Small Ring, Big Dreams: The Central Valley’s Backyard Wrestling Underdogs

This story was originally published in the Lodi News-Sentinel and has been edited for KQED.

Two wrestlers clad in neon windbreakers and leopard print pants climbed onto a square-shaped platform while A-ha’s 1985 hit “Take on Me” blared. A floodlight illuminated puffs of breath as they tangled with their opponents on a chilly February night.

Razzle Dazzle, the ’80s-themed duo on stage, is a hometown favorite at these World Wrestling Entertainment-style monthly events in the heart of the Central Valley’s San Joaquin County.

That night, they sparred with another tag-team duo called Monstars, Inc. One half of the duo, Moizilla, wearing a black lizard tail and piercing white contact lenses, lifted one of the hometown heroes in the air and triumphantly threw him onto his back.

This is the 209 Dragon’s Den, a breeding ground for wrestling talent just east of Lodi. Wedged between a private home, a plant nursery and a barn, this backyard venue is one of the humbler sites of hundreds nationwide in the independent wrestling circuit.

Independent wrestling is typically focused more on uplifting the sport than making money. The Dragon’s Den, for example, charges around $20 per adult ticket and $5 for kids. Some of that money goes back to the wrestlers who perform. But to really make a living out of it, the wrestlers hope to sign a contract with major promotions like the WWE or take their acts abroad.

“We’re providing something that’s raw and authentic and is not filtered by all the bulls—,” owner Matt Freeman said. “[It’s a place to] get drawn in and forget about all the things in your life.”

Freeman came to wrestling late in life, in his 40s, after a divorce. Soon after, he set up a wrestling ring in his backyard and started a training group that became the 209 Dragon’s Den. In the past year, it has since burgeoned into a more official promotion, hosting shows that have attracted audiences and opponents from throughout the state.

Freeman said he has a soft spot for the sport’s underdogs: the scrawny, nerdy or older wrestlers.

“I really get excited for those people that people thought would’ve never been able to do it,” he said.

But to become top-caliber wrestlers, they must first learn how to develop a convincing character.

Hector Madrigal, aka “Razzle” or “Dazzle”

Just as in the top tiers of professional wrestling, the outcomes of these matches are scripted. But just because the result is planned, it doesn’t mean the holds, throws — or spirit — are fake.

Like method actors, the wrestlers tap into real parts of themselves to make their performances believable.

“A lot of times, when we’re in the ring, we just get in our heads. We need to get out of our heads, get in our hearts to really get to that next level,” said Hector Madrigal, one half of Razzle Dazzle.

When he’s not competing, he’s a secretary at a Lodi elementary school, a job where he’s a lot calmer than his wrestling character.

“I’m just always behind … the computer, ordering stuff, doing a bunch of paperwork. But I do interact with the children,” he said. “Maybe a little of my Razzle Dazzle side comes out when I’m interacting with the kids.”

But in the ring, he’s much more “bombastic.”

“[I] emphasize everything that’s in my heart,” he said. “I try to put it out so the crowd can see what I’ve been holding inside.”

Paras Singh, aka “Punjabi Papi” or “The All-American”

Toward the end of the night, an announcer bellowed into the microphone as the crowd waited eagerly for one of their favorite wrestlers.

“He is the only king that stands in this ring. He is every lady’s habibi: The Punjabi Papi!”

Lodi local Paras Singh strutted through billowing curtains and along the front row of the crowd to high-five cheering fans.

He climbed atop the ropes onstage, gesturing for the crowd to get loud.

But before Singh could do too much preemptive celebrating, he was face-to-face with Reno-based wrestler David Luster, who’s nearly twice Singh’s size and age.

The match was full of plot twists.

Singh started strong, landing his signature drop kick to Luster’s face. But Luster retaliated, knocking Singh down again and again. Just when it seemed that Luster would earn an easy win, he kicked the referee. That move got him disqualified, and Singh won by default.

When the crowd booed that outcome, the pair set up for a rematch. Luster knocked Singh down to his back, where he remained motionless for several minutes. Then, hometown villain group “The 209 Kliq” stormed the stage and stole Singh’s championship belts.

In the end, it was unclear who had prevailed. What was clear was the crowd’s enthusiasm — heckling and cheering from the edges of their plastic folding chairs.

Connecting with the audience through compelling characters and storylines is the point, the wrestlers at 209 Dragon’s Den said.

Singh has been performing recently as “Punjabi Papi,” playing off his Indian heritage. But he started as “The All-American.” With that character, he wanted to show off his background as an Army soldier. It worked for a while, he said.

“People loved … a hero that’s all good,” he said. “But you become one-dimensional in that.”

With his new character, he gets to show off more of his personality. Singh said it’s who he wanted to be when he was younger. Someone who’s admired for their ethnic identity, instead of bullied for it. Someone with confidence and swagger.

“I don’t have to be an all-good hero. I could have layers now,” he said.

Growing up, Singh always wanted to be a wrestler. When he came home to Lodi at age 23 after serving active duty in the Army, he found the Dragon’s Den and thought, “Why not just go for it?”

Three years later, he’s headlining shows.

“I’m just a kid with a dream,” he said. “A little brown boy from Lodi, California.”

Like many of his fellow indie wrestlers, Singh has aspirations of making wrestling a full-time gig. To reach that goal, he spends most weeknights training under Dragon’s Den head coach, Michael Hayashi.

Michael Hayashi, aka “The Angry Dragon”

Nicknamed “The Angry Dragon,” Hayashi has performed for over two decades. His character was inspired by martial arts stars like Bruce Lee — and the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles.

“I lean on the things I loved when I was a kid,” he said. “Basically, Michelangelo from Ninja Turtles. Or Raphael, depending on the situation. Hardly ever, Donatello. Though sometimes Leonardo.”

He said he was initially drawn to wrestling as an outlet for his teenage angst.

“I used to have a chip on my shoulder,” Hayashi said. “Maybe I was even a little crazy, like trying to hurt myself almost, and prove that I could even belong in the ring.”

But his relationship with his wrestling persona is different these days, now that he’s almost 40.

“Instead of trying to fake a character that I used to play, now I’m just showing you more of my true self,” he said. “To be honest, I’m not really an angry person anymore … And at this point now, I’m just kind of at the twilight of my career.”

Hayashi’s coaching emphasizes both intense physical skills and doing deep internal work. The aim, he said, is that wrestling becomes an outlet for projecting your true self.

“We try to, at the very least, find people’s strengths, turn them up to 11, and then, if they can kind of balance out after that, then they can become the wrestler that they want to be,” he said.

Wrestlers by night

On weeknights, Hayashi drives across town to the Dragon’s Den, where he trains the next generation.

Next to where the outdoor shows happen, there’s a wooden barn with a lofty ceiling. On a recent Wednesday night, a floodlight illuminated the practice ring inside. A dozen wrestlers stretched on mats or jabbed at a punching bag.

Given the theatrics of the sport, audiences often think wrestling doesn’t really hurt and that there’s little skill involved. But the wrestlers here, many fresh off a weightlifting session or nursing injuries, said that couldn’t be further from the truth.

As they warmed up, Hayashi took the opportunity to talk about the concept of trust.

“We’re always going to assume that our opponents are not trying to put us in the hospital, that we’re trying to have a good time,” he said.

For the next two hours, the wrestlers hopped into the ring one by one. Hayashi led them in drills to practice falls, or “bumps,” in wrestler-speak.

As each wrestler cycled in for their turn in the ring, Hayashi pushed them to commit further — to bring the same intensity to practice that they would in a match. The students waiting on a couch by the ring got into the spirit, heckling their fellow wrestlers just like their ideal audience would.

In the ring that night, they were Razzle Dazzle, Punjabi Papi, and the Angry Dragon. The next day, they’ll go back to being Hector Madrigal, Paras Singh and Michael Hayashi. But they’ll keep coming back to the 209 Dragon’s Den, training for their next match and hoping for a shot at the main stage.

Hannah Weaver writes for the Lodi News-Sentinel as a cohort member of the California Local News Fellowship program, a multi-year, state-funded initiative to support and strengthen local news reporting in California.