AEW Five Fingers of Death 3/23 - 3/29

AEW Dynamite 3/25/26

RUSH vs Darby Allin

MD: This match was a gift.

Professional wrestling can be so many things, but one of the things it can be, one of the best things, is a release. It can be an invitation to take all the worries of the world, all the frustrations, all the sadness and darkness and pain, and to just lean in, lock in, hang on, and let go. 

It's functioned as this for generations, the artistic use of simulated violence as a means to quell the violence in our own hearts, as a conduit to let us scream along, wince along, clench our fists and gasp as we channel all of that emotion into a safe outlet.

It is succor and sanctuary. It understands. It knows that now and again we need to tap into the primal, tap into something grisly and raw and passionate, something forbidden in everyday society. It forgives. 

Through most of what wrestling offers us today, we can be awed. We can be entertained. We can marvel. We can wonder. We can be impressed. We can feel smart. We can feel connected. We can feel elation. And yes, some of us can chant "This is Awesome." 

All of those can be found in pro wrestling in one form or another.

But that wasn't this. 

In an age where we, as a society, have been given other invitations, public ones, harmful ones, toxic, manipulative ones, to be our worst selves in the very worst ways, this form of pro wrestling is an invitation to be our worst selves in the best of ways. 

And maybe, maybe the sanitized, produced, athletic, and choreographed form of wrestling that taps into something OTHER than our worst self is better.

But my god, we're only human, aren't we? And if we're going to get some release, let's get it through this, just like our parents could, like our grandparents could, like our great grandparents could, and like our children and their children will hopefully still be able to someday.

It is a gift. It was a gift to us, watching at home, and it was a gift to the people of St. Paul in the stands.

Even a match like this was beholden to the limitations of modern televised wrestling. There was a commercial break. They set it up well. Darby wiped out massively on a tope attempt, the sort of trainwreck you expect from him. The doctor was checking on him. Rush menaced, and then he basked.

And St. Paul chanted "Fuck ICE." They're not the first, but previously, it was tied to Brody King's meaningful presence or tacked on to already existing "Fuck Don Callis" chants. Here it was unrelated to any of that. From these people who needed to combine their voices and chant it so badly. Why then during this pause in the main event, certainly not the only pause in the show? Why get it all out here? 

Because through their sheer intensity, through their planned and spontaneous artistic expression of violence, Rush and Darby opened the floodgates of emotion and gave this crowd an invitation to let it all out. Pro wrestling.

And how did they do it?

Rush ambushed Darby right at the start, shoved him off the top rope on his entrance. That wasn't a surprise. The mood was in the air ever since the match was announced, as Rush made his entrance, fist pumping to the music, as Darby skateboarded down and everyone wondered when the violence would begin. 

This was "no countout" and they made use of the stipulation, brawling around ringside. Rush immediately went under the ring, probably for the wire he uses to choke people. It wasn't there. That gave everything an immediate feeling of being natural, organic. It drew you in. It wasn't a botch. It was the panacea to carefully planned out spots that define every other match on the card. You got the sense that Rush simply wanted to hurt Darby with any means at his disposal and if he couldn't find the first thing, he'd take the second.

And he did just that throughout the match, with Darby returning the favor when he could. This wasn't a "no disqualification" match, but he could toss Darby into the ringsteps and cause him to bump head over heels into the barricade. He could sit Darby in a chair and topple him over. Later on, after a now bloodied up Darby did hit a tope successfully, Rush would end up in that chair to eat a missile dropkick off the top to the floor. 

There was another moment during the break which was just as organic. Rush walked over and took Taz's water, pouring it over himself. It felt like a fully formed, completely "on" character doing exactly what he would naturally do in the moment. Every pro wrestling match would be better off with two or three moments like this, just someone making use of the situation in front of him, even if it meant things go off track for a few valuable TV seconds. Part of the appeal is the live improvisation. It's always been part of the appeal.

Darby was a clear underdog here. He had set a dozen traps for Gabe Kidd the week before, but here he was trudging through nature naked and with only his wits, skill, bravery and resolve, and Rush was the storm. The advantages he got where daring, defiant, and clever. He pulled the apron curtain out to trap Rush's foot. When Rush was leaned back in his Tranquilo pose, he pounced at him from across the ring to attack. He moved out of the way as the Horns corner dropkick came sailing in causing Rush to wipe out which allowed him to float over with a jackknife pin to win it. 

These were not sure things by any means. In the first two cases, Rush fired back. He would be quick to cut Darby off with an eyerake, a headbutt, a sharp kick. Darby won, not with the Scorpion Deathlock, not even with the stylized Last Supper, but instead with whatever flash pin he could sneak on to escape with his skin intact. 

It was eleven and a half minutes, with a chance to take a breath, or to express pent-up frustrations with that breath, in the middle. They let things set in. They made sure to portray massive physical consequence to everything that happened. It was a war but not necessarily a sprint or a bomb-fest. Even when they did a strike exchange, there was contrast and things were not just absorbed without immediate meaning. 

It didn't need to be a twenty minute epic to grab  you by the soul and twist. It was a match that made the most out of every second, even the seconds where Darby was convalescing or Rush was basking, preening, or seething. That sort of inaction and reaction can be just as consequential as any spot, maybe even more so.

No matter how you used that breath during the commercial break, you were almost certainly catching it by the time the match ended. Maybe your heart felt lighter. Maybe you felt inspired to run through a wall. Maybe you were left jittery, not sure what to think, not sure how to feel. But you did feel. Maybe it had pulled you away from the worries of the day. Maybe it had dragged you right through them to the other side. But wherever you were, it wasn't where you had began and you were almost certainly better off for the journey.

Pro wrestling can be so many things.

But it can be this too: organic, raw, visceral, meaningful, beautiful, terrible, and brisk, if only we let go and allow it to be; if only the wrestlers can let go and dive in and commit themselves to it fully and fearlessly.