I remember the first time I saw a man hit a woman. I was six years old and I was at a wedding. It was a large wedding with an open bar. In a family full of alcoholics, the best case scenario was limiting the number of drunk drivers to just one or two and hoping all the vomit made its way to trash cans and toilets. 

My aunt, really a first cousin once removed, but who can keep track of all that, wanted her husband to slow down his drinking. He felt differently. It was thirty years ago and I was six, so my memories could be faulty, but I know he hit her, she hit the ground, and they made all the kids leave. A few months later, we had a family reunion. My aunt and uncle brought baked beans and mac and cheese with corn inside. They were the life of the party. 

I remember the first time I saw a friend slap a woman. I was 16 and in the basement of a kid I barely knew. Half of a warm bud heavy down, and I was fully committed to “being drunk.”  We were in high school and this girl had committed the cardinal sin of sending IMs to a different boy. After he slapped her, time stood still, but then sped up and we hit, kicked, and attacked this friend. After that he was kicked out and things were never the same. Until they were. He was a pariah for a semester, and then he told a funny joke or bought alcohol or whether it was to be welcomed back into everyone’s good graces. 

I remember the first time I put my head on the pillow and couldn’t sleep because I realized you don’t have to physically hurt a woman to abuse them. Unable to look myself in the mirror because for the first time I understood that what I was doing to someone I cared for was awful and wrong. This was in the dark haze of my twenties following the death of my mother. I was drinking every night. Stupidly, I cheated on a girl who loved me. I had manipulated her and treated her so badly that she apologized to me when it came out. Even as I type this I made sure to mention the death of my mother and my struggles with alcohol. Without thinking I wanted a way to lessen my blame and have you sympathize with me. 

I remember getting on the internet over a decade ago. Necro Butcher was a favorite of mine. He had already had his most famous accomplishments including the epic Samoa Joe match and a role in The Wrestler. The headline that day though was “NECRO BUTCHER ARRESTED.”

Dylan Summers aka Necro Butcher was arrested on 11/18 in Wetzel County, West Virginia and charged with misdemeanor domestic battery.

Wetzel County is a couple hours north east of where I was born in West Virginia. It has a population of just a few hundred people and has produced BILLIONS of dollars worth of natural gas. Despite this the population has fallen deeper and deeper into poverty. A headline featuring violence was not surprising or uncommon for the citizens of Wetzel County.  

Dylan Summers accused his wife of stealing thousands of dollars worth of “Disney money” and planning on divorcing him. He has never disputed the fact that he hit her. In fact, he has called his reaction “normal.”

In the ring, and even in the depths of their voluntary ignominy, wrestlers remain gods because they are, for a few moments, the key which opens Nature, the pure gesture which separates Good from Evil, and unveils the form of a Justice which is at last intelligible.

Roland Barthes

I could be too deep in the bubble, but I imagine this quote is fairly familiar to the fans of this site. To read an honest to god philosopher discussing wrestling and understanding it like I did, or at least how I felt I did, when I was surrounded by doubters of wrestling or worse those who ridiculed it, was freeing. Best of all he was French! This was at the height of my self important navel gazing phase in life. I was madly in love with Anna Karina and referenced the works of Godard and Truffaut at the mere mention of a new film trailer. Discovering Roland Barthes was a godsend, but I’m not here to discuss Barthes’ “World of Wrestling,” though. I’m discussing his piece that is far more relevant to wrestling and far more misread, “Death of the Author.”

The “Death of the Author” theory, first introduced by French literary critic Roland Barthes in his 1967 essay of the same name, declaring the author “dead,” Roland Barthes challenged the conventional belief that an artist’s biography or design should dictate how their work is understood. Barthes argued that the traditional emphasis on the author’s intentions and biography as the ultimate authority on a work’s meaning stifled the creative freedom of readers and limited the potential for diverse interpretations. Instead, he proposed that once a work is released to the public, the author’s intentions become irrelevant, and the focus should shift to the text itself and the reader’s interpretation. 

The Death of the Author theory challenges the notion of singular authorship by suggesting that once a wrestling match or storyline is presented to the audience, the intentions of those behind the scenes and in the ring become secondary to the audience’s interpretation and experience.

The “Death of the Author” theory, as popularized by Ro  as land Barthes, is complemented by Michel Foucault’s concept of “What is an Author?” This concept is far more applicable to pro wrestling. Foucault’s essay, published in 1969, delves into the notion of authorship as a cultural and historical construct rather than a fixed identity. Foucault contends that the idea of the author as a singular, autonomous creator is a relatively modern invention, shaped by societal norms. He argues that the emphasis on authorship serves to consolidate authority and control over texts, stifling interpretations and marginalizing outside voices.

Moreover, authorial intent in professional wrestling is often obscured even more than the written word, by the performative nature of the art form. The traditional notions of authorship don’t apply in professional wrestling. While the creative team or booker may have a general direction or vision for a storyline, the execution and interpretation of that narrative often involve improvisation and input from the wrestlers themselves. The fans’ reaction in many cases can completely change a match. Who really is “the author” of a wrestling match?

All of this is to say that Dave Meltzer, despite being an important figure in the history of professional wrestling, is an idiot. It doesn’t matter if Terry Funk doesn’t want to have his matches judged years later(which is wild because they’re timelessly great) and it doesn’t matter Dick Beyer doesn’t see in his matches what a viewer does. I don’t know why wrestlers even more than fans want to minimize the artistic value of wrestling but they do. 

Art is not as easily defined as a man like Meltzer wants it to be. Wrestling’s preeminent critic having not only zero interest, but animosity to looking toward the past is detrimental to wrestling in countless ways.

So why did I go from writing about domestic violence to talking about literary theory?

“Separating the art from the artist”

Juicy Pat Lucey was far from alone in his feelings on, my latest piece for Violent People, on the return of Necro Butcher. People feel you’re wrong for enjoying Necro Butcher or at the very least enjoying him and not simultaneously holding him accountable. This leads us back to Barthes’ theory.

“Death of the Author” theory offers a liberating perspective on interpreting art, it is not a magic wand that absolves the moral dilemmas associated with supporting problematic “authors.” Barthes’ idea encourages us to detach a work from its creator’s intentions and focus on our personal interpretation. However, this is an intellectual exercise and cannot fully remove the art from the ethical implications of supporting its creators, especially when those creators are huge pieces of shit.

Many proponents of Death of the Author try to use an academic approach to solve a moral issue. Putting money into pockets of evil people is not something you can argue your way out of. I don’t necessarily think supporting artists and art created by bad people makes you a bad person. I do think it’s a black and white issue that giving the WWE or any problematic companies or people money is not a good thing. So, this boils down to 1,000+ words to tell you to steal, boycott evil companies, or make peace with what you’re doing. 

Necro is a bad person. He did a despicable thing. He believes things that are not just problematic, but hateful and hurtful to the world. To give you an idea of his world view, I did an almost hour long interview with him and have included zero quotes up into this point.  Here’s one to justify the interview:

“they’re eating pets in Springfield. When we all heard about it before that. But he said it, so it must not be true.”

In addition to a far right conspiracy theorist with a terrible past, he is also an amazing professional wrestler. Necro Butcher has multiple all-time great matches. He is one of a handful of wrestlers I think is truly can’t miss every time they wrestle. I have clearly decided enjoying Necro Butcher is something I can morally justify to myself.  The difference between this and a pro wrestling fan that doesn’t is a difference of degree and not kind. We’ve all personally decided which parts of this, almost certainly irredeemable, form of entertainment we’re ok with.

One of my first favorite wrestlers killed his wife and kid. I bought merchandise and tickets from Ring of Honor when it was owned by a pedophile. I have given WWE and Vince McMahon thousands of dollars in my lifetime. This business is gross, Death of the Author can’t fix that and I’m gonna keep watching Necro Butcher matches until he dies or retires.