Pro Fantasy Lucha's blog

I still remember one of my first real shadow matches. It wasn’t in a gym, or a club, or some big event. It was in the garage of my family’s home while everyone was at work. I’d cleared space, laid down old mattresses and padding, and waited nervously for him to arrive, a much older family man who had driven across town just to meet me. I was new to the scene, unsure of what to expect, and everything about it felt electric and secretive. Today, my own profile is far from discreet. It’s filled with match photos, action shots, and proof of the pro-style wrestling I’m serious about. But back then, the thrill was in the mystery: no cameras, no audience, just anticipation, respect, and the raw connection of two men stepping onto the mat.

I can still remember slipping into my first Lycra singlet (his) tugging it into place as nerves and excitement ran through me. And then he walked in: solid, extremely hairy, carrying himself with the quiet confidence of someone who had lived a lot more life than I had. We shook hands, no words wasted, and locked up right there on the mats I’d thrown together.

There was no audience, no phones, no cameras waiting to capture a highlight reel. Just two men pushing each other, testing limits, sweating, straining, laughing between holds. It was raw, simple, and in its own way, intimate. Not in the way people might assume but in the trust, the respect, the bond that came from testing each other honestly. I walked away from that match sore, yes, but also connected. Like I’d been let into something bigger than myself.

Back then, profiles were short, simple, and mysterious. A few lines about weight, style, experience and maybe a single photo. And somehow, that mystery made every meeting feel charged. Today, my photos aren’t about secrecy (although I prefer to be masked or have my face blurred) they’re about showing experience, skill, and respect for the craft. The difference is intention: these match shots tell people I’m serious about wrestling, not about ego or shock value.

Shadow wrestling has always been more than just grappling. It’s about connection. It’s about men finding a way to bond, to push each other, to share a moment of struggle that most people will never understand. Wrestling blurs the line between sport and intimacy, not sex, but closeness. A kind of physical brotherhood that’s rare to find anywhere else.

So I ask myself, and I ask you: where do we go from here? Do we let the scene slide further into something shallow, or do we bring back some of that respect, that mystery, that intention? Maybe it’s as simple as showing up honestly. Maybe it’s about remembering that what happens on the mat isn’t just content — it’s connection.

Because at its best, shadow wrestling has never been about clout or performance. It’s been about two men locking up, testing each other, and walking away changed in some small way. That’s worth protecting. That’s worth keeping alive.

I miss the old days of underground wrestling. Back when it still felt taboo, when stepping onto a mat in some stranger’s basement or hotel room felt like entering a hidden world. There was a thrill in the secrecy, a respect in the way guys carried themselves. It wasn’t about clout, or likes, or dog masks. It was about wrestling. Pure and simple.

Now? Too often it feels like a parody of itself. Profiles plastered with dog masks, declarations of “I just love wrestling” followed immediately by ten explicit photos that have nothing to do with wrestling. The scene has blurred into something closer to Grindr, where “hey” and “what’s up” are the extent of an introduction, completely ignoring the paragraphs of effort people put into their profiles. It feels lazy, hollow, and detached from what made this whole underground community special in the first place.

Back then, I used to admire guys from afar. I’d look at profiles and think, one day, maybe I’ll wrestle him. There was an air of mystery, an unspoken code. It made the scene feel bigger than just a hobby, it was a culture, even a brotherhood in its own strange way. But time has a way of changing things. I wonder what happened to all those guys I once looked up to. Did they age out of it? Did they settle into families, move on, grow old, maybe even pass away? It’s a sobering thought.

And here I am, at the crossroads. Torn between what first pulled me in and what the scene has turned into. I find myself longing for a time when it was underground in the truest sense. When the focus was on the struggle, the sweat, the battle on the mat, not on shock-value photos or empty swipes of attention.

Maybe nostalgia is playing tricks on me. Maybe the “golden days” were never as perfect as I remember. But I know this: there was a magic to it. A sense of belonging in the shadows. That’s what I miss. That’s what I search for every time I tie up with someone new.

Because underground wrestling, at its best, was never just about the fight, it was about connection!

Feel free to share your own thoughts on this..