AEW Five Fingers of Death (and Friends) 12/1 - 12/7 Part 1

AEW Dynamite 12/3/25

Jon Moxley vs Claudio Castagnoli

I love babyface vs heel matches with a shine/heat/comeback format. I can almost promise you that I love them more than you do, dear reader. When done well, they are primal, speak to the basic fundamental storytelling tenets of good vs evil in a world that needs that more than ever, and take us on an emotional journey up and down and up again, placing us as viewers exactly where we need to be.

But that is not the only story that pro wrestling can tell. All too often, shedding those classifications and abandoning that structure means that wrestlers also feel like they can throw aside careful storytelling in favor of maximalism, making the story at play inherent at best and focusing instead on action, spots, sensationalism, over the top excitement. 

That couldn't be farther than what Jon Moxley has been doing in the back end of 2025. Now, within the Continental Classic, bolstered by the narrative framing of a sports-based tournament, he's able to place his own character, one that's come out of a series of babyface vs heel struggles in shambles, in a scenario where he has to figure out what could possibly come next, on how to stop or at least slow the spiral, on how to grasp at every opportunity to prove himself once more, to his followers, to the world, to himself. 

And while he's framing this with delusional, almost delirious, vaguely inspirational promos entirely full of bullshit, most of the actual storytelling is playing out in ring, artistic pro wrestling at its very best. 

Having just barely survived his initial match against Mascara Dorada, he found himself very early in the tournament against an ascendant Claudio Castagnoli, the bar, the gatekeeper, a creeping death always one step behind the lead rider. This was his next opportunity to test himself but it was also a warning, a living breathing Sword of Damocles, for if he was found wanting, then death would come for him as well.

And come it did. Claudio was the returning hero, back from Mexico with title in hand. Moxley was the one with something to prove and he took it right to Claudio, trying to outwrestle him, trying to outbully him, trying to outpower him. It was a foolish gesture for very few are stronger than Claudio Castagonoli, and he was almost instantly rebuffed. The only thing he proved was that there was blood in he water and Claudio figuratively forced that blood out with a double stomp, a sharp biting statement for the world to see.

Moxley abandoned wrestling and went to brawling. That took them to the outside, nominally his domain. But even here, Claudio remained too much for him. He turned things around, sending Moxley over the barricade. When he came back to the fight, the blood had become entirely literal, and when Claudio got him back into the ring and threw him about with the second giant swing of the match (the first being into the stairs, ruthless, merciless, death edging a half step closer), the blood really started to flow.

But Jon Moxley, mad, faltering king that he might be, was a king nonetheless; he had climbed and scraped to his throne and he would not fall easily. When Claudio screamed at him to quit, he did not. When Claudio went for the swing again, he pressed up on his head to gain the leverage to reverse it. He was able to stand back up and scrape with Claudio.

But even then, he couldn't do it for long. Even then, he couldn't press the advantage.

When he finally locked Claudio in a choke, his own blood became the lubricant that caused it all to slip through his grasp, and what could be a greater symbol for the current state of Jon Moxley than that.

With five minutes left to go on the clock, they stood across from the ring. Moxley was able to make it back to his feet no matter the punishment he'd taken, swings, power moves, strikes, holds. He was able to push back up, no matter how much blood was upon the mat. But whereas he was able manage the upwards momentum of a survivor, Claudio drove forth with the forward momentum of a conqueror, crashing into Moxley with a predator's uppercut and downing him for three. 

Moxley had wanted Marina out with him to start, had almost reached out to the crowd once or twice, looking for that security with Claudio across the ring from him instead of at his side, and the Death Riders did come now, checking on him, congratulating Claudio, and then forming a circle to cool down with push ups in the back as Moxley too congratulated Claudio and provided platitudes for what was to come. 

But the blood was on the mat and the blood was in the water and Claudio's done more than smell it now. He drew it. He tasted it. We're all on the clock. Death comes for us all. It comes for some of us sooner than others.

So, like I said, storytelling, right? The art and magic of pro wrestling, like nothing else. The old stories, the basic ones, are beautiful things, but with commitment, care, consistency, consequence, so much more can be told. It doesn't necessarily make one story better than the other, but when ambition is fueling the ship and the navigation is done with care, the sky really is the limit.