The weirdest bingo card in professional wrestling

If you had told me a decade ago that we'd be discussing Marc Mero, Charlie Thesz, and Microman in the same breath, I would have asked you what kind of gas station edibles you were consuming. But this is the beauty and the absolute curse of the modern independent wrestling scene.

It is a fever dream where legends of yesteryear, viral sensations, and regional promotions collide in a spectacular car crash of booking decisions. And honestly? I am completely here for it.

Let's talk about the United Wrestling Network. Dave Marquez has been running UWN for what feels like an eternity. He keeps the spirit of territory-style television alive while the major companies fight over billion-dollar TV deals.

But recently, the news wire has been spitting out a completely unhinged mix of names. You look at the recent PWInsider headlines and it reads like someone hit 'randomize' on a wrestling database from 1998 to 2026.

We need to break this down because the sheer absurdity of it deserves a deep dive. How do we get from the wildman of the Attitude Era to the greatest mini wrestler on the planet, all existing in the same bizarre news cycle?

Marc Mero is still a thing?

Let's start with the Marc Mero of it all. Johnny B. Badd himself. The guy who took a massive guaranteed contract in WCW, jumped to WWE, and somehow ended up being remembered mostly for getting boxed out of his own gimmick by his then-wife Sable.

Mero has spent the last two decades doing incredibly admirable work as a motivational speaker. He goes to middle schools, tells kids not to do drugs, and shows them that clip of him taking a Shooting Star Press from Brock Lesnar. It is good, wholesome work.

But seeing his name pop back up in wrestling circles always gives me a weird sense of whiplash. The business has moved so far past the late-90s boom period. Yet we still have this strange gravitational pull toward anyone who ever shared a locker room with Stone Cold.

Mero popping up for appearances or being tied to indie news just reminds me how desperate promoters are for a recognizable face on a poster. You put 'Former WWE Superstar Marc Mero' on a graphic in 2026, and suddenly a VFW hall in Reseda sells an extra thirty tickets. It is carny magic at its finest.

I don't hate the hustle. But let's be real—nobody is paying to see Marc Mero take bumps in 2026. He is there for the nostalgia pop and the autograph line. The indie scene survives on these little hits of nostalgia, even if they feel entirely disconnected from the actual in-ring product.

The undeniable draw of Microman

And then, on the exact opposite end of the spectrum, you have Microman. If you have not seen Microman wrestle, you are actively doing yourself a disservice.

He is roughly three feet tall, weighs maybe fifty pounds, and is unironically one of the most compelling babyfaces in the industry. I am not joking.

When he was tearing it up in MLW and the Mexican indies a few years ago, the internet treated him like a meme. 'Oh look, a tiny guy doing lucha spots.' But then you actually watch the matches.

The psychology is flawless. He plays the ultimate underdog because he is the literal ultimate underdog. Every time a normal-sized wrestler chops him, it looks like a hate crime. When he hits a rolling elbow into a Code Red for a near-fall, the crowd completely loses their minds.

Microman isn't a sideshow; he is a masterclass in getting over. The fact that his name is sharing headline space in 2026 just proves that viral fame can actually translate to longevity if you have the working chops to back it up.

UWN and other indies booking him isn't just a gimmick—it is incredibly smart business. He sells merch. He gets clips on TikTok. He makes casual fans stop scrolling and say, 'Wait, what the hell is this?'

In an era where everyone is doing the exact same superkick sequence, Microman doing a roll-up is infinitely more entertaining. Mero represents the bloated, steroid-fueled past of the business. Microman represents the weird, hyper-niche, internet-driven present.

Respecting the Thesz legacy

Then we get to the name that completely short-circuited my brain: Charlie Thesz. For those who don't know their wrestling history, Charlie is the widow of the legendary Lou Thesz.

Lou is the guy who basically invented half the moves you see today. The powerbomb? That was Lou. The STF? Lou again. The man was a legitimate shooter who stretched people for real if they didn't want to do business.

Charlie has been the keeper of the Thesz flame for decades. She has been heavily involved with the George Tragos/Lou Thesz Professional Wrestling Hall of Fame in Waterloo, Iowa. It is arguably the most legitimate wrestling hall of fame on the planet because they actually care about the amateur roots of the sport.

  • Promoters love invoking legendary names to sell tickets.
  • The Thesz legacy represents the pure, athletic core of professional wrestling.
  • Fans respect the history, even if they only watch modern high-spot matches.

But here is my critical observation, and it is something that drives me absolutely crazy about the current state of the business. Wrestling promoters love to invoke names like Thesz to make themselves sound prestigious, but they rarely actually book wrestling that looks anything like what Lou Thesz did.

You can't name-drop the inventor of the Lou Thesz Press and then put on a 45-minute spotfest where nobody sells a DDT. It is insulting to the legacy.

If UWN or any other promotion wants to associate with the Thesz name, they need to back it up in the ring. I want to see mat wrestling. I want to see holds that actually look like they hurt. I don't want to see guys waiting on the outside for a dive for ten seconds.

The grim reality of modern booking

All of this circles back to the United Wrestling Network. Dave Marquez has managed to keep this ship afloat through pandemics, television deal collapses, and an indie scene that constantly cannibalizes itself.

UWN is the cockroach of professional wrestling—and I say that with the utmost respect. They simply refuse to die.

They survive by throwing stuff at the wall and seeing what sticks. Booking a mix of Attitude Era leftovers, viral sensations, and legendary family members is exactly how you keep a regional promotion in the conversation. It is messy, it is confusing, and it completely lacks a cohesive creative direction.

But we have to be honest about the negative side of this strategy. When you rely so heavily on nostalgia acts and viral stars, you fail to build your own homegrown talent.

UWN has had some incredible workers pass through its doors over the years, from Ricky Starks to Eli Drake. But right now, the indie scene feels dangerously hollow. Promotions default to the easy pop instead of investing television time into a hungry 22-year-old kid who could actually draw money in five years.

This business survives on creating new stars, not just recycling the ghosts of the past or leaning on internet anomalies.

I worry about the long-term health of these promotions. What happens when the nostalgia dries up? What happens when Microman gets injured, or the fans finally stop caring about a guy who hasn't been relevant since the Monday Night Wars?

Why we still watch the madness

At the end of the day, this weird mishmash of names is exactly why I still love independent wrestling. It is the only form of entertainment where the past, present, and completely bizarre future exist in the exact same space.

You can't go to a local theater and see Marlon Brando's widow hanging out with a TikTok star and a guy who peaked on a mid-90s sitcom. But in wrestling, that is just a random Tuesday news drop.

So yeah, I am going to keep reading these unhinged updates. I am going to keep tracking what UWN does next, even when it makes zero logical sense.

Because every once in a while, amidst the chaos and the terrible booking decisions, you see something truly special. Maybe it is Microman hitting a perfect dive. Maybe it is a young kid actually working a Thesz-style match.

Or maybe it is just the realization that professional wrestling will outlive us all, getting weirder and more chaotic with every passing year.