Found Footage Friday: OMNI 84~!

GCW Omni 4/22/84

Tommy Rogers vs. Bob Roop

MD: We come in JIP here and you get the ambiance immediately as people in the crowd are shouting "hit him!" and "break his arm!" These two matched up very well for an opening match. They had a nice rope running exchange where Rogers ducked a clothesline and hit a cross body and some really good hammerlock switches. Rogers had an interesting sunset flip in this stretch too, one where he had to really struggle to get over and it's so different from anything you'd see today. He controlled on the arm for a bit but Roop took over just by grinding his heel into Rogers's face after standing up out of an armbar. So simple, so nasty, so effective. He really kept things moving on offense, switching between jumping knees and neckbreakers to just holding the ropes to step on Rogers' throat and and using an abdominal stretch. Rogers just punched his way back but it was with a perfect bit of 'fed up' head shaking and the punches looked good, especially after Roop sent himself sailing off the ropes right into one. Then they went into Roop bumping around for him until Rogers lifted up on a corner charge and got a roll up out of the corner. Different sort of opener than usual given the contrast. I enjoyed it.

ER: Based on the 10 minute call, this is only JIP by 30 seconds or so and it's great. Rogers is small but has real power, Roop leans into Rogers' offense and bumps with real respect, and punishes Rogers when the match calls for it. Roop is a dense, tough guy, and Rogers hits him and uses leverage in a way that makes his long control compelling. Roop is great at selling Rogers' focused arm work, at one point gripping the rope to slowly stretch out his arm, using the ropes to provide restraint while he rolled his shoulder. Roop is Shooter Ned Beatty, strong at injecting realism into matches where you might not be looking. When Rogers holds onto a bodyslam and turns it into a quick nearfall, it's the only time I've seen that spot look like a shoot. Bob Roop can be so realistic in everything he does, that every part of my brain believed he was trying to bodyslam Rogers. I wasn't expecting Rogers to snare him and drag him over when Roop tossed him away from his body. 

Roop moves to control by standing up in an armbar, one of my favorite spots. I love when a guy holds the bar, legs straight to his opponent's body. As he's standing, trying to break, Roop pulls himself up straight by the ropes, ref Nick Patrick focusing on Rogers' shoulders. When Patrick makes Roop break, he does so while stepping down onto Rogers' nose and mouth. Roop is great in control. He does no unique offense, but he does it using movement that nobody else uses. His elbowdrop lands heavy and his legdrop looks clean. His backbreaker has great bounce, truly backbreaking. He throws a straight right punch that might be the single best punch on the show. Several of his punches are in consideration. He bumps for Tommy Rogers' comeback like Tommy has the best punches on the show, arms slapping the mat in big rolling back bumps, going up for a back body drop, toppling over for a knee to the gut. There's a great misdirection before Rogers gets the win, as he wriggles out of a bodyslam and throws a dropkick upon landing, but Roop coolly takes on step back to avoid the dropkick. Roop doesn't capitalize, but the last minute doubt in Rogers win made his sunset flip after ring more true. Georgia was great at that kind of finish, setting up the win with a near loss like a marathon runner briefly stumbling down the final straightaway. Fantastic back and forth, a real tough opener. 

Tim Horner/Sweet Brown Sugar vs. Les Thornton/Rocky Jones

MD: I think Rocky Jones was Mike Masters. Again, it's weird to have a tag as the second match of the card on these Omni shows (from what we've seen at least). This was a fun one though. Jones and Thornton were in matching blue. There was a long shine where they got clowned a ton, first by Sugar on his own and then with phantom tags in headlocks. The heels did something similar with headscissors but it was a phantom heat too as the babyfaces took over soon enough. Horner got greedy and attacked Thornton on the apron and got swarmed for his trouble. Lots more switches behind the ref's back by the heels and the crowd hated each and every one of them, making that same audible buzz that you'd get for punches back then, just the negative version of it. Some good hope spots and Horner getting dragged back before he got a maybe-too-easy tag to Sugar and the babyfaces romped the heels on the way to a Sugar missile dropkick and Horner roll up and victory. 

ER: I'm not going to pretend I know who Rocky Jones or Mike Masters are, but now I have 15 minutes of this man who is shaped like an approximation of Buzz Sawyer and The Gambler. I don't think he has a whole lot to offer the babyfaces while being controlled, clunky about getting into headlocks, but when the match - too late - moves into Thornton and Jones controlling and isolating Tim Horner he suddenly comes into his own. The match comes into it's own once they go full heel control. While I wasn't engaging with Sugar and Horner's babyface headlock control, the Omni crowd was. 

I perked up when Horner tried to cheap shot Thornton on the apron, a confident move that backfires instantly as it grazes Thornton and Thornton sells it like a graze, returning fire and bashing Horner's face into the turnbuckle. Rocky throws an elbow to Horner's eye as he's tagging out. I loved the heel control, Rocky picking Horner's leg really close to a tag out, the physical weight of them dragging Horner back to their half of the ring, the energy Thornton puts into kneeing Horner in the back from the apron, heels trading headlocks behind the ref's back. Sweet Brown Sugar's hot tag has some hot punches, and his butt wiggling dropkick off the middle buckle was fantastic, whipping his legs out in front of him in flight to catch Rocky over halfway across the ring. When Horner tags in for the O'Connor Roll, he rushes into his so enthusiastically that he runs face first into Rocky Jones as he's shoving his body into the ropes, and I liked his dumb guy babyface dedication to not half-assing it. 

Jake Roberts vs. Brad Armstrong

MD: Definitely a tale of two or three matches. Jake is fascinating to watch for the first five or six minutes of this. Go back, if you've already watched, and watch again and just focus on his feet. Usually that's not the sort of thing we tell you to do around here (it's not that sort of blog) but he has these lanky legs and the long pants and just the way he moves around the ring, a stutter start or a bound towards the corner, is really interesting. There are inputs that I don't know enough about the actual mechanics to pick up or judge and on the top of that list is footwork, but I can tell you that his here is fascinating. 

Likewise, he's so good at playing around in the corner, drawing Brad in, complaining to the ref, taking up time, frustrating everyone, getting heat. For the first few minutes of this, I barely remembered he was wrestling someone or that Brad was in there. I was just watching Jake do his thing. 

And his thing for most of the match was to sell his stomach. Anytime there's motion, either him flailing about or Brad cutting him off with a shot to the guts, it's great. Even when Brad lifts him up for a bearhug, it's really good. The problem is that there's probably six or seven minutes of this match where Brad is just laying on the ground with Jake in a bearhug. The issue isn't that he's laying on the ground with Jake in a bearhug. It's that neither of two things are at play: 1) it's not the heel doing it to the babyface and 2) there's nothing that I know of on the line here. Jake's not the champion. So while the fans do care about the outcome; that's clear from the finishing stretch, there's no major stakes that would benefit from Jake being super vulnerable and on the verge of losing (not having ball control) for a brunt of the match. And since it's the babyface doing it to the heel, while the fans are fine seeing Jake writhe and hurt, they can't get behind Brad from underneath in the same way.

When Jake does take over he focuses on the gut too and it's good stuff, especially how he conducts Ellering to interfere or distract the ref. The finish is good too as Brad comes back with some shots to the gut and a great dropkick and Jake is able to just slink his leg over to the ropes to survive the Russian Leg Sweep. Brad gets revenge on Ellering for jumping in the ring to point that out but then eats the DDT. Fans are definitely into it. But that middle section was rough, not because it was a hold, but because it was the wrong person doing the wrong hold in the wrong match.
 
Ron Garvin vs. The Spoiler

MD: Really interesting set up here. Garvin's title is on the line for just the first ten minutes and Spoiler comes in with a plan. That's to work a headlock for the first half of it or so to really wear down Garvin. Then when there's just a few minutes, he really hones in on the throat. He has this amazing move he does where he puts the neck against the throat and kicks at the rope causing Garving to spiral back. But he also hits a neckbreaker and drives Garvin's head into the mat and climbs the top to drop neck first on the top rope as he drops to the floor himself. And then the last minute or two is all about Garvin just surviving. He does, but keep in mind he's basically not got a single piece of offense in the whole match.

But the match goes on with the title no longer on the line. And that's really interesting, because then what's it going to be? Usually, it's the babyface who is chasing and then he's going to get the win on the heel after the time limit. Now it becomes Garvin going for revenge for what's been done for him and trying to survive a pissed off Spoiler who knows he can't get the belt. The match switches between those two themes. Garvin starts by wielding a chair to get back into it. 

Once into it, he tries to get his punches in or to work on Spoiler's leg, but Spoiler is too big and strong. At the same time, Spoiler goes for the claw at times but can't get it on, in part because he has to defend against the punches. He is able to work the leg however. Things build past a few comebacks and momentum shifts to a great ref bump where Spoiler redirects Garvin into him. That allows him to start with the claw. Garvin fires back but Ellering gets a chair in on him. There's an awesome comeback where Garvin has to punch his way back into the ring and a great finish where Spoiler comes off the top but Garvin catches him with a punch. This was a little aimless after the ten minutes were over, but that almost worked in the match's advantage because it was about both wrestlers trying to score points and make something out of the violent opportunity given to them now that the title was no longer on the line.

Road Warriors vs. Masked Superstar/King Kong Bundy

MD: I really enjoy 84 Road Warriors. They were raw but had such energy and didn't calcify into what they would someday be. They could have been anything. Hawk just flew around, both on offense and bumping for people. He came off the top at Bundy with an atomic elbow smash and then went for another and took the punch to the gut flip bump. A lot of this was just wondering how they'd be able to contain Bundy which is a great feeling for a Roadies match. Eventually they did it with a missed elbow drop, working the arm (including Hawk going up to the top to do it) and double teaming. Superstar was wonderful here. I haven't seen him as a face with the gimmick much but it had all of 89 babyface Ax fighting the Twin Towers which is a personal favorite. And of course the fans OOOHed for every babyface punch, a magical time. Bundy came back (with Superstar's help; all it took was a little) and hit that interesting inside elbow drop to win it which led to...

King Kong Bundy vs. Paul Ellering (3-minutes)

MD: I like how Ellering almost worked this like a cage match, desperate to escape the ring. Bundy had a lot of fun with him, tossing him about. He hit one kneedrop in the middle which was the most crushing thing I've ever seen. Looked amazing but I get why a big guy wouldn't do it often. He squashed him with a power slam and then lifted him up before finally finishing him and demanding the 5 count as time was ticking down. They really gave the fans their money's worth on this stip.

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For the Love of Pro Wrestling: Lee Moriarty vs. Cheeseburger

Lee Moriarty vs. Cheeseburger Labor of Love PHL 4/25/26 

Cheeseburger loves pro wrestling. 

It's undeniable, right? You follow his career. You watch him wrestle. You see what he posts. He loves wrestling. Undeniable. Pure wrestling. Technical wrestling. Tricked out holds, reversals. Fundamentals. Clear as day. Even as a layperson, it's obvious.

In a world with so, so many belts, the ROH Pure Championship belt means something. It stands for something. What does a TV Belt stand for in a world of streaming in 2026? It's only as good as the champion, right?

But the Pure Championship stands for something. It's not just the rules, the rope breaks, the judging. The person who holds it is a pure wrestler, is someone who finds the art in technique, who finds beauty in joint manipulation, in the secrets of the craft. 

Lee Moriarty is an artist. He's an artist over multiple modalities. Hell, there was his art up on the wall during this match. 

But if you're reading this, you care most, like I care most, that he's an artist in the ring. He moves with style and swagger, with confidence. The ring is his canvas and upon it he paints victories of twisted limbs, clever escapes, and the ever-driving, inescapable knowledge of the rules of the game. He paints outside the box at times, but all eyes go to the center nonetheless.

He's going to put you in danger, is going to force you to use up your rope breaks, and is going to have you looking every which way as he ties up any possible chance you might have to beat him and take his title.

Cheeseburger might be world famous, but the world comes to Moriarty. He's the champion. That's the difference.

And it's everything Cheeseburger wants. Not the fame, not the fortune, but the validation, the proof, the opportunity to be that person that everyone in the world hunts to prove their technical superiority. To show it's all been worth it. The title is a symbol and object. It's what it represents that Cheeseburger wants. 

And here, in front of a crowd that saw him as the home team, in a match he had trained for, had prepared for, was ready for, he was going to do everything possible to get it.

Things were friendly enough at first, playful even. There was a sense of exhibition, of showing off for the crowd. Look, Lee might have been from Pittsburgh and given recent hockey happenings, maybe he was a natural antagonist in Philly, but they welcomed him well enough to start. There was a "Both These Guys" chants. It was congenial.

The shift happened quickly. The first exchange ended with Cheeseburger taking Lee down, but finding himself unable to hook on a hold in the face of Lee attempt at an early Border City Stretch. The second exchange had Lee turn Cheeseburger's wrist control around, allowing him to flex and preen only for Cheeseburger to kip up and twist and turn his way out, leaving Lee staring at his hands in mild disbelief.

That was bad enough. What made it worse is that in that twisting and turning, Cheeseburger took the crowd along with him. No longer were they chanting "Both These Guys." Now it was "New Champ." 

Over the next few exchanges, Cheeseburger pressed his advantage, always seeming one step ahead of Moriarty, half out of a hold before Moriarty could even lock it on, anticipating where he'd end up next, hands already outstretched. To their credit, it never seemed collaborative. Cheeseburger come off as just that good and Lee came off as just that frustrated, and it all worked. 

Lee was able to jam Cheeseburger's attempt to mount him, was even able to knock off a rope break with a Border City Stretch, but Cheeseburger was undaunted and finally did mount him and wrench both arms back at once. Lee's only escape? Grabbing the ropes with his teeth as the judges took notes before him. 

Bad had gone to worse and now, despite the ground Lee had gained back, things were even between them, and the humiliation was starting to sink in.

How dare Cheeseburger? How dare he ride him, stretch him, humiliate him? This is Taigastyle Lee Moriarty, longest Pure Champ ever, who beat Shibata, Blue Panther, Nigel McGuinness. 

The tiger saw red and lashed out. Cheeseburger fought back but Lee honed in on the gut, pressed hard. He pressed too far and too soon though, was emotional, was heated. He went to the well once too often and Cheeseburger was able to fight back.

The rope breaks felt like goals in a soccer game. 1-0, 1-1, 2-1, 2-2. It was wrestling as art and wrestling as sport all in one. The sport was the trappings; the art, the means, the purpose, the impression it left with you.

And like all great art, there was humanity underneath, Lee's frustration, Cheeseburger's desperation, and both men's pride when it came to their chosen art/science/trade. 

Lee utilized a camel clutch, not one of his usual moves, but it was a way of presenting Cheeseburger's pained faced to the crowd, to the judges, to the world, nowhere to hide as he used up one of his rope breaks. 

Cheeseburger, firing back, hitting bombs, almost scored a win with a clutch seatbelt cradle. It was one of those nearfalls where, even watching it back, knowing the result, it still gets you just a little. That's how good it was. 

But in 2026, this is Lee Moriarty's world, and no matter how much heart Cheeseburger showed (even valiantly fighting his way back up from what looked to be a knock out shot), and no matter how hard he trained, once Lee got that third rope break, it was the beginning of the end. Cheeseburger crawled to the ropes to escape another Border City Stretch but that left him open to a rope assisted Camel Clutch and he had no choice but to tap.  

Cheeseburger loves pro wrestling, lives it even, but so long as Lee Moriarty holds that belt, he IS pro wrestling.

So where does this leave Cheeseburger? Was it truly all for nothing? After a match like that, after inspiring a crowd to support him, after pushing the Pure Champ to the limit, maybe, just maybe, he can take a step back, and find validation within. Pro wrestling, like life, is a journey. The true practitioners never stop learning, never stop growing. So long as that's true, they never know true defeat and there's always tomorrow. And sometimes it takes a match like this to remind us of that.

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El Deporte de las Mil Emociones: Where's Chicky?

Week 61: Where's Chicky?

EB: The August 3 house show was a memorable one, with a wild brawl between Carlos Colon and Abdulalht Butcher that had Profe humiliated due to Carlos tearing Profe’s pants off. We also had the first match between Miguelito Perez and Huracan Castillo, and any hope of a reconciliation was gone once Huracan attacked Miguel Perez Sr when he got involved to try to stop them from fighting. An angry Miguelito is not going to let that pass and a rematch has been set for Fan Appreciation Day weekend on August 10. One other notable development from August 3 was Fidel Sierra defeating Super Medico #3 to win the Caribbean title, so there are changes occurring in CSP. 

As we move to August 10, a large new arrival has joined the ranks of El Ejercito de la Justicia, a man named Solomon Grundy. August 10 is also the annual Fan Appreciation Day, headlined by the Bronca Boricua match. The big rivalry of Castillo vs Perez will have two chances to get at each other that night as both are entered in the Bronca Borcicua. Let’s go to the August 10 west coast version of Super estrellas de la Lucha Libre, where  we will hear all about their lineup for the August 11 Fan Appreciation Day show.

WWC Super Estrellas 8/10/91 west coast edition

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dbVC5EjlzKo

EB: We join the episode with Hugo already in the midst of his show intro, where he announces we will see the debut of the enormous Solomn Grundy on this week’s episode. We will also have the new Caribbean champion Fidel Sierra, who defeated Super Medico #3 last week in Bayamon to become the new champion. Since this is the west coast version of Superstrellas, the big news is that tomorrow in Aguadilla it is Fan Appreciation Day with special prices and a meet and greet with the tecnico wrestlers before the show. It also means the return of the Bronca Boricua match, where wrestlers will compete for a $10,000 cash prize. Hugo also mentions some of the other matches scheduled for tomorrow, with the big one being a rematch between Huracan Castillo and Miguelito Perez. They had a big brawl last Sunday that ended with Castillo knocking out Perez with an object and then Miguelito dragging Castillo out of the locker room afterwards. Let’s go to our first match.

The State Patrol vs. Super Medico #3 & Invader #4

We have another version of the State Patrol, this time Lt. James Earl Wright is joined by Sgt. Billy Joe Barber. Their opponents are the team of Super Medico #3 and Invader #4. Wright and Medico start off for their teams, with Wright complaining about hair pulls and Medico keeping the upper hand on their early lock ups. Wright briefly works Medico’s arm, but that gets countered and the tecnico team tags in and out while working over Wright’s arm. Barber is tagged in and does not fare any better. The State Patrol takes control once they are able to back Medico into their corner, giving them an opening to bait Invader #4 into the ring and double team Medico behind the ref’s back. Wright and Barber control the next few minutes, keeping Medico in the ring and cutting off any hope spots. An elbow to the back of Wright’s head gives the opening for the hot tag to Invader #4, who briefly handles both Patrol members. All four men end up in the ring but despite the tecnicos whipping the State Patrol into each other, Wright recovers quickly and hits a neckbreaker on Invader #4. This sets up an interesting finisher for the State Patrol (like a Doomsday Device only with a shoulder tackler to the body) and the State Patrol get the win.

MD: Theoretically, the State Patrol are perfect for Puerto Rico. Very much a Rock’n’Roll RPMs deal where they have the skills to really shine with the opportunity, but so far we just never get the real State Patrol. Here it’s James Earl Wright with “Billy Joe Barber” and other than being from Florida, as we’re told by Hugo, we don’t know much about him. He’s competent, but that’s not the same as being an arch stooge. This was pretty straightforward for the most part. Babyfaces controlled the arm. Heels ground down once they took over. Transitions weren’t super interesting. Finish was good after the hot tag as Medico and Invader were firing off hot, and the finishing move, which was a Suplex with a top rope shoulder block was good (set up by Wright cutting Invader off with a neckbreaker out of nowhere, so not even a cheating win). 

EB: Our first round of promos for this episode features the combatants in tomorrow’s Caribbean title match. Up first is new champion Fidel Sierra, who first talks about the Bronca Boricua. He expects to win the $10,000 prize and already knows what weapon he is bringing with him to the match. It seems there was some controversy last Sunday in Aguadilla, where the fans feel Sierra tried to steal the match from Medico #3 (something Sierra denies). Sierra is defending his newly won title tomorrow against the former champion, Sierra is going to show Medico #3 why Cubans are number one.

Medico #3 is next and also first mentions that he wants to win the Bronca Boricua tomorrow before talking about tomorrow’s rematch. Looks like last Sunday Sierra got caught with his legs on the ropes trying to gain leverage for a pin. The ref caught it but tomorrow Medico will be ready for Sierra’s shenanigans. He is also looking forward to the fan meet and greet before the show.

MD: Sierra won the Caribbean Championship from Medico III, though I think it was a little contested. They’re hyping up the Bronca Boricua. Fidel Sierra fashion watch has him less Cuban Assassin here with the flag, but a button down shirt and hat and sunglasses. So he is bouncing around a bit I suppose. They’re also hyping up a rematch and Fan Day where you can ask the wrestlers questions and get autographs with special prices for tickets.

EB: We get our first look at new arrival Solomon Grundy, who will be in a handicap match tomorrow against El Profe and Alex Porteau. Grundy is happy to be in Puerto Rico and is counting on his size to help him win the Bronca Boricua. Grundy is not worried about taking on two men tomorrow and sends a message in Spanish to the Puerto Rico fans (including sending a lot of kisses to all the ladies).We then get the card rundown for tomorrow’s Fan appreciation Day show featuring a fan meet and greet before the show and special prices: A 14 wrestler $10,000 Bronca Boricua match; the rematch between Miguelito Perez and Huracan Castillo; Giant Warrior vs. Great Kokina; Caribbean title rematch as Super Medico #3 challenges Fidel Sierra; The Invaders vs The State Patrol; Solomon Grundy vs. El Profe & Alex Porteau and Ray Gonzalez vs El Galan Mendoza.

MD: Grundy did pretty well here, talking about how he was bigger and meaner than everyone, but seeming like the nicest guy as he did. Bronca Boricua is a natural fit for him. It’s 14 guys (Invader #1, Castillo, Warrior, Sierra, Perez, Kokina, Grundy, State Patrol, Super Medico, Invader #4, Gonzalez, Porteau, Mendoza). We don’t have it. He tried to say some things in Spanish at the end which no babyfaces ever do. Again, it felt endearing. He’d be facing Porteau and Profe 2 on 1 as well, which sounds like it was probably fun. 

Great Kokina vs. Mr. Ito

EB: Kokina is back in Puerto Rico for Fan Appreciation weekend, so we get a match from his earlier appearance from about two months ago. His opponent is Mr. Ito and Kokina just steamrolls the poor guy. Ito gets a couple of dropkicks late in the match but Kokina brushes them off. A Samoan Drop quickly follows and Kokina gets the pin.

MD: This is a month or two old as Akbar was still there and Kokina had only been in for a limited run before. As weird as Nogami vs Yoko is on paper, there wasn’t a ton here. Nogami brushed him back with a few karate kicks but Kokina took over quickly and barely looked back. Nogami came back with a couple of dropkicks but got flattened with a clothesline and samoan drop.

EB: El Profe is in the studio to talk up the Bronca Borciua, specifically that Great Kokina will handle ‘El Ejercito de la Inmundicia’ and maybe some of their fellow rudos as well in order to win the cash prize. But more importantly, Profe expects Kokina to finish Giant Warrior. This is followed by Giant Warrior talking about how he wants to win the Bronca Borica and that Kokina is stepping into his backyard tomorrow.

MD: They talk up the 10k prize and the upcoming Kokina vs Warrior match. Warrior is an AJPW guy and Kokina is a NJPW guy so that’s kind of interesting I guess and a natural match. I bet it was probably pretty decent too.

EB: Invader is next in the promo lineup and also hypes up tomorrow's Bronca Boricua match. Also, they’ll see tomorrow who the better tag team as the Invaders take on the State Patrol 

MD: Invader is teaming with Invader IV against the State Patrol. Bronco’s off doing whatever I guess. With Colon out for this week and TNT MIA too, Invader’s sort of the top guy alongside the Castillo vs Perez feud.

The Samoan Swat Team vs. Ricky Santana & Kim Duk

EB: We get a repeat of the SST vs. Ricky Santana & Kim Duk match from back in May. The SST are still around and gunning for tag gold.

MD: It’s more Memphis SST. Actually, I think we saw this already. This is the one where Santana takes a huge beating, Duk comes in, immediately screws up by doing a double nogging knocker and loses.

EB: The State Patrol makes sure that we all know they hate Puerto Ricans and they want to win the $10,000 tomorrow. Barber talks about putting down the Invaders tomorrow.

MD: This was pretty bleak. Wright references LA riots. Barber’s definitely got the accent for this. They would not be using the money for good things if they win it. That’s for sure.

EB: Galan Mendoza talks about all the luxury stuff he could buy and do with the $10,000 prize. He also says it will be difficult for Ray Gonzalez to defeat him tomorrow.

MD: Mendoza on the other hand, would be living the high life with the money! Lobster dinner. An island getaway. Good for him. I hope he won it. (He did not win it).

Handicap Match: Solomon Grundy vs. El Exotico & The Fly

EB: Matt’s going to be happy to see Exotico back. It’s very brief screen time though, as The Fly lives up to his name and gets squashed in about a minute by Solomon Grundy.

MD: Hey, it’s El Exotico! My favorite enhancement guy. We haven’t seen him in ages. This did not go well for him. Grundy made short work out of these two. I think he got off his feet once for a dropkick of sorts but hard to tell with the camera cut.

EB: The hottest rivalry in Puerto Rico wrestling is set for a rematch tomorrow as Huracan Castillo is in the studio to talk about tomorrow’s match against Miguelito Perez. Hugo says that the fans are saying a lot of unpleasant things about Castillo, that last Sunday Castillo knocked Miguelito out with a foreign object as they were fighting after the dq. Castillo does not understand what the fans and Miguelito have against him, he does not need objects to knock down Perez. Castillo is complaining about Miguelito going into the locker room to attack him after he had laid Miguelito out. They’ll settle things tomorrow, even if they have to fight in the street or beach. 

Miguelito responds by saying that he does not care about the prize money tomorrow, he just wants to get his hands on Castillo in the Bronca Boricua and in their singles match. Hugo brings up that Castillo denied using a foreign object last week and an indignant Perez says of course he’s going to lie and deny doing that even though everyone saw him do it. That’s why he chased Castillo down to the locker room and kicked his butt back out. If Castillo is going to be using objects, then Miguelito will bring them as well.

MD: Got to keep the big feud churning. I still would have liked to see a heel Castillo squash match but ah well. Strong stuff from Castillo where he talks about how he didn’t need a knuckle duster to defeat Perez and how Perez was an out of control savage (obviously lies but he’s leaning well into the delusion). He mentioned how his teaming with Perez is why he never won these big money matches and how he didn’t care about the money, just getting his hands on Perez. It’s a good act.

Perez could barely even respond to such absurdity and he was obviously flustered. He said he didn’t care about the money either and he came off as very sympathetic in the face of Castillo’s behavior.

Fidel Sierra vs. Jerry Mercado

EB: We join in progress our next match, as the new Caribbean champion is making a point of making an example of Jerry Mercado. Hugo reminds the viewers about not using holds such as the sleeper (which Sierra uses to win the match) at home and also brings up that he feels that the way Sierra uses the flag to cover his opponents is disrespectful. Hugo then closes the show by hyping up tomorrow's Fan Appreciation Day show.

MD: Total control by Sierra here. He’s quick to pull Mercado up just to beat him down again. He wins with the sleeper (but does wake him up post match). No one had been using it like this for a couple of years in Puerto Rico so it’s a nice touch.

EB: Before moving to the next weekend, a quick note about the August 10 card in Bayamon. The WWE Vault just uploaded a Great Kokina vs Solomon Grundy match from that house show (something we did not have available before). We’ll make sure to cover this match in our next post, but what tremendous timing for the drop.

With that said, let's now go to the August 17 Campeones episode, where we have an announcement regarding the vacant Caribbean tag titles.

WWC Campeones 8/17/91

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HBMj-VcVhcI

EB; As usual our hosts are Hugo and El Profe, with El Profe doing his usual preening and posing during the show intro. They talk about the matches they will feature on today’s episode. Tonight we’re getting another Fan Appreciation Day, this time in Ponce. The main event is Carlos Colon vs Kareem Muhammad. There will also be a tournament for the vacant Caribbean tag titles, Hugo explains the rules and mentions the teams participating. When Hugo mentions the team of the Latin Connection (the new pairing of Ricky Santana and Ray Gonzalez), a surprised Profe remarks ‘They teamed up the Barbie dolls.’  Profe feels confident the SST will win. Hugo also mentions that their latest VHS releases highlighting Carlos Colon's greatest battles and Volume 4 of Super Estrellas  are now available for rent and purchase. Also tonight the World Kickboxing Federation is holding an event in Manati so make sure to check that out if you are in the area. 

MD: We lead off talking about upcoming events, including Fan Appreciation Day and the upcoming tournament for the Caribbean Tag Titles. 8 teams. 20 minute time limits for all matches until the final. Some of the teams are Super Medico III and Perez, Sierra and Castillo, Gonzalez and Santana, State Patrol, Mendoza/Porteau, Warrior/Grundy, Samoan Swat Team, and maybe Invader and Bronco. Not a bad look at the roster overall, noting that Colon vs a returning Kareem Muhammad is on top. 

Atkie Mulumba vs. Giant Warrior - No DQ match from July 20

EB: This match is from Carolina and is a no DQ. Hugo mentions that this was when Profe brought in wrestlers to get back at Giant Warrior for injuring his jaw with the big boot. Giant Warrior runs to the ring and immediately attacks Atkie by choking him with Atkie’s attire. Mulumba bails to the outside and takes his time heading back in, while Hugo on commentary mentions that Mulumba is the size of a hippopotamus and is bigger than before. Atkei heads abc in, Warrior gets the advantage again before Mulumba takes over and controls most of the match. Back from a commercial break and both men are outside of the ring with Warrior making a comeback. They fight by the barricade before heading back into the ring, where Mulumba again takes over. The match ends when Mulumba goes for his top rope splash but Warrior gets a boot up to counter. Warrior follows up with the big boot and gets the win. El Profe was not avenged.

MD: Not sure when this was from, but it was a good win for Warrior. He controlled early using Mulumba’s garb to choke him. Mulumbua got some shots in out of the corner and took over with chokes (including over the top rope) and nerve holds. It spilled to the floor and Warrior fought back tossing Mulumba around, which looked good. Back in the ring, Mulumba got the advantage but leaped off the top for a splash right into Warrior’s boot and he loaded it with a stomp and hit a mafia kick for the win. Not the world’s most compelling match, but it had a moment or two and, like I said, was a good win for Warrior.

Abdullah the Butcher vs. TNT

EB: This match is joined in progress and likely is from one of the late July TV tapings when Abdullah made a short return.TNT hasn’t been featured much in recent months, it seems he has been doing more foreign tours. TNT is getting the better of Abdullah here, with several strikes keeping Abdullah against the ropes. A well timed karate thrust from Abdullah cuts off TNT however,  and Adbullah starts his attack. Headbutts, biting and gouging. Eventually the fight spills to the outside where they keep attacking each other and are counted out.

MD: This went how you’d expect. They barely moved ever further than a foot away from one another, just all close up combat, starting with TNT headbutts, then a lot of Abby choking and headbutts of his own. He tried to use the claw a lot, even as they spilled to the floor, but TNT kept cutting that off, and they brawled to a countout.

EB: Alex Porteau and Galan Mendoza cut a promo on going for the Caribbean tag titles tonight. The bigger news is that Alex Porteau beat Ricky Santana last Friday for the World Junior title. Mendoza says luck is everywhere for them and they’ll be the next Caribbean tag champions. 

MD: Porteau is the Junior Champ now apparently, having just won it. Now he and Mendoza are coming for the tag titles. 

EB: Fidel Sierra and Huracan Castillo are also competing in tonight’s tournament. Huracan tells Fidel that the fans are already looking at the Caribbean tag champions and that he's hoping to get a shot at facing Miguelito Perez in the tournament so he can wipe the floor with Perez. Fidel says that they are the number one team whether the fans like it or not. 

We then get a card rundown for tonight in Ponce: Carlos Colon vs Kareem Muhammad; the Caribbean tag title tournament featuring Invader #1 & Bronco #1, Miguelito Perez & Super Medico #3, the Samoan Swat Team, Alex Porteau & Galan Mendoza, Giant Warrior & Solomon Grundy, Ricky Santana & Ray Gonzalez, the State Patrol, and Huracan Castillo & Fidel Sierra. 

Also this Wednesday at the TV taping in Miramar featuring a main event of Miguelito Perez & Invader #1 vs. Fidel Sierra & Huracan Castillo, and a 15 wrestler coal miners pole battle royale featuring Solomon Grundy, Giant Warrior, Bronco #1, Ricky Santana, Super Medico #3, Alex Porteau, The Heartbreakers, Galan Mendoza, Dusty Wolfe, Ray Gonzalez, and more.

MD: I had missed the Castillo/Sierra announcement at the top of the show but these two make sense as a team. Same sense of swagger so long as Sierra isn’t in the camo. 

EB: The last match on this episode of Campeones is the barbed wire match between Carlos Colon and the Polynesian Prince from early June. In between match segments there is a promo from Invader #1 and Bronco #1 where they talk about wanting to become double tag champs and that they know it’s a tough field tonight. Hugo and Profe close the show by doing a final hype job for tonight’s house show.

Before ending this week’s post, it has been about a year since we last saw Chicky Starr in CSP. I think it’s about time we checked in on what he’s currently up to  around this time period in summer 1991.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=p900bECT9qE

EB: This is footage from an independent company that is running on the west coast of the island. I remember seeing this show on one of the local channels (either channel 12 or 13) and I mainly remember Chicky and the host doing talking head segments and airing matches from different places. This specific clip is a compilation of interview promos hyping up one of this company's house shows.  The presentation reminds me of the early 80s TV from CSP where Rickin Sanchez was at the studio sitting and wrestlers would pop in and out to do their promos. Chicky is in the middle of cutting promos for the matches his guys are having, we see someone leaving as Chicky brings in two more of his organization's wrestlers. Chicky says his organization keeps growing and now he has brought in Crusher #2 to team up with Crusher #1. The Crushers are doing the black glove claw gimmick and Chicky wants the cameraman to zoom in on their hands. They will deal pain to any who stand against them. Chicky then rattles off the names of his wrestlers: The Crushers, Cubano Loco (which I’m guessing was the guy we saw leaving the interview area as the clip started) Solid Gold (hmm…), Los Vaqueros, and his Sports Organization is on the upswing and will keep growing. Chciky then starts rattling off the names of the tecnicos that need to watch out, such as Ricky Sexton, the Super Medicos (hmm...), Los Acrobatas, El Cobra, El Rockero, they have open contracts for any and all of them. 

The next clip is of the North American champion of the company, Ricky Sexton. His opponent is Cubano Loco and we get a promo from Sexton about being wary of how dangerous Cubano Loco and Chicky Starr are, how he beat Loco last time they faced each other and how he will do everything in his ability to keep the title. We also get the Super Medicos in the studio, this is Super Medico #2 and Super Medico #4. They are facing The Crushers and Medico # 4 does the talking for the team. If you're wondering who they are, Super Medico #4 is the same one we’ve seen before in CSP, one Julio Estrada. The silent Super Medico #2 is Nick Ayala, someone we have also seen before in CSP. 

This is a rare look at some of the other goings on in Puerto Rico wrestling. Chicky seems to be earning a paycheck at least but this seems a bit low rent (it is an independent company based in the western region after all). Ricky Sexton as North American champion, second rate Super Medicos, a bunch of generic sounding team names (just what the heck is a Solid Gold anyway?)…probably the last we’ll hear about them in any shape or form.

MD: The second you see Chicky on screen here, no matter what happens around him, he feels instantly iconic. I miss the guy, even though Profe is doing an admirable job and Akbar was fun. No idea what’s going on here but he’s got two masked guys flexing their hands over and over and over ago and then we see some fake Medicos too. It feels like Public Access Puerto Rican wrestling.

EB: Next time on El Deporte de las Mil Emociones, the feud between Miguelito Perez and Huracan Castillo rages on and brings Carlos Colon and Fidel Sierra into its orbit, new Caribbean tag champions are crowned, and Great Kokina vs Solomon Grundy (thanks WWE Vault!). 

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80s Joshi on Wednesday: Yokota! Hori! Martel! Martin!

Volume 3 

4. Jaguar Yokota & Jumbo Hori vs. Judy Martin & Sherri Martel 

This is the last match Judy Martin and Sherri Martel would have in this tour of Japan before heading back to the United States. From what cards I can see Sherri actually tagged with Kaoru (later Dump) Matsumoto for most of this tour. Those are matches that'd be interesting to see if there's any evidence she had an influence on Dump (they certainly have 'act insane' in common). No footage of any of them though. 

To the match, Jaguar has her arm taped up and Judy & Sherri immediately go after it. There's no shine at all. Barely 30 seconds into the match and this is the heels working over a body part. It's a lot less hectic than their previous outing, which maybe doesn't suit them at first, but it also gives them something to build up to. They were going somewhere with the heat but I thought Jaguar's tag out was a bit anti-climatic, she literally just throws one punch to the gut and then rolls over to the over side of the ring to tag in Jumbo Hori. Could have done with a bit more struggle there.

This was basically a set up for a double figure-four spot. Sherri Martel sells Jaguar's figure four by shaking around like she's in the most unbearable pain ever. When she rolls out of the ring and Judy Martin gets in, Jaguar does one of the best rolling handstands I've ever seen her do into a dropkick. I find it mesmerising. 

This is my favourite part of the match though. Judy and Sherri have an argument after a miscommunication, they're driven to the outside and are still arguing. Then Jaguar and Jumbo chase them around the ring going in opposite directions, until Judy and Sherri meet on the other side and crash into each other! Perfect. I don't remember seeing that anywhere else but it's such a simple and funny spot to make the heels look like clowns.

We then get a double countout, which in AJW 2/3 falls rules means the score is 1-1 so this next fall is the final one. 

I'm not some big limbwork obsessive but in this match I think it would have been better for Jaguar's arm to come into play. Mainly because if you're going to spend the first few minutes of the match setting up that and nothing else, it doesn't make much sense to me for it to then have no impact on the rest of the match. It's like spending the opening chapter of a novel establishing that the main character has a fear of heights but then that trait having zero impact on the plot.

Instead, this final fall is more heel shenanigans, but relatively tame compared to what we've seen before. There's a beatdown on the outside, Jaguar gets thrown onto a table. There's a decent comeback where she ducks a double clothesline and then has Jumbo lift her up for a couple of double thrust kicks. Jumbo actually gets the pin with a top rope crossbody, which would have been a good win for her.

Fans of Judy & Sherri will appreciate seeing this. It's a better opportunity than they usually got in the USA to show how good they were and it has some uniqueness going for it. Pretty good. I don't think anyone gave a standout performance though nor did we really learn much.

***

MD: A lot going on here. Less chaotic and more focused to start as they target Yokota’s damaged elbow but that does go away after a while. Early transitions aren’t super interesting. Hori gets swept under on the outside when she tries to help save her partner but then she comes back with just a punch to the gut. Love the end of the fall though. Yokota handsprings through but ends up 2-on-1. It bleeds into heel miscommunication and the heels shouting at each other and shoving. Hori and Yokota take over and chase them around ringside where they crash into each other. Then it becomes a mad dash back into the ring, really putting over the countout in a way you can only do in a ⅔ falls match. Yokota makes it back in but I don’t think it’s in time so it’s 1-1.

This had more of Hori working big too. She crashed into both Americans in the corner like Andre might do. Martin sold a Vader Attack from her by almost being taken out of the match. They had Yokota barely survive another count later on, but the finish was pretty definitive with Hori hitting a big flying body press for the win. It had a lot of disjointed stuff (I didn’t mention the double figure fours) and lacked the overall chaotic feel of the last Martin/Sherri tag but the highs were pretty high and very fun here. 
 

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A World He Did Not Make. A Truth One Cannot Return To: Greco-Malenko vs Connelly

Karl Greco-Malenko vs Mad Dog Connelly [Battlarts Rules] ACTION 4/17/26

MD: Look, we watch a lot of wrestling. Too much wrestling. That can be a thing. We live it. It's fine. We're ok. We're mostly sane around here. But that means that we turn on a match, when we tune in and lock in, we have a pretty good sense of what we're going to get. When they announced this one (and as always, I am not privy to this stuff ahead of time), I had no idea what to expect.

Once upon a time, a guy named Austin Connelly wrestled a bunch of UWFI rules matches. All sorts of opponents. Daniel Garcia. Max the Impaler. Blade. Garrini. Davey Richards even. He won most of them, most of them under five minutes. That was before he found his truth, before his eyes went wild and enraged, before he learned to lean into the secure, stifling tug of a dog collar around his neck. He's a different beast now. 

And Karl Greco-Malenko? He's come back to a world of American independent pro wrestling that he never made. This isn't some sort of soft and casual homecoming. The indies were never his home. PWFG. Battlarts. All Japan. Even a tiny but of Rings and Fu-Ten. This? This is the wild west. Matt Mako, dangerous as he was, deadly as he can be with that cross-armbreaker. That was familiar territory. Greco-Malenko is the interloper here. He's the one who's crossed territorial lines, literal coonskin cap on his head. A pioneer. A man of science and technique. An adventurer gone grey. Gone exploring right into the cave of the beast. 

This was Battlarts rules, sure. Fine. That would define the rules of engagement, not the style, not the tenor, not the tone, not the attitude. You try to put Mad Dog Connelly in a box and he'll tear down a lot more than four walls. That's what I thought at least.

Yet, that's not entirely what happened. Oh, this was Mad Dog. It was unquestionably Mad Dog. But for the first time in years, I think I saw glimpses of Austin peek out. Yes, Greco-Malenko had crossed on to his territory, but the specific nature of this challenge seemed to reawaken something in Connelly, some last vestige of civility behind the seething rage. 

If Greco-Malenko was such an expert, such a practitioner, such a legend. If he had the temerity to barge in on Connelly's world, to challenge him on his turf, to face him in his ring, then it wasn't enough to just beat him in Mad Dog's ineffable way, to make Greco-Malenko live his truth. Just this once, Connelly needed to stretch, to reach back, to remember a Truth that was no longer his own but that he once carried with him. 

So he faced Greco-Malenko on his own terms. He wrestled.

The thing is, not even Mad Dog himself can force himself into a box, not even with all of his will and focus and intention. Yes, he was able to lean on technique, was able to latch on to limbs, was able to jam an elbow in for leverage, was able to ride and control the great Karl Greco-Malenko. But he couldn't help himself. He just couldn't. He taunted, vocal in a way that you never see him in matches, the human slipping through, tainted by the beast, haunted by the fury, but recognizable nonetheless. 

More than that, he hammered, swiped, punched, pounded. Against a lesser opponent, it would be overwhelming, exhausting, destructive, but for Greco-Malenko, it was an opportunity. He placed a hand behind his head, nominally absorbing blows. That just infuriated Connelly more and he pounded even harder. That let Greco-Malenko seize a hand and reverse things. 

Because Connelly was limiting himself in his attempts to conquer Greco-Malenko's world, because he was trying to force himself into a box, because he was trying to win on terms that were not his own, he provided Greco-Malenko answers to questions that should have been unanswerable.

Momentarily frustrated, Connelly rushed in. Greco-Malenko was ready, caught him in a butterfly position, lifted and dropped him into a knee, and rendered him helpless with a submission. Just like that, it was over.

Except for it's never really over with Connelly, is it? That's the thing about truth. It doesn't simply just end and go away when it's convenient. It's always there following you, lurking around the corner. And when Connelly is involved, truth is always, always, always found at the end of a chain. 

Congratulations, Karl Greco-Malenko. You donned your cap. You marched off into the belly of the beast. You took your hide. You survived to tell the tale.

But if you ask me, and I bet if you dare to ask the Mad Dog, I don't think you've lived your truth yet. 

But you will.

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

AEW Collision 4/25/26

RUSH vs Adam Priest 

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

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

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

And he doesn't give a damn about it.

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

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

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

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

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

Because what's a man without his pride?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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SEGUNDA CAIDA DECLARES WAR!! 2/8/97

 

1. Ryo Miyake vs. Tomohiro Ishii

ER: Miyake is representing Tarzan Goto, and Sensei Goto is lurking in the crowd just waiting to invade. Goto is sitting alone in Korakuen wearing a purple suit and a white collared shirt with the top buttons unbuttoned. He appears to have an entire row to himself and looks smug, and powerful. They cut to him a lot during the match and they're right to do so. Where can I get Miyake's yellow Tarzan Goto shirt? I would pay very good money for it. Miyake is representing W*ING and Tokyo Pro and Japanese sleaze in general and the Goto shirt is firing up Shinichi Nakano at ringside. Ishii has neon green tights, and a neck. 

It gets good when Miyake starts toe kicking Ishii in the back and side of the head as the latter was getting up. There hadn't been any kind of Kurisu energy and that sparked something. When they go into an elbow exchange, Ishii works his a little and Miyake just runs through him with extra pounce on impact. Ishii kind of tenaciously goes after a hammerlock and that's a cool Ishii I don't know. Ryo Miyake looks like Satanico crossed with Akitoshi Saito but in a fucked up way and not a cool way. Ishii lays out for a Dynamite Kid diving headbutt 2/3 of the way across the ring and this Ishii is so much better. Miyake throws a WAR level lariat running out of the corner. His single leg crab and Texas Cloverleaf looked back backbreaking. I don't think Dean Malenko had a better application and execution of the Cloverleaf any time in '97. I've seen fucking all of them. 

Miyake invites Tarzan Goto into the ring and he takes his time walking from the 15th row of Korakuen, carrying an attaché. Nakano and now Arashi get hot and riled up at the sight of Tarzan Goto in a perfect suit jacket looking The Most Dapper Tarzan Goto Can Look, meaning his stubble is only 6 days old. Koji Kitao comes down, Goto just leaves and holds court outside the building, taking questions on the street as he's hailing a cab. You ever seen a god? 

2. Onryo vs. Choden Senshi Battle Ranger

ER: This is going to be an exciting mess with more crashes than hits and I love it. Onryo's pescado sends him crashing to the ground in front of Battle Ranger, who is still wearing his cape because Onryo hid under the ring and jumped him. Ranger takes a great ringpost bump that looks greater because he's still wearing his big cape. Onryo is remembered for his bumps and risks but his worked punches are a lot better than you remember. He throws an excellent dropkick and is good at leaning into kicks, including Battle Ranger's missile dropkick to the floor, springing off the middle rope. Battle Ranger takes a fucking Jerry bump (!) and Onryo runs up the buckles and dives into him with a Jerry bump AS OFFENSE! It all looks great. 

All of Onryo's offense is tighter than I remembered, and Battle Ranger does little things like kick Onryo in the face hard before hitting an Asai moonsault, not just focusing on hitting the move but actually thinking about believably neutralizing his opponent before hitting it. There's an unexpected and fantastic fight over a rear waistlock, where Onryo keeps trying to kick back - hard - at Battle Ranger's legs but Ranger keeps dodging while holding the waistlock, before suplexing Onryo onto the back of his head. Battle Ranger looks like he damn near snaps Onryo's neck with a muscle buster and this whole thing started cool and kept getting better. We used to seek out WAR tapes for Ultimo Dragon matches and here are two better WAR undercard juniors in the post-Ultimo Dragon era. I don't think anyone was ever getting tapes for the Onryo or Choden Senshi Battle Ranger matches, because we didn't know anything then. Now we can change. 

3. Kamikaze vs. Atsushi Kikuchi

ER: Yume Factory mentioned. Kikuchi is a black trunks white boots no kneepads guy like Riki Choshu but with Tenzan's head. Their matwork is strong and tough, locked in, forearms across jaws. Kamikaze's moonsault has impact like 2 Cold Scorpio's. Kikuchi throws a lot of weight behind lunging elbow smashes and a dropkick, and jumps off the apron with a clothesline the way someone who wasn't totally thinking it through would do. He throws a butterfly suplex with real physics and hits a lariat even harder than Riki's. Kikuchi is one of our great post-peak lost WAR guys; a guy who was only around a few years during the WAR era with less available TV. We need the 1999 Atsushi Kikuchi handhelds. Every suplex thrown is stiff: vertical suplex with brainbuster drop, a German that snaps Kamikaze's legs over his body, a Kamikaze back suplex that was clearly meant to drop Kikuchi on his neck, with intent. Kamikaze returns the lariat from earlier and these lariats are Made in WAR, for WAR. A great lariat is the best roster prerequisite of any wrestling company in history. Kikuchi has no human idea how to take a tornado DDT but that's great because instead it just folds and crumples his body in a painful way. Kamikaze kicks him in the head a bunch after the match, after dropping him on his head with a fisherman's buster. Kamikaze knew WAR so well for a guy who didn't wrestle there very often. He was a natural fit who should have been a regular.  

4. Miho Watabe/Michiko Omukai vs. Sayuri Okino/Michiko Nagashima

ER: I don't know these women. I wasn't watching LLPW tapes in the 90s and I only know a few who have since. I know Watabe I guess. She's the one who looks like a small child. Watabe gets whipped around all over the ring by her hair and it's one of those women's wrestling spots from the 50s that can look so violent when done to a woman who is 90 pounds. Okino's snapmares are more violent but Nagashima's were quicker. Omukai has strong pinfall saves, always taking advantage of the situation and kicking Okino in the back of the head a few times, and Okino bumps nicely for Omukai's hot tag. Watabe can't get any weight behind her dropkick because she has no weight but she does it 20 or so times, spamming quantity, which is important. Omukai's dropkick hits like a joshi dropkick should, and she is very good at small things. Watabe has one good neck bridge spot that's very effective, and Nagashima is really good at hot girl dead eyed interference. She's like one of the Heathers, only with a kendo stick instead of a croquet mallet. 

5. Osamu Taitoko vs. Masakazu Fukuda

ER: WAR show giving us a sumo vs. freestyle match, which is why you watch WAR shows. Fukuda is listed as having a sumo background but wrestles with amateur single legs and pins like Takashi Sugiura or Chad Gable when he did that stuff a decade ago. Fukuda died tragically during the start of his New Japan career. Taitoko - the future Tachihikari - wants to treat him like a punk and Fukuda keeps fighting back against the charges. Fukuda tries to bulldog Taitoko and pretty soon (and pretty easily) gets him in mount with an elbow held across this throat. When they start hitting each other it's one of those great exchanges you get so consistently in WAR, as the much smaller Fukuda is fighting with speed while Taitoko punches him in the nose. Fukuda is small Sugiura, Taitoko is large Kamikaze. Taitoko hits harder and has a great standing sleeper, but Fukuda is relentless and hits a cool uranage on a very heavy man. Why do sumo guys always have such good kicks to the face? Were they all bullied and kicked in the face so much in training that they know how to deliver them naturally and pay them pay gleefully? Powerbombs are real in WAR. They are never faked. They are sincere. Fukuda keeps refusing to stay down for Taitoko's back suplex and powerbomb and chokeslam, all of which were delivered with intent, so Taitoko just clotheslines him in the back of the head and Gedo clutch's that wrestler of inferior style. 

6. Masaaki Mochizuki vs. Nobutaka Araya 

ER: 1997 Araya is still trying to do trunks and this boy is too beefy for these orange crush trunks to contain. Everybody's pants look a size too small in WAR and it's one of the best unsung features of WAR. Mochizuki throws six kicks to six different parts of Araya and they all make loud contact. Sumo vs. Kicker is going to be so damn good. It always is. The matwork is rugged, Araya is like Greg Valentine on the mat but his half crab moves into classic WAR torture. Araya is a real prick and he's so good when he wrestles as sadistic sumo Valentine. It's not enough to lock in a crunching STF, he starts pulling at the side of Mochizuki's eye with his fingers for leverage. Araya can really take - and sell - good kicks. He flies back into the ropes so convincingly and takes more than one cool bump to the floor. He also has a WAR level clothesline, per the prerequisite. His corner clothesline hits like Dr. Death, big impact. 

Araya drags Mochizuki's body through a good Korakuen brawl, throwing him down so hard on a bodyslam in the stands that some people around it reacted in real shock. His piledriver is perfect, and Mochizuki is bleeding, and bleeds even more when Araya starts throwing full force headbutts. Araya can absorb all of Mochizuki's good kicks, because he punches back so much harder. Araya starts suplexing him around like a corpse, then hits this killer running lariat and pounces into the cover, an excellent example of a man Trying to Put This Away. Araya even does a Valentine timberrrrrr bump after taking a kick to the face, and when he leans head and neck first into a springboard spinning heel kick it's an incredibly done nearfall. All the nearfalls down the stretch are great nearfalls because Araya starts spamming clotheslines and powerbombs until Mochizuki stays down. It genuinely felt like the real finish was Mochizuki taking as many of them as possible until physically incapable of lifting his body. This rocked in all ways, a near 20 minute match that kept getting stronger the longer Mochizuki persevered. 

7. Arashi/Shinichi Nakano vs. Yuji Yasuraoka/Lance Storm 

Storm and Yasuraoka are dressed like Fruit Stripe gum and they are one of the worst fucking teams of the 90s. Neither man looks like they belong in WAR and this match confirms that repeatedly. It's a minor miracle that Arashi and Nakano were able to make anything about this work, as Storm/Yasuraoka never looked like they belonged in the same ring as them. This is lavender tights/mullet era Arashi. Not to be fucked with. Lance Storm opts to fuck with him all match by hitting the worst offense in WAR history which leaves Arashi and Nakano wondering how to even acknowledge it. Imagine you're Lance Storm, coming into WAR, hitting your cartwheel clothesline and dropkicks that wouldn't budge a soul. Storm's matwork with Nakano is more interesting than watching him attempt any other offense. Are there any good mat-based Lance matches? The man was trained by one Hart brother for one day, there must be some matwork Lance out there. 

The match peaks when it's time for Storm and Yasuraoka's big comeback, where they manage to string together several pieces of offense that either miss entirely or land but wouldn't hurt a fly. It all starts when Lance slingshots himself to the floor with a cannonball...and launches himself far over Arashi's head, landing on his ass on the floor without making contact with a human body. Perhaps he was paying tribute to his partner, who tagged in early in the match with a slingshot senton that completely overshot Nakano. The two of them set up a kind of Total Elimination on Arashi that sees them both throw spinning heel kicks (Storm to the back of Arashi's head, Yasuraoka to the face) and both kicks mostly miss their target, so Arashi is left just standing there while they crash around him. Panicking, Lance follows it up with a dropkick that mostly misses and Yasuraoka has to hit a clothesline just so something finally connects with the largest man in the match who has been standing perfectly still this entire time waiting for anything to make contact with his body. 

You know who is a pretty badass tag team? Arashi and Nakano! They look like two men who should be able to effortlessly hit offense on Lance Storm and Yuji Yasuraoka, and they do! They are especially punishing to Yuji. Arashi lands heavy on elbowdrops, piledrives the man. When Nakano hits him with a brainbuster, Arashi comes in just to stomp him in the head, as it should be. Arashi is such a beast. He hits a big boy frog splash and an awesome nodowa otoshi where he lifts Yasuraoka up by the rear waist of his rights, then slams him forward by the throat. It's brutal having to see Lance Storm try and break up their offense to save Yasuraoka, because we are forced as a viewer to have to pretend a Lance Storm forearm had the power to knock Nakano off the apron. We are forced, as fans of wrestling, to treat Storm's silly leap to top buckle back elbow as a thing that could move a man. It's foolish. I liked how they finished Yasuraoka, him charging straight into a powerslam upon tagging in, Arashi giving him a couple powerbombs on a hard part of the ring, then finishing the job with a twisting frog splash. 

I don't know why WAR fans accepted these Fruit Stripe goofs. 

8. Genichiro Tenryu/Koki Kitahara/Tatsuo Nakano vs. Koji Kitao/Nobukazu Hirai/Hiroshi Hatanaka

ER: Not to the level of the highest of high end WAR trios, but the same kind of memorable as the best WAR trios. What made this match great, is Tenryu working simultaneously as the aace of the promotion babyface AND as a shitheel cheap shot artist. Tenryu is the god king of the promotion, the chairman, yet all match he's taking cheap shots whenever he can, kicking guys in the eye to break up pins, directing his boy Kitahara to do the same shit, that air of unprofessionalism running rampant. It is incredible to see Tenryu both humbled by Kitao, and act as a guy who doesn't want Kitao around. He cheap shots him, and takes liberties with Nobukazu Hirai just because the boy happened to be teaming with Kitao. It leads to the best parts of the match. 

Every Tenryu/Hirai interaction is good. Hirai has the fucking nerve to powerbomb him and Tenryu gets up pissed and starts kicking him in the face, then punching him in the face and eye. Tenryu tells Kitahara to do the same, so Kitahara tags in to kick Hirai in the face, but it's not hard enough so Tenryu comes back to show Kitahara how to kick Hirai in the face while Hirai is downed. Learning from the master, Kitahara tags back in and he throws even harder kicks at Hirai's head and face. This is the kind of wrestling storytelling I can follow and understand. We are all here for Nobukazu Hirai getting kicked in the face any time he steps over the plane of the ropes. It enrages Kitao while offering us nothing but joy. 

This is also a match that makes us ask the question, "Was Koji Kitao getting good at this?" The more he worked, the more his in ring confidence grew, the better he looked in the ring. This is one of those matches that highlighted his upside that was always there. How could there not be upside in a tall, 300+ pound disgraced sumo who can't control his anger? Kitao, in his large yellow pants and large yellow exposed breasts, attempted to mock Tenryu, and I loved all the exchanges between Kitao/Tenryu and Kitao/Kitahara. Kitao actually looked surprised at the fight Kitahara brought to him, as Kitahara came with hard leg kicks, and kept kicking at his legs after Kitao got dropped to a knee. When he has him suitably ripened, he tags Tenryu in, and the fireworks get bigger. Tenryu hits an enziguiri and cannonball, and you know it's good because Tenryu does that thing where he gets to his feet pumping his fist...only to turn around directly into a hard Kitao clothesline, then gets to feel what a fat boy senton really feels like. As Tenryu is recovering on the floor from his flattening, Kitao hits a baseball slide dropkick....and that is when it is officially Okay to ask if Koji Kitao Turned Actually Good in February 1997, and dare yourself to go back deeper to find any earlier moment that compares. 

The breakdown of the finish is excellent stuff, as we knew it was going to come down to Kitao and Tenryu going full unleashed on the other, and they do. Kitao is completely unmoved by two punches to the nose and rocks Tenryu with a right. Kitao walks through Tenryu's punches and throws great jabs, and anything Tenryu tries Kitao just spam blocks with kneelifts. Tenryu, getting nowhere, hilariously tags in sacrificial lamb Nakano, who gets immediately BURIED by a Kitao sitout tombstone. With Kitao distracted by a different body, Cheapshot Babyface Tenryu comes in and starts kicking Kitao in the face to chase him from the ring and bring the weaker members into the fray, because he is great at slapping and clotheslining Hirai and Hatanaka around. Tenryu's whole team is great at kicking and clotheslining and powerbombing Hatanaka. When the clear weak link of the match manages to hit Tenryu with a missile dropkick, all it does it back Tenryu into the ropes, giving him momentum to wreck him with a clothesline. This was a WAR heavyweights main event, driven by complicated relationships and in-fighting that we wouldn't understand but is tangible in all actions. 

THE COMPLETE SEGUNDA CAIDA DECLARES WAR!

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The Last of a Dying Breed?

Eddie Kingston vs Charli Evans St. Louis Anarchy 4/24/26

MD: Eddie Kingston is a scar upon the world. 

Last weekend was WrestleMania: influencers, polished entrances, plastic presentation. An astroturfed sheen. 

The triumph of sports entertainment.

This weekend? This weekend is something else. It's a reminder that wrestling, pro wrestling, is about truth, is about all the grime and the dirt and the grit and the glory that exists at the very bottom of the human heart. 

Eddie Kingston represents that. 

Pro wrestling saved him. Pro wrestling inspired him. It gave him purpose. It gave him identity. He's paid the price for it. You can see it in how he moves. You can see it on his face. You can see it in his eyes. Love is a wonderful thing and a terrible burden. 

That illusion of a perfect, plastic world? So long as Eddie Kingston lives and breathes and fights, it'll always ripple at the edges, always break down upon inspection, always fall apart under its own weight.

Eddie Kingston is a blemish upon the world.

But in being a blemish, he shows us things about ourselves, real things, true things, meaningful things.

In being a blemish, Eddie Kingston is beautiful and he reveals the beauty within ourselves.

And Charli Evans understands that better than anyone. 

Pro wrestling saved Eddie Kingston. He'd claim it was Misawa and Kobashi and Kawada and Taue, that it was Akiyama and the rest. When I look at him, I see Choshu and Tenryu. I see dissidents, revolutionaries, absolute miserable bastards that can't bear to just smile and nod and go along with the hypocrisy and falsehood before them. 

The difference? The only thing that has kept Eddie Kingston from tearing it all apart and burning it all down like they did? 

He just can't get out of his own way. They were perfect in their animosity. Eddie is Eddie in his imperfections. Maybe that's the only reason why any of this is still standing, but more important than that, it allows us to connect with him. Choshu and Tenryu will always be unknowable, unreachable. Eddie? He's so damn human, for all of our best attributes and all of our worst failings.

And Charli Evans understands that better than anyone. 

If Eddie had the pillars, she had Eddie. They were the Pillars of Heaven. You'd think maybe he was something else then, a Pillar of Purgatory? Something that represented the endless toil we faced but held up nonetheless. That's a thought, but I don't think it's the right thought. 

Eddie is just as structural as any pillar, but instead he's a Bridge. He connects their world with ours, helps us relate to everything he saw and felt that had been so larger than life, everything that saved him. He takes it, gathers it up, and then brings it to us in a beat-up burlap sack like some sort of put upon department store Santa Claus. It's Christmas Eve every time we get to see Eddie Kingston wrestle. Just don't tell him I said that.

Pro wrestling saved Eddie Kingston's soul, but in turn, he's devoted his soul to it. He respects it and reveres it like no one else. That means that even against Charli, even against someone he loves, he can't hold back. He said as much. He wouldn't listen to her words. He wouldn't see her as different from anyone else. Once that bell rang, respect would drive him, and it would be business, all business, nothing but business. Professional wrestling. 

And Charli Evans wouldn't have it any other way.

This is what she wanted. This was her dream match. She could say a thousand times that Eddie wasn't the last of the dying breed, that he would leave behind a legacy, that he had moved people, that they saw themselves in his fight. Through his struggle and through his genuine openness, he had inspired them to be like him where it mattered, to be the most that they could be no matter how hard life was, to get up when it knocked them down. He showed them that, even if sometimes, just like him, they were their worst enemies.

He would never believe the words. So she would have to prove it with her deeds.

Charli came out to the ring first, clad in gear meant to evoke Misawa, gear made for this moment, gear that had sat in her closet for years waiting for it. 

Eddie's entrance was ugly, a mad king holding court. Someone immediately started jawing with him, saying Eddie had broken his phone. That went about as well as you'd expect and soon, a couple of kids making up the scenery in the background, Eddie was shooting his mouth off. 

Still, after he walked around the ring and made his way in, things became all business. We were left with the image of Eddie looming over Charli as she was being introduced.

And then the fight was on. She was the one with something to prove and she meant to do it by taking it right to him. The problem was that Eddie had a massive size and strength advantage. She tried wrestling to begin, tried to pry off an arm. Eddie's absolutely no slouch when it comes to technique though and while Evans might have matched him, there was nothing pound-for-pound about this encounter. She wasn't able to gain an inch that way.

So, unable to lean on technique, she leaned with her chin instead. She bounced off him with a shoulder block, chopped away, threw forearms, and instead of chipping away at him, ran right into a brutal chop. The floodgate was opened and the water flowed through, a series of machine-gun chops in the corner. She had wanted Eddie Kingston, now she had him.

The question was what she could do now that she got him.

It wasn’t technique that was going to let her chip away at him. It was embracing the two lessons one learns from watching Eddie Kingston for as long as she has.

Lesson 1: When life knocks you down, get back up.

He stayed on her. She chopped back, hurt him. He flattened her with one blow. He stretched her, dropped down on her back. He went to suplex her. She made it difficult. She made everything difficult, as hard on him as possible. She tried to jam it with a small package and when that didn’t work, she just started to kick away. 

Later on, he’d cut her off with a neckbreaker, toss her hard into the corner. When he came charging in, she was up, had her elbow ready then jammed him face first into the turnbuckle and unloaded on him once more. Eventually, however, he was able to get under her, hit an exploder. 

The first time she had rolled out of the ring (after taking a hard chop) earlier in the match, she came back in forearms flying, throwing her body at him, even to no avail. The second time she tried to roll (after the exploder), he stopped her, grabbed her by her gear, pulled her up into a half and half suplex. She did make it out to the floor after that one, and it let her regroup, recover. Life had knocked her down again and again and she got back up every time. 

Lesson 2: Take victories wherever you can find them.

By this point she had her share of small victories. She had knocked him to his knees, to his stomach. She had dropped him in the corner, had hit a face wash, had done enough damage that she could actually look to the crowd and bask in her moment of control. These were victories. These mattered. 

Maybe they mattered a lot less after the exploder. 

But what she had been going for throughout the match, what had cost her each and every time she tried it, was a German Suplex. That would have been an entire different level of victory given the size difference, given Eddie’s supremacy when it came to suplexes. 

After she beat the count and made it back into the ring, something had to change. It was do or die, and if she knew anything, it was to never say die. She sidestepped Eddie on a charge in the ropes and locked those arms. He went flying overhead and another, more meaningful victory was secured.

He survived but she didn’t stop coming. She ducked a clothesline and started laying in ones of her own, staggering Eddie and then dropping him. A victory. Shaken, maybe even shocked, he followed her lead from earlier in the match and rolled out of the ring. 

To force Eddie Kingston of all people to retreat was its own special sort of victory, and if she’d gain nothing else from this encounter, she’d have achieved that. 

But she had one more thing to gain, one last hidden lesson to learn from Eddie.

Lesson 3: When life hits you as hard as it possibly can, roll with it and strike back.

She dragged Eddie back into the ring, engaged him. He shoved her away and she turned it into a version of Eddie dreaded Uraken. It crashed across his jaw but he moved with the impact, turning, spinning, hitting one of his own and causing her to crumble. Eddie stalked around the ring, hit a DDT and pinned her. 

After the match, Eddie got on the mic, declared his hatred for all of the people of the world, his love for her, and noted how far she’d go. 

And I was left wondering: did it work? Did she get through to him? She got her dream match. She got up every time life knocked her down. She gathered her small, meaningful victories to her heart like a magpie collecting the most precious treasures. She learned one last lesson, even if it cost her the match. But did any of it get through his thick head? 

Did he see it?

On the one hand, I just don’t think he can. To see it, to admit it, would be to admit a tragedy, for the last thing he’d want would be for her, or anyone he cared for, to be like him. 

But on the other hand, she had presented him with something undeniable. He knocked her down and she got up. She fought as hard as someone can fight and took her victories. 

Maybe he can deny it on the mic. Maybe he can deny it in a promo in the back. But deep down, in that creeping corner of his mind? 

He’s got nothing but love and respect for her. Nothing but regard. 

And if in the match she showed him a mirror of himself? And if he couldn’t help but like what he saw? Respect what he saw? Even love what he saw?

Well, what does that say about Eddie Kingston himself?

Whatever the answer, it, like this match, has more to offer the world than even the most polished plastic WrestleMania entrance. It spoke to something real, something heartfelt, something meaningful.

And if that's not a triumph of professional wrestling, I don't know what is. 

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FOUND FOOTAGE FRIDAY: BABA vs. RUSHER~! BRET vs. SID~! PANTHER~! CASAS~! UG~! ATLANTIS~!

 
Giant Baba/Hiroshi Wajima vs. Goro Tsurumi/Rusher Kimura AJPW 3/27/88

MD: Classics drop from a while ago but no one else is going to cover this stuff at length. It was a lot of fun too. Tsurumi got in Wajima's face early and they honestly really went at it. I don't know if Wajima was just a bit further along in his development by this point or if Tsurumi brought the best out of him but they were slugging. Eventually Rusher got in and Wajima walked him to the corner and the crowd went nuts at the idea of Baba and Rusher (even in 88) facing off. Baba was so slick and self-aware too. He just dropped on his back and picked an ankle. Then he did the headlock > hammerlock > go behind and dropped on his back and did it again. Awesome stuff. After that, Rusher didn't break clean and just blistered him.That just pissed Baba off and he soon blocked a chop, hit the head chop, and was on the mat choking the life out of Rusher.

It wasn't until later on, a few exchanges and tags later (and after he hit the Bulldog on Wajima), that Rusher was finally able to chip away at him and knock him down. Baba mounted a big comeback though, turning a whip around into a neckbreaker drop. Tsurumi tried his luck and got headbutted for his trouble, and then Rusher made saves for him until Wajima was finally able to put him away. I had a lot of fun with it certainly. 

ER: We've been working our way through the entirety of All Japan's 3/27/88 show the last several months, like we're reviewing one song at a time from a Grateful Dead Hampton Coliseum show. We reviewed Big Bubba vs. Shunji Takano last month, we reviewed Isao Takagi vs. Tom Magee and Tommy Rich/Austin Idol vs. Great Kabuki/Tiger Mask II around Thanksgiving. Maybe we'll do Masa Fuchi vs. George Skaaland this summer. 

This is most exciting to me because it's Baba and Rusher Kimura on opposite sides of a tag. I've seen so many Baba/Rusher tags, so many visions of brotherhood, two men who always showed how much they cared for each other during their tags. Once they started teaming they never stopped. Rusher was always on Baba's side during their old man trios, so 1988 would be the last era to see any kind of Baba/Rusher interaction opposite each other. They love each other and don't want to hurt each other, and Rusher shows this by wearing a Giant Baba shirt to the ring!!! The looks they exchanged all match made this so special, and every look and exchange between them is special. On top of this dynamic, you have Goro Tsurumi shit talking Wajima during the ring intros, firing up Wajima to such temperature that he attacked Goro before Baba had even been announced. You could see faces of fans disappointed they wouldn't get to use their Baba-colored streamers. 

Rusher being the one to throw chops at Baba was inevitable, loud open slaps that Baba sold by folding cross-armed at the waist after finally blocking one and chopping Rusher. Baba vs. Rusher was more about gamesmanship, Goro vs. Wajima was hubris and irritability. Goro distracts the ref before mule kicking Wajima in the balls, pulling an inside cradle that Baba breaks up with a disdainful shoving boot from the apron, a real "knock it off, goofball" demeanor. When Rusher breaks up a pin by lightly pulling on Baba's leg, Baba rolls to his back and just looks at Rusher like his boyfriend just playfully pretended to trip over him while he was doing yoga. Wajima palms Goro's face and face slams him to the mat, and when Rusher comes in to save him, he turns right around and leaps through the ropes to the floor when he sees Baba is in position to stop him. I love them. I love what they had. 

Sycho Sid vs. Bret Hart [Cage] WWF MSG 3/16/97

MD: Great Sid bit coming out as he was startled by his own pyro, not afraid of it, but looking like he might lash out at it. Say what you will about thigh slapping, but Bret was the best damn strike stomper that ever struck. He stomped on his punches. He stomped on his kicks. He stomped on his headbutts. There's a sort of purity to it, a beauty, that wrestling can be this too, and it would not just be accepted, but seen as an immersive ideal. Almost instantly, it means that Sid's shots, though bigger arcs, don't feel quite as punchy because he's not stomping on every shot, just some. And of course, when Bret gets whipped into the corner (even back first), he's somehow able to hit in a way that makes the post crash into the cage to make a satisfying noise. Someone could write even more about the SOUND of Bret matches. But it's notable in passing for a paragraph here.

What Sid did do amazingly, however, was frame his action. At one point, after pulling Bret off the cage after he'd been trying to climb out, Sid lifted him up like he'd hit a fall away slam or backbreaker. He looked to the left abruptly, then to the right, these little stilted motions that brought you into the moment by taking you out of it. Then he ran Bret into the cage. He was so big and so strong he didn't have to do anything like that, but that's what made him not just a giant but a star. 

Finish of this was clever enough (if still bullshit like most escape the cage matches that involve the door). Bret had the Sharpshooter on, but that doesn't get him the win in a WWF escape the cage match. Sid was still able to get up and cut him off while climbing, but Sid sold the leg well when he tried to climb. That let Bret hit the huge superplex but Sid, despite being unable to climb, was able to crawl out the door just before Bret could drop.

ER: Cool blue bars MSG cage match just a week before WrestleMania, with something of note happening at all times. Bret gently stumbles during his entrance in a way you can tell really pissed him off, throwing off his entire walk to the ring. He tried to slap hands with a security guard and then ran into a guard on the other side of the aisle, completely rattled. Sid, meanwhile, is in control. Wet as hell, fist bumping everyone, entrance theme perfection. He reacts to his own pyro not like someone startled, but like someone who wasn't expecting pyro and had also never seen pyro before. Mystified, not rattled; curious, but upset. Sid wrestles like Cool Iron Mike Sharpe. Their movement and offense is identical. Body Glove elbow sleeve instead of forearm cast. The more you watch both the more undeniable it becomes. Their offense is thrown the exact same way. Sharpe was Vocal Sid with brown curls, Sid is wide eyed stoic Sharpe with blond curls.  

I've talked before about the audio on these Vault releases, and it really is like seeing wrestling from this era presented in a totally new way. Not having to mic down the crowd to hear any announcers is a marvel in itself, getting to hear individual fans through a full match, hearing how loud and heavy Sid is breathing after they did the first stretch of climbing, how LOUD the turnbuckles sound the three different times Bret gets run into them (two back first, the third his classic chest first), how the ring barely moves but explodes in sound when Bret is pressed off or Sid is superplexed. All the new revelations in sound leap out the entire match. When we wrote about a Goldust/Shawn Michaels ladder match last year, the sound of the ring was so incredible that it added to every bump and strike they did, and that was just as magnified here. A lot of this was arm strikes, Bret throwing his worked punches and Sid throwing his Iron Mike Sharpe arm swings. After Sid's first escape attempt, while Bret is fighting with him on the top rope, Bret's punches to Sid's body look outstanding. As Matt said, Bret is a stomper, a striker totally unseen in modern wrestling, but there's no stomping up top. 

After the match, after the big superplex, after Bret's sharpshooter failed and Sid was still able to crawl to the door that Bret must have forgot about (that stupid psychology wrinkle in every single WWF escape the cage match), there's an immaculate bridge and tunnel girl with her hair done up, trying to take a picture of Bret. He walks right past her on the aisle, and she reaches out to touch his shoulder. As he passes her and her hand makes full contact with him, all she can do in the aftermath is stare at her hand, no expression on her face. In her first physical brush with fame, she got to experience how oiled up and slimy pro wrestlers are, and her brain had no idea how to process this new information. 

Ultimo Guerrero/Atlantis vs. Negro Casas/Blue Panther CMLL 12/4/07 (?)

MD: This was a title match, worked like a title match, and it was refreshing to see in 2026. Primera had Casas vs Guerrero and they did fine, but the pairing of Blue Panther vs Atlantis was just great. Atlantis looked like a million bucks and some of that was on him and some of it was on Panther. Things built to everything breaking down and the tecnicos (Casas/Panther) won with simultaneous submissions (Scorpion by Casas, and a sort of Navarro inverted leglock by Panther). Segunda opened up when Panther went for it again on Guerrero only to get cut off. UG hit the senton de la muerte in the corner on both at once and after tossing them around a bit, Guerrero and Atlantis locked on a tandem submission on both at once (a sort of camel clutch on one while tied to the other and into an Octopus) that looked like a lot of fun.

Tercera had all the bombs you'd expect. There was a slight sense that the refs weren't allowing Casas to punch them because it was a title match and they were the tecnicos but once things went to the floor Casas unloaded. There was another great comeback moment where Guerrero missed in the corner and did his big knee bump over. Panther hit a tope on Atlantis while Casas hit his seated senton off the apron. Then he went and rubbed the head of some kid at ringside with a poncho, which is pure Casas. They followed it with nearfalls (including tandem power bombs) until GdA locked in tandem Atlantidas for the win. They celebrated big afterwards and it did feel like a big deal. Very good tag title match.

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The Parable of the Warrior and the Mountain

Chris Hero vs. Senka WCPW 4/16/26 

Far away, across the sea, there lives a warrior in red. She is small of stature, young in the ways of battle. Yet in such a short time, she has made a fledgling name for herself. While yes, she is known for her great strength, it is not strength of body, but instead strength of will. She is the tip of the spear, a stalwart soul, stubborn, confident, determined, one that refuses to quit even in the face of good sense, of inevitability, of a doom far larger than her compact frame.

She is the student of a legend, and whether she knows it or not, possesses within her the spirit of devil and jaguar both, of the lost generation just before her mentor’s days of glory, when warriors would refuse to let their shoulders sit upon the ground for even a single moment. Likewise, she, knowing or not, channels the memory of the great cowboy, a mighty power focused into a body that can barely contain it: the rising tide of inevitable motion, the personification of striking again and again, pressing ever forward, refusing to be denied. 

One year ago, she traveled across that sea to present herself and prove her merit to the world at a tournament in a battleground full of them, a celebratory time when all of the great and meager warriors gather together. Fearlessly, she faced off against the greatest force of multiple generations, and not only lived to the tell the tale, but, through her refusal to quit, to stop, to stay down, showed all that witnessed it something they had not seen in many a year, something undeniably tangible, visceral, gripping, something real. 

In the year that followed she faced new challenges, grew in her strength and presence, became a champion, and even stared down quite possibly the greatest of her own age, the young warrior stymying and frustrating this great power through her pluck, her daring, her simple refusal to give up and give in. Another battle survived, and is that not the way of this warrior? Every battle survived, victory or vanquish, continues her journey, spurs her growth, makes her stronger. 

So here it was that she traveled once again to the gathering of the combatants, to where all the world’s warriors flock to prove their merit. Through fate and luck, she was to have a worthy foe before her, one that could meet her intensity, iron clashing with iron, strengthening them both. She would go to the mountain, would face a new rival, would grow stronger through combat. This was her path. 

Sometimes life decrees a different path. The rival could not compete. The warrior in red would face a mystery opponent instead. The opponent did not matter, however. The battle was everything.

She entered the arena to a hero’s welcome, one that must have surprised her, even with what she had endured in the last year. This was a foreign land, full of strangers, but they welcomed her back, chanted her name. She stood in the center, her color burning bright, ready for whatever life would throw her way. 

However, as music burst through the air, a tune familiar to the onlookers yet now rarely heard, a stark realization came over her. They had given her a hero’s welcome, but now they stood ready to welcome the Hero. She had not come to the mountain to battle. She had come to battle the mountain. 

The warrior may have been a powerful force contained in a small frame, but the mountain itself was a great force contained in a great frame. While it had been years since it battled regularly, it was still spoken of in whispers, still known to have an eye upon the world, a finger upon the pulse. It was said that one thunderous strike from it, stone crashing across bone, could shatter the resolve of even the strongest fighter. 

Like all young warriors worth witnessing, she ventured into the dark forest to become an adult, as she had many times before. This time, however, she found before her the tallest tree with the deepest roots, even if they had become gnarled with time.

The crowd broke into shocked cheering, surprised chanting, but the warrior stayed resolute. If the mountain had come to her, if she stood before the tallest tree, the two being the same great presence that would now be her opponent, she would climb it nonetheless, would reach its pinnacle and stomp it to dust. Or she would die trying. For who was she if not that?. 

Agitated, eager, chomping at the bits, she remained undaunted. An exhibition. Five minutes simply to survive; five minutes, perhaps, to triumph and bring honor to her name.

With the tolling of the bell, she rushed right in. The unassailable mountain, the tallest foreboding tree, was waiting. Its branches snatched at her wrist, grasped at her arm, twisting as if in a torrential wind. Once, twice, three, four times. Yet the warrior had just begun. She rolled and turned the grasp back upon itself. She reached up and over, wrapping her arm around it, encompassing the great force before her, trying to contain it beside her. With mirth, it hefted her up, placed her in the corner, punctuated the overwhelming show of power with a simple, demeaning pat upon the head. There, there, little warrior. 

Her response? With scream and focused fury, she charged headlong, slamming the full weight of her frame against it. It held still, mocked her. It brushed itself off, showing the crowd that there was no reason to worry, barely any reason to notice. Still the warrior came, crashing in again and again. She would not stop. It was not her way. For the first time, the mountain allowed a crack to form in its visage: annoyance, irritation, disbelief. 

Shoulder tackles turned to forearms. Somehow she moved it, a creaking, strained effort, but one that left a mark on the world nonetheless. And for her trouble? Now truly awoken, the tallest of trees (perhaps a sleeping dragon too?) allowed one root to rise high into the air. The warrior crashed into it, crumbling to the ground. Thus is the fate of all who show insolence. It lifted her up and chopped her down. It hammered down upon her back. The warrior recoiled, rolled, writhed. 

A chop, a hammer? These were not enough. The warrior was daring. The warrior had dared. Yet the only thought the mountain had was this: How dare she? There was no recourse but destruction, to crush down upon her with all of its weight. 

The warrior’s response should not have been possible. It defied physics, defied the natural rules of this world, but then there is one unnatural rule that conquers all others: with enough heart, anything is possible. The warrior channeled her great heart into her knees, putting them up to stave off the crushing force of the mountain. The impossible was made possible. Another crack formed, even at the cost of great damage to her own body.

The mountain staggered back. The warrior, once again, as she is, as she must be, charged forth, forcing herself onward despite the agony obvious in her movements, for what is pain in the face of growth and glory? She crashed into the shaken monolith three times, wielding naught but the weapon that is her own arm. To the witnesses, it felt like the tides of fate were turning just a bit more with every crash.

But there would not be a fourth time. The tallest of trees had staggered backwards. Now it staggered forward once more, branch extended so as to wrap around the warrior’s throat. Without mercy or remorse, it lifted her up, slammed her down. Nature was taking its course. Creaking bark gave way to solid, unyielding stone as tree became mountain and dropped all of its weight upon the warrior. This time, there would be no knees to save her. This time there would be nothing to save her. The impact was such that the mountain shook itself apart in its rage; it needed a moment to put itself back together. 

A moment was all the warrior required, though no one bearing witness could possibly yet know or understand. Just as the warrior’s breath had been squashed out of her, the crowd’s collective breath had been taken as well. A chilled silence had overtaken it. Little did those watching realize that their faith was about to be renewed. The mountain pressed down upon the warrior. The judge began to count. Three seconds was the difference between victory and defeat. Most escapes happened with just one second to go, desperate, fevered survival.

Instead, the warrior forced the mountain off of her after one paltry second. A grave, defiant insult. The crowd erupted in admiration of her strength, her will, her brazenness. Mainly however, it just erupted, feeling, not thinking, living in the moment through the warrior and her accomplishment. A pure and good thing in an age where such things are so very hard to come by.

The mountain, no longer just annoyed but now truly angered, fumed and seethed. With the explosive force of a volcano (erupting in its own way), it heaved her up and crushed her down upon the ground. And yet, once again, she refused to stay down for even one second. Finding new resolve in such defiance, she slapped downwards, rallying her strength. The witnesses chanted her name creating a self-perpetuating circuit of valorous energy. She threw powerful, unrestrained blows, not just stopping the mountain’s eruption, but somehow forcing it back again. Seeing new cracks, smelling blood drawn from stone, she charged forth, ever her way. But she ran into the storm itself. She ran into that fabled thunderclap, into the hardest of rock, and she crumbled once more. 

The true story of humanity is this: our efforts change the world around us. Trying matters. Caring matters. Persisting matters. The warrior’s efforts had changed the world, had chipped away at the impenetrable. The mountain, weakened, manifested once more as that tallest of trees. It wrapped its branches around her, meaning to toss her aside, to throw her into oblivion, into the forgotten annals of history. Its roots were strong, planted. Her heart was stronger. She rooted her own feet to the ground and buoyed by the witnesses, she channeled inner strength enough to reverse the effort, to uproot the tree itself, to create her own miracle and send it overhead and down to the ground. She uprooted the seated masses as well, their hands rising into the air in exultation as she attempted to pin her lofty opponent to the ground. 

With great effort, and not at all a sure thing, it shoved her off. A voice rang from the heavens. 30 seconds remained. The warrior attempted to press her assault, but lightning struck once more, and as the bell tolled again, a weakened warrior found herself driven head first into the ground, seemingly destroyed, yet somehow, still not defeated. The exhibition would instead end without a winner, a draw.

This satisfied no one. The mountain moved to slunk away from the battlefield, exuding unmistakable frustration at the warrior’s defiance, the onlookers’ adulation, and most of all, the simple fact that it had not been able to clearly win the day. The warrior dragged herself front and center in the middle of the battlefield and dropped to a bow, holding within it both respect and a demand. The onlookers? Those who bore witness let their thoughts be heard. They shared in the warrior’s demand. Five more minutes.

With pride bruised, a crowd to silence, and heavenly punishment still to mete out, the mountain agreed. Five more minutes. 

Given a second chance, the warrior, as is, was, and will ever be her want, rushed right in. She crashed hard into the mountain, fell, rose, and kept coming. She staggered it once more, loading that arm as the cowboy once did, a deadly weapon that no one and nothing can withstand. One that could topple even the mightiest tree. That did not mean she could hold it down, however.

She meant to toss it overhead once more, but her moment of advantage had passed. The roots were too strong, even for her heart. It wrenched her up and over instead. This did not mean something was not now and forever different in the world, however. Something had changed through her efforts. The cracks had shown and she had, perhaps, learned from the uprooting. 

The mountain went to drop her on her head once more, but she channeled all of her heart’s resolve into defying physics once more. Now, instead of moving the mountain, she made herself unmovable to it. It took all of its great strength and all of its learned technique to heft her up and plant her down. And then? After all that work? She would again not allow her shoulders to stay down for even one second.

Two familiar eruptions occurred in unison. The witnesses rose to their feet and the mountain spewed its lava, made all the worse by the onlookers’ deafening chants claiming it could not defeat her. Showing petulance beneath its stature, it pushed her to the ground, berated her, demanded to know who she thought she was, and even slapped at her face when she rose. But rise she did nonetheless. 

The warrior rose. She had withstood stone, wood, and thunder. Now she joined with the wind itself. She pulled inwards and exhaled outwards, letting loose a cry. It was heard not just by the onlookers and witnesses, not just by the mountain, not just by the gathering of warriors. The wind spread it to the four corners of this world. She shouted her name and it was heard by all, but the mountain heard it most of all.

SENKA

Thus named and thus known, the warrior continued to press forward, continued to strike, continued to channel the fire inside of her into external force, continued to defy all the natural laws of this world, continued to move the mountain. She could do nothing else but to be who and what she was, no matter the cost and no matter the consequence.

Tragically, she charged forth this last time only for the full brunt of that nature she fought so hard to defy to crash down upon her once and for all: one last rolling clasp of thunder, a lightning strike that would destroy any lesser warrior. And yet, despite that, as the mountain tried to lift her, to end this, to destroy her with finality, it found the task too monumental, the weight of her heart too massive to lift. It took two tries to accomplish it, but once accomplished, she moved no more. There were limitations to the human body, even when the human heart is boundless. The warrior defied nature and nature struck her down.

But even that was not the end of it, not in the face of the warrior’s great heart. She was one to squeeze victory out of every defeat. That was her way. That was, perhaps, her greatest strength. In the striving, in the questing, through the battle, she grew. And she gained. Confidence. Wisdom. Understanding. And perhaps, most of all, respect. 

The mountain raised her up, and then when the onlookers feared that it might strike her down anew, it instead shocked them all by looking eye to eye and sinking down to her level, beneath it, a bow of its own. The very landscape itself had shifted in regard for her bravery, her stubbornness, her resolve, her strength. She dropped down to meet it and the two figures took quiet, celebratory communion together in acknowledgement of the battle they had waged. For she may not have conquered the mountain, but she had done something just as meaningful; she had thawed its icy heart.

Emboldened by the battle, her journey would continue, perhaps an even greater victory just on the horizon. And as for the mountain? It would allow the sun to set upon it once again, waiting, just out of the reach of imagination, for the next challenger to dare attempt an ascent. 

But it would remember her name.

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