On Brand Segunda Caida: Oz on the Warpath

 

by JR

Mayumi Ozaki vs. Mio Momono Marvelous 8/7/23

My child ran away from me in a small department store, laughing and screaming as we shopped for back-to-school outfits. She hid in a circular rack of dresses, and I walked steadily towards her, too tired to run. At that moment I thought of movie monsters, like Jason Vorhees and Michael Myers, and how perhaps they aren’t some mystical embodiment of evil destined to catch teenagers, but are instead middle-aged men who understand the geography of their surroundings and reflect that confidence in their lack of pace. Horror, after all, is a matter of perspective. For Leatherface, as he sat checking his watch and rocking himself back to serenity after seeing yet another stranger in his living room, The Texas Chain Saw Massacre is a story of home invasion. 

I wonder how a 52-year-old Mayumi Ozaki would watch horror films. Would she see herself reflected in those same villains? In her youth, she was Oz! The Bitchiest! with tildes and exclamation points following her name. She was cruel in a way that felt almost otherworldly. It was her purpose. Winning matches seemed like a side effect that only gave her satisfaction because it further frustrated others.

Now she fights Mio Momono, a tiny woman with a championship belt and clothing choices that make her look like a toddler who dresses herself. And Ozaki’s cruelty feels so patient today. She luxuriates in it. Is there such a thing as an economy of cruelty, like there is for movement? Ozaki creates it; she whips her with a chain and shuffles after her as Momono flies around. She drops the chain on Momono’s hand, an old favorite made more stunning by its now callous laziness.

Wrestling at its heart is made exceptional through contrast. Good versus evil, surely, but others too. Cunning pitted against earnestness. Speed against strength. Here we find Ozaki’s learnedness fighting Momono’s energy, both parties believing their supply is limitless until proven otherwise. Perhaps Ozaki should know better, and perhaps some of her charm is that she doesn’t. Wrestling has a long history of the former ace raging against their own physical limitations, holding on to their spot for dear life until someone, anyone, can put them down. Perhaps they think it will bring them some peace. For Ozaki, the thought seemingly never crosses her mind. She does not consider she might be on borrowed time. She is not awaiting someone to replace her, to give her some distance from her deeds to look back on her career with pride, knowing she has been replaced by someone with some of her same specific traits. She is simply here to hurt someone because she still can.

And she wins! As she does she inflicts one final indignity upon Momono, stomping on her title before picking a fight with someone her own age, the retired and stately Chigusa Nagayo at ringside. As the trainees enter the ring to keep them apart, Ozaki looks joyful. This–and not a simple title victory–is her purpose. This moment, being an eternal thorn in the side of the people she still believes in her heart slighted and wronged her, is her true victory. In these moments she is not some invading force from Oz Academy. She is a woman remembering her youth, confident in the comfortable geography of a wrestling ring. The aftermath, a bloody 25-year-old, crying and pleading forgiveness, doesn’t even register.