Time Passes, But Claudio Castagnoli vs. Sara Del Ray Endures
Robert Newsome on remembering and rewatching a match and promotion through the haze of nostalgia and the facts captured on video.
Among other things, Robert Newsome is the editor of the long-running Atomic Elbow fanzine, whose reach and influence in the great sport of professional wrestling, particularly when it comes to endeavors like BIG EGG, is vast. Follow him on Bluesky.
Wrestling is, at its heart, a very simple thing. Some people step into a defined space for a physical confrontation to see which of them is better at combat. That’s it, and that should be enough, but it’s not. For a thing that is so simple—a thing that is one of the earliest forms of sport that we have a record of—wrestling is extremely complicated. Wrestlers change names, alliances, styles, and even identities at a sometimes alarming rate. What this means for anyone looking at the history of this great sport is that things can get confusing. It’s easy to remember a great match, but it can be difficult to remember the stories associated with it. This difficulty is increased when you’re looking at the history of CHIKARA, the Philadelphia-based promotion that operated from 2002 to 2020.
CHIKARA’s lucha-libre-influenced in-ring action was generally fast paced and fun to watch, but the stories surrounding it could get really confusing really quickly. The promotion used a comic-book-style continuity for its storylines, leaning heavily into science fiction and mysticism, setting up events that sometimes took years to pay off. All that stuff, though, is a sort of “in the moment” concern. When you go back say, thirteen years to look at the matches that took place in the midst of all that continuity you may not remember the intricacies of which faction was fighting against whom and which time traveler, eldritch demon, or robot was in a feud with which insect, monster, or suspected clone.
This brings us, in a roundabout way, to The Bruderschaft des Kreuzes, a stable formed in 2009 due to events involving mind control, the theft of mysterious artifacts, secret (potentially unbreakable) wrestling holds, and no small amount of espionage. There’s a surprisingly detailed Wikipedia entry if you need all the details, but like most things CHIKARA-related, it’s got links and sub-links that’ll have you chasing metaphorical rabbits for the better part of a work week. We don’t need to go into the details of the BDK here because even though the match we’re watching took place in the middle of that swirl of back-story, it doesn’t really matter. There are two wrestlers. They are both members of the nefarious BDK. One of them is starting to have doubts about her allegiance to this organization and has begun to break away. Her colleague, still a true believer, sees this search for independence as an affront and thinks that she needs to be shown the error of her new way of thinking. To that end, two wrestlers have stepped into a defined space for a physical confrontation to see which of them is better at combat.
Presented as the main event of the second night of the 2-night CHIKARAsaurus Rex event, the match between Claudio Castagnoli and Sara Del Rey was a part of the “12 Large Summit” tournament, a series of matches named in honor of the legendary Larry Sweeney, whose life had ended just months earlier. The loss of Sweeney had effects that, in my view, are still being felt by professional wrestling over a decade later. The legacy and importance of Sweeney are topics that deserve their own exploration, but it’s important to note, I think, that this event took place in the immediate shadow of his loss. The second night of this event had seen a packed card featuring—along with the CHIKARA regulars of the time—Tsukasa Fujimoto, Mima Shimoda, Atlantis, Rey Bucanero, and British “World of Sport”-style legends Johnny Saint and Johnny Kidd. Those names likely drew some eyes that were unfamiliar with the intricacies of CHIKARA, but the feud burning at the heart of the BDK was in the back of the minds of the faithful throughout the night.
It’s clear that among the fans with an opinion, the BDK is unpopular. Everyone loves an underdog, and the first scattered chants of “Sara’s gonna kill you” begin to float up from the crowd as Claudio steps up and pokes an insolent finger in her chest. It’s a strong opening gambit, one that expresses the tone for the remainder of the match. How dare Sara Del Rey challenge Claudio’s authority? There’s a hierarchy at work here, and it has to be enforced. Castagnoli demands that Del Rey lie down and allow him to pin her, ending the match without conflict and allowing him to progress in the tournament. That, of course, doesn’t happen. Leonard F. Chikarason (still working these days as “Diamond” Joe Leonard) and UltraMantis Black (still working these days as UltraMantis Black) give us a quick history lesson about why this match matters and how it has sown discord within the ranks of the BDK. All of this is incredibly important, but absolutely none of it matters.
As Sara Del Rey launches a barrage of kicks at Claudio Castagnoli’s chest, I’m not thinking about the tournament or really even the people in the ring. I’m thinking about the nostalgia cycle and how it affects memory. I was actively paying attention to independent wrestling when this match happened. I didn’t watch this live. I don’t even know if the technology to live-stream these smaller events was in place in 2011. I’m not going to check to find out, either. I know, though, that I was eager enough to see the action that I got the download of the event as soon as it was available. I also know that this happened about 6 weeks ago. Imagine my surprise when I’m confronted with the stark reality that this match is 13 years old. This match isn’t about me, though. It’s about the people in the ring, right? Wrong. It’s about me. It’s about you. It’s about us. Professional wrestling, like most pop-culture pursuits, is a nostalgia-based concern. My memories of this match are more important than the true events. My memory of this match is that Sara Del Rey kicked Claudio Castagnoli right in his head, and she kicked him hard. According to the video I paused to type these sentences, that did not happen. But I want to be clear about this: It happened.
The match follows the standard sequence. We’re all familiar with it. Our hero (played tonight by Sara Del Rey) dominates, is dominated, seems to have run out of hope, miraculously rebounds and sometimes (and this is the case here, both in my memory and in actuality) eventually comes out on top. But most of the music I like is played with the same instruments. Most of the books I like are just ink on paper. The format doesn’t matter. It’s about what hangs on that skeleton. What Claudio and Sara (in my memory, we’re all on a first-name-basis now, never mind that I’ve never even met these people). What’s hung on the skeleton 6 weeks ago in 2011, is art. I wrote that sentence in an early draft of this article—a skeleton I built myself—before I re-watched the match. I needed to base my assumption on my 13-year-old memory. Turns out I was right.
It’s a hard-fought match, though anyone with even a cursory knowledge of either of these two wrestlers wouldn’t expect anything else. After a night (or two nights, depending on how many tickets they bought) of incredibly good wrestling, the crowd is still alert, intent, focused on the action. I’m as guilty as anyone of “fading out” towards the end of a night of wrestling, but none of that is in evidence among the fans we see around the ring (many of whom are taking photos with pocket-sized digital cameras rather than using their phones). There are some story points to placate those closely following the narrative. Tursas, the BDK strongman at ringside is briefly involved, but in the ring it’s pure wrestling action. Both wrestlers shout their opponent’s name before launching a particularly destructive move, a touch that, when used properly, is remarkably effective. It’s Sara’s “Claudio,” though that is my key memory of this match. Castagnoli, winded, is staggering in the corner. Sara rolls to mid-ring and screams his name, hunching her frame to force every bit of air out of her lungs, her voice breaking with the effort. That scream is professional wrestling at its finest. It’s this match distilled to its purest couple of seconds. We don’t need to know what happens after it. She wins, but the scream gives that away. It’s perfect.
I don’t remember what happens after the match, though Colette tells me it involves Daizee Hayes receiving what Colette called “the gnarliest clothesline I’ve ever seen live” from Tursas. I found my original download of the show and watched that part. It’s more BDK drama, and the clothesline is, in fact, “gnarly” but that’s not important to the focus. Castagnoli vs. Del Rey is a remarkable achievement. It’s not gonna hit too many “Best of All Time” lists (though it should) but it’s a standing stone on the landscape of my wrestling nostalgia. It’ll be there for ages, too, weathered by memory and it’s true content and purpose lost to time. I’ll remember the scream. I’ll remember the kicks to the head. I’ll remember the match the way I see it, and the way I see it, it’s beautiful.
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