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.

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AEW Five Fingers of Death 9/15 - 9/21 (Part 1?)

AEW All Out 9/20/25

Eddie Kingston vs Big Bill

MD: Eddie Kingston was out for over sixteen months. He comes back, stands tall, throws chops, and runs right into a big boot. 

That's Eddie Kingston for you.

Look, I had it in my head that Eddie could move a needle. He connects with the audience. He's the most human wrestler there is. If Hangman's greatest strength is his relatability, Eddie has it ten times more. I think it's time at 43 for him to shift from the pillars to Inoki and Jumbo, but he chases what he loves and he'll chase it forever, and there's nothing more compelling in wrestling than the chase. 

So yeah, I wanted "The Mad King's Return" or something like that, a themed show, because if the company makes a big deal out of something, there's a chance the audience feels like it's a big deal. If they don't make a big deal out of it, then there's no chance. It's the same thing with Orange Cassidy, by the way. Hyping him up as a wink wink mystery partner on Wednesday is fine. But it slots him. It limits him. A return is a chance to reset, and the most important thing in wrestling isn't 5-star matches in and of themselves, but instead how those 5-star matches are presented. If you do something amazing, if you have an amazing wrestler, hype it and frame it and let it breathe and let it matter.

If you look at the history of AEW, Eddie's the most reliable second match wrestler in the world. 

And here he was now, second match on the card, running into a boot.

I bet you're wondering how he got here.

But you're not. Because you know Eddie and it's more or less exactly where you expected him. He rose to the top of the world and then he fell as far as one could fall. 16 months out. And that spot? The one that took him out? It felt inevitable. He'd lost two of his titles. He was about to lose the third. 

But what did he do? He didn't hang it up. He didn't call it quits. He saw Homicide riding off into the sunset and felt like he had to right the balance, like the hole was too big.

And now he's back. Maybe he sold some tickets because they announced him. He missed All In, wasn't there for the surprises and returns to help vanquish Mox. Mox is still in front of him. Another inevitability. 

Instead, he's here, in Toronto, second match on the card, against someone else with a chip on his shoulder that called him out.

And he's running into a boot.

Bill's good at living in the moment. He's good at expressing that chip, making the most of it. He mocked Eddie, mocked the fans, paintbrushed him with his foot. 

But then, Eddie's used to that. He took, and he took, and he took. He took all that life had to throw at him. Then he got up, and he fired back, and he won.

Maybe Eddie didn't get up too high on those Black Hole Slams. Maybe that second Uraken didn't quite hit. Maybe he ran into a big boot. Two actually.

But you see, Eddie's back and he's just getting started. He's rebuilding. He fell so damn far after climbing so high, and he's got a ways to go. 

And whether he'd admit it, or whether he'll believe it, or whether he'd even want it to be the truth, he's going to carry each and every one of us on his back as he climbs. 

And he'll fill that hole in the world like only Eddie Kingston can.

That's not inevitable. It's damn hard work. 

But we can count on him to do it anyway.

Eddie Kingston, everyone.

-------

Darby Allin vs Jon Moxley [Coffin Match]

MD: This is a story about a man with his back against the wall. Jon Moxley crossed lines that can't be uncrossed. He made claims and didn't back them up. He didn't need to back them up. It's 2025. Might equals right, right? 

Only so much as people keep their head down, only so much as people fall in line, only so much as people don't fight back.

Darby Allin got pushed down a flight of stairs, climbed to the top of the world, and then came back to fight. 

He helped Hangman Page defeat Jon Moxley (though, paradoxically, in every way that mattered, Page defeated him on his own, and at the same time, in every way that mattered, Jon Moxley defeated himself. It was quite the night). 

And now Jon Moxley is left without a title, a king without a kingdom, with a hungry army to feed, no harvest before him, a cold, harsh winter on its way. 

His back's against the wall, and those walls? They're closing in. 

One on each side, top, bottom, left, right. Death itself. A coffin.

Darby Allin's signature match. The perfect match for a man who chases death to feel alive.

The consequences of his actions, of the price he was willing to pay (that he paid with his soul as his enemies paid with their bodies) finally caught up to Moxley. 

He emerged with his usual swagger only to find Darby waiting for him in ambush. Like always, Darby turned his own body into a weapon, leaping from above. Darby moved with abandon. Every assault outside the ring did as much damage to him as to his foe. Even a dropkick would leave him broken upon the arena steps. A dive into the coffin would shatter not just his bones and Moxley's, but the coffin itself. 

In a match strewn with symbolism, a coffin barely held together, barely able to be closed, was the perfect centerpiece. 

As was Moxley bleeding from the ear, another piece of revenge, and not the last of the night either, but a well that Darby could go back to again and again to counteract the size and focus and cruelty of Mox. 

The Death Riders came out when Mox had an advantage. They watched as he and Shafir stumbled in bringing the coffin into the ring, only then managing it with their help. Symbols upon symbols. He sent them back, all of them, for he felt victory well in hand and didn't want to share in the glory.

Allin was ready though, a fork hidden in the turnbuckle, a plastic bag held by Bryan Danielson, a man who could no longer do what needed to be done thanks to Moxley, but that could enable Allin, could nod in solemn approval, as the last parenthesis was closed, and balance was restored to the world.

But Moxley is a sore on all that's right and good. His violence is one thing, but there's a hypothetical purity to that. 

No, it's his hypocrisy which pushes the world off balance. He sent the Death Riders back but kept an ace up his sleeve, a bastard ready to strike.

The fans popped for the surprise. They chanted at a key moment. Details matter. This Toronto crowd especially was going to lean towards sentiment, even in the face of serious drama. Looking back, having PAC ambush Darby a week ago and having Garcia turn here was likely the better play. Details Matter.

But no one's going to remember the "He's Our Bastard" chants down the line. They'll remember Mox's defining hypocrisy though. 

Jon Moxley lost his kingdom. His back's against the wall. The consequences of his actions continue to come for him. But he escaped death on this night, though it remains, as it will always remain, just one step behind him.

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AEW Five Fingers of Death 8/28 - 9/3 Part 2

AEW All Out 9/4/23

Bryan Danielsion vs Ricky Starks (Strap Match)

MD: Well, this was special, huh? Where to begin here? What's my "in?" It has to be just how thoroughly this was thought out. In some ways, it felt like the exact opposite of the Okada match. There, Danielson, arm broken, had to adapt in-ring against an opponent he'd never faced, with a language barrier, in the main event of one of the biggest matches of the year. Here? Here, according to Danielson, they had run every single beat of this not just in front of an agent or Khan but in front of the AEW doctor. Like I said last week, we don't know what we don't know as it pertains to how he calls or plans matches generally, but we do know about these two matches, and I can't speak for anyone else, but for me it's the most impressive sort of range in the world. Think about it. How is it not an amazing testament to Danielson that he was able to work two completely different sorts of matches with such limitations and such stakes and that he completely nailed both.

Watch the thing back. He doesn't utilize his arm for anything. He doesn't lift anything heavier than the strap the whole match. There are one or two moments where he bumps onto the arm (his own corner dropkick and when Starks cuts him off with the clothesline out of the corner, which was such an important moment in the match). There isn't a single "move" out of Danielson or Starks in this one. Everything is a strike, using the strap, or using a part of the ring as a weapon, and even then, for those latter bits it's mostly jamming a head against something (stairs, post).

And yet somehow this coexisted on a show which had two other violent maulings in Mox vs Cassidy and the Darby match but also a super-maximalist encounter between Omega and Takeshita. And while some might disagree, to me, this eclipsed them all. It was the combination of brutality and character, the paradoxical weight of repetitive blows and the basking in moments between them. Starks created so much of the motion here, did so much of the physical lift, but just about anyone on the roster could have done that. What just about anyone could not do was to match Danielson in the moments in-between.

He started the match by running, stalling, checking his pulse, slapping a hand. During the ambush, he blew a kiss to the crowd. After opening Danielson up with the weight belt shot, he ran over to kiss a woman's hand (thus obfuscating the blading). As the match went on, he'd scream in agony or ecstasy depending on his point of advantage in the match. He'd gloat that it was his house or recoil in defiant disbelief as Danielson shrugged off blows and promised retribution. While he didn't wear his crimson mask as well as Danielson, years of emotion, of struggle and disappointment and perseverance bled out of the chip on his shoulder, all building to that moment at the end when the camera focused directly on face as his windpipe proved to be less formidable than his willpower and consciousness left his eyes. 

This was planned to a perfection, key emotional moments balanced carefully with the wild excess of leather striking flesh again and again and again, wild and reckless and measured and precise. It was the perfect combination of far too much and barely anything at all, the bridge between them blood and emotion and violence, that ultimate alchemy of what pro wrestling can be at its very best and most primal, not the reality of war, but the ultimate illusion of it.

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AEW Five Fingers of Death: 8/29 - 9/4 Part 2

All Out 9/4

Sting/Darby Allin/Miro vs. House of Black (Malakai Black/Brody King/Buddy Matthews)

MD: While this broke down at the end, it also felt very different from the last couple of far more chaotic Sting PPV matches. I loved the roles in the first half, with Miro taking the shine, Darby eating the heat, and Sting in there for the comeback. That was a different layout to the opening pairings in the FTR trios for instance. There was a sense throughout of real unity for the House of Black, something that, when combined with their size and presence, means even after their loss in the trios tournament and here, they'll be viable challengers for the trios belts or the tag titles without much effort. Miro sort of dropped out as the match went on as much more of the focus was on Sting or Darby but I liked his interactions in general, first refusing to tag in Darby and then telling Darby (who was trapped in a neutral corner) that he had to listen to him and make it over to make the tag. The bit at the end with Sting refusing to break the Scorpion even as he was getting battered and then with the mist (learned it from Muta) were both iconic. This probably could have played just as well on TV as PPV but it was still a lot of fun.

Bryan Danielson vs. Chris Jericho

MD: Full disclosure. Due to things like parental responsibility, I didn't get a chance to catch most of the PPV until Monday morning and then I jumped around a lot. This was probably the third match on the show I saw. That meant I wasn't experiencing it like the live crowd or a lot of you. I know there were criticisms of this maybe being placed wrong on the card or that it went too long, and while I agree with the latter to a degree and in a specific way I'll get into in a moment, I can't really speak for the former. Therefore, overall, this was a hit to me, not a miss. This might well be Jericho's career year and I thought the overarching story of the match was excellent, really. He had dusted off the Lionheart persona and style and had great success against Jon Moxley with it, as it played against very specific weaknesses of Mox. Now, with pride on the line, he came in expecting to repeat his success against Danielson, only to find he was brushing up against Danielson's strengths. You could see it early through his facial expressions. He came out posing and grinning through an immediate successful exchange or two, got immediately knocked on his ass, threw a chair, and came back finding the grin again. He had a couple of tricked out moves that had worked wonders against Moxley but when they failed him against Danielson, he had no recourse other than to go right back to them and fail again. That, as much as anything else was the story. He may have been able to escape a lot of what Danielson was putting him in, barely, but Danielson was easily escaping his holds and shifting back to being the aggressor. 

Whatever the Lionheart was, it was less of one thing than the whole of Bryan Danielson. Lionheart was a mask that Jericho put back on, an artificial guise, but as much as it freshened him up and gave him novel angles to attack from, he found himself too married to it and it limited him and forced him into stubborn mistakes (like the plancha to the outside which cost him). Danielson on the other hand, was the sum of everything he'd ever been, something that culminates with the seated zen position he's been using to absorb damage and throw his opponents off as of late. Where Jericho hid in his own past (and as the match went on, hid poorly, constantly adjusting pants that no longer fit correctly), Danielson wrestles like a man fully actualized. The story was so clear and clean that I wouldn't have cut any of the matwork from the beginning or middle of the match. It wasn't gratuitous. It was the point. That said, I do think the finishing stretch (everything from the first, countered Lionsault) probably went too long. There was escalation desperation in Jericho but they could have cut a few minutes and still gotten that across. In the end, they got to where they needed to be, delusion and cowardice and rationalization and a low blow to prop up a false, flimsy pride, as Daniel Garcia watched on shaking his head. Jericho, like all the greatest heels, came in expecting to win on his own merit and only succeeded to lie to himself once again.

Jon Moxley vs. CM Punk

MD: Going to stick straight to the match here. A couple of days ago, Phil wrote an explainer on the Ringer on where the backstage stuff stood and by the time this gets posted, Dynamite will have aired and things that are moving quickly will reach some other destination. I won't make this a retrospective or wax poetic on the last year. I did think this was very good though. It inverted the match from Cleveland, where Punk came in looking for a title match and Moxley rushed forward, unrelenting from the bell. There, that forced Punk off his balance and caused him to blow up his own leg. Here, he was ready both for Moxley's Hansenian onslaught, which he met head on and for his own kick, which hit picture perfect. That meant instead of early Death Riders, we got the early GTS. Things went to the outside after that, Moxley's domain, and maybe Punk hurt his arm on the dive or maybe he was selling that he did, but Mox was able to take over and open him up. The crowd, despite being in Chicago, couldn't deny Moxley at times and despite his attitude, despite (or because of?) his barbarism and dominance, they gravitated back towards him. For a while, he'd get heat by taking it so over the top. After Punk was opened up and after he made sure that the opening became a gusher, he licked the blood. Shortly thereafter, he jammed his own head against Punk's so that it'd be all over his face. When Punk started to come back from the woundwork, he went straight to the leg to cut him off. With Moxley, the malice is personal, but you shouldn't take it personally. It's universal. He carries disdain for each and every person he faces. He's a storm and it's up to his opponent to endure it and to cobble out a meaningful match from it. If you cut him (scrape him even), he will bleed. If you punch him, his head will rock. If you stretch him, he will know pain. But it's up to you to channel and redirect the forward motion, the potential energy of him, into something coherent. 

As Mox continued to dismantle and batter his opponent, Punk was able to endure however he could, was able to tough it out, was able to survive, even if sometimes that meant going for an eye. Moxley returned favor by biting the wound, by stubbornly, and unfairly (because fairness has nothing to do with pro wrestling) cutting him off by going after the leg. But eventually, Punk lasted long enough to get under Moxley, literally, and to drop him down into a GTS. In another world, that's the image that would stick with us of this night, the remnants of the match's second GTS and all the damage that had been inflicted on Punk since the first, a hobbled Moxley draped over a bloodied and exhausted Punk, and Punk's eyes opening as he saw what he needed to do. A talking point in our circle about Survivor Series 97 was that the main event between Bret and Shawn was actually shaping up to be their best match together. I might not go so far with this one, but it had a lot of merits on its own, and I can't help but wonder if in years to come, all of those will simply be a similar afterthought to everything that transpired after.

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