Lord Zoltan grapples with
The Blood Beast at a match
in Pittsburgh.
For Aging Pro Wrestlers,
Dreams Get Body-Slammed
but Never Die
By Kris Maher
The Wall Street Journal
PITTSBURGH—As an analyst at H.J. Heinz Co., Lou Zygmuncik spends his days thinking about ketchup sales. But about once a month, he transforms himself into the trash-talking bruiser Dr. Devastation.
Mr. Zygmuncik, 38 years old, is one of two dozen wrestlers in the Keystone State Wrestling Alliance, a bottom-rung pro-wrestling troupe. It sets up its ring at the Teamster Temple, a union hall, and draws about 300 fans to its shows, often including Pittsburgh's mayor, Bill Peduto.
"It's got this whole other edge that's off-the-charts hip," says the 49-year-old Mr. Peduto, who grew up watching professional wrestling with his grandfather.
The popularity of pro wrestling, as measured by TV ratings, hit its peak more than two decades ago. In 1988, 13.5 million households tuned in to network TV to watch a bandanna-wearing Hulk Hogan battle 7-foot-4 André the Giant. This year, the industry's marquee brand, World Wrestling Entertainment Inc., WWE +0.52% is pushing pro wrestling online, so far signing up more than half a million subscribers to a new digital network.
But wrestling events continue to proliferate at small venues around the country. Every week, dozens of promotions that are run by second- and third-tier companies hold hundreds of bouts. Many wrestlers work for little money while hoping to get discovered by the WWE and eventually get six-figure incomes.
Then there are groups like the Keystone State Wrestling Alliance, one more notch down. The ultra-low-budget operations follow the basic professional-wrestling formula—plots with clearly defined villains and good guys—and put fans into a frenzy with ringside taunts and body slams off the ropes.
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