WILD things. It definitely ain't the WWF - and the only way somewhat cosmetic wrestlers of the ilk of Hulk Hogan, British Bulldog or golden oldie Big Daddy would get in is if they elbowed their way past security guards who wouldn't be out of place on the technicolour mats themselves.
Olympic wresting is the real thing, the oldest known competitive sport. Even older than hurling. It was introduced into the Ancient Olympics in BC 708 and, even now, in the far more luxurious environs of the Georgia World Congress Centre, next door to Centennial Park, Atlanta, almost three millennia later, it continues to enthrall.
No artificial slam dunks here. Or simulated moans and groans. No exaggerated holds either. Instead, the sweaty, twisted limbs of wrestlers who possess the dexterity of gymnasts and the power of weightlifters are involved in frenetic, frantic activity for a maximum of five - sometimes less - minutes of mad fury.
The object victory. The wrestler who has the most points at the end of the match or the athlete who "pins" his opponent to the floor wins.
There is no hanging around. The competitors are wheeled out without pomp and ceremony unlike the paid cult figures of professional wrestling - and lock straight into battle. And, with the aid of in stadium commentary over - the magical public address system and the sound of Elvis Presley blaring out during intermissions, even the most ignorant attendant can get caught up in it all.
As the PA announcer repeatedly told first time visitors to the arena, "there are no points given for illegal slams in REAL wrestling." The element of snobbery was, justifiably, hanging in the air. This type of wrestling has history on its side.
Wham!! Bang!! Thank you. The winners have embraced their gold medals with as much emotion as the Michael Johnson's or the Carl Lewis of these Olympic Games. Particularly if an American wins. Members of the US team are wearing small black bands on the straps of their singlets in memory of David Schultz, a former Olympic freestyle champion who was slain earlier this year.
Last night, a painting of Schultz by LeRoy Neiman, one of America's best modern day artists, was unveiled in the venue where Schultz had hoped to emulate his gold medal win of 1984. Proceeds of the prints will go to the David Schultz Family Endowment, established by the USA Wrestling Federation.
It is a rough sport, but such gestures emphasise the decency which, mostly, run like a maternal bond through the majority of sports organisations.
Schultz's son Alexander sat in the front pew of the frenzied spectators sporting a t-shirt with the immortal words "The Legend Lives On ..." and such reminders were about the only soft hearted gestures on view in the World Congress Centre which resembles a plush hotel rather than a sports arena where the grunts are real and the intensity of matches produces enough raw energy to light up Atlanta.
If the chants of "USA, USA" at the gymnastics and basketball have been enough to make the hairs on even neutral necks stand up, they pale when compared to those at the wrestling venue where scalpers - the highly visible ticket touts - have been benefitting from the scarcity of supply.
But the Americans are not the only jingoists. The Islamic Republic of Iran, for example, had the sort of support at the arena last night which would do justice to a county final between neighbouring parishes - and that was just to see Gholamreza Mohammadi beat a certain Metin Topaktas of Turkey for FIFTH place in the 52 kg freestyle division.
Indeed, I was privileged to see one of sport's living legends last night. Valentin Dimitrov Jordanov - who? - was on the floor. In the flesh. Grappling with an army officer from Azerbajan who answers to the name of Namik Abdullayev. Exciting stuff. Really.
At the end of five minutes, the pair were level at three points each. In to dreaded overtime. Abdullayev had no respect for legends but eventually and controversially lost to the seven times world champion from Bulgaria. Jordanov got the referee's verdict (to the chagrin of the crowd and Abdullayev's coach and the bemusement of the vanquished wrestler) and the gold medal in that same 52 kg category.
The referee left the arena to a chorus of boos and jeers. Serious business this wrestling. No doubt, it was the same when it was part of the Games in Athens in 1896. One hundred years on, it seems nothing much has changed. Man's primal instincts still exist.
