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"The first time I saw [the Luchadores] was when we had them wrestle at the South End store," recalls Blake Barnes, owner of the Common Market. "I thought it was going to be some weirdo sex show. But what I liked about it was the fact that all the money goes to a charity.
"One of the other things I really like about [them] is when they do this donation," Barnes continues, "they don't make a big deal out of it. They're not on the air saying, 'Hey, I just gave 'x' amount of dollars to so-and-so.'" In fact, most of the charities the Luchadores donate to have likely never heard of them. White doesn't tell them beforehand that they've been selected, only sends them a check afterward.
On the Luchadores' Facebook page, a young girl — arms raised high above her head in celebration, a pink brace corseting her waist — beams into the camera. "A pic of Becky's brace — thanks again ladies!!" reads the photo caption.
In 2010, Ed Grindstaff, Becky's father and a friend of the Luchadores, was contemplating skipping a car payment so he could help pay for a brace to repair Becky's severely curved spine. The Luchadores held a wrestling match, and in one event, raised the entire sum Grindstaff needed — to the cent.
For Todd Kanipe, an off-duty police officer at the Common Market, who died suddenly from a brain aneurysm, the girls held a match to raise money for his 24-year-old wife and three-year-old son. They raised $500, which the Common Market matched, for a $1,000 donation.
"Every time I put a Gore Gore Luchadores event on the calendar, we get a lot of local and regional bands saying that they want to be a part of it," says Buck Boswell, the booking manager for The Milestone, a favorite venue of the Luchadores. "The bands love the fact that it's for a good cause and ... they can tell their friends: 'Hey, it's not just us playing — there are gonna be a bunch of crazy girls dressed up in zombie face-paint, wrestling in a kiddie pool filled with fake blood and plastic body parts."
"All right, if the applicant is young, tell him he's too young. Old, too old. Fat, too fat. If the applicant then waits for three days without food, shelter or encouragement, he may then enter and begin his training."
— Tyler Durden, Fight Club
Amee White is 5 feet 5 inches and wrestles in the maroon, heavyweight category. Her specialty move is "the cooter snatch." Her favorite charity, Charitywater.org. White has a 6-year-old daughter who attends an only-French-speaking school, enjoys "scientific insanity music" such as Man Man and post-punk, funk singer Tim Barry. In the ring, she favors fishnets, her referee dress, booty shorts, velvet black Doc Martins and her luchador mask. White describes herself as, "A hippie with a really hard edge."
Sarah Reinhart is 5 feet 3 inches and wrestles in the pink, lightweight category. The 32-year-old is all ska, heavy metal and punk (OTEP's "Confrontation" is her theme song); has a 7-year-old son who likes to introduce her skull tattoo, "Frank," to his schoolmates and has been through what she describes as "some really tough things in my past."
White, the delegator and organizer, used to spend hours before each match, cooking "blood" at Sarah's kitchen stove (Common Market now supplies the red food coloring for their matches). "[For] one of my pools, I needed about 1,000 gallons just to get it to about mid-calf," she says.
"I would have to bring a truckload of Tupperware bins filled with water. ... [At] around 12:30 a.m., we'd have to blow up the ring, put down all the padding, put down the tarp, enter all the water and food coloring — in about 15 minutes, mind you." "And find all the girls," adds Reinhart. "And find all the girls," White says.
Reinhart, the marketer, says if it wasn't for Facebook, the Luchadores would likely not still be running. Women regularly leave excited posts on their Facebook page ("I would love to be a part of this. Where do I sign up?") or come up to them after seeing a match.
"Honestly, it's almost like a recruitment thing," says Boswell. "It seems like every time they do one of their events, they manage to find a new girl or two by the end of the night."
"A lot of people Facebook me, 'Hey, this is amazing, how can I be a part of this?'" says White. "And then I usually have a sit-down meeting and go over the aspects of what's involved. I require them to come out and see at least one or two matches, and then come to a meeting and practice with someone in their weight class. That's how we can make sure nobody's getting hurt; nobody's there to hurt somebody else."