AEW Five Fingers of Death 5/18 - 5/24 Part 1

AEW Double or Nothing 5/24/26

Darby Allin vs MJF

MD: When you think about MJF's biggest rivals, you think Moxley and Darby and Hangman and Wardlow. Maybe you even think Punk. When I think of Maxwell Jacob Friedman's biggest rival though, there's really only one answer: modern crowds.

They're irony-pilled, celebratory, happy to be there, wanting to see great matches far more than they want to see a specific winner or loser. More often than not (most often, even), they want to chant for their own sake and pop for spots more than they want to get invested in the story being told in the ring, no matter how good it is. The well's been poisoned since the mid-90s by babyfaces who wanted to steal the show in order to get over and heels who walked around cool and uncaring. AEW was built upon the premise that the fans were smarter than pro wrestling, that the wrestling was meant to be smart for the fans, great matches, five stars. Sheet darlings. Excess on top of excess on top of excess. All highs, no lows.

The owner of the company, for all of his good qualities, tweets out every "This is Awesome" chant. Sometimes a match isn't supposed to be awesome. Sometimes the fans aren't supposed to be awed. Sometimes they're supposed to feel other emotions beside elation for what they're seeing. But that's the measure of success in the company, everything being Awesome. 

And so many of the wrestlers, having grown up in this post-modern environment and having found success in it when maybe they wouldn't be able to find success any other way, don't see this as an issue, don't see it as a problem. They want to pop themselves. They want to pop their buddies. And yeah, they want to pop the crowd. And pop it again. And again and again and again and again and again. Let's face it, it's easier to burn something down than to build it up. It's easier to keep people buzzing so you don't have to pay attention to details and build something that stands on its own.

That makes it all the more impressive then that Max wants something more. He can hang. He can have spotfests. We've seen them, usually to his detriment as a character and a wrestler. He certainly has to survive on a card which is full of these things. He has to deal with crowds that are conditioned by them and by a critical underpinning that rewards them over and over, a perfect circle of spot-driven slop where the true emotion that fueled wrestling for decades is kept secondary, not because of any loss of kayfabe but because of fans', wrestlers', and critics' self-consciousness finally driving them to present a sort of wrestling that makes the spots into the ends instead of the means.

He's reprehensible as a character, yet even in the best of cases, fans pop for his music, shout along with the ring announcer saying his name, and chant for him half the match. He has to constantly jab at them, show vulnerability, avoid being cool, cheat, cower, give them nothing to latch on to because they'll latch onto literally anything they can to stop themselves from feeling something genuine and to instead feel like they're on the inside and cool for watching wrestling. It's like they, much like many, many wrestlers are afraid of looking down, are afraid of falling, but it's in the falling that we let go, that we let ourselves get swept along by the thrilling and wondrous rapids below, that we let ourselves truly feel and experience the joy of professional wrestling.

And all Max wants to do is to make people feel that, to have them react so he can feel it as well, to create that perfect feedback loop of a heel in front of a crowd that lets themselves, even just for one night, hate him, that lets out all of their pent up aggression and frustration at the world in the direction of a sin eater who is willing and able to take it all off their backs. It's the greatest gift any wrestler can give any crowd.

But they sure don't make it easy for him. The world doesn't make it easy for him.

Thankfully, he's up for the challenge, the greatest challenge that there could possibly be for any modern wrestler.

Let's look at how he did it here. 

They stacked the deck. That's the entire point of pro wrestling. You're not supposed to leave things to chance. You're not supposed to go out there and have a great match and let the fans lean one way or another. You stack the deck.

They created value. Darby's reign had value. Fans are getting a great match every week, sometimes two. They don't care about much but they sure as hell care about great matches. They care about great matches more than just about anything.  If Darby survived this, there was going to be another month of them. And Rush was next. I wanted to see Darby vs Rush. I was invested in that. An unstoppable force and an object that gets battered all over the place. Beautiful mayhem.

They created stakes. MJF put his place in history, his legacy, his need to be at the top and remembered (because his character cannot accept any other sort of more human and intimate love or recognition) up against his hair. That's no small thing and his vulnerability over it is everything. He has Hollywood aspirations. It's a heel showing weakness to admit or at least let others allude to the fact he went to Turkey to stop the natural weight of time. Darby forced the issue since he wouldn't accept anything less than MJF's total humiliation. MJF did everything he could to avoid the match being made along those terms. There's nothing cool about that. It's a heel letting himself care as much as possible, both about the title and about his own hair, even if both were entirely for the wrong reasons. That's great character stuff right there. Total investment with nothing for the fans to latch on to and everything to revile. Meanwhile, Darby was fighting off opponent after opponent, often a physical underdog, his own body giving out, giving the fans everything to latch on to.

Even then, they had to go a step forward. This was a PPV crowd, a festive crowd, a New York crowd. Thus the pre-show angle with Foley. MJF came out, got cheap heat (having to use every tool at his disposal) by insulting the Knicks, ran down Foley, and then when Foley stood back up to him, hit him, not cleanly or honorably despite the age and physical differences but with a low blow. Then, when Darby ran out, he ran off. 

When it came time for ring introductions, Max cut off Justin Roberts to make sure that his introduction was as insulting as possible, trying to completely obliterate whatever was left of a homefield (or heel-field advantage). Even then, the fans still shouted M J F. But they cheered more for Darby. And that was no small thing.

The match was worked about as smartly as possible, starting with headlock takeovers and building upon the last month of Darby's matches. Ten years from now when people are watching this for the first time as footage, I'd suggest they go through the entire title run before getting here. 

There were a number of little callbacks and payoffs. Darby has been winning these matches by getting his opponents to get out of their comfort zone and put themselves at risk. He was able to manage it with MJF here, the package pile driver on the stairs hurting MJf almost as much as it did Darby. MJF could have just power bombed him instead but he got lost in the moment. That's the power of Darby. Allin had won matches by hitting the Coffin Drop immediately after an opponent survived the Scorpion, and Max was ready for that, knees up. Likewise, Max has been so dirty and underhanded with low blows, but for the second time in a month, Darby almost won with one. Darby had been using a clutch guillotine to make up for size or speed advantages against his opponents and that's what he used to set Max up for his insane balcony dive. And finally, he had collapsed in the Scorpion very early in the match against Sammy a week or two ago (allowing him to survive the physical lapse) and here it happened deep, deep into the match and was probably what ultimately won it for MJF as much as anything else. 

And of course, they did a great job teasing the top rope tombstone early so that they could pay it off late. Details matter and the match was full of clever ones that were meant to play upon the fans' understanding and push them where they needed to be.

Yet still, they struggled to get there. As the match entered the last third, as Darby was making a big comeback, the fans were chanting for both men. That's when things really threatened to go off the rails. This was an apuestas match, a grudge match, but it was also a title match and sometimes some people feel like at title match needs certain things. This didn't have matwork necessarily, but because the eventual pin mattered so much here, they decided (I imagine Max did but I can't say for sure), at the very worst time possible, when the fans were chanting for both men and losing the plot, to do a roll up exchange. It was fun. It was exciting. The fans enjoyed it. It was the worst thing they could have done at the worst time, something that might have felt inescapable, but really, truly (trust me) was possible to avoid.

Thankfully, through hook or crook, through careful planning or sheer happenstance (I don't know which), Max was more than ready and up to the task to get the fans back aligned for the finishing stretch. Right after the roll-up exchange, MJF ended up at the floor and Darby went for his third dive of the match (the first was redirected, the second hit clean). MJF, in his only (successful) truly underhanded move of the match, pulled the cameraman in front of him to use him as a human shield creating an amazing visual image as Darby careened in. That got the crowd where it needed to be. Details matter. I think, in this case, Max had made it a bit harder for himself with the roll-ups and the subsequent stare-off, but maybe, just maybe, that had just lulled the fans into a false sense of security so that MJF could be devious and reprehensible all the more. What followed was his attempt to go for the clippers and his comeuppance with Darby's massive dive: stage set and deck stacked for the tragic finish of Darby collapsing and MJF taking advantage like a vulture picking at the bones. 

Max is 30 years old. I watch a match like this and I think he has mostly (mostly) won the battle against his own youth and the lack of discipline that comes along with that, against all the easy answers that have plagued so many of his peers, and through them plagued pro wrestling over time. But I watch a match like this and I listen to the crowd, and it's plain and obvious that there's still a greater war ahead of him, a war to convince them that it's in their own interest to let go and feel, to go along for the ride in the moment, to get that perfect, wonderful experience that you can only get from pro wrestling where you cheer a babyface and boo a heel and invest in the story unveiling before you. He lets himself be vulnerable in ways that so many of his predecessors were afraid to. The war is going to be to convince the fans to trust in him and their own hearts and the wonder of pro wrestling and do the same. 

I watch a match like this and I think maybe, just maybe, with time on his side and his own battle already won, it's a war he might well win.