DEAN~!!!

ACTION presents DEAN~!!! 4/4/24

MD: A year ago today, we lost DEAN. Eleven months later Phil, Eric, and Matt Griffin (being Jacey North Matt, not me Matt) did something amazing. In true DVDVR fashion, Eric has a road report in the works. Were I to give you a report, it would be why I wasn't there and would involve in-law family wedding drama, conciliatory water parks with the kids, and a bunch of other excuses. I missed being there, being part of that atmosphere, meeting a bunch of people who I respect and admire (and Johnny Sorrow too; I would have liked to meet Johnny). That said, it means I can come in with a slightly different perspective here, and hey, there's also this: DEAN the human was so important to me in expanding how someone could think about wrestling and Phil and Eric are my "people" in everything we do creatively, but because I watched from home (in part in the DVDVR discord, yes, but a lot on my own), I got to watch it with Dylan Hales in my ear, and there was no one I conspired with more closely between 2010 and 2015 about wrestling than Dylan, so while I couldn't be there with you guys, you were all with me as I watched.    

Alex Kane vs Colby Corino

MD: When I say "my people", I do mean a lot of this crowd too and that made it the perfect crowd for this specific match, one that knew how to act, how to buy in, how to give in, how to be wry but not ironic, clever but still earnest, just like the match itself. The wrestlers committed. The crowd committed. The match committed. It's probably sacrilege on a card with the back half that this one has to even consider this as potentially my favorite match of the night, but maybe it was!

Colby came in exhausted (six matches in six days). He had a size disadvantage. The match was always one suplex away from being over. So he embraced the headlock. It was a way to control distance, to control leverage, to frustrate Kane, to make Kane exert himself because Colby couldn't. It was wry, like I said, but it also made sense within the context of the match. Even at the beginning, there were multiple differentials for Colby to overcome and the headlock was a means for him to chip away at them. That's important. The headlock was never an end unto itself. It was the means to even the odds.

As the match went on, it went from being a way to contain Kane to a way to open him up for escalating offense. It went from being a survival mechanism to the entry point for all of Colby's title hopes and dreams. It opened up the bulldog, or an air raid crash, or the front DDT that he was likely going for to maybe finish things off. The problem with such a close contact strategy, however, is that all it took was one mistake, one wrong breath, one chance for Kane to plant his feet, and it was up and over, metaphorically and literally. Colby did valiantly for a man at the end of his rope, but that rope was just long enough for him to hang himself. Honestly in contention for my favorite match of the night (It's up there with Slim J vs Adam Priest as the most "Matt D" match on the card), as wild as that sounds.

O’Shay Edwards/Amboss (Laurance Roman/Robert Dreissker) vs The Good Hand (Kevin Ryan/Suge D/Tyler Stevens)

MD: I think that in some ways this match had the most to work against on the card. For the traveling crowd, there was probably less familiarity with the wrestlers here. It had a sort of similar theme to the "flippy guys vs strong guys" six-man later on the card but couldn't lean too hard into that without taking away from the match higher on the card. What it did have going for it was the ability to lean into the set units here to play with all of the tools you'd get in a southern or mPro style tag.

The Good Hand played their part perfectly, just annoying, arrogant, scuzzy heels, but maybe not carrying with them the sort of madcap delusion that the Sucklings were about to bring to the ring in the next match. These were three guys who were more than the sum of their parts both in style and in substance. They controlled the ring, cut off Roman, threw out a bunch of quick offense and double and triple teams. And then, when it was time, they got their comeuppance, only to take back over with something slick or underhanded or opportunistic. Basically, they used all the tricks of the trade, both in how they presented themselves and in how a match like this could be structured, to overcome some of the disadvantages they were facing. And the babyfaces were the straight men, constantly trying to work their way back into the match and then, when it came time, raining down justice and punishment. Like I said on the night, if you embrace wrestling, it will embrace you, and that's exactly what they did here.

Violence is Forever (Kevin Ku/Dominic Garrini) vs The Ugly Sucklings (Rob Killjoy/White Mike)

MD: I loved how tight and compact this was. That allowed for the Sucklings to do their pre-match promo, which made a lot of sense actually It was driven not just by ego and mania (though there was that as well) but by the relatable idea that if they had a good showing against a top team, they'd get more bookings and put food on the table. Scuzzy but relatable, a fine line to walk. Then, they went right into heat. That worked because ViF even just coming out as the surprise team with the Road Warriors pop... that was the shine. There was a sense of glorious inevitability here in the best way. The Sucklings were organized and effective and persistent but doom was heading their way from the moment Zombie hit, maybe even from the moment they signed an open challenge.

So this went right to the ambush-dirven heat then into the comeback and the finishing stretch and it was all just a wonderful celebratory bonus from guys with big presence. For people not at all familiar with the indy scene, obviously guys like Priest and Connolly stood out but I heard from a few people who only had a working knowledge that they immediately wanted to track down more Sucklings footage, so the mission from the pre-match promo was accomplished. Overall, this match set up a sort of party atmosphere to prepare people's appetites for the chaos and violence to come.   

Gypsy Joe Rules Match: Coven of the Goat (Jaden Newman/Tank) vs 1 Called Manders/"Filthy" Tom Lawlor

MD: This was the match where, on live viewing, I realized I couldn't just turn a write-up out for the show and that I needed some time to process. I'm still struggling a bit with this one. One thing will stick with me, and I mean forever stick with me, like Owen kicking Bret's leg out of his leg or whatever other super iconic wrestling moment is seared into my brain. That's the sequence of Lawlor getting Newman onto a chair and running around the entire ringside area to attack him while Tank and Manders were simultaneously sharing a beer right by the DEAN chair. The contrast was just this serene moment of pro wrestling wonder. It devolved quickly into Tank spraying Manders and Lawlor smashing Tank and Manders getting the revenge spray and of course then revisited it a few minutes later with the headbutt war. What am I going to say critically about this? It was madness and chaos and action with some stuff that was smartly put together but that didn't feel put together at all, that just felt wild and spontaneous and that, along with, you know, punches (and this had a few good ones) is what I could use so much more of in wrestling today. You weren't going to see the strings here, just the flailing limbs and crazy abandon.

3 Flippy Guys (Bobby Flaco/Brayden Toon/Rico Gonzalez) vs 3 Strong Motherf*ckers (Danny Demanto/Hoodfoot/Isaiah Broner)

MD: Hey, the WAR six man. This was fun. You didn't really get to see Rico do too much. In fact, most of the match was everyone just beating on Flaco, which is kind of what you want in a match like this really, just flipping guys bumping big and getting crushed. Brayden didn't do a ton (really this was mainly Bob getting destroyed) but everything he did looked great. Finish worked ok because the Strong folk were obviously goofing around and taking their opponents lightly; sometimes you live by the door, sometimes you die by it. This was a nice mix of levity and roadkill to give everyone a breather given what was to come.

Dr. Cerebro vs Gringo Loco

MD: This could have absolutely just been a "traveling match" sort of exhibition and it wasn't at all. It was a weird and surreal inversion full of a sort of emotion that isn't neat or clean or crisp. This match wasn't a straight line. It felt a little like a therapy session unveiling in real time through the back drop of gritty, gripping, beautiful lucha libre. It just wasn't a redo of 2010. Gringo Loco has evolved and in some ways, in this match, Cerebro devolved. He sure as hell wasn't wearing his mask against the Gringos VIP. Moreover, even though Gringo worked rudo, he was a pretty clear babyface for a lot of this. That happens! Usually it happens with a guy like Casas or Satanico up against an unfortunately reviled tecnico or an even more deplorable rudo, but it happens. Here it was because Gringo had something of the homefield advantage and because both of them had a chip on their shoulder.

While I loved some of the early matwork (Cerebro scooting around into an amazing contorting bit of torture was likely the hold of the night), and of course the Cerebro dive that almost took out Marty's wife in the third row was electric, it was that underlying snag of emotion that really put this over the top. Gringo's paid his dues, has traveled the world, has been on TV in big arenas and has wrestled in the dingiest, dirtiest venues imaginable; he's grown into a true base god, and yet Cerebro, maybe empowered in all the wrong ways by the mask he was donning once again, refused to forgive the sins of the past. When Gringo wanted a shake, Cerebro made like a matador. When Gringo escalated things, Cerebro was all to happy to call and raise. He raised all the way to bringing in a chair and tearing apart Gringo's shoulder. Watching it, you can't help but wonder if it was because instead of finding a 25 year old that would likely bend under the pressure, he found a man pushing forty who had no give in him at all. Maybe it was because even though he had traveled north and presented himself in all of his glory, the crowd still leaned towards Gringo instead.

Regardless, he crossed a line that both men had crossed many times years before. It wasn't the end, however. The match restarted. Despite the damage to the shoulder, Gringo fought his way back. When the opportunity arose to cross that line himself, he took it. He couldn't transcend past it. Cerebro wouldn't be the bigger man but Gringo couldn't either, not after what had transpired. Cerebro ducked the chair, kicked it into Gringo's face, and honed in on the damaged shoulder for a submission. They wrestled a gripping match, one with a resolution in the record books, but you couldn't help feeling like nothing was truly resolved.

Krule vs “Warhorse” Jake Parnell

MD: On some level, on top of being a tribute to DEAN and on top of being something cooked up by the mad geniuses I write with here on Segunda Caida and powered by the ACTION engines, this whole show was a tribute to the Indies in general, to all eras and all regions. As such, this felt like it could have been the main event of a NWA New Jersey Coralluzzo show from the late 90s or an early 00s ECW successor promotion and I liked it along those lines. They worked hard. They hit hard. They flew hard. It had all the overworked bs you'd expect for the finish. As such, I almost think they did too much; maybe Parnell shouldn't have flipped out of a chokeslam attempt, maybe that dive shouldn't have been a flip, maybe some of the more complex Krule offense should have been straighter and to the point. They did a pretty good job keeping up with parts of the rest of the show but maybe they didn't need to. Maybe they should have leaned harder into the contrast instead. That's a lot to ask of them though, especially with the title on the line, and they did an admirable enough job all things considered.

Matt Makowski vs Arez

MD: I was going to call this a sprint and explain how instead of just spots it was layered with all that and more, but that's not what it actually is. It's a lucha lightning match and it's one of the best I've ever seen. It's cheating a little because it has the patina of a "different styles" fight but it's close enough to a lightning match in my eyes. A lot of it also speaks for itself, with Arez bounding around, hitting from every angle, and Makowski keeping up while trying to ground and stop him. For them to go that fast it for everything, no matter how unlikely, to still come off as plausible in this strange shared reality where Manders and Tank can sit in chairs headbutting each other as hard as possible takes incredible talent and commitment. I loved the transition where Makowski was able to jam the Casita and snap the arm. Arez wasn't exactly selling down the stretch but Makowski was so single minded in getting the cross arm-breaker in that you knew he felt like he was on to something and if he felt that way, you, as the audience, felt that way as well, even if Arez wasn't exactly putting out signals. Then it was all about working three moves ahead while dealing with the world's most unpredictable wrestler, to plant him in the center with the chaos theory cross-armbreaker. Thrilling stuff and a testament to knowing that they'd pack so much coolness into every second that they could let this go relatively short for the sake of the overall card but still feel fulfilling. Trust was the name of the game here, trust in the wrestlers, trust in the fans, trust in the mission

Slim J vs Adam Priest

MD: Yeah, ok, sorry to the first match, which I did thoroughly enjoy, but this is definitely my favorite match on the card. It couldn't be more down my alley. Two guys so good at doing the small things well hitting the fundamentals of what makes pro wrestling work perfectly and then adding just that added bit of creativity to put it over the top. Slim J's been positioned as a heel on TV for the last year or two but he's one of the best babyfaces of the 21st century and it was so great to see him on this stage, in front of this crowd, against this opponent, in this role. Talk about trust. They let this simmer and build so that when they hit bombs down the stretch they meant as much as possible.

Priest came in early with the trash talk and the early posturing and it was all about who would get the first shot in, and even more than that, who would be able to position the referee best to their advantage. Priest got Slim J into the corner behind him but couldn't follow up. Slim J, maybe a babyface here but a guy who knew every trick in the book and invented a good few of them, managed to snatch the ref's hand and use it (with just enough plausible deniability, of course) to smack Priest. Priest stalled just enough to rile the crowd without losing momentum. When he took over it wasn't just catching Slim on the way in with a knee, but then turning it into a neckbreaker over the second rope. It was never the easiest path but always a direct one with the extra little bit generally something additive that didn't distract from the key message.

Slim was always scrappy, always trying to fight back and his hope spots started small and close, an armbar or a chop back, but Priest cut him off definitely and then really added insult to injury as he grinded Slim down. It all built to the escape from the abdominal stretch where it seemed that Slim had come back, but Priest cut him off with a killer pile driver. That, in and of itself, set up the actual comeback as Slim reversed the second attempt at it on the apron. Even then, because the fans had just been fooled on a hope spot attempt, and because Slim was so good at staggering about in the ring selling his neck, the clotheslines he hit to really get back into it and launch the finishing stretch felt all the more striking and miraculous. Just amazing babyface work here.

That finishing stretch was the first time that they really launched bombs. Because they showed the restraint through the match, the big headdrops, which would have meant something just by their innate nature, ended up meaning all the more. Discipline creates opportunity, allows for the ability to build potential energy that can be turned kinetic. Then they paid it off with a finish that people probably didn't expect but that made the crowd happy. Just two architects building a castle of pro wrestling here.

Wasted Youth (Austin Luke/Marcus Mathers) vs Sinner & Saint (Judas Icarus/Travis Williams)

MD: This was as sprinty a juniors tag as you could get. Not entirely my thing but it had a place on a card that celebrated both the indies and DEAN. The first thing that comes to mind is hanging out on the DVDVR board the day that someone posted Brian XL/Divine Storm vs Red/SATs, probably in real media format, tiny file size, tiny video, and how all of us, the big guy included, reacted, like a whole new world opening up. Twenty+ years later, that wave has swept over all of wrestling a couple of times over, and it's led to a match like this. Icarus and Williams carried a lot of the middle of this with their more experienced and superior teamwork. They had a lot of clever tandem spots and sequences. I probably liked the Gory Running Punches the best though I would have liked to see a little more consequence to them. Mathers' connection to the crowd stood out more than anything else on the other side. This was breathless stuff. At times, the camera barely knew which way to focus next because things were going to come so quickly and explosively. This was candy before the steak to come but it was the expensive stuff and not some cheap knock off brand.

Dog Collar Match: Mad Dog Connelly vs Demus

MD: What am I am even going to say about this? How do you write about this? I thought about taking the coward's way out and just writing a paragraph about how Mad Dog Connelly has maybe the most amazing eyes that I've ever seen in pro wrestling, how you can track the entire match just focusing on them and in doing so, it's something different than you've ever experienced, how I'd never even thought about watching a wrestler's eyes a way to track emotion in this way because either the video quality isn't good enough or the quick cuts are too prevalent or whatever you're watching just doesn't rise to that level. How Connelly breaks a mold that you never even had reason to give a thought to before. I could go on about that but while totally accurate, it'd be both pretty weird and also a dodge. But seriously, rewatch this and just watch the guy's eyes. If you even can, because...

So let's try this instead. This match was a roller coaster ride. I hear you groaning. How dare I reduce this thing to some bullshit out of the can nonsense phrase. Just stop, ok? Stop and think. It wasn't like a roller coaster because it had ups and downs and it went fast. Nothing like that. Imagine actually being in a roller coaster. Imagine the first time maybe, when you were a kid, when you strained your neck to just be tall enough to hit the height marker and be allowed on. Imagine that it was one of those old wooden coasters, big and rickety, creaking, without some of the whirls and turns and technology and gimmicks of the last twenty years, just a looming monstrosity that might collapse at any moment because of one loose eighty year old screw. It's not the falling that gets you when you're on a coaster like that. It's not the speed. It's not even the anticipation as you're slowly going up. It's the fact that you're strapped in, you're helpless. If the thing fell apart, there'd be nothing you can do, nothing anyone could do to save you. You can't stop midway. You can't get off. No power in the world can stop it once it gets going. You're trapped.

That's what it feels like to watch this match. The second you hit play, it's like you're watching one of those videos from a Japanese horror movie. You're trapped. You can't shut it off. You can't look away. You can't even breathe. You can't even stop to think. You just have to watch one act of brutality seamlessly flow into the next. It's a river made of blood and you're adrift on it. I can't talk about specific moments of this. I can't break apart some sort of structure or go on about transitions. I've seen this two, three times. I remember the chain whip by Connelly to start. I remember people going into chairs. I remember biting and the smearing of blood. I remember the attempt at a hangman's choke and Dylan proclaiming it was that selfsame blood making things too slippery to hold it. Maybe there was a flying body press of some sort? Connelly choked him out to win. That's what I remember. I literally just watched this. Five minutes ago! It's all a violent blur. It's not a match. It's an experience. It's a sensation. You stare at the screen and your heart tries to leave your chest as you're buffeted by the violent, visceral gale. And like a roller coaster, the second you get off, you just want to get back on and go again. Look, I got nothing. Just strap back in and watch the thing again, ok?

Daniel Makabe vs Timothy Thatcher

MD: Full disclosure. This is an important match to cover well and I think I know what I want to say, even if it opens me up to be a little vulnerable. It's sort of the absolute worst time to highlight personal inadequcies, but here we are. Be kind. Maybe in part because I've got that most recent viewing of Connelly/Demus rattling around in my head, I don't know exactly how to start it. Let's go with this. Late in the match, Dylan likens this to Battlarts, and of course part of the inspiration here was Ishikawa vs Ikeda; Makabe wore his heart on his sleeve there if you get what I mean. So while this had its hybrid elements, much like Battlarts did, I think you could fairly safely classify this as shoot style. Shoot style, to me, is impenetrable in a good way, because I don't entirely get how they do it (Here's the vulnerable part). I watch so much wrestling. I write about so much wrestling. I think so hard (too hard, I know) about structure and narratives and patterns and comparative mythology and symbolism and whatever else is at play. And shoot style done well takes me back to being ten years old in the Boston Garden watching Bret Hart wrestle the Barbarian and just trying to wrap my head around how they could possibly know what to do next. And I've never gone out of my way to change that. I get so much enjoyment out of wrestling in so many ways, but only with shoot style is there still that hint of magic and wonder.

As I understand it, shoot style is a game of opportunities and openings, of mastering technique so well that all the physical possibilities to counter and progress the match are open to you in any moment. A little bit of give leads to a lot of take and the process repeats itself. Whether you're watching Fujiwara and Super Tiger or Volk Han, a lot of the storytelling is entirely implicit, driven by physical advantages and chance and consequence in the moment and over time. The drive for realism leaves certain basic, contrived narrative possibilities out of reach, but when done as well as it can be done, it can pull you in as much as any other form of pro wrestling. That was absolutely at play here, with every touch representing struggle and every contortion, simple or outlandish, feeling earned instead of given. What took this to another level was the genius at play. Yes, the storytelling was by necessity implicit, but underpinning and giving it color it was the weight of all of their previous encounters, the impending Sword of Damocles that hangs over Makabe's head, the expectation of what this match could be and what we all knew it was not (that being Ishikawa vs Ikeda), the well of emotion of the night and what people had just witnessed. 

Genius really is the only word for the alchemy of all of these things coming together, in small ways and in big. That could be Thatcher refusing the initial handshake or his look of glee as he was bending Makabe's wrist. It could be Makabe making the first inroads on the taped-up knee and Thatcher escalating to strikes out of desperation in response and then Makabe working at the upper body in order to open up the lower body to stay on it. Or it could have just been both of them stomping out each other's arm in frustration at the European Uppercuts they were throwing at each other. History creates the personality. The personality defines the character. The character decides how opportunities are capitalized on, and somehow, out of all of it, you end up with the richest, most compelling wrestling match imaginable. When it came to wrestling (and music, and a few other things), DEAN was like a cool older cousin to me, half a generation older, having gotten there first but selflessly willing to share. To him, everything was about sensation in the moment. To me, it's about thought after the fact. A match like this lets me meet the memory of my friend midway, and I'm very grateful for that.