I have a confession: I didn’t pay the attention I should’ve to Ben Satterley’s (Pac/Neville’s) career, although the city he’s from – Newcastle – is only an hour or so’s drive from where I grew up, and as an undergrad I studied at the University of Newcastle. Having reflected on this, I conclude that, unfortunately, some sportspeople reach such a consistent level of excellence that their efforts can easily be taken for granted. This, alongside his regular position on the midcard, may mean his work regrettably went a little under my radar. Another confession: I’ve never experienced parasocial relationships particularly strongly. I never felt that I knew Pac/Neville/Ben in any way. And yet, after his tragic death, thoughts of his life have taken hold of me.
What a beautiful thing to hear Ben’s family and friends speak of him. Too often nowadays, especially with white males, we’re confronted with this dilemma of whether to separate the art from the artist, after posthumously learning of how they treated those around them. But Ben appears universally loved. Not just in a quick and easy, ‘oh, he was a nice, talented guy’ kind of way. But countless stories, videos and images are spilling out, showing how Ben genuinely touched people’s lives. This is a real human legacy, beyond his talents. I’d urge you to watch the clip Austin Creed has released of Ben in a Newcastle United shirt playing video games against Sami Zayn. Seek out the words and images of fans or backstage colleagues who’d spent time with Ben. Evidence of this kind of warmth and connection provokes us into considering how we treat others, what our own legacy will be.
We’re talking about much more than Ben’s professional talents here, but we only have access to this beautiful picture of his life through his work as a wrestler, through the characters he embodied, Neville and Pac. There’s that poetry of ‘the bastard’ Pac as antithesis to the man, Ben. And powerful art does make us feel connection. It’s just that I’d always considered this an in-the-moment experience – a song that makes the hairs on your arm stand on end, a painting that calls you into a dimension where you shed the weight of your humanity for a few minutes, a poetic line at a novel’s climax that causes a tear to fall, involuntarily, from your eye. But now I see, art can connect us to a beautiful life and this connection defeats time. Over the course of this article, it’s no accident that I’ve referred to the man in question as ‘Ben’, as if he were a close connection, a friend.
I hope this kind of beauty offers some relief from the pain and loss his family and friends must be experiencing.
Rest well, Ben.
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