AEW Five Fingers of Death 4/20 - 4/26 Part 1

AEW Collision 4/25/26

RUSH vs Adam Priest 

MD: Adam Priest knows the score. He might be Any Style. He might be the heir to Alabama wrestling. Some days that means he's a Dirty White Boy. Some days it means he's virtually an Armstrong, a modern day Bullet. He might be in his own lane when it comes to getting under people's skin or even getting them to back him when it matters most. Hell, he might even be in his own lane when it comes to finding a way to scrape out even the most unlikeliest of wins.

But he's smaller. Lower on in the rankings. An underdog. Not the biggest fish in a new pond that's a hell of a lot bigger.

Adam Priest knows the score. He knows it as well as anyone.

And he doesn't give a damn about it.

RUSH isn't a wrestler. He's not a luchador. He's someone whose name is in all caps. He didn't ask for that. He didn't demand it. He earned it. It's undeniable. He's an out of control bull. He's violence and volatility. He's two fists, two feet, one head, no mercy, coming right at your face at all times.

He's the embodiment of seething fury mixed with smug assurance. He wears a bull mask out from the back and somehow seems more dangerous when he takes it off. He slaps his chest and the fans chant his name. He rolls back and makes the center of the ring his home, calm as can be, fist outstretched into the air, potential energy just waiting to explode.

So what does Adam Priest do? He takes a few steps out and punts that mask down the ramp. He puts his life in his hands and then outstretches that selfsame hand for a shake. When RUSH kicks it, he shrugs it off like it was nothing. "Now why did that guy go and do that? I'm a sportsman." He knows the score. Don't let him fool you about that.

They start wrestling. It's inconclusive. Priest ducks away and puts his fingers on his forehead, bull horns, bucks a bit for good measure. RUSH sees red. 

Was Priest trying to throw him off? Make him make a mistake? No, I don't think so. Priest knows the score. You can't fight the tide. Priest knows all about the tide. You can't beat it, but maybe you can make it work ten times harder than it ought to along the way. You can't kill the bull but you can leave your mark on it, and give the people a hell of a show in the process. 

Because what's a man without his pride?

They get scrapping. RUSH gets the better of it. And Priest? He just asks for some more. The commentators take note. The crowd takes note. RUSH takes note. If you can't win, then lose as big and bold and bright as possible.

RUSH controls through the break. The feed goes for a minute and we come back and somehow, miraculously, Priest has fought his way back. No idea how. We're almost better off not knowing. He's Any Style Adam Priest after all. Could have been anything. All that matters is that he's taking his pound of flesh, and that Tony Schiavone calls him hitting an Alabama Jam. Living the dream. 

It turns to a nightmare quickly enough. RUSH sidesteps, hits a German off the ropes, takes Priest outside to thrash him against the guardrails a bit, pulls him back inside. Priest  absolutely messed with the bull. So he got the horns. 

But no one's going to remember the horns. For once, all anyone's going to remember is that this bastard was brave and daring and sharp and good enough to mess with the bull. 

And what about us? The people viewing this. Why do we watch wrestling in the first place? It's not to count kickouts and give out star ratings. It's not. Some people have lost sight of that, but it's not. 

It's to feel something. You know what made me feel something? Priest kicking that mask down the ramp. It wasn't a 450. It wasn't some tricked out counter. It wasn't barbed wire or light tubes. It was just one absolute bastard drawing a line in the sand because he could. He knew the score. We knew the score. He just didn't care. He REALLY didn't care. He didn't care so much that we couldn't do anything but care for him.

There's a magic to that. There really is. And wrestlers like RUSH and Priest help us remember it when the rest of the world has worked so hard to make us forget.