When I get to the festival grounds on Sunday, I have two hours and change before there are any bands I want to see. So naturally I wind up at a wrestling ring. At this early point in the day, the theme is a sort of cartoonish tag-team thing. There are four teams of two. One team just looks like concertgoers plucked from the nearby Black Stage: black t-shirted metalheads, basically. The announcer sardonically describes another team as having gone to the “Ricky Martin School of Wrestling” so you can just about imagine what that looks like. Another team is reggae themed. It’s two white guys, one with a fake Rastafarian stereotype thing going on, between the knit hat, dreads wig, and the fact that he struts out to his wrestling match smoking a fake blunt. Somewhat ironically, it’s this team that’s actually in good shape.

The bell rings and everything just goes mad for a second. I had lost interest for a moment and had turned to watch the skateboarders in the adjacent half pipe; when I turn back, the reggae dude has removed his dreads wig and is strangling his opponent with it, while all the others are flailing around at each other in the background. Every now and then they ham it up for the audience and bring the fight onto the ground in front of us. Again, somewhat ironically, the reggae dudes become the winners. The formerly be-dreaded fighter delivers the final blow by jumping off the ring and kicking both of his remaining opponents while uttering the battle cry: “Smoke weed every day!”