Flip Gordon was down on the mat.
He was in the arena as a lucha libre wrestler in Mexico, taking a pounding in a recent tag-team match.
What was most remarkable, while bodies flew around the ring and the muscular Mr. Gordon struggled to get back on his feet, was the brief chant that rang in the air as he battled that night: “Gringo! Gringo! Gringo!”
When Mr. Gordon, whose real name is Travis Gordon Lopes Jr., flings himself into the ring, his presence raises some potentially uncomfortable questions.
What happens when an American, and a former U.S. soldier at that, competes in a profoundly Mexican form of entertainment — known for colorful masks, outlandish outfits and high-flying acts — while wearing camo, boots and dog tags? Can a fan base bound up in Mexican nationalism, spurred by President Trump’s threats of military action in their country, embrace and cheer for a man dressed like G.I. Joe?
And what happens to a wrestler who has become an immigrant in Mexico at a moment of intense strain between his country of origin and his new home?
Regardless of their costume, foreigners in the world of lucha libre often wrestle as a “rudo,” a rule-bending bad guy who uses brute force. But in a twist, and despite his American soldier’s garb, Mr. Gordon actually wrestles as a “técnico,” a good guy, because of his more acrobatic, finessed style and how he won over crowds.
Mr. Gordon grew up in Montana, enlisted in the Army National Guard in 2012 and served six years in Idaho and Massachusetts. He earned his nickname from doing flips in his backyard since childhood, and his goal was to become a top professional wrestler in the United States.
He began his wrestling career, juggling competitions with his military commitments and making occasional trips abroad — including to Mexico, where he made his lucha libre debut in 2017.
It was on one of those trips that he met Barby Villela, 36, who worked in marketing for the organization that promotes lucha libre in Mexico. They eventually began dating, and married in 2023. Mr. Gordon moved to Mexico full time that year.
Early in his wrestling career, Mr. Gordon said, he had tried to hide his military background, wearing generic outfits. After encouragement from some longtime wrestlers, he began wearing camouflage versions of traditional wrestling attire.
Once in Mexico, he worried about what kind of reaction he would get, saying he was “terrified” about personifying an American soldier in the ring.
And indeed, he was booed. Fans didn’t want to support an American going up against Mexican wrestlers in a very Mexican endeavor. His soldier’s outfit only amped up the animosity among some of the thousands of fans who turn up to watch, and offer their opinions at loud volume.
Mexicans have long had cause to be wary of the U.S. military. The countries’ shared history includes several instances of U.S. military intervention, not least the Mexican-American War of the 19th century, in which the United States gained a large chunk of territory.
And under Mr. Trump, the United States has pushed Mexico hard to curb the flow of migrants and drugs, threatening high tariffs and even raising the idea of American military action in Mexico against cartels.
Mr. Gordon calls himself “very nonpolitical” and declined to comment on Mr. Trump’s actions.
But he embraces the image of an American soldier. Before fights, Mr. Gordon does a traditional military salute, raising his right hand to his brow. He still trains using some exercises from his military days.
Fans, and a few of his Mexican rivals, taunted him for being an American who stuck out in Mexico and couldn’t quite speak the language.
“It was very pronounced,” said Fernando Damiron, 31, a government worker and an ardent lucha libre fan from Mexico City. “His character and the wrestling council had him marked as the gringo against the Mexican.”
Mr. Damiron confessed that he was among those who initially jeered Mr. Gordon for being “a gringo and for being a non-Mexican character.”
In January 2024, after a fight against a Mexican rival, Ángel de Oro, Mr. Gordon challenged him to a one-on-one rematch in broken Spanglish over the arena microphone. His opponent mocked Mr. Gordon’s language skills to the crowd’s delight and said he accepted the fight “only because I’m going to show you to respect Mexicans.”
But Mr. Gordon began adapting to his new home. In the ring, in the council’s promotional videos and on his own social media accounts, he started using less English and more Spanish for his local audience. He learned more with help from his wife, a few apps on his phone and his fellow wrestlers.
And it was Ms. Villela who encouraged Mr. Gordon not only to play the character of a super soldier but also to show off his physique.
“We all have kids’ souls,” she said. “Wrestling in Mexico is the second-most important sport, after soccer. Our superheroes are wrestlers. And what’s better than having G.I. Joe in uniform?” She later joked, “And we’ll cover two markets: women and children.”
Mr. Gordon began with a modified version of an old Army uniform: pants, heavy boots and a jacket with its arms cut off. He later had a custom outfit made in lighter, more flexible material — better for flipping in and out of the ring.
“Everybody loves Captain America,” he said. “They don’t necessarily need to like the United States to like Captain America.”
The approach — and Mr. Gordon’s growing lucha libre skills — paid off. His fan base grew, and last fall, he even became the first American to earn a middleweight title.
“It sounds weird, but I feel like I’m becoming more Mexican,” he said late last year.
Now, Mr. Gordon gives interviews in his second language, unafraid to make mistakes. To promote a recent title defense fight, he dressed up in a mariachi outfit.
He recently signed a multiyear contract with the lucha libre council and said he is a permanent resident and hopes to get his Mexican citizenship in a few years. His daughter was born in Mexico last year, and Ms. Villela is expecting their second child.
So even though a U.S.-Mexico rivalry is played up when Mr. Gordan enters the ring, he talks openly about his love for Mexico and its culture.
“I’m proud of where I come from,” he said, “but I’m also proud that I’m evolving as a human and embracing a new culture.”
Given all that has happened in U.S.-Mexico relations since Mr. Trump took office in January, Mr. Gordon joked he was surprised that he wasn’t booed more. But unlike in Canada, where hockey fans have booed the U.S. national anthem, there hasn’t been much change around the ring, he said.
Lucha libre, Ms. Villela said, is “magical” for Mexicans because it allows them to disconnect, enjoy the characters and “let everything out” at the arenas.
Fans like Mr. Damiron agreed that Mr. Gordon had carved out a niche for himself in the country with his wrestling style and personality. “He’s Mexican now,” he said.
James Wagner covers Latin America, including sports, and is based in Mexico City. A Nicaraguan American from the Washington area, he is a native Spanish speaker.
The post A Former American Soldier Finds a Home in Mexican Wrestling appeared first on New York Times.
