Sangre Chicana vs. MS-1 is The Real
Sangre Chicana vs. MS-1 is The Real
100%, uncut.
All professional wrestling is a simulation to varying degrees. It is a depiction of competitive combat achieved through a certain amount of cooperation, planning, and predetermination of a result. All those elements exist on spectrum, of course. There could be pure synchronicity and harmony between competitors, things can be riffed out in a sort of mutually agreed upon sparring session, or everything could break down and turn into genuine violence between the participants. At the end of the day though, the intended goal is to present a facsimile of confrontation powerful enough to elicit an emotional response from the viewer.
In this famous hair match from EMLL’s 50th anniversary show, Sangre Chicana and MS-1 make it feel real.
It’s worth noting here that I wouldn’t characterize the action here strictly as the most explosive or stiffest wrestling one is bound to see. The older footage means we don’t always see if those punches land, and these two aren’t throwing heaters the way one might see in other matches and cultures. And that’s part of what I find so damn impressive about these two, is that just from the sheer mechanical excellence of the most baseline ideas and moves, they create something that feels truly visceral and raw anyway.
A large majority of the first two falls is made up by punches. There’s very little wrestling involved outside of an occasional splash and a big tope at climactic points. A lot of this has to do with the structural choice of MS-1 going in for the kill early. He attacks Chicana before the bell sounds, busts the man’s face open on the wooden edge of the ring, and basically spends the first two falls just laying in a beating. It’s a very simple kind of beatdown too, punches to the head, knees to the open wound. But there’s just so much both men put into those things. MS-1’s cockiness in the moments between the action, the oomph he’s able to get behind those punches to the open wound.
But really, the magic maker for me is Sangre Chicana. My lord, it’s one of the greatest individual performances in pro wrestling history. First off the bladejob, obviously, nice and deep and flowing down to the chest as we all hope for. But then the selling to go with it, the way he can never seem to balance just right on his feet from all that blood loss, the grogginess he conveys when absorbing every punch. In the latter half of the match, Chicana has to resort to literally pounding sense back into himself, either punching himself to remain conscious, or towards the climax of the tercera, just pounding his own head into the ring apron.
It’s such a wondrous, sympathetic performance that at one point, a woman that commentary describes as a “Samaritan” comes out from the crowd to wipe the blood from his eyes. A moment that feels quite literally Biblical as an emotional gut punch.
And when it’s comeback time? Sweet Jesus.
On paper, it’s something you’ve seen a million times. The babyface ducks a punch, lands one of his own. A big point to spell the doom of the dastardly villain on the other end of a righteous beating. But it’s all in the details, of course. The way Chicana genuinely seems to dodge MS-1 by the slimmest of margins. MS-1 is swinging for the head, not swinging to miss, and that’s something that so many people get wrong today. And then those punches that Chicana lays in. They’re beautiful, in my estimation probably some of the best worked punches in the entire history of pro wrestling. As much as I acknowledge the Lawlers and the Funks of the world, there’s just something to those big swings Chicana throws—that perfect blend of pro wrestling theatrics and real, genuine badassery.
And the point too. This is a few years before the very peak of Hulkamania, and Chicana’s version of that classic comeback staple just feels so much more raw. It sands away the shining superhero gleam (which is wonderful in its own way) and leaves something truly menacing even as we root for him. “Look at this fucker,” it seems to say. “I’ve got his ass now.”
It’s electric. Arena Mexico comes alive, I’m screaming at the top of my lungs, and I’m dazzled by the time Chicana comes flying in from the side of the screen to hit a tope on the downed MS-1 to win the second fall by count out. Note too Chicana’s expression after winning the segunda. There’s an almost ecstatic relief in him, victorious in survival. At this point I’ve spoken at length about primarily the first two falls and the alchemy it accomplishes of creating a fight that seems so true to life.
The third fall is not bad, but it does compromise what had been built to that point. It’s main issue for me is that wrestling starts to happen, and it feels like it insists itself upon the encounter more than acting as a seamless escalation. With the first two falls feeling so primal in execution, when the two start going for pinfall combinations and llave stretches, it does disrupt that delicate atmosphere that had been so masterfully created beforehand. There’s a disconnect there that’s never unpleasant, but just discordant enough to lock this out of perfection.
It’s never enough to turn this classic into something subpar, but it is just enough to keep it out of the absolute, tippy-top, highest tiers of the wrestling canon for me.
And in spite of those rather minor complaints, there’s so much in that final fall that feels transcendent still. Chicana punching himself so hard that it nearly knocks him out entirely with MS-1 sneaking in a close nearfall. MS-1 finally running the blade himself, and absolutely caking his face in blood. In the post-match too, Chicana’s able to deliver a few more blows to MS-1, who looks like some horrid, broken monster by the time the barber starts chopping away at those blonde locks.
While I can’t commit all the way to having this as the single greatest match of all time, it certainly has a place among the classics. It’s as well done a direct brawl can be within pro wrestling structure without quite achieving perfection. Blood and guts as truth instead of branding. Quite simply, it’s the real stuff.
IS IT BETTER THAN 6/3/94? Oh yeah. Misawa/Kawada breaks through into something touch transcendence when Kawada starts putting together the pieces to finally get the job done before being sent crashing back down to earth. Here, the effort just feels so much more seamless. These two come into the match fully embodying the greatness to come, and it’s not a process so much as a simple fact of their performance. They’re two different stories, yes, but I just prefer the bloodiness and simplicity that the apuesta offers here.
Rating: ****1/2