WWF is one thing – the quick jump cuts, the beefcake, the fireworks and cheese rock – all wrapped up in a made-for-TV glam production aesthetic. But to really appreciate the pop artistry of pro wrestling, you need to get up close, so close you recoil from the raw smack of flesh on homemade canvas, so close you can hear a worn-out wrestler whisper “I’m staying down” before the ref taps him out.

Punk Slam Wrestling founder and ringleader Josh Drake celebrated his first Slamiversary earlier this year at the Phoenix Theatre in Petaluma. The turn-on is obvious: Sonoma County punk and rock bands fuel the fire for B-circuit Northern California wrestlers and rowdy fans (starving for drop kicks, P-Town hasn’t seen wrestling since the ’60s, Drake says).

But the elusive draw has always been the family crowd – the same gung-ho grappling crowd and ringside father-son bonding that stokes WWF and NASCAR. So Drake came up with the idea of Sunday mayhem matinees packed with three hours of slam wrestling (sans the punk, although look for live music to return in October).

On Sunday, I dropped by to check it out. The diehard crowd won’t set any club attendance records. But the raw circus attraction of flying bodies and sleight of hand, as reigning dirty-dog Sir Samurai was dethroned by former teammate the British Messiah Timothy Thatcher, was undeniable.

And even though there were no live punk anthems to pump the blood, if you listen closely to this video, you’ll hear a rhythm take shape: