...but then I'm confused as to audiences for wrestling.
It's... big fat guys in superhero costumes, yelling at each other on giant televisions, strutting into the middle of an arena to 5th-rate stadium rock and then... pretending to fight for fifteen minutes, while everyone in the building pretends to believe what they're pretending because it's fun to believe that something so twisted yet primal could maybe be a little bit true.
They pretend to punch each other and then clearly miss by three inches!
They drop each other on their heads, protecting their "opponent" from actual injury with their groins and inner thighs!
They... pretend... to cripple each other... with seven-ounce... aluminum chairs.
...all the while, you know that after the show, they're really good friends and they're gonna get drunk together in some local dive, play some darts and pick up on local women with more NASCAR commemorative plates than teeth. The same six or seven NASCAR-teeth locals they rotate through when they come to town each year.
Then they're going to retreat to a Red Roof Inn, pop some shadily acquired pain killers and hope that they don't wake up the next morning because it's a long soul-crushing bus ride to Rochester where they'll do the whole thing over again. Except maybe they'll screw up the thing with the pre-sawed table by two inches this time and cripple their best friend, pretending to try and kill him.
If you can't see why that is amazingly awesome, either:
a.) You were never a child full of wonder who then grew up to realize that 83% of humanity is horrifically sad to the point of being funny.
or...
b.) You've never had wrestling properly explained before.
Anyway, I've at least covered (b.) for you.