AEW Five Fingers of Death 10/5 - 10/11

AEW Dynamite 10/7/26

Darby Allin vs Kyle Fletcher

MD: Darby Allin is an attraction. In all the history of modern televised wrestling, he's one of the only attractions I can think of that wrestled every week. You can argue that peak Goldberg or Rock would be up there. Which is not to say he's an attraction on the magnitude of either. Maybe you could argue Sabu as the closest comparison point. Maybe peak Jeff Hardy as well. Hell, maybe Mistico at either of his peaks too. He's something to see. He's going to do something spectacular. You're going to regret missing it. Wrestling is a three-ring circus and he's in at least two of the rings and the sideshow to boot: the death-defying stuntman riding a motorcycle through fire, the acrobat up on the tightrope, the skeletal geek who can survive incredible amounts of pain.

There's been some pretty tedious discourse the last few weeks about how well he's been protected this year too. Yes, Darby wins a lot. Yes, he survives a lot. But the attention to detail is almost there. We'll get to that at the end of this one. Wrestling is more than just stats on a spreadsheet. It's more than wins and losses. Wins and losses matter, but they only matter in so much as the journey matters too. With Darby, the whole point is HOW he wins, HOW he survives, HOW he overcomes the odds. That's what makes wrestling worth watching. He's protected so that the emotional tether is there when he somehow survives. He's protected so when someone actually figures out a way to put him down, it matters more. 

Some fans today seem to want fairness and parity. But there have to be stars and the stars have to be protected. It's not what someone deserves. It's about what moves hearts and minds, and if you're not letting yourself go along with a story because you're more worried about some wrestler getting what they deserve, you're doing both the wrestlers (including that wrestler) and yourself a disservice. The effort has to be there. The level of detail has to be there. But at some point you have to open yourself to go on the journey they're trying to take you on. Maybe you'll like the ride, maybe you won't, but if you constantly want to be on another ride instead, then you're never going to enjoy yourself unless you get exactly what you want, and trust me, that gets real old real quick.

So the question then becomes How. How does Darby Allin overcome? And what makes it interesting is the variance in opponents, a variance made all the more interesting by Darby's specific skills and his specific weaknesses. His deficits. And how some of his strengths end up being deficits as well. 

Styles make fights, sure, but so do body types and disparities between wrestlers. You put Darby up against a Mark Davis or Jake Doyle or Wardlow or Brody King and he has different challenges and different opportunities than if you put him up against a Kevin Knight or Myron Reed. The former may be explosive at times, but they are bigger, stronger, quick but not nearly as quick as Darby. The latter can't leverage a huge strength advantage against him but Darby can't outquick them either.

Kyle Fletcher presents a unique threat for Darby though, and that's what made this interesting. Kyle is strong, yes, muscular as can be, but he's also relatively lean compared to the mentioned monsters. He's quicker than them, not as quick a Darby but quick enough to recover a split second sooner, to be ready to counter. The strength and size advantage isn't as much as the monsters, but it's enough. It gives him an answer to some of the questions that Darby forces upon both the monsters and the flyers and allows him to force plenty of his own upon Darby himself. And those questions are what make pro wrestling interesting (if you allow yourself to engage with them, that is).

Here, Darby came right at Fletcher but Fletcher could push him back. Darby shot himself towards Fletcher instead, but Fletcher was ready to catch him and toss him. It was an ebb and flow, one where Darby had to push himself more and more earlier in the match in order to do damage. he put them both through a table very early on because nothing else was working. He continued to take the risks like he so often does, but Fletcher was better suited to catch him and back body drop him from one announce table to the next. 

Darby is, of course, a cockroach, and with every moment he survives, he finds opportunities to strike. It could be as simple as a line of blood running down Fletcher's back (from that first table break) and Darby running his nails down the spine to counter a top rope move. But again, Fletcher is a uniquely dangerous opponent for him, constantly grasping and straining himself. In this case, as he was getting pulled over, he snatched at the top turnbuckle pad and yanked it off. 

It built to a point of escalation. Darby threw his best shots at Fletcher, hitting him with multiple Code Reds, but when that didn't work and Darby had to escalate further he missed a Coffin Drop on the apron. Fletcher capitalized and hit a Brainbuster, but it wasn't enough. He went up to the top and crushed Darby with the Avalanche Brainbuster onto the exposed turnbuckle. That was, perhaps overkill. The effort not only sent Darby out of the ring to the floor (where he could not be pinned for the title) but hurt Fletcher's leg instead. By the time that Fletcher was able to get the bloody husk of Darby Allin back into the ring, it was too late. Darby had recovered just enough to kick out. Attention to detail. It's everything. Yes, Darby survived Fletcher's very well protected finisher but there were any number of mitigating circumstances. This matters. If this doesn't matter, nothing matters, and if nothing matters, then there's no point anyway. Then you're just looking at the spreadsheet and there's no soul to what you're watching. You might as well not watch at all.

Fletcher went for a power bomb. Darby escaped and redirected him face first into the exposed turnbuckle. He honed in on the legs with the Deathlock. Fletcher survived but was vulnerable for two Coffin Drops. People say we've seen the sudden Coffin Drops too much as well, but they almost never work the same way twice. Or they work in multiple different ways appropriate for the moment. That variance matters. Those details matter. I'd argue they're only the same if you list them out on paper. In the moment, in the match, they feel as organic and opportunistic as can be.

Look, you can have favorites. You can hope someone gets pushed. You can even get frustrated that someone you don't want to see pushed is getting pushed (and yeah, I get that Darby has some historical personal issues but most of the arguments I am countering are not people talking about that, but instead about ANY wrestler being protected as a bad thing, a desire for parity, and his finishing sequence). That's all valid to a degree. But it's also something completely outside of your control. We've had one Yes Movement in twenty six years of wrestling this decade. 

You should not just eat what they're feeding you. You should be critical. You should question things. You should look for patterns. You can disagree with me. You can disagree with the company. You're not obliged to watch every match. You can pick and choose. It's better if you pick and choose. Trust me. But you should also question yourself and try to figure out why you feel the way that you feel. 

Yes, outcomes should matter. Yes, they shouldn't always be predictable, but pro wrestling has (almost) always been best when there is hierarchy and there are people clearly pushed. Outcomes matter, but the journey matters as much as the destination, maybe even more so because the destination is pre-decided. 

It's the How (... and the Who and the Why and even the Where and the When) that makes pro wrestling interesting, far more so than the What. And the questions around How for Darby Allin continue to be fascinating for me week in and week out. 

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Death Riders vs Don Callis Family Monster Army (AEW Five Fingers of Death 9/28 - 10/4 Part 2)

AEW Dynamite 9/30/26

Death Riders (Claudio Castagnoli/Gabe Kidd/Wheeler Yuta/Daniel Garcia/Bryan Danielson) vs Don Callis Family Monster Army (Josh Alexander/Wardlow/Jake Doyle/Lance Archer/Mark Davis)

MD: This speaks for itself. I'm not sure if I really can add anything to it. You saw it, right? You felt it. It was the capstone on a tribute to PAC, an incredibly emotional show. 

It'd be easy to write about Kingston vs TRENT instead, a perfectly solid TV match that went time and had some great selling from Eddie and Trent being a jerk, even if it felt a little like 1998 Big Bubba up against Vincent on Saturday Night. 

I could write about Collision, all of it, a show very much made for me week in and week out (Thanks Tony); write a Workrate Report, one where basically everything worked. 

But Bryan wrestled. 

While we have all learned over the last few years that Bryan Danielson loves to lie, he's not the only data point on this one. We've heard from TK and others. I honestly believe that the wear and tear is what the reports say it is. I believe that it's hard for him to fly. I believe that he will never step in the ring again lightly, maybe never at all, that maybe he never should again. Look, Phil posted on Twitter the other week that Bryan was pumped after DEAN 2 and wanted to get in there against Mad Dog Connelly. I know Phil. He wouldn't have posted it if there was any chance that it would possibly happen. I want nothing but a healthy, happy ending with his family for Bryan, even if it means I never see him wrestle another match.

So there's every possibility this will be Bryan Danielson's last match ever. And I should write about that.

And even if it wasn't, there IS something to say about this match. 

Maybe I don't have to write about the cathartic power of pro wrestling, something that has been helping people, in-ring and out, for over a century. Maybe I don't have to talk in general about how it can help us work out our personal issues, our societal issues, our aggression, our pain. Maybe I don't have to go on about how it can be a morality play where right can triumph through heart (yes, and visceral violence as well) no matter how unfair and complicated our red-tape laden world is. 

And I don't have to talk about my last few weeks. I don't have to talk about how this match actually landed on my birthday, how it came a few days after my nine year old's birthday, how my parents who are pushing 80 real hard and I see twice a year came this last weekend, how the cat likely has pancreatitis or how we're trying to get a new boss up to speed at work. I don't have to go into detail about how I've been online for over two decades talking about pro wrestling with people and how we've carried each other through the losses of the 2000s and how everyone came together here over the last few weeks as well. And how balancing those two worlds threw me at times over this period, or how, yeah, I cried once or twice. You guys have all been living it too.

But I can talk about this match and what will stick with me from watching it.

I love this version of the Don Callis family. Maybe I'd have wanted Brian Cage in there instead of Alexander, but Alexander is probably taller and he's got the head gear and the tattooed arms and he looked like he fit in with all the other monsters. It's a Monster Army in a world of wrestling where that's far less of a thing than it once was. I'm watching 1990 NJPW where Bam Bam Bigelow is teaming with Big Van Vader and Dr. Death Steve Williams and this feels similar. Larger than life, with Wardlow returning to bring up the rear. 

The Death Riders huddled around PAC's chair. Marina lingered with it though the camera cut, so we didn't see how. We did see Danny go out of his way to get a kid's attention and then Marina linger with the kid as well. That matters. All of this does. Mox came to the desk, and while I had likened Eddie Kingston to Columbo recently, Mox was leaning into it hard here. It was cute, yeah, cute, endearing. "Oh it's live wrestling. Let's just let it play out." Something like that. "Just one more thing."

The Death Rider sting hit. Bryan's music hit. And people smiled. You just saw flashes of faces in the crowd. It was easier to see the hands go up and down for the Yes! chants, but you clearly could see the smiles too. Even on this night, people lit up. Tony and Excalibur were laughing heartily. It was wonderful. The power of one person, one song, one movement. A burst of sun through the darkness, dragonfire lighting the sky.

They got right to it, brawling around ringside, big, broad, over the top wrestling. Larger than life. A lot of the above, I didn't notice on a first watch. I was just living it. 

What I did notice on the first watch? The spin. I noticed the giant spin. And I noticed super babyface Marina Shafir spinning along with it at ringside (and selling the dizziness). 

Marina interjected herself a few times in this one, once putting Archer in a dangling armbar in the ropes, once joining in during the team corner charges, and once giving Danny permission or at least a stamp of approval to do his dance. The dance? That served as a lure to set up the corner charges. 

Every time Marina got involved, everything felt so alive. The intensity was through the roof. I know I say this phrase too much and now that I write this, you'll see it whenever I use it again, but I don't care, because it's true. The living, beating, endlessly dynamic lifeblood of pro wrestling was pulsing through her. She was doing all of these bombastic things, but she was still herself, still as intense and driven and in the moment as ever and it all felt so alive. 

And the other Death Riders did such a good job of distracting the ref and covering for her. Things could have broken down, fallen apart, and no one would have cared. Everyone would have just looked the other way or forgiven it, but they care enough about their craft and in turn in crafting an immersive reality that we can delve into that they put the attention to detail in. That is everything, even on this night (especially on this night given what we know about PAC), and I appreciate it so much.

Wardlow got to assert himself cutting off Yuta, hitting him with a fireman's carry Michinoku Driver (I call that the Amityville Horror because of Chris Chetti, but I can't imagine most other people do). Then Yuta played face in peril and the fans got behind him. (I need to fit this in here somewhere but I love the way Doyle makes a bit more space to his his forearms). I don't want to talk about the future or consequences, not really, because this wasn't about that, any of that, because very little could have mattered more than this match on this night. I will say this, however. They came back out on Collision and Yuta was enough of a heel against Austin Gunn that while he maybe couldn't fully get the crowd to boo him so soon after this, he could help them cheer the Bang Bang Gang instead and that is no small thing.

Just as it was no small thing that the crowd was so behind him here. Again, everything felt so alive. The Death Riders went to the floor and slapped the mat and got the crowd going and Yuta survived through the commercial break and got the hot tag to Bryan.

Yes, Bryan had a shirt, but it was a PAC shirt. Yes, he stumbled on the back flip. But he back flipped! Mox mentioned muscle memory. People train for a comeback. He had some gear made for him that day and just went out there. He'd been gardening and helping his kids with homework and who knows what else, and here he was, Bryan Danielson, lightning in a bottle, magic from a lamp, the American Dragon. When he was on the apron and Yuta was struggling, you could see the sweat down his face just from the opening brawling, but it didn't matter. He came in and it was all the more special because it was all the less perfect, because it wasn't effortless, because it was hard and because he was doing it nonetheless.

He had a complete exchange with Alexander, a first time encounter, eating German Suplexes, put in the ankle lock, putting Alexander  over as a threat. He didn't have to do any of that (but of course, he did). He could have been the centerpiece of the match, but instead he made another hot tag to Danny who would get his dance spot and ultimately get the pin.

Things cycled through. Bryan ended up standing next to Yuta. They were going to do the Yes Chant, were going to hit tandem knees. There's a little moment there where Yuta looked to him to get the timing right on the hands and that was as emotional as anything else in the match.

The Death Riders swarmed in the corner. Gabe hit PAC's endless run lariat. Danny got in the Sharpshooter. Claudio hit the stomp. The Death Riders hugged. Mox, while leaving the booth, quietly told a fallen Wardlow that he did a good job even in defeat, one last bit of Columbo on the way out. Danny hugged Yuta from behind and that will stick with me too. 

And I should tie it all back together, right? The emotional power of pro wrestling, how the realness and the genuine emotion is what fuels the engine and how special this all was. How this helped us and how I hope it helped them. But if you made it this far, through this match, through these words, through life up until this point and the last few weeks, I know you know, and I know you can make it the rest of the way too. 

I will say this on the way out though. Pro wrestling can be amazing. When the wrestlers care and when the fans let themselves care, it can do absolutely amazing things. And in a world often full of darkness and uncertainty, we need every amazing thing we can get.

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Moxley vs Cassidy (AEW Five Fingers of Death (And Friends) 9/28 - 10/4 Part 1)

AEW Dynamite 9/30/26

Jon Moxley vs Orange Cassidy

MD: Wrestling is art and art is in the eye of the beholder. Authorial intent matters to a degree, but only to the degree you, as the observer, want it to matter, and only as it affects the ultimate execution. 

Which brings us immediately to the character of Jon Moxley.

Look, there's definitely one way you can view Mox's last few years. It's a way that I felt was important given consequence and weight to actions, important given the world we live in. Jon Moxley, the bandit king, the emperor with no clothes, a man who says one thing and does another and the, after the fact, says a third, a man who claims to want to save to the world when he really wants to loot it and hoard all of its wealth. 

You can see him as someone for which might makes right, because there's no other right he can claim; a wolf with his back against the wall, who desperately snatched success out of the maw of defeat in the C2 and saved himself for at least another day. A roiling, seething, lost man, a fallen hero upon a throne of lies. All that. 

The joy of stories is that you can look at them multiple ways. We're all too caught up in canon and lore and fictional truth. There are story points and it's up to us as viewers to connect them in ways that resonate.

So here's another way to look at the character of Jon Moxley. Maybe everything he said was true. Maybe he meant it all. He formed the BCC with Danielson because the next generation was moving in a direction that wasn't focused or driven enough for him. He turned on Danielson because he saw his friend breaking down, saw him reach the pinnacle but be unable to carry the load, and he had to send him home the only way that would keep. Maybe even more than that, he knew Bryan, with his good heart, wouldn't be able to take the steps necessary, so he took the choice out of his hands.

He transformed the BCC into the Death Riders to send a shock through the system. He didn't give praise or acknowledge Private Party when they won the world titles because they WON THE WORLD TITLES. That was enough. They didn't need a headpat from him. They needed to rise to their mantle like men. He became the villain doing horrific things because that was the only way to inspire heroes.

And he inspired Hangman Page to push past his own darkness and find his own light.

Then, his mission complete, he wandered lost for a few months. He gave Darby another mountain to climb, inspired O'Reilly to be something more. Then, he found his place, off to the side, a monolith for wrestlers to challenge themselves against when he won the Continental Championship. And when Will Ospreay came back, he was there to guide him towards greatness.

Maybe that was the story all along. 

And maybe it's that Jon Moxley that stood across the ring from Orange Cassidy to do homage to a fallen warrior, rival, compatriot. 

Maybe Jon Moxley is one of the only wrestlers to be able to push Orange Cassidy to be as much as he could possibly be, and more than he would want to be. Maybe he does that with everyone, a modern day Stan Hansen, a grindstone to sharpen all steel.

Cassidy might have won a match against Moxley by becoming more like him, tougher, meaner, angrier, harder. But he never truly defeated Jon Moxley that way. I think here, on the other side of so many encounters, he finally understands that. He can only defeat Jon Moxley by being as true to himself as possible.

That's how he approached this match. Moxley tried for a hammerlock early and Cassidy almost playfully refused to try to counter back and kept lunging for the ropes instead. He was then fluid, like water, redirecting Mox this way and that. 

Mox, of course, wasn't going to stand for that for long. He bludgeoned Cassidy, battered him on the floor, held him up for a long, extended pile driver. He leaned into his man-of-the-people persona with a ten count, but Cassidy returned favor slamming Moxley's head into the turnbuckle over and over. 

Moxley dropkicked him to the floor and Cassidy? Well, he decided it was time to unleash his true weapon. The mind games. 

What followed was a beautiful example of Orange Cassidy as the trickster archetype, rolling away from Mox again and again, casually, aggravatingly, staying out of reach. It all built to the moment of payoff, when Mox, disoriented and frustrated marched around the ring to get an advantage and found himself vulnerable to Cassidy's dive. 

I think something clicked in Mox there, that he realized, finally, that Cassidy had his own well of power, his own strength, his own talent, that he could achieve his own way, so long as he was entirely committed to it, so long as he put everything that he had into it. He didn't have to do things Moxley's way. 

And that let Mox be playful with him, rolling as well. It meant when he threw big forearms and Cassidy returned fire with his playful, listless kicks, Mox could play along. I think in that moment, maybe he saw Orange Cassidy not for who he wanted him to be, but for who Orange Cassidy really, truly was, and he saw his worth. 

Though not enough that he was going to put his hands in his pockets, of course.

They fought towards a finish. When Moxley put on the Brutalizer, it was with PAC in his heart (as it had been when he hit PAC's lariat), yes, but it was also a good move for the moment, capitalizing on a vulnerability. 

When Cassidy reversed it and positioned Moxley around, it was a mistake. He could have locked in the seatbelt or mousetrap at that point and might have even won, but he let sentiment get the better of him.

Of course he did. That's the secret of the character of Orange Cassidy. It's not that his antics are all mind games. Anyone who tries even a little to look past their own biases can see that. 

It's that despite all appearances, the character of Orange Cassidy cares. He cares so much. He cares more than anyone. He cares every moment of every day. Every match. Every exchange. Every triumph. Every defeat. It's all he can do to shove that down and hide it behind the sunglasses, because otherwise it'd burst out and drown the world. 

Here, he cared too much and he made a mistake. 

Mox? Mox cares too, but he cares about doing his job, even his job truly is to save pro wrestling. Here, he did his job, refocusing, reframing, hitting the Death Rider, winning.

But Cassidy, just like Moxley, stayed true to himself, and maybe, in losing as himself, in losing by caring too much, he won an even greater victory, one that he could share with Jon Moxley, and share with us all.

------------------------

And that's the text. 

There are so many different ways to engage with it, to put the pieces together, to find meaning and messages in pro wrestling, ones that can help us through our days and help us find clarity, that can entertain us and make us think and make us feel all sorts of things.

You could watch this match and get a completely different conclusion from it, and that's part of what makes all of this so beautiful.

It's their job to create. It's our job to engage. It's our job to keep an open mind and to open our hearts to what they're presenting. It's our job to figure out how it makes us feel and either hold that close inside or to let it out to tell the world. That means we can agree with it and disagree with it and hold it to standards and occasionally even give it a pass.

There's no right answer except for caring. That's their job. That's our job. That's their privilege and that's our pleasure. 

And as heartbreaking as it can sometimes be because of the costs that come along with it, it is a hell of a thing, and we're lucky to have it, to have them, and to have each other. 

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Eddie vs PAC

AEW Dynamite New Years Smash 1/13/21

Eddie Kingston vs PAC  

MD: A few years back, Eddie Kingston got to live out a lot of his pro wrestling dreams, getting to participate in the G1, facing off against some of his Japanese heroes and sitting down to talk with others. I wonder though, back in early 2021, when he stepped into the ring with PAC to finish off this mini-feud, if he saw endless opportunity before him. I wonder if he saw an opponent who had the rugged, unrelenting toughness of Dynamite Kid, the ingenuity, innovation, and dynamism of Liger, and the adaptability of Fuchi, who could go from a comedy spot to a technical title match to brutality at the blink of an eye. Who PAC evoked the most to me along those lines was probably Kuniaki Kobayashi, who always seemed primed to explode with seething intensity. But of course, in the end, PAC was unique, blazing his own trail and creating his own pro wrestling alchemy.

Likewise, I wonder what PAC saw in Eddie that night. Eddie wears his inspiration on his sleeve, sure, but he comes from a place of genuine, real caring. In a world of irony, he might be big and broad and over the top at times, but that chip in his shoulder drives right through the heart of you. 

This was still months away from the spark lighting and Eddie truly connecting to a returning crowd. At this point, he was positioned in that heatseeking, big talking 1984 Roddy Piper player/coach role. He'd gathered together the Butcher, Blade, and Bunny, and the Lucha Bros. Well and good until PAC came back after 8 months being forced away by the pandemic. The Lucha Bros chose PAC and Eddie took it out on them, keeping them backstage in the most violent way possible so they couldn't support Fenix in his title match against Omega.

There was still something just a little cartoonish about this Eddie, but he was committed to the role and leaned into it. In fact, for the first third of this match, he leaned into absolutely everything, a perfect canvas for the artist of violence, the human weapon that was PAC. 

PAC exploded into the ring with a missile dropkick. Eddie threw himself backwards into the turnbuckles and tumbled out of the ring to show the world just how explosive a missile it was. PAC followed it up with a dive, getting right in the camera after, punctuating the athleticism with that unmistakable seething energy.

He followed it up with four pump kicks in the corner. He was varying his offense, modulating it, taking his time, accentuating his point. This was a man who wanted to savor this. This was a man who wanted his opponent to suffer. You bought into the story being told. Eddie deserved to suffer. He had to. Why else would such a force of brutal justice rain down upon him like this? Eddie was the ideal human sponge to absorb the incessant vengeance of PAC.

Eddie is so good at little gestures. They're a bit overdone in pro wrestling now, that last middle finger before a killshot, but Eddie can pepper them throughout a match. Here he was on his knees selling and he shot a chop to the leg. Ineffectual in the grand scheme of things, but Eddie was alive and Eddie wouldn't quit and it was going to take more to put Eddie down. He showed it to PAC and he showed it to the world. 

PAC kept pressing, endless forward motion, but he overshot. Eddie was able to get one elbow out of the corner, one foot up, was able to drop a knee off the turnbuckles onto PAC's skull. Then he tossed him out so his minions could do damage. He was playing a role, playing it well. After Bunny raked PAC's eyes, Eddie was right there to hit him with an Exploder on the floor. 

Now it was Eddie's turn to take his time and lay it in. He targeted PAC's damaged neck (a neck he had damaged himself with a DDT a few weeks prior). More than that, though, he added insult to injury, pulling at PAC's beard, jamming his face into the bottom rope. In return, PAC seethed once again, the picture of fury waiting to be unleashed.

And unleashed he was. PAC fired back then sidestepped a charging Eddie to hit a German off the ropes. That took them into an extended final third of the match. Both threw bombs. Both caught one another with cutoff shots. Eddie hit a backfist and enziguri. PAC then got him when he was on the top rope with one of his own (Eddie did make an over the top face at that, leaning into his nefarious role maybe harder than he had to; like I said, it'd all click a few months later. And anyway, it was satisfying to see; Eddie deserved it). 

Then came the superplex, both men selling it like the huge move that it should be. Eddie tried another DDT hoping to break that neck he had previously injured, but PAC held on to the rope and hit one last dropkick. Eddie, again doing that sort of immersive selling that he's so good at, reached at PAC, reached and reached, unable to do anything else, reached far later than anyone else would have, even right before the impact as PAC sailed off the top onto him with the Black Arrow to secure the win. 

PAC was a force here. Eddie was stubborn and underhanded and unrelenting. Both of them came in with chips on their shoulder in this one, and it was how those chips scraped up against one another that made this engaging and unique. I don’t know what they were thinking that night, but I know how I felt watching the match. For all the people that they may evoke or may be inspired by, there's only one Eddie Kingston and there was only one PAC, and we only got to see them face off in a singles match one time, but at least we got to see it.

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AEW Five Fingers of Death 9/7 - 9/13 Part 1

AEW Dynamite (Rebel Heart) 9/9/26

Darby Allin/Steven Borden vs Josh Alexander/Mark Davis

MD: Brief programming note to start. I thought I'd drop this on Monday regardless of what aired Saturday night and I'd just catch up on that later in the week if I needed to but then we were told that The House Always Wins was being released on Sunday and I sit here Sunday morning rushing this one out since I know I'll want to cover something off of that. I'm also only one match in to catching up on Collision (Mox vs Bailey: good! with some great moments. Probably went a minute or two too long and too cute with the counters at the end but I'd argue it was right for that night and that crowd regardless) and there's both a priest match and what sounds like an emotional Battle Royal, so I don't know. Plus we (we being Eric, Phil, and JR, and all of us watching it) have DEAN~!!! Summer School today. My gut says I'm dropping a review all at once so it may take a little bit, and I will have a special guest for that. Tuesdays With Daddy, 80s Joshi, and Found Footage Friday should all drop. We're working on getting back to 91 Puerto Rico as well but real life has gotten in the way. We'll get there. It's a marathon, not a sprint. Bear with me on this one. I'm rushing it out.

ANYWAY, I've been watching a lot of 1990 NJPW lately. ALL 1990 NJPW that we have actually. I know it's challenging to find but I would suggest it. In 1989, Inoki left for politics, Sakaguchi retired with him, the heir apparent Fujnami went down with a brutal injury. They were bolstered by the Soviets as an attraction and the rise of Hashimoto (and to a lesser degree Chono) and the creation of Liger, and Muto (and to a lesser degree Sasaki) would be returning. But they needed a great hope, and that great hope was Koji Kitao. He was an already controversial sumo figure, but like Wajima in AJPW a couple of years before, brought great attention with his arrival.

They had him train with Brad Rheingans and Masa Saito for basically a year (with just a handful of matches in AWA as preparation) and then debuted him big at a huge show, with Bigelow (who is excellent at this sort of thing) to carry the load. In the months that followed, he'd be close to the top teaming with Choshu and Saito against guys like Vader, Bigelow, Larry Cameron, and Punisher Dice Morgan (Undertaker). They dressed him in Hogan's colors. They gave him the legdrop. Often times, they let him take the brunt of the match, eating a beating and coming back big to try to get the crowd behind him. 

And it was a disaster. Showcased like he was, with strikes that really didn't hold up relative to his peers despite his size, the crowd turned on him. They started chanting for Vader and Bigelow in a way that hadn't happened at all over the last few years. Choshu or Saito would try to get the crowd back into it but it was a failed experiment which then got even worse (even as maybe he was starting to turn the corner a little) due to his terrible backstage attitude. He'd be gone by summer.

At the same time, on the first or second match of the card, Osamu Matsuda was toiling away, facing off against guys like Black Cat, Nogami, Hata, or Iizuka. He'd start to pick up wins as the year went on, getting better as he went. He had the luxury of a slow and gradual growth, followed by an excursion in UWA where he could develop the El Samurai character so that when he returned, he could make an impact. 

Two different paths. Two wildly different results. 

And here, in the middle, seems to be Steven Borden. Obvious he has the genes. He certainly has the look, evoking Brandon Lee in the Crow more than his father as the Crow, fitting in perfectly with Darby despite being his own thing. But he's come into wrestling very late in life. They've had him work dark matches and indies, so the preparation is there, but they're starting him on TV right in an upper mid-card tag. No Punisher Dice Morgan here though. Alexander and Davis are seasoned and know their jobs.

They also treated him like an attraction on the apron. He came in to start, working a couple of simple sequences against Davis and highlighting his vertical leap on a leapfrog. There was a moment early where, after a collision, he ran up and hit an armdrag and it seemed wonky. Most wrestlers don't do that in that way. People come to them for an armdrag. But it almost felt like playing chess against a layperson. If they're just figuring it out, they might do something out of the norm that you'd never expect and it'd caught you off guard. 

Then Darby came in and got chop blocked by behind by Alexander, crumbling legs under him in a way only he could. One senton later and they were right into a face-in-peril. As Davis and Alexander made quick tags as if they were competing on who could toss Darby through the mat the most, and as they decided to do it together by lawn darting him across the ring, Borden stood on the apron. I'll admit I only focused on him when the camera focused on him, but whenever the camera did, he was high energy, chomping at the bit to get in there. 

Alexander and Davis tried to take him out from the apron once or twice but he was resilient and made sure he was there for Darby when the tag came. Then something magical happened. His comeback was simple and straightforward. Basic moves done with high energy. The crowd, this special Athens Georgia crowd, channeled the spirit of Georgia crowds of old. You know all of that Omni footage that has been released the last few years, that absolute treasure trove from even the faltering days of Georgia Championship Wrestling? Every time a babyface made a punch or hit a move, there'd be this beauty burst of sound from the crowd. An "Oooooh." And without prompting, without warning, they were doing it here for Borden. The most advanced thing he did was running up the stairs on the outside to hit a jumping clothesline, but the fans were treating it all like something special. By being so straightforward and basic (and maybe by reminding them of his dad) he stood out in a sea of complex moves and counters.

They went into a back-and-forth finishing stretch. Darby tried a go behind on Alexander and to flip into a stunner, but he got caught and German Suplexed. When Alexander tried to catch Borden on a floatover, however, his long legs let him take over, trapping Alexander in Death Drop position for the tandem Coffin Drop finisher. 

As TV debuts went, this felt special. It was partially the time and the place, partially how Borden was protected and highlighted, and partially, quite frankly, because there;s something special about him. He's not going to be a Kitao. That's clear. He's also not going to have the slow and careful opportunities of a Matsuda, however. He's here on TV, learning as he goes, already in the deep end, maybe not on top, maybe not the great hope, but now it's up to the company to give him a lifeboat and it's up to him to paddle. 

I'm excited to see him try though (and I'll be all the more excited when we finally start to hear Sting's 1990 theme Turbo Charged while he's doing it).

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AEW Five Fingers of Death 8/31 - 9/6

AEW Dynamite 9/2/26

Darby Allin vs Mark Davis

MD: I was going to write about this anyway. The gimmick is that I write about all Darby Allin matches. I didn't come up with the gimmick. I inherited it. I don't always follow it. I thought Athena (second generation 5 Finger of Death) vs Isla Dawn was very good, with a unique dynamic given that Athena was a hometown hero, and I could write about that too, but I'm skipping that one. Maybe I could find something interesting to say about the New Level match (I'd really just want to talk about Nana's reactions to everything and how much they feed off one another). Maybe I could write about Priest vs Angels or the Mistico/Dorada tag from ROH (both were very good). Maybe I could write about Bucks vs Doyle/Cage (that wouldn't make anyone happy, trust me; I have thoughts there). 

But I was always going to write about this. Why? Because it was Darby vs a monster, because it had a really unique structure, covering two commercial breaks, because I skipped the Knight match to write about Mercedes vs Willow instead. Lots of reasons that I'll get to soon. 

But it also evoked two of my favorite Darby matches ever, the 2022 and 2024 Rampage matches against the Butcher. Darby's great against guys his size, against guys where he can push them instead of being pushed by them. He has one of the best Ospreay AEW matches. His title run earlier this year was full of interesting stuff. But obviously I want to see him against monsters.

And Butcher was a monster, no matter how much of a sweetheart he apparently (forget that; obviously, we've seen the receipts in the last day) was in real life. He was so good at portraying a brick wall, a mountain to be climbed, the guy you would not want to meet in a dark alley and that you definitely didn't want to meet in a light alley, because then you could actually see him. He looked the part. He acted the part. He defined the part. 

I covered the 22 match here and the 24 match here. The world is a less interesting and vibrant place with Andy Williams no longer in it.

So I was going to cover the match anyway, but I feel like I especially have to now, because it evoked those two matches for me, Darby up against a hulking behemoth, a heavyweight's heavyweight, just trying to survive.

No names named, as they'll never see it anyway, but a superheavyweight who was big on the indie scene in the 00s complained about the match's structure, about the finish (spoilers I suppose, but after taking so, so much punishment in the match, Darby hits one last dive from the top to the floor, they both beat the count, and Darby hits two opportunistic coffin drops to win). And on the one hand, it's endearing. There's this Sid shoot interview where he spends half of it complaining about doing jobs to Benoit and how small guys were great, sure, but they should never beat big guys, and it's endearing. I get it. You're a superheavyweight. You have to protect the natural order of the universe.

But it's not about order. It's not about logic. It's not about what would really happen. It's about what people are willing to believe in. And belief comes through repetition, through what they see with their own two eyes, and through careful execution of a plan.

This was a tough match. It had to carry two commercial breaks on a show coming off of All In, after the New Level's TV debut in a hot match, after you had all of the big iconic tag teams talking. Two commercial breaks in 2026 is never an easy thing. Davis is naturally impressive, a big dude with tons of intensity, and he had Callis with him to bring a little more heat, plus he had a surprise title win earlier in the year, but I don't think anyone thought the outcome was really in doubt. The post-match also had to set up Steven Borden's debut the following week. Lots of weight, lots of parts. 

And they were very smart about it. It's a match that maybe went sixteen minutes, not counting the post match. They got right to it with the great visual of Davis knocking Darby off the skateboard on the way down. Then the first six minutes, through an early commercial break were all outside the ring before the bell even rang. It's a trick they can't get away with every week, but that they can do once in a while. You do it too much, it raises too many questions. Here, it worked. 

It worked, in part, because Davis made it work, creating a totally chaotic, but still engaged and interactive feel. He tossed Darby over the announce desk. he hit giant swings back and forth into the rail. He put a chair over him and stepped on it. That was the other side of it. He was posing. He was making faces. He was rushing towards the crowd. He wasn't just hitting spots but he was relishing in them and that gave the crowd not just the violence to bounce off of but the character too.
 
He went for a power bomb and Darby fought out of it. That was the other side of the equation. Darby takes so much damage, but he never gives up, never quits, always fights back. That's why the fans believe in him. He looks like skin and bones and sinew and just enough muscle, but he's tough as an overcooked steak. He's a walking skeleton and you just can't kill him with conventional means. As long as he's consistent, as long he keeps driving forward, the fans believe.

They came back from the first commercial break with him hitting a dive off a balcony, because of course they did, and then things finally moved towards the ring so the bell could sound. Davis would quickly take back over. All it took was one cutoff punch or lariat out of nowhere. Most believable thing in the world given his size and intensity. 

There was a great image of Darby using the tag rope to pull himself off that paid off with a hope spot later, as he was able to tie Davis' hand to it. Davis, once again, cut him off, however. That took them through a second commercial break, with Darby on the floor getting stomped by Callis, with hope spots and cutoffs and power moves. 

Back from break, they went into the stretch, picking up the pace. Darby ducked an enziguiri but got lawn darted into the sky as he went for his first attempt at the code red. He hit the second one and it was beautifully ugly, hitting from all the wrong angles. With both men down, they tried to hype the rest of the show and the upcoming Collision. That was a mistake for just as they were talking about the second match, Darby was throwing himself to the floor at Davis like a missile. That set up the finish, noted above, and from there stemmed the post-match angle with RPG Vice coming down and Borden making the save, losing his shirt, ending up on TikTok, and hitting a huge dropkick. 

And I get that wrestler's complaint, I do. But Darby is the exception. His gimmick is that he's a ragdoll skeleton guy who can take damage, who needs to be bounced around and bouncing around to feel alive. So long as he never stops fighting, so long as he always keeps crawling towards the light, consistency over time will bridge the gap between monster and man. The fans see him really, truly, honestly crash and burn again and again and again, and he still gets up and struggles through his signature moves. And if he's able to capitalize on a moment of opportunity and get a banana peel win on a giant (by hitting his finisher twice in a row! We believe in finishers too so long as they're protected and treated as important, no matter what they are), well, this crowd 100% bought into it. 

Pro wrestling is not about making things seem true for the sake of fooling people, not anymore, maybe not ever. It's about giving people enough rope so that they climb past their own suspension of disbelief so that they can let go and buy into what they're seeing as fiction worth believing in for a few minutes, putting their worries about life aside. Through his look and his work and his portrayed personality, the Butcher was great that. Mark Davis is too. And Darby's as good as anyone going. 

And if that's not the point in 2026, I don't know what is.

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I Just Wasn't Made for These Times (AEW Five Fingers of Death (and Friends) 8/10 - 8/16)

AEW Dynamite 8/12/26

Kevin Knight vs (Chris) Jericho 

When I was a kid, my favorite band was the Beach Boys. Yeah, yeah, I know. I’m old, but I’m not THAT old. My parents are though, and I am old enough that when you were in a car, you listened to the radio. They controlled the radio and listened to Oldies 103.3 so that’s what I heard. 

I have no idea why I gravitated towards the Beach Boys in particular. We were in Massachusetts far from any sort of surfing scene. I’m pretty tone deaf so I couldn’t exactly appreciate layered harmonies. Maybe they were just fun to sing to despite that. Get Around is 2 minutes and 12 seconds and it’s perfect for a kid. 

I had Pet Sounds on cassette too though I don’t think I fully appreciated it until I got older. Nor did I understand Brian Wilson’s struggles until I was older. I probably had a few chances to see various forms of the band over the years, but I never went for it. It just always seemed off or wrong for reasons one might imagine (many of which having to do with Mike Love). 

Still, one of the better birthday presents I’ve gotten in my life is when my wife arranged for us to see Wilson (aged 74) with a few remaining band members and associates perform the album in Atlantic City in 2016. 

Almost everyone there seemed to be my parents’ age and they blissfully bobbed their heads and sang along, happy and oblivious, but I just couldn’t look away from Wilson. I’d never had a concert experience quite like this. He’d lived a hard life, one full of many different forms of abuse, and one might question the motivation for him to even be on the stage at that point, even if, very likely, it was more earnest than previous tours. 

But when he performed, there was every sense that he wanted to hit the notes, that he wanted to sing loud and be proud of what he had created in front of an audience that wanted to hear it. Founding guitarist Al Jardine was with him, and it was Jardine’s son who ended up doing most of the heavy lifting on vocals, Wilson cutting out at points of almost every song. He just couldn’t hit the notes, couldn’t sustain. 

But yet he always came back, trying, striving. It felt more like an athlete pushing himself down the stretch than a singer playing the hits. It should have, perhaps, been sad and maybe for some there actually paying attention it was, but there was something undeniably valiant about it. The effort somehow transcended the result and it left me uncomfortable in some ways, but moved in others.

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Chris Jericho was my favorite wrestler in my later teenage years. I had come back to wrestling after a few years away during the back half of the Monday Night Wars. A scrawny kid growing up, I had loved the idea of WCW and GWF’s light heavyweight divisions (though maybe not the execution), so it was great to see a Cruiserweight division flourishing. As a scrawny kid, I was a bit of a smartass too, so to see Jericho out there, utilizing clever bits and scenarios at every turn (even if he often was made the fool in them), well, that was great to see too. 

The only official wrestling shirt I ever bought was a Y2J one (having missed my chance at a Monday Night Jericho one). That’s how big a fan I was. In-ring, he played a cruiseweight bully well, doing moves that he’d have a harder time doing against bigger opponents and he was well protected through that year. Having some great opponents didn’t hurt. 

As I got older, I don’t think his work resonated with me quite as much. I appreciated his penchant for adapting and refreshing his act, but what I got the most enjoyment out of was his Bockwinkel-esque turn in the late 00s (even if I hadn’t fully learned to love Bock yet) and the bits with the List a few years later, not necessarily what he did in ring. I think he had a very strong 2022 though. I’ll stand by the Kingston match, for instance.

He was always a very self-aware worker in some ways, prone to building to spots that he knew would have a big impact, but he was online enough to react with thin skin if they perhaps did not get quite the credit that he thought they deserved.

Moreover, he always had a bigger eye than stomach when it came to his own athleticism. He couldn’t always quite do what he wanted, but he’d go for it nonetheless. On some level, that’s admirable. On another level, it leaves someone with a broken arm after trying and failing to hit a shooting star press or, to a lesser extent, with a match which may have worked out better in his head than on the screen.

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I’m not sure there was as important an “event” for me when it comes to pro wrestling in the last fifteen years than the Houston Footage ending up on NWA On Demand. That’s what really took me down another rabbit hole of seeking out lost footage (we cover new matches every week with New/Found Friday and have for years and years now). It was amazing to see 80s arena footage that no one had seen since it first happened in great quality with interesting and varied talents. 

Of all those talents, maybe none made quite the impression as Jose Lothario. He was a figure most of us only knew from his ill-fated WWF run as Shawn’s trainer. To see him even in the back third of his active in-ring career was eye-opening, however. He was “Supersock,” with one of the best worked punches in history and had such a special connection with the crowd. On his comebacks, he’d be able to hold court in the center of the ring, have his opponent create the motion for him, and through his perfect timing, execution, and performative instincts, he’d make the crowd go wild. 

It was one of the most impressive things I’d ever seen because he was able to do so, so much with so, so little and have it feel more gripping and immersive than what most people are able to do with ten times more. If you were to watch late 2010s Jerry Lawler, he was able to do much of the same, though with a few more tricks, bells, and whistles. In both cases, it was a blueprint for how to age not just gracefully but greatly as a pro wrestler.

Likewise, we’ve spent the last couple of years watching Blue Panther do his thing. The highlight reels will show you the dives, and given his age, the dives are impressive, but it’s how he hypes the crowd up and frames them that makes them work even more than the idea of a 65 year old actually hitting them. So much of what makes Blue Panther stand out as special is his crowd control, not the moments that make it into the gifs. 

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Which brings us to Jericho. No Chris. Just Jericho. I have no idea what he’s doing with this run, except for that he wants to wrestle new people and in new ways. Maybe he’s running out the clock on injury time. Maybe he wants to make sure to keep himself relevant in case he wants to jump. Maybe he just can’t give up the ghost. 

We’re past the self-aware Jericho Vortex stuff. He got what heat he could out of it. I’ve been under the opinion for a while that he should be transitioning into Paul Jones, more of a manager who occasionally wrestles than a wrestler himself, ideally positioned against a Jimmy Valiant type figure (Mark Briscoe or Eddie Kingston for instance?) but I assure you (Chris) Jericho doesn’t care what I think. I absolutely believe the ROH Title feud with Bandido would have served everyone better if Jericho was managing a monster Big Bill for it. But then again, Bill’s gone, so who knows.

But, if he’s not going to do that, then he should lean harder into his charisma and follow Jose Lothario’s lesson. He should be wrestling people who can create the motion for him. He can follow Blue Panther’s lesson too. He can hit those few big spots, but only properly built to and when they’ll mean the most, and maybe leaning more on the anticipation than the actual payoff. 

And on paper, there’s been some of that. His first feud was with Ricochet, someone perfect to create motion for him. But he still felt the need to do more than his share (and to carry more of the load than was advisable), and they turned a quite good twelve minute match into a very dubious nineteen minute one. 

It’s interesting to think why he’s not adapting. It follows a career-long trend of overestimating his own physical abilities, sure, but I think it’s more about incentives than anything else. He could have a far better match that would be far simpler where his opponent created the motion and he created the emotion, and not only would he not be rewarded for it, even if it got over with the crowd, he’d probably be actively punished for it in certain critical circles. And at this stage of his career, he literally cannot afford to be punished. Instead, so long as he does enough stuff, and contributes enough stuff of his own, no matter how well it hits, he’s going to be more rewarded for that.

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Which, finally, leads us to the Kevin Knight TNT Title match on Dynamite.

A match he was rewarded for, not by conventional wisdom which was instantaneously frustrated by it, but by instead the unconventional wise man that matters more to the people that matter most.

There were things about the match that clearly worked. One tricky part about having a heel opponent that creates motion is that the fans may decide to back them. Jericho is, of course, a pro at playing to the crowd and continuously fighting back so they have reasons to root for him, but Knight did his best to keep himself reviled. He ambushed to start. On the floor, when he took over, he mocked Paul Wight who was on commentary with the Big Show hand raise. Callis snuck in a cheap shot when the ref was distracted. On a backslide, Knight used his athleticism not to further the hold but to reach blatantly to the rope for leverage with his foot. They went out of their way to draw clear lines.

But then, there was Jericho’s awkward dive to the floor. There was, of course, the baffling spot with Callis interfering during the Walls. There was Knight’s need to cheat not just early on to establish roles or later to control, but on the finish, when really, the damage had already been done and Jericho, who doesn’t need to be protected like this anyway, had already been protected.

But most of all, the image that will stick with me, the reason why I brought up Brian Wilson in the first place, were those ten count punches. Jericho straddled Knight on the top rope. His legs were splayed oddly, not without reason as we would soon see, but to bizarre visual effect. He hung on to Knight with one hand as he threw the strangest worked punches, coming in at totally askew angles, creating an illusion of connecting right up until they didn’t, which was far too soon. It was all to set up the top rope rana (for he apparently would not be able to get his legs where they needed to be otherwise), which hit clean, but in the meantime, we were left with the image of a man who was not punishing an opponent, but instead seemed afraid.

Afraid of falling, afraid of aging, afraid of irrelevance, afraid of being undervalued, afraid of one critic and every critic, afraid of not living up to his own self-image, unable to work himself and unwilling to do what it took to work everyone else, so all that was left was embracing the real, athletic elements of pro wrestling that his body could no longer manage.

Jericho, this amazingly self-aware, incredibly delusional wrestler, who has somehow spent an entire career balancing those two impulses to incredible and frankly, unbelievable, success, could likely find one last grasp at it were he to admit who he was now, admit what he was, and lean hard into it. He made me feel something as he perched up on that top rope. He could spend a whole match making a crowd feel that and come out, once again, against all odds, on top. 

But it would be admitting a vulnerability that he could never come back from. It would be his greatest strength, his last great strength, one that he might even be able to carry for years, carny that he is, but one that would never let him be the in-ring rock star that he’s seen himself as. God only knows what he could accomplish if he could admit it and embrace it.

But he can’t, and so he won’t. So instead, we have this, a wrestler trapped in a purgatory of his own making and forcing us all along for the ride. And as I watch it, I do not see something valiant and inspirational as I did that day in Atlantic City ten years ago. Mostly? Mostly, I just feel sad.
 

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AEW Five Fingers of Death 7/20 - 7/26

AEW Dynamite 7/22/26

Darby Allin vs Kevin Knight

MD: So who then is Kevin Knight?

For the first couple of minutes of this match, it actually doesn't matter, because this one begins as Darby Allin's story.

What do we know coming in? Kevin Knight inadvertently injured Darby Allin in the Continental Classic and took him out of the running. Darby successfully defended the World Title against Knight, who subsequently won the TNT Title, a title associated with Darby. After Darby lost the World Title back to MJF, Knight came out and turned on him. Knight then joined the Don Callis Family and has broken the record for most TNT defenses (not a particularly impressive record because the title tends to get hot potatoed; it's fine as that's its purpose, but it feels a bit like a false claim, in this case helping matters). Darby's recently came back for revenge. And finally, Knight claimed to want to beat Allin in a wrestling match, no interference, just to prove he's better.

You'd have to look back at their previous encounters, but given the hierarchy at play, I imagine Darby's entered second for most of them. Here Knight, the champion, entered second. He made his way down to the ring, posing, preening, full of confidence (more on that in a minute). That made him a target for a Darby Allin seeking revenge. Darby's the sort of wrestler that'll go to the top of Everest and envision jumping off it onto your head if you've done him wrong. 

That's basically what he did here, using his body as a battering ram multiple times. At one point, he pulled the protective top cover off the corner of the ring to flatten out the space so he could jump off of it onto a Knight draped over the guardrail. 

So, yes, it didn't really matter who Knight was or what he wanted at the start of the match. He was a target, completely without agency. 

But of course, Darby's fury has a cost. One too many crashes. One too many landings. He started limping. That let Knight get some distance. It let him go to the eyes. One might argue that what Darby had done here wasn't proper for a "good, honest wrestling match" but that doesn't hold up in 2026. Is it really a sneak attack when you see Darby coming? 

Going to the eyes though? Shoving Darby off the ramp so that he lands groin first on the guardrail? 

Well, maybe it was tit for tat. Maybe. Regardless, it was certainly Knight exacting his agency. And it means that it's at least half his story once again. 

So that brings us back to the start.

Who is Kevin Knight?

He's a heel. But he's a complex heel. He's a multi-dimensional heel. He's an effective heel. 

Most of all, he's a vulnerable heel.

He claims to have attacked Darby because he couldn't get the job done. Out of frustration. It wasn't about Darby, though. It wasn't about Max being champion. It wasn't even about Knight himself losing to both Max and Darby in title matches. 

It was about the ticking clock, the Sword of Damocles over his head. 

Kevin Knight is 29. His former partner, Speedball Mike Bailey, is 36. Bailey lost years trapped behind the Canadian border due to visa issues. Were it not for that, Bailey might have been the world champion years ago. Darby himself is 33. He was in AEW from the start and only now won the World Title. Years and years of working his way up. MJF is 30 now but he won his first world title three and a half years ago. 

Knight is athletic, dynamic, but he crashes and burns every match, much like Darby, even without some of the reckless intent. He watched Darby hold the title for one lone month before MJF won it back.

So why did Kevin Knight attack Darby Allin?

For the same reason the greatest, most human heels do anything. 

He was afraid.

He was afraid of it all slipping away, of time getting away from him, of losing his opportunity, of not seizing on the moment now so that when he did have his time, it'd be far too late. Like Darby. Or maybe it'd never come at all. Like Speedball. 

He didn't know what to do, but he knew he had to do something. So he did something desperate. Once he acted, there was no going back. Speedball offered forgiveness, but what would forgiveness get him? Forgiveness would be admitting he was wrong, admitting he was afraid, admitting he was lost. He'd be back where he started, worse off for the effort.

Once you stray from the path, it gets easier and easier to stray again. One bad choice leads to another and another and another. It's sunk cost fallacy. It's guilt. If there's a good man somewhere inside Kevin Knight, that man is refusing to look in the mirror, refusing to admit the truth. All he can do instead is keep digging deeper, keep hiding behind false confidence and swagger. And so long as he keeps winning, he'll get away with it too.

So yes, Knight went to the eyes, crotched Darby, and catapulted him into the ringsteps, opening him up. It's not crochet. It's pro wrestling. Darby came back, hitting a code red off the top followed by another one, slamming Knight's head into the steps, grinding his hand in the exposed corner cavity. They crashed into one another and then, after an attempt at a Scorpion Death Drop, the ref went down. 

Knight had claimed to want a fair, honest fight. He claims a lot of things. He believes a lot of things, right up until the point he is challenged by life. That's the problem with a foundation of lies, lies to yourself, to the world. They don't stand up under pressure.

Knight's resolve broke. He went for the belt to wield it as a weapon. Darby dodged it, and then, with Knight's legs flailing in fear, Darby dropped him with the Death Drop. For a moment, Darby looked to use the belt himself, but that might have brought him victory, reclaimed him his title, but it wouldn't have brought him satisfaction. Darby understood that because he was at peace with himself, a peace that Knight is nowhere near anymore. Darby mounted the ropes for the Coffin Drop. Knight recovered quickly enough to nail him with the belt. 

And he hit the same spectacular coast-to-coast dropkick that injured Darby during the C2 and stole the win. That belt shot may have appeared to have gained him everything in the moment, but it only dug his hole deeper. 

Months ago, with a heart full of fear, Kevin Knight made his choice. Once made, the only path forward was to go deeper. Into the Don Callis Family. To become the most successful TNT champion ever. And yes, all the way to his first PPV main event. 

The path can lead nowhere good. The path can lean to nothing but the same sort of inevitable destruction that Knight had been running from in the first place. 

But in the hands of a talent who's willing to be vulnerable, who's willing to commit, it sure does make for a hell of a story, doesn't it?

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AEW Five Fingers of Death (and Friends) 7/6 - 7/12

AEW Dynamite 7/8/26

Konosuke Takeshita vs Kyle Fletcher

If you want a good example that literally any match can be criticized, for years people had one major complaint about Savage vs Steamboat. If you come into it blind, not knowing about the angle that drove it, it's hard to find fault. If you have the context of Savage destroying Steamboat with the ring bell, however, it raises questions. Why did they wrestle it so athletically, so much like a title match? Shouldn't it have been a blood feud? Shouldn't Steamboat have been out for revenge? Shouldn't that have meant something more than just taking the title from Savage?

There is an answer to that but it was one that actually required quite a bit more context, context that was sourced over the years that followed as we obtained and organized more and more footage from the televised house shows leading up to WrestleMania III. They had already worked those heated bloody matches around the horn leading up to the big show. They had gotten it out of their system. Crowds throughout America had seen it. Steamboat (and the fans') bloodlust had been abated and now it was time to hit him where it hurt the most by taking the title in a wrestling match.

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Takeshita had coexisted with Okada for half a year, more. He had lived through transgressions: Okada cheating (the use of a deadly weapon, not just pulling the tights) to defeat him in the C2 semi-finals, disparaging his skills and honor and brotherhood with the rest of the Don Callis family including getting between him and Fletcher, contriving to overshadow him at the Tokyo Dome even though he was the IWGP champion, dissension in a tag team match at a PPV.

Finally Takeshita had earned his match, finally he had him one-on-one for the International Title. And given that honest, earnest chance, Takeshita triumphed. He upset the balance of the Don Callis Family. It seemed like it was going to lead to something more than dissension, to betrayal. He was ready for that though, ready to fight them all off it need be. Then, Kyle Fletcher's music hit. He made his triumphant return, stood side by side with his brother, Takeshita. And then he struck him down. A brother may have been enough for Takeshita, but Fletcher needed the comfort of a broader family. 

AEW is a company full of stories but that has less angles than one might think. This was a clear angle however, and despite AEW's tendency to move right on to the next thing, it was one that could lead to even greater matches. 

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Kyle Fletcher is one of the best heels going. He's shown instincts to inhabit the space of a match, both the feeling out process at the start and the down period of a commercial break, that almost none of his generation (or that prior even) possess. He's excellent at working to a crowd, at reacting in the moment, at creating inciting incidents and then rolling with the results of them. 

His warm up match against ELP was full of this, even despite later knowledge that he was having a bit of a panic attack during the match. ELP began the proceedings by doing his best Bret Hart impression and giving a girl at ringside his tricked out glasses. Later on in the match, when Fletcher had scored a kick out of nowhere and reversed a whip on the floor, he went right over and menaced the girl, getting in her face and drawing heat. Maybe I'm wrong, but it feels almost impossible this was something that was worked out in the back. He saw an opportunity, understood the purpose behind it in ensuring the crowd was turned against it, and he took it, damn the plan, damn the risks. 

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Konosuke Takeshita is a generational talent in specific areas. At his best, he evokes presence like almost no one in wrestling today. He radiates intensity and energy. He combines size and speed and power and ease of movement in a way that is reminiscent of Barry Windham or maybe even Jumbo Tsuruta. I tend to find his instincts far more suspect than Fletcher's, his matches becoming bloated and wasteful, not nearly as efficient as his physical movements across the ring, but I also can't (and wouldn't begin to want to) deny what he excels at and what makes him stand out.

He's one of the greatest raw talents of this decade certainly. Lately, he's been firing up by punching himself in the head repeatedly. He did it during his tag match with Hechicero in Mexico not long ago, and he would do it here as well, and I can hardly think of anyone else that could do that with so much earnestness and verve. Against the right opponent and in the right setting, he's phenomenal. And very much to his credit, even in the wrong setting, doing the wrong things, he's still undeniable in certain ways. 

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So here they were, bolstered by a hot angle, two incredible talents, both off strong recent performances, ready to achieve in the middle of a big card, a supercard so far as weekly television went, title on the line.

And they wrestled. They locked up and chain wrestled for a bit. 

Ah, but then after a few exchanges, Fletcher got a hand up in Takeshita's face and things threatened to boil over, like they should, into a forearm exchange.

And instead of letting really reach a fever pitch, they went right into stilted moves and counter attempts, a tease for bombs that would come later in the match. 

Things spilled out to the floor. Takeshita got distracted by Callis. Both men drank water. Takeshita missed a shot and hit the ringpost. Fletcher worked the arm for a minute. Takeshita came back and hit a big dive and smacked his face, fired up. They went to commercial.

The match would go on with them starting to hit those bigger bombs, including a huge one on the apron. Takeshita would get an advantage. Don Callis would grab his foot. He'd hit his finisher anyway. Fletcher would get a foot on the rope and then, more or less cleanly (despite those two arguable blemishes that did not lead to the finish) would win the match as the commentators noted how good a match these two had wrestled.

Where was the Kyle Fletcher of the ELP match? Why didn't Takeshita's intensity lead to bloodlust? How did any of this stem from the betrayal? What were they even doing here? 

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On my first watch, I was so thrown by all of this that I was going to come in hot, come down hard. 

I've subsequently watched again and I have softened on the match. 

Occasionally you see people say that matches shouldn't be criticized on the basis of "what you want" and I don't think I agree.

You want what you want for a reason. You have expectations coming into a match for a reason. You have a baseline in your head and a best possible scenario. You have those things for a reason, based on your understanding of other matches, of the story at play, at all the possibilities inherent in the artform. These are all completely valid things to judge a match against. That said, I think it's worth trying to understand the match that they did wrestle. If you're going to judge it against the vision in your head, at least go out of your way to wrap your head around what they gave you.

There were a number of factors at play here. This match was premature. It was premature because Takeshita's about to go off and do the G1 for a month. It was maybe premature because they wanted to ensure the International Title was taken off of him for that period, maybe so he didn't eat a bunch of tournament losses while he had it, maybe because it would be more valuable to AEW on AEW TV during this time. Fletcher had never been supposed to lose the TNT title. That was due to injury. If this wasn't going to be the blowoff, having Fletcher win could potentially just heat things up more for later, get more heat on him in general. This match was a supporting player to the main event title change that was Omega vs MJF and it followed another grudge match with a bit more plunder and chaos (and that probably needed it more to be good) in Jericho vs Ciampa. 

Plus it was hot. It was so damn hot out there in the admittedly cool outdoors setting. You could tell. I've seen thousands of matches and you only see guys actually drink water (presumably for cramping reasons) once in a blue moon. You always saw them spit it back out in World of Sport for a reason.

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Those would all be excuses, but none of them would be drivers. 

There are absolutely wrestlers who go out to wrestle the best match possible on paper, that try to check as many boxes as possible, to try to make things as conventionally exciting as they can, story be damned, character be damned, moment be damned.

While it's tempting to think that's what happened here, I don't think it actually is.

You can make the argument that this fit their characters perfectly. Takeshita only ever wants to prove himself against others. Fletcher, on the other hand, has a constant chip on his shoulder, and a need to prove himself. He did against Ospreay. He did in the Continental Classic. He does here. They wrestled this match like brothers, not trying to hurt each other, necessarily, not trying to maximize harm, but instead trying to outdo the other. Outwrestle. Outstrike. Outbomb. 

Here, the heat helped matters. It gave everything an imposing, sweltering tone. It pushed down upon them, pressed them into a corner. It gave everything more weight. Maybe it forced them to focus directly at the task at hand, at the title on the line, and it melted animosity and turned it into a blind sense of competition instead. 

It made for a good match, a very good title match. It distilled their youth and passion and a certain desperation to be seen and recognized into twenty minutes of combat over the International Title. 

I was going to lean hard into the idea that while this was a great match, it wasn't good, because it didn't live up to the build and the potential. I was going to use the timing of it as an excuse.

On a second watch, I don't think that's fair. I think it was both great AND good, that it was plausible and believable given who these two are, where they are in their career, their overall relationship with one another.

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But I don't think it was RIGHT.

I don't think it was the right match for the moment. I think it was shoehorned in due to externalities, due to necessities. 

The betrayal was too recent, too raw, too deep. They hadn't gotten it out of their system yet. 

This is a match that is built to, just like Savage vs Steamboat from Mania III was a match that was built to. Maybe the outcome would have been different, but this the sort of match that should have followed the grudge match and the chain match and the lumberjack match and the cage match. 

I don't think Takeshita should have the bloodlust out of his system yet. I don't think Fletcher should be past the self-delusion and the spite. This match had competitiveness and even moments of brutality but it lacked cruelty. 

They can bring Takeshita back later, have his music hit, have him ruin one of Fletcher's moments, have him make some sort of save, have him get a pop. They can do another angle to get heat back on this.

But they can never have this specific first match again. They can't go back to the start. Fletcher betrayal was answered by Takeshita here by having the best darn wrestling match he could. And yes, it was valid, great, and good. He tried to show his brother up, show that he was better. 

But even that didn't come close to matching the moment. 

They left the blood on the table, chose to honor sweat instead. This was one of those times that blood would have been everything. 

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AEW Five Fingers of Death (and Friends) 6/29 - 7/5

AEW Dynamite 7/1/26

MJF vs Mark Briscoe

MD: This, much like MJF's 2026 overall, is a story about vulnerability and about strength. If I've learned anything about pro wrestling over the last twenty years, it's that the greatest tool that a pro wrestler has is vulnerability. It's counter-intuitive maybe, and dozens upon dozens of wrestlers over the years have certainly felt that way, almost entirely to their own detriment, but it's the skeleton key. Pro wrestling isn't math. Sometimes it's magic. But if there's one lever that can lift up the world, it's vulnerability.

You know some of the great examples. You have Honky Tonk Man, who let himself look the coward and fool and was set up to lose each and every night only to somehow escape with the belt. It's more than just him though. It's almost every great heel champion during the territory era. They were primed for failure (and thus success; weakness and thus strength) through non-title matches, through angles, through time limit draws, to give hope to crowds, to build up expectations, to get people into the building. They'd win with a banana peel finish, with the feet on the ropes, due to interference, and thus the babyface came out stronger even in defeat. 

There's Terry Funk in Japan. Why did Terry get over unlike almost any other foreigner? It's because he let himself get beat down like no one else around him. And then, of course, once he got beat down, he never quit, he always kept fighting. There's Stan Hansen, who was a force of nature, an absolute beast, but if he smashed his arm into the corner post, if he had someone who could work him over in just the right way, it'd be a wedge that would shatter even steel. 

The wrestler that feels like he can't show ass, the heel that can't or won't stooge, the babyface that has to look overly tough, all of the wrestlers that have to get all of their stuff in, those are the wrestlers who'll always be a step behind in the end, whose matches won't hold up in the grand scheme of things. 

Vulnerability moves hearts and minds even today. It creates dissonance. People know that MJF can do so many things, yet he still goes for shortcuts, still begs off. The match started and the crowd chanted almost equally for MJF and Briscoe. So what did they do? 

MJF started with a cheapshot kick to the gut. He put on a headlock, got tossed right off, and then hefted up into a sidewalk slam. He scooted back to the corner and tried to beg off, tried to call time out just seconds into the match, and Briscoe stomped him. He tossed Max into the corner but Max lifted up and over, sold his bum leg like it was really hurt, but it was all a feint so he could step over and hit the pile driver. 

In the span of a minute or two, he showed that he was willing to start the match ignobly, to run away and beg off when things didn't go his way, to fake an injury to get an advantage. And guess what? The fans weren't chanting for him anymore. He had the advantage. He had clearly shown that he was capable and dangerous, had survived a big early move by Briscoe. Yet, he had done it in the least admirable way possible. Strength in vulnerability. Vulnerability in strength. Your lead heel. Feel free to boo him.

And of course, once he got under the crowd's skin, he doubled down, pulling Briscoe's bandage off, taking a bite of the wound, then mocking the crowd for buying into his hurt leg with a smirk on his face. He worked the wound. He hit a back body drop. He posed and preened. He worked the wound. He hit a back body drop. He posed and preened. He worked the wound. He hit a back body drop. He posed and preened. Of course, because pro wrestling is better than real life, on the third back body drop, Briscoe landed on his feet and Max turned around, frozen like a punching bag, unafraid to be vulnerable, unafraid to stooge, as he stumbled right into some redneck kung fu.

Briscoe would beat on Max for a bit, would go for the Froggy Bow. Max would fall onto the rope, crotching him. Strength of action, vulnerability of character. He'd point to his head, let it sink in, and then get knocked off the turnbuckles when he tried to follow up, eating said Froggy Bow. Vulnerability of action to go with his vulnerability of character. It's a morality play, one that feels so incredibly refreshing against the backdrop of a real world where the bad guys seem to get away with just about everything.

The match would continue along these lines. MJF would go out of his way to give the fans nothing to admire. When Briscoe tried to use a table, Max reversed things and tossed him onto the apron instead. Then he carefully put the table away and subsequently played to the crowd as if he was going to get another table before flicking them off. The table might have given him an advantage, but here his vulnerability was his hatred of them, his ego. That's the thing about Max at his best, he sets himself up to lose either way, and in doing that he wins at being a heel, especially when he still somehow gets away with it. 

And get away with it he would. This time around, the match ended with MJF surviving the Jay Driller, no foot on the ropes, no rolling out of the ring. He kicked out. Undeniable strength in the face of all that vulnerability. It's a difficult balance, strength and vulnerability. You need that title to stand for something. You need his ultimate comeuppance to matter. Honky Tonk Man was pretty vicious when he had his opportunities, but that was also a secondary belt. This is the world title. 

Briscoe is a folk hero, bulletproof to a degree (him winning the TNT title last year was very important just to keep the faith), and Max had so much vulnerability to cash in on, both in this match and in general. He had lost to Darby in a similar circumstance right after a PPV. He had never kicked out of the Jay Driller before. The way things have gone this year, people are well and truly left guessing. There's something to that if you want to draw a weekly TV rating. All of this made the stip next week where Omega (like Hangman before him) won't be able to challenge again if he loses all the more poignant, and MJF kicking out of the Jay Driller will give them some capital to cash in if Omega gets to hit the One Winged Angel. All of this matters. All too often, pro wrestling spends and spends and spends. Max has been investing well this year, and my gut says there are plenty of payoffs left to come. 

And yet none of this would be possible if he didn't have the bravery to be the most vulnerable guy going, even as yes, he hangs on to that belt for yet another week after finishing as strong as ever. That's pro wrestling for you.

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The Many Enemies of Maxwell Jacob Friedman (AEW Five Fingers of Death 6/1 - 6/7)

AEW Dynamite 6/3/26

MJF vs RUSH

MD: Conflict in Literature:

MJF vs Nature (RUSH): This is what MJF was up against: RUSH, a rage-filled, ungovernable beast, a monster, the white bull. He had faced men like Darby Allin and Brody King and Mark Briscoe who walked a certain line, but RUSH was deeply over it. Years ago, MJF would have cowered and run from him. Now, he saw himself as the great hunter, as a matador, and he meant to wield his own esteemed civility as a weapon. He provoked RUSH backstage before the show. When the bell rang, he charged right in. When RUSH won the first exchange, MJF spit in his face. When RUSH caught his foot, he poked him in the eye. RUSH kept coming, yes, but MJF was ready for that. He wanted him angry. He wanted him enraged. He wanted him making mistakes. It was RUSH that pulled off the corner turnbuckle pad, but it was MJF who was able to use the referee as a stalking horse to slam RUSH's head in and open him up. Even after RUSH took over, MJF was still laying snares, catching him in the corner to drive down upon his arm and injure him. Down the stretch, when all looked lost for MJF, when he had just barely survived the Horns dropkick in the corner and when RUSH was about to hit it again on the outside, MJF sidestepped at the last moment, one last triumph of man over nature, allowing him to hit the tombstone, the beginning of the end.

MJF vs Man (Rush): Where MJF may have miscalculated is by overlooking the fact that underneath the bestial exterior was the heart of a man, a man with pride, a man who could make calculated decisions. Andrade had tried to focus Rush before the match, had tried to remind him of who he was and what he was and why he did this. A beast knows fight or flight. A man can draw on something deeper. A man can learn from mistakes, can adapt. Even bloodied and reeling, Rush was able to steal MJF's own trick: when MJF pushed Bryce aside to try to do more damage with that exposed turnbuckle, Rush turned the tide and tossed him in head first. Later on in the match, with his arm so damaged, instead of fighting blindly or fleeing and quitting, Rush used the ringpost to relocate his shoulder and stay in the match. It's what pushed him to hit that straightjacket pile driver on the apron. That wasn't the wild act of a beast. It was the driven, focused precision of man. Even at the very end, he refused to quit, showing his defiance as his body gave way. Yet, despite it all, Rush's humanity had its limits and it was by drawing the beast back out of him that MJF forced those mistakes that allowed him to win the day.

MJF vs Self (MJF): The other factor that allowed Rush to get back into the fight was, of course, MJF himself, his own hubris, his own mistakes as a character, his inability to get out of his own way. That's how he got into this fight in the first place, by getting right into Rush's face. That's how this became a no countouts match, by him pressing the matter further. On some level, yes, it was all part of a ploy to drive Rush to distraction and to make mistakes, but in the heat of the moment, maybe there's a little beast within MJF too. It's one that needs to preen, that needs to lash out at everyone and everything around him, that demands recognition, that cares about legacy because it's the only way to prove everyone wrong about him, most of all himself. It was one thing to make Rush angry. It was another to rub it in with the crowd, to make horns after his eyepoke, to drape his arms over the ropes in satisfaction after laying a shot in, to talk into the camera, to taunt whenever he had a moment. Maybe that's the entire point? Maybe if MJF's not rubbing it in, he's not really alive. Everything is a means to that end, to prove some sort of ridiculous point. Maybe he's just that insecure. Every time he lost that battle with himself, however, it gave Rush a chance to come back, gave him another shot at victory. MJF was able to steady himself in the end, through necessity as much as anything else, and lured RUSH in one last time, but he made the road bumpier than it had to be along the way.

Max vs Society: And yet, even with that, the fans still cheered for him now and again, still chanted MJF when he was being announced. That was after Max went out of his way to have Justin Roberts pause that announcement to insult the crowd twice. It's why he gave Rush so many openings through his character's emotional weaknesses, because he has to constantly hammer it through the crowd's head that they're to boo him, that they are to get out of their own way, not try to be smart or difficult or go into business for themselves. MJF is formidable and dangerous, full of bluster but able to back it up, but it's all on Max to constantly stay on his toes so as not to give the crowd anything tangible to latch on to. Rush, despite being a rudo if not a heel, gave them so much, constantly embracing the moment and letting everyone come along for the ride, appealing not to them but with them, letting them scream and chant along. Yet even then, at a key point in the match, they stopped cheering for him and decided that everything was equally awesome instead. MJF was fighting man, beast, himself, but Max's real enemy is that crowd.  

MJF vs Author (Max): Except for sometimes, it's himself (Max) as well. This could be reality, too, couldn't it? Maybe it's society? But to blame anyone other than Max is to embrace nihilism. Yes, there is structure, but he has agency. Max has the power. He's the wrestler. He's the one who conducts the crowd. So yes, he's on a so often card with exhausting high-spot laden, counter-heavy, 5+ star classics, and he has to stay true to himself and try to get a reaction out of these crowds other than "This is Awesome," something more visceral, something more meaningful, something that will last. Sometimes, he becomes his own worst enemy there, trying to keep up, trying to match other former PPV main events to get in front of cagematch scores and (other) critics, and what we end up with is something overly bloated. It's understandable, human, even if it means he's following the trend instead of creating it. On TV, though, there's less of that perceived need, and that's why he's right up there with Darby with best TV wrestler of the year. I'd say he's probably got him beat, but that's just me. Certainly on this night, Max made sure that MJF shined in all of the right (which for him almost always means "the wrong") ways. He gets it as well as anyone going. He just has to refuse to blink even when others don't get it.

MJF vs Technology (The yellow cord): This is a stretch, and a very literal one at that, but yes, that yellow electrical cord did come into play, and yes, after MJF lured RUSH in again and hit a drop toehold on a chair, he ever so casually kicked it back under the ring. I always warn against checking boxes, but this once I wanted to check a box, sorry. He not only beat technology there, but made sure not to give the fans anything to latch on to in the process. No candy for them. 

Max vs God/Fate: Life happens. It happened after All Out 2022 where Max's return got upended. It happened to Adam Cole, a fluke injury that derailed Max's first title run. At some point in the match, it happened here too and Max came out of this with a hurt knee. This has been a great year for Max, a great title run, and now the start of a second, with what seemed to be really good Briscoe and Andrade matches ahead of him. But he's out there fighting the crowd, fighting the last thirty years of history, fighting every card that he's on, and fighting, yeah, himself. What's fighting god and fate in the face of that? It's just one more fight, and he's got plenty left in him. He's just getting started.

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Belief (AEW Five Fingers of Death 5/11 - 5/17 Part 1)

AEW Dynamite 5/13/26

Darby Allin vs Konosuke Takeshita

MD: Wrestling isn't about being real.

It's about being true.

And the engine of truth is belief.

Darby Allin is the rare sort of wrestler that makes us believe. It's in the name, definitional, right? A huge aspect of belief is making our suspension of disbelief as easy as possible. If our disbelief isn't suspended, we spend all of our time looking at the strings, thinking about how the trick is done, feeling like we're smarter than what we're watching, focusing more on the craft than the narrative unveiling before us. 

And that can be ok, especially on a second watch, but it's a level of distance, a level of disconnect. 

With Darby matches, we don't have to worry about it. Our disbelief is suspended. There are plenty of ways to accomplish it. I'll talk about some more when I get to Takeshita. But Darby? He does it the hard way. Maybe you could call it the hardcore way. He crashes and burns again and again in order to keep our eye on the ball, so that we stay focused, so that we don't blink. 

He takes hellacious bumps, not just at the hands of his opponents, but at his own hands, utilizing his own body as his deadliest weapon, making the diabolically brave and foolish calculation that whatever his opponent might take, he can take just a little more. He sells it all, grasping, crawling, scraping, writhing, and it feels like the sort of trick he can only do once, to blow himself up so that he can express that pain to the world and draw every viewer in. Except he does it again and again and again.

And over time, that builds up a second sort of belief, the belief that he can survive it all. Endless kickouts are a problem with all modern wrestling, but not with Darby, because Darby is the exception that proves the rule. With him, it never feels excessive, because he lives and breathes a different sort of more tangible excess, and it makes us believe that you just can't keep him down for three seconds. What's three seconds in the face of everything else he gets up from?

Then there's Konosuke. If Darby is reaction, then Takeshita is action, the other side of belief. He towers over opponents, has precise technique, moves with such ease and explosiveness. Darby Allin survives explosions. Konosuke Takeshita is the explosion. 

When he hits Darby with a German Suplex off the top and holds the bridge, it's a seemingly impossible physical act made believable, plausible, immersive, by his presence, how he carries himself, and that little extra bit of we know about him, the fact that he wrote his thesis on the German Suplex. 

In that regard, they're two sides of the same coin, both able to make the impossible seem possible and the possible seem incredible. 

There's another aspect of belief, however. That presence of Takeshita? It's partially because the character of Konosuke Takeshita believes in himself completely. He believes that he is the Alpha. He believes that he is a World Champion waiting to happen. He believes that he is better than Okada. He believes that he can beat Darby; he did so once before after all.

I'm not convinced that Ciampa believed that, that Brody King believed that, that Kevin Knight believed that, not deep down. PAC wasn't a rational actor to begin with, so let's leave him out of this. Knight wrestled conservatively, right until he couldn't. Ciampa compensated with a wild streak, Brody with a bestial streak. They overcompensated, overstretched.

Takeshita did not overstretch. He did not take foolhardy chances. When Darby tried to throw himself at Takeshita, Takeshita stood firm and swatted him down. He had answers for everything Darby tried and Darby had so few answers for the problem of Takeshita. Too big. Too strong. Too sure. Darby moved out of the way causing Takeshita to crash knee first into the stairs. Takeshita brushed himself off and took back over. Darby cleverly vaulted over him and then kicked out that selfsame knee and locked in a guillotine like he did with Knight. Takeshita just hefted him up and escaped. Too much.

Darby does outlast his opponents. He sends them both through the meat grinder and he comes out of it, sinew hanging off of bone to match his painted up face, more in his element, more able to survive. But he outlasts them another way as well. He breaks their spirit by surviving all of their best offense, their best attempt to put him down; by kicking out again and again. 

Eventually, Takeshita (being too much) finally did hit that power drive knee. And Darby kicked out. Takeshita was not shaken. He had other tools in his arsenal. Or maybe he'd just slam his knee into Darby's skull until his head was no longer attached to his shoulders. He had options. 

Don Callis, however, did not have that same sort of faith. He had been provided the Dynamite Diamond Ring before the match, an extra piece of insurance from an MJF who does not quite believe in himself enough to put his hair upon the line, not unless he has absolutely no other choice. Once Darby kicked out of the knee, Callis' belief in Takeshita was shaken and he enacted Plan B. Clon rushed to ringside to distract the ref. Callis gave Takeshita the ring. 

In doing so, he did far more harm than good. Takeshita refused to use the ring, for to be forced to need it would shatter his confidence in himself. And he was momentarily distracted in getting rid of it, which helped to let Darby recover.

There was a bigger issue at play though. He realized in that moment that Callis did not believe in him nearly as much as he believed in himself. Darby may have been able to survive up until that point, but he couldn't crack Takeshita's armor, armor forged through faith and confidence, through belief. 

Callis did that hard work for him. 

And Takeshita, instead of pressing on, went back to the well, back to the stairs on the outside even though the gambit had failed before. Thus shaken, he fell to the same overcompensating, overstretching, of Darby's previous opponents. Darby reversed things, and Takeshita ate a Scorpion Death Drop onto the stairs because of it.

The beginning of the end.

Belief is everything. Wrestling is not just a series of loosely connected spots. It is action and reaction. It is a building built over time. The cement that holds it all together is belief. Sometimes it is created by bumps, selling, execution; sometimes by confidence, presence, body language; and sometimes by the characters' belief in themselves and how that shapes a narrative and touches our hearts out in the crowd or through a screen.

You may think that what makes Darby Allin great is the daring, the bumping, or even the selling, but those are just the means. You may think what makes Takeshita great is his execution, his intensity; even, I suppose, simply his moves, but those too are just the means. 

Darby and Takeshita are great because they are so good at getting us to believe.

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