AEW Five Fingers of Death (and Friends) 9/15 - 9/21 Part 2

CMLL Aniversario 9/19/25

MJF vs Mistico [Mask vs Belt]

MD: All great apuestas matches come down to the balance between faith and doubt.

Let's start with doubt. The point of comparison to 2025 Mistico is the greatest masked wrestler of our lifetimes, El Hijo del Santo. Santito fought in countless apuestas matches and more often than not, the odds were in his favor on paper. I can't imagine people actually expected him to lose his mask against Gacela del Ring or Guerrero del Futuro, and even less so when it was Nicho or Scorpio Jr's hair on the line and not another mask. But lightning strikes, miracles happen, and anything is possible in pro wrestling. That sheer glimmer of possibility opened the doors for drama beyond belief. So much of that was due to Santito's selling (and to his fiery comebacks). But what truly drove it was possibility, plausibility, an open door to a bleak reality, something that tugged on the minds of the faithful, a feeling at the very bottom of their stomachs.

And that existed for this match. Yes, MJF's title was on the line as opposed to even his hair, let alone a mask, but it was also his pride, his status. He's a star and is treated as such. Titles are his past and his present. Movies are ahead of him. He had defeated everyone they threw at him in the lead up to this and ambushed Mistico time and again. He had the size advantage, the youth advantage. He had a loyal minion in his corner in the form of Honest Jon Cruz.

Maybe that wouldn't have been enough in and of itself. But the match took care of it and covered the distance. Mask vs Title matches are rare and MJF tossed the usual pageantry prelude to title matches out the window with an immediate ambush. He threw Mistico to the floor, slammed his skull into the post, and the blood started to flow. Perhaps not a big deal in the grand scheme of wrestling and even the grand scheme of apuestas matches over the decades, but in Arena Mexico it was as big a deal as one can imagine.

Blood has simply not been allowed to flow there. Wrestling itself had been cauterized in the last decades, a key, primal ingredient to drama cast aside for the sake of sanitized casual tourist fare. Like Hijo del Santo before him, Mistico is perfect for blood. There's no image in wrestling more powerful than a ripped white mask covered in it. As it started to flow, doubt came along with it.

The match was structured simple, straightforward, smart. MJF leaned down upon Mistico. There were three hope spots over the first few minutes of the match and each was cut off definitively by MJF. Max flaunted his skill, hitting a dive (but then not sticking the landing, because it's important to show that while he's talented and dangerous, he is an outsider; one must always see the cracks). He distracted the ref so that Cruz could get in a cheapshot to a chorus of huge boos. 

Then, after the third cutoff, after Max stretched his arrogance just a little too far, Mistico began to fire back, and they crashed into one another with clotheslines, shifting the trajectory of the match. Mistico was able to press an advantage, hitting one dive, then another. On the second, however, the cost was high. Cruz rolled MJF back into the ring. Mistico, however, leaned hard into the blood loss, into the damage already done, and even though he had been the aggressor, he stumbled not just once, but twice on his way back in. It was a distinct selling choice that you almost never see, one that might edge on the ridiculous were the setting not so sublime. In practice, it was some of the greatest selling I'd ever seen.

Recovered enough, Mistico made it back into the ring, had MJF in position for yet another dive, but Max went into his bag of tricks and used Cruz as a human shield. From that distraction stemmed an eyepoke, and a cradle pile driver on the apron, and an even more dramatic last second rush back into the ring by Mistico.

They had reached the bottom, the very height of doubt. The ring was covered in Mistico's blood. Max had stolen the advantage through underhanded chicanery and a forbidden move. He pressed even further with another. Piledriver variations have been allowed for over ten years, be it cradle, double underhook, or destroyer. But a straight up tombstone, a martinete? Those are still exceptionally rare. And MJF hit one right in the middle of the ring. If anything could signify all being lost, it would be that.

Which brings us to faith. Mistico too is an absolute star. He carries himself in the ring as well as any of the great babyfaces who "get it" that I've ever seen, be it Dusty Rhodes of Edouard Carpentier. The sheer level of self-confidence he projects to the back row moves hearts and minds like almost nothing else in pro wrestling. Even when things seemed bleakest, he had the fans because he never stopped fighting, never stopped crawling, never stopped striving. 

And after that martinete failed to put him away, something shifted in the air. It happens in most matches that take place in CMLL, and is essential in understanding the ebbs and flows. At some point in most matches, fate takes a turn. The rudo beatdown fizzles, the tecnico comeback begins. Sometimes it's based on arrogance, a clear mistake. All too often, it's something more heavenly, something more divine, something driven by fate as much as hubris.

To some degree, Mistico made his own fate by not giving up, by refusing to stay down. But in doing so, he inspired the faithful, and they turned that inspiration into belief, and that belief into cheers. Those cheers empowered Mistico and shook MJF. Max went for his ring-loaded punch, but was caught and rolled up for a near fall. He jammed La Mistica and caught Mistico, putting it all on the line with an even more profane attempt at a martinete from the top. 

But he was no longer facing one man. He was facing a hero, a legend. He was facing an army of the faithful. He was facing god and fate itself. 

And despite all of his pride and strength, his youthful skill and his scheming resourcefulness, the weight of the world came down upon him, a twisting headscissor dervish leading to a perfectly cinched La Mistica. He squirmed and fought and rolled, but there was no escape, not from god and not from faith, not with the eyes of the faithful upon him. 

Yes, they had felt doubt, doubt driven by the existence of a true villain, doubt baptized in blood and violence. But that doubt just made them reach deeper into themselves, much as Mistico reached so deep within himself, to reinforce their faith and create a perfect circle that drove them all to the perfect manifestation of pro wrestling salvation. 

Only this. Only here. And despite all odds, even now. There's nothing in the world like it.

AEW All Out 9/20/25

MD: And less than 24 hours later, MJF would have to do it all over again.

This one's about anticipation and payoff.

You can do the most amazing, most spectacular, most brutal things but if you don't frame them correctly, it's all for nothing. The true art of pro wrestling is to create anticipation and then to pay it off. It's to create something that the audience something wants, to make them chase it and anticipate it, and then to give it to them in a way that makes it feel earned and worthwhile. It's taking them on a journey and while the destination is important, it's just part of the mission.

This was a match on a show where there was going to be excess. There was still a coffin match and a ladder match to come. It was no disqualification (allowing for low blows, sure) but the weapons at play were the focus: tables, tacks, and the buckets the tacks were in. Boundaries are often drivers for creativity. They provide form and shape and opportunity. 

Here, the opportunity was to set up and then to maximize key payoffs.

1. Max engaging in the first place. 

Yes, he'd been driven to this fight, but it wasn't one he had wanted a few months ago. Max wanted the title. The opportunity to get it was the Casino Gauntlet. He and Briscoe were the sure things, winning the #1 and #2 spots. The only thing he could count on was that he was going to start against Briscoe. Therefore, he had to get into his head. For Max, it was just business. Yes, he used personal tools, but he didn't really care. He cared about the title. He cared about Hangman (because the crowd forgave him when they never forgave Max), but he didn't care about Briscoe. In making it personal to undermine Mark, however, he created a monster he had to live with. Then once Briscoe intervened in his title match, it became personal for Max too and things escalated.

He bit off more than he could chew. He made the challenge and then couldn't get out of the match. The second Briscoe started pouring tacks in the ring, he turned tail and started to walk away. Briscoe ran out to catch him, got him up on the apron, and then, through attempting an early Jay Driller (intending to leap off the apron and through a table), drove Max to flee into the ring, signifying the real start of the match. Build. Payoff.  

2. The first usage of the tacks. 

The match was going to be over the top. By the end of it, tacks would be everywhere and blood would flow. Everyone knew that. But they didn't rush to it. They built and built and built the anticipation for it. This plays upon the same instinct in all of the best death matches, the very thing that Onita rose to success upon. Put over the gimmick. Show that the wrestlers care. Show that they're wary. Show that they want to avoid it at all cost. 

That's exactly what they did here, teetering after punches, trying and failing to slam one another, pushing each other's face closer and closer to the tacks. They could have just rushed to spots and dove in and started the carnage, but by delaying and deferring and doing everything they could to avoid the tacks, it made it seem all the more important in the eyes of the fans. If the wrestlers care, the fans will care. Then, of course, Max went dirty, using Bryce as a shield and getting in an eyepoke before finally posting up and letting Briscoe hang in the air before dropping him with a bodyslam. And the crowd went nuts for it. Build. Payoff.

3. Max going into the tacks.

This worked perfectly. MJF leaned hard on Briscoe after that slam, ripping off his shirt, using a waterwheel slam so as to put the back directly in them, bloodying his pants with his taunt, and then repeatedly hitting back body drops to maximize that visual impact of the back crashing down onto the tacks. He hit two back body drops and called for a third, setting the stage perfectly for Briscoe to land on his feet and plant Max directly onto the tacks, time freezing with the impact and the reaction. Build. Payoff.

4. The introduction of the tables.

Given the sheer amount of tables we've seen in our lives, one might think it's hard to make them matter in a match like this, especially with the more pointed narrative element of tacks, but they managed it. It came down to character motivations and reactions. Mark teased that Jay Driller from the start, and would spend much of the middle of the match wanting to hit a Froggy Bow through a table. MJF on the other had was intent on saving himself (and thus denying the fans) by actually breaking the tables down and putting them away. Ultimately, much like the start of the match, he retreated from the ring (and the tacks), only to find himself in front of a table, eating a chair-assisted dive from Briscoe. Mark would then follow up, finally hitting that Froggy Bow through the table. Build. Payoff.

5. The finish. 

It all came together for the finish. They had gone back and forth a bit with nearfalls, including Max hitting a tombstone onto the tacks, but now it was time to tie it all together and take it home. Max put more tacks on one last table in the ring. He did everything in his power to put Briscoe through it, but Mark was able to push him off the turnbuckles and hit one more Froggy Bow onto a standing MJF through that tack-laden table. From there it was one last satisfying Froggy Bow and finally, even more cathartically, the Jay Driller onto the tacks. Build. Payoff.

Instead of hitting every spot they could, instead of overwhelming the crowd with sensation, they kept a disciplined, focused approach. They did big things, huge things, undeniably real and excruciating things, full of biting, blood, and gore, but they built to each and every one of them and then ensured not only the biggest payoff, but the most meaningful consequence. In so many ways, it's the best of both words between the sort of dynamic and over the top action people expect from AEW and the character-driven storytelling that best highlights and frames all those things that makes pro wrestling so special. They made the fans want something badly, made them understand the stakes and the weight, and then paid it all off to huge effect. Build and payoff. They're beautiful things.