draw $250.

If you want higher bookings?
Make yourself worth higher bookings.

Because at the end of the day, wrestling is a business — and the people who thrive in this business are the ones who understand that.

How to Get Along with Your Competitors in the Wrestling Business

 

(And Why It Matters More Than You Think)

By Joe Clark, a  Veteran Kentucky Promoter

The pro wrestling business is competitive in a way outsiders seldom understand. Promoters aren’t just selling tickets—they’re fighting for towns, buildings, sponsors, and talent. In small-town America, especially throughout Kentucky and Appalachia, three or four promotions may be fighting over the same high school gym or community center.

 It can get ugly. And too often, it does.

Dishonesty, sabotage, and ego have killed more wrestling companies than bad crowds ever did. But oddly enough, the same competitive landscape also produces some of the best examples of respect, professionalism, and even genuine kindness among promoters.

I’ve lived through both extremes.

Below are a few stories—names changed, but the lessons true—that show exactly why getting along with your competitors isn’t just “nice.”

 It’s necessary for survival.

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When Promoters Lie: The Dark Side of Competition

In 2024, the town of Cedar Ridge, Kentucky (not the real town name)  found itself in a bind.  The city hired a wrestling company—let’s call them Blaze Pro Wrestling— to do a show. Posters were made, sponsors lined up, talent excited.

Then, without a word, Blaze vanished.

No message to the town.
No call to their talent.
No explanation.

Just gone.

Scrambling to save their date, the town reached out to another company—Elevation Championship Wrestling. And during the first conversation, the promoter immediately started making promises.

“You want a legend on the show?” he said confidently. “No problem. I’m close with him—I’ll text him right now.”

He pantomimed texting while bragging about his connections.

The only problem? - The town’s representative was actually friends with the legend.

He called him and asked if he’d been contacted.

The legend replied, “I don’t even know that promoter, brother. And he sure hasn’t texted me.”

As a result, the show didn’t go to Elevation.  It went to Mountain Valley Wrestling, a company that simply told the truth.

This story sums up the reality of indie wrestling:
Three companies fight for the same show.
Two lied.
One didn’t.

And the honest one got the booking.

Imagine that.

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A Competitor Saved My Show

But the wrestling business isn’t always cutthroat.

Back in 1999, I was a brand-new greenhorn promoter. I had my license, a little momentum, and a whole lot of arrogance. In my head, I was going to be the promotion in Kentucky.  Nobody was going to out-hustle me.

I booked a show in a town that two or three companies were already running. I hung my posters right beside theirs. I wasn’t trying to be disrespectful—I was just trying to prove myself.

Fast forward to show day.

Car full of talent? There.
Venue? Ready.
Crowd? Already gathering.

Ring?
Broken down on the side of the road.

Minutes before showtime.

I was panicked. Embarrassed. Sick to my stomach.

We delayed the show until the ring could get there.

But something completely unexpected happened.

The promoter from United States Wrestling Alliance—one of the companies also running that building—walked right up to me and said:

“Why didn’t you say something? I’m here. I could’ve gone and got my ring for you.”

No ego.
No competition.
Just respect for the business and for another promoter trying to make it.

That gesture stayed with me forever.

---

Passing the Torch Without Losing the Town

Around 2001, I was promoting in a rural area of Pike County. The town was good to me. Crowds were steady. But after moving back to my hometown, the trip became a four-hour haul every month—not sustainable for long.

One night, a new promoter—let’s call his company Ironclad Wrestling Federation—came to my show. A mutual friend introduced us, and instantly I felt something:

“This is my way out.”

I didn’t ask for anything.
I didn’t negotiate a deal.
I didn’t try to hold on out of pride.

Instead, I got in the ring, introduced him to my crowd, and encouraged them to support him.

Unexpected to him, I basically handed him the town right then and there.

It was better for him.
It was better for me.
And it was better for the fans.

That’s how the business should work.

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When a Rival Roster Saved My Final Show

My very last show as the Appalachian Wrestling Federation was nearly a disaster.

One by one, wrestlers called with excuses.

“I can’t make it.”
“Something came up.”
“Car trouble.”
“Family emergency.”

By the afternoon, I was down to three or four guys—not enough for a card.

I had two options:

1. Cancel at the last minute and disappoint a community that had supported me.

2. Call another promoter who I’d had a little bit heat with in the past.

I chose option two.

And wouldn’t you know it?

That promoter brought an entire roster and saved my final show.

Competitor or not, he was a professional. And professionals help each other.

And guess what else happened? - That little bit of heat, which really wasn't much, that existed between us got squashed. We became friends after that night. He is no longer in the business but he is still a friend that I respect tremendously.

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Why Respect Matters in a Business Built on Competition

The wrestling world is too small—and too unpredictable—to make enemies out of everyone in your orbit.

Today you’re fighting over a town.
Tomorrow you might need:

• A ring

• A replacement talent

• A venue referral

• A shared fundraiser

• Coverage after a no-show

• Someone to step in when disaster hits

And when you treat people with honesty and respect, they remember.

Fans notice too.

A promoter who lies to towns, sponsors, and wrestlers gets exposed faster than a bad finish.
A promoter who helps others earns trust, goodwill, and longevity.

You don’t have to like every other promoter.
You don’t have to work with all of them.
You don’t even have to agree with them.

But maintaining a respectful, professional relationship might one day save your show…
your reputation…or even your entire promotion.

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Final Thought

Wrestling is built on cooperation.
Every match, every angle, every show requires trust.

The same goes for the promoters who build the towns, book the talent, and keep the business alive.

Help where you can.
Be honest where others lie.
And never burn a bridge you might someday walk across.

Because in this business, you will need help again.

And the ones who get it…
are the ones who gave it.