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. 

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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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80s Joshi on Wednesday: Mimi! Yukari! Martel! Martin!

 Volume 3

3. Judy Martin & Sherri Martel vs. Mimi Hagiwara & Yukari Omori (WWWA Tag Team Titles) 

K: I'll forever associate this match with DEAN. It was one of the last matches he reviewed on the DVDVR board before we lost him and in his classic hyperbolic style he declared it the GREATEST MATCH OF THE 80s. 

Before the match starts Sherri steals the tag belts and runs outside with them, apparently thinking the rules in Japan are that the winner is just whichever team is able to physically take possession of the belts. They both act so insane it makes you feel like anything could happen here, this atmosphere is helped along by them getting in the ring and getting immediately ambushed by Hagiwara and Omori and thrown into the crowd to big applause.

When we finally get something you could definitely call 'wrestling' (no value judgement here) Sherri is targeting Hagiwara's throat dropping her on the ropes, and later when she has Hagiwara grounded she's seemingly biting her in the face. She just comes across as a nutcase, and then Devil Masami gets involved on the outside whacking Mimi with her big cane. I should add for a bit of context from matches not on the set that Devil Masami seems to have given herself a personal quest to make Mimi's life a living hell. This is far from the only time Mimi will be wrestling someone else but Devil keeps getting involved in her matches just to torment her. She's obsessed. It's like she had a premonition that after her wrestling career was done Mimi would become a Christian evangelical preacher (not joking that actually happened).

I really like Mimi's selling here. For example the more hurt she is, the more she wobbles/looks a bit unco-ordinated when she's running off an Irish whip.

This is not a famous match, but if it were to become one, it should be famous for the spot where Sherri and Judy put Mimi's head between the ropes, put the middle rope over the top rope, and then swing back and forth with her head stuck like they're trying to break her neck. I'm watching this thinking "why does nobody steal this?", think about it a bit more and decide "ok, this does look legitimately dangerous" so maybe that's why. Still it looks absolutely awesome, brutal and makes the heels look like psychopaths.

Oh also, sick piledriver by Mimi to take the 1st fall. This alone would have been a really good and memorable match. This is for the tag titles so it's 2/3 falls.

In AJW tradition, the babyfaces are 1 fall up, so the heels go crazier, take things to the outside and try causing carnage. It's so wild it's hard to follow what's going on. At one point Devil Masami is on the outside swinging her cane at people. I think Mimi gets a chair up to the protect herself from the shots meanwhile someone else is being thrown into the seats. For whatever reason Devil is so enraged she comes into the ring swinging her cane around, and the heels FOR THE SECOND TIME now put Mimi's head in the rope trap of death like they're trying to kill her. Things are so damn out of control and someone is gonna die so the referee DISQUALIFIES the heel team, which almost never happens in AJW. 

Not the most important thing I know, but there's a 2/3 falls match which ended 2-0.

Is this the greatest match of the 80s? Well no. That’s a little silly. It’s relatively limited in what it’s trying to achieve, that Martel & Martin are homicidal maniacs and Hagiwara and Omori are such heroes for being willing to fight them. It did most of that. The big flaw is I don’t think Omori really got herself over here, in fact I barely remember her doing anything. Devil Masami probably had a better contribution to this than she did. It was certainly entertaining and not one you’ll forget soon.

***1/2

MD: Hey, I’ve seen this one! DEAN gave it to me during a Secret Santo in 2023. 

Here’s what DEAN said about it when giving it to me:

“This match is fucking INSANE.  It's the fucking DREAM tagteam of Sherri Martel and Judy Martin aligning with total lunatic Devil Masami at ringside trying to murder the hell out of Mimi Hagewara and Yukari Omori in 1982.  GREATEST MATCH OF THE 80s!”

Here’s what I said about it then: 

“The big thing I learned from this however was that Martin and Martel were basically Raging and Ravishing. I'm a big Glamour Girls fan, but Kai and Martin were pretty similar, great bullies, incredibly credible offense, big bumps, great pacing. Martin is basically the most credible Moolah-ism wrestler ever. Sherri on the other hand, is wildly over the top. Her punch to the gut may have been goofy, but she was all antics, all the time, starting from stealing the belts and refusing to give them back to just screaming, fighting with fans, heatseeking like wild. Then Martin would come in and just assert control and leave things for Sherri to cause havoc.

After the whole belt stealing thing, the faces got the early offensive advantage, but then Martin/Martel took most of the rest. Whenever the faces tried to comeback it became an absolute gang scene with everything completely breaking down. Devil would interfere liberally. So that meant whenever comebacks actually did take, they ended up being super violent. Structure here ended up being comebacks and quick cutoffs, and then a real comeback for the first fall victory as they switched up on top rope leaps and then hit a kneeling pile driver. There was more heat again right at the start of the second fall and it all broke down into chaos. Mimi and Omori looked fine but it was hard to get much sense out of them other than getting battered around a few moments of fiery comebacks. Sherri, however, came off as a generational heatseeker; obviously she was as a manager but I think she couldn't flex quite as much in the AWA and WWF as a wrestler maybe? Here she had a lot of freedom to just toss poise completely out the window and go wild.”

Here’s what I think about it now:

What I have now that I didn’t back then is a much better understanding of Hagiwara and a much better sense of the chaos in Black Army matches from 78-81 or so. And honestly, even compared to those, this was pretty wild. Sherri is such a natural. She understood pro wrestling so well, bursting out of the ring with the belt and parading around with it, snatching it away when anyone tries to take it from her. What a natural heatseeker, just perfect in her role.

They controlled most of this, and on Mimi for most of it as well. Lots of choking, both naturally and in the ropes which formed a sieve around her neck. Brutal stuff. Lots of beating them around the ringside area too. Whenever they started to fight back for more than a second, everything would break down into chaos. Omori actually got to flex her strength a bit here on comebacks. Eventually, Mimi finally had enough and unloaded fists and neckbreaker drops on Martin, Omori hit a Vader Bomb and Mimi a nasty looking kneeling pile driver, where you could see Martin’s life flash before her eyes. That was the end of the first fall. Second went quite well for Martin and Sherri until Devil accidentally clocked Sherri with the pole. It still went pretty well for them after that though and eventually everything really broke down and they just choked their opponents in the ropes until the ref called for the DQ. I’d say this was pretty clearly the best showing of any American women so far. Martin hit like a truck and ground things down and Sherri was just as over the top as she’d be ten years later. And at least Omori and Hagiwara survived it to stand tall with their belts in the end.

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Will Ospreay is 12

AEW Dynamite 4/17/26

Will Ospreay vs Hechicero

(The fictional character of) Will Ospreay is very, very dumb. 

And that's okay. It fits classic archetypes, the simple, quirky, strong hero with the good heart who can't bear to see injustice done around him. Li'l Abner. Andy Griffith's character in No Time for Sergeants. Maybe Tom Brown in Tom Brown's Schooldays if we want to go the UK route. The gentle giant. The stalwart knight. Galahad in Monty Python and the Holy Grail. Gourry in Slayers, to talk about old anime because I don't know any new anime (Goku works, maybe? Everyone knows Goku. He seems dumber than Goku; Luffy? That works, right?). It's an archetype. Pure of heart; so pure that he's not all that bright, for knowledge corrupts and all that. 

The character of Will Ospreay is a basically well-meaning dog who is going to bite at his wound and needs a collar of shame. He is stubborn. He is prideful. He is absolutely assured of his own ability. 

Maybe it's not just okay. Maybe it actually fits the moment we live in. There has been recent  social commentary about how everyone's a twelve year old boy now. The US has a Department of War and argues about the Gulf of America. Hollywood properties are all superhero movies and nostalgic remakes. 

The viral post on bluesky from "Patrick Cosmos" introducing the concept was as follows:

"I'm strong and I want to have like fifty kids and a farm" of course you do. You're twelve. "I don't want to eat vegetables I think steak and French fries is the only meal" hell yeah homie you're twelve. "Maybe if there's crime we should just send the army" bless your heart my twelve year old buddy."

And... that's perfect for the character of Will Ospreay, right? He's big, dumb, does flips, is going to slam that round peg into the square hole until it fits, dammit. Because he's that determined and that stalwart and that sure of himself. If you do him wrong, he will be hurt and very angry about it, and will punch you, and kick you, and do a back flip at you and look very angry as he does it. If you hurt him, he will be hurt, and sell the hurt, and then hit all of his stuff perfectly, really focusing, really getting it done, and then it will really hurt him, because it was dumb, and he shouldn't have done it that way, but it’s the only way he knows how so he’s not going to let that stop him.

He's a perfect pro wrestling character for our time. 

And this is the lens you have to understand literally everything he does, all of his matches. It's the only way his matches make any coherent, logical sense. They fall apart under carefully examination otherwise. Trust me, I’ve tried. With the lens though… He's Dudley Do-Right. He's George of the Jungle. He's stronger than the average wrestler, faster, slicker, more agile, more resilient, far, far more stubborn. 

His weakness, so much as he has any weakness, is that he is so, so very dumb and stubborn. 

We've not dealt with any sort of wrestling character like this since maybe Henry Godwinn? Hillbilly Jim? Maybe Festus? He's basically playing the classic US country bumpkin but instead he's an Assassin's Creed cloak wearing 12-year old who represents modernity in ways that hit the zeitgeist perfectly.

There will be logic and causality in his matches but it's never going to be the most satisfying when it comes to build and payoff, clear and clean transitions, clean act breaks (Storytelling). Because he's too dumb a character for any of that; he's too stubborn. He's going to run his head into the wall again and again and you can't tell Go Dog Go in that scenario let alone Shakespeare. But that doesn't mean that what you end up seeing isn't exciting, like a fireworks display is exciting, and like fireworks displays, even if the build isn't necessarily there, there's probably going to be a grand finale. 

Just remember at all times that this character is a blistering moron with a heart of gold, and you'll find your way through the jungle of great spots and exciting sequences and absolutely broken causality that starts right before he does something and doesn’t start back up until after. Because he's going to hit you with his broken hand. He'll sell it beforehand and he will sell it afterwards, but he's going to hit you with it anyway, damn it, because he is Will Ospreay, bruv, and because he can. Don’t tell Picasso how to paint, and don’t tell Will Ospreay he can’t punch someone with his broken hand. 

So, with that lens established, here he faced Hechicero. It's a little like super competent bad guys trying to fight Inspector Gadget or Maxwell Smart, right? You can use the best techniques and the best traps, but Ospreay's going to stick that peg into that hole anyway, no matter the shape, and there’s virtually nothing you can do to stop him. 

Instead of going high to start, Hechicero went low, pulling a leg, scoring a takedown, tying Ospreay up. There were a hundred ways for Ospreay to potentially escape; he wasn’t even all that far from the ropes. But no, he had to do a headstand and use a toupie style twisting escape, damaging his own heavily taped neck right from the get go. Because he is a stubborn moron. You get the sense he KNEW it was going to hurt his neck and he did it anyway, just to prove that he could. 

Ospreay, now angry and wanting to get back at Hechicero, eye for an eye style like any good 12 year old, went for one of his legs. Hechicero stepped over, took Will down. Will tried to counter a couple of times, but ended up tied up in a knot again for his trouble. Will finally got out and put on a side headlock takeover, confident, sure of himself, needing to show everyone he was just as good as one of the best technical wrestlers in the world. Hechicero immediately turned it into a headscissors and again, instead of prying the legs open or getting out any other way, Will just had to bridge up and hop around him before vaulting to his feet. He immediately sold his neck. Of course he did. He stupidly hurt it getting out of the hold. Hechicero hadn’t even targeted the neck yet! He was targeting everything else, maybe most of all Ospreay’s 12-year old pride, and then Will was doing all the work for him!

Then, finally, Hechicero started in on the head with a dropkick and a few strikes. Will, seeing red once more, hit a clutch ‘rana to take him over. That made everything fun for him again. He stomped about, hyped up the crowd, and hit a dive. That hurt (he rubbed his shoulder), and he started in with some good old fashioned fisticuffs instead. This was the smartest thing he’d done so far and the lad should be lauded for it. Hechicero tried to fire back but to no avail. Instead of showing off or outwrestling him, Will gave him the what for, stiff upper lip entirely focused on beating Hechicero around the ringside area and then back into the ring. That included a ten punch in the corner, great fun that almost cost him, as Hechicero slipped out. 

Will was able to ping Hechicero with a spin wheel kick though (not sure if that hurt the shoulder since he didn’t sell it), and then went right into a figure four lock of all things. Why that? If you ask me, it was to get back at those leg submissions from before, combined with the animal instinct to keep his head away from Hechicero. Most of all though, it let him look Hechicero in the eyes, let him stare right at him and say “Ha, I got you now, Bruv. Who’s the mat specialist?” Pure id. Hechicero tried a few things but went to the ropes before long, a sensible move from a sensible rudo.

Will stayed on the leg, but quickly got distracted by Marina Shafir sitting in the crowd, allowing Hechicero to come back, and after a few reversal attempts (Ospreay seeming perfectly fine throughout), Hechicero was able to hit the conjuro spinning backbreaker followed up by a step up knee to the back of the head in the corner. Nasty stuff. Hechicero followed it up, tactician that he is, by working the leg up to the shoulder, to finally unlock the neck with a twisting crank of his feet. He was basking in it now, feeling momentum and his own thrill of victory, as he skillfully locked in la tapitia. Will grimaced as Hechicero yanked his hair in the hold, his visage becoming more teeth than face as his neck was pulled back. 

Hechicero moved in for the kill, tossing Will against the ropes once more. It was the worst thing he could do. Any normal, reasonable human being would have bounced back, ducked, hit a clothesline, jumping knee, big boot, anything that wouldn’t hurt himself as well when it absolutely wasn’t necessary. Those were things that Hechicero might expect, might plan for, might be ready to counter. But no, good ol’ Will wasn’t going to do that. Instead he went right onto his head again, bouncing off the ropes with a handspring and hit a flipping kick. You can’t defend against stupidity. The greatest chess master sometimes has more to fear from someone who doesn’t know the rules of the game. 

Ospreay continued on with a springboard elbow (wincing on impact) and a standing sky twister press. That led to Callis and Danielson getting ahead of me and this review and going on about just how dumb Will is, a rare point of agreement between the two. Still, Ospreay pressed his advantage and even though Hechicero fought back, Will was primed, ready to unleash the Hidden Blade. Just not as ready as Hechicero was. Hechicero caught him on the charge with one of his finishers, the twisting headscissors legdrop. That would have been, to any normal person, the end of the match. To Ospreay, dumb but preternaturally tough and resilient, that meant that he actually had to put his foot on the rope to beat the count on a pin. No small thing for such a superheroic figure.

That drew the doctor in to check on him. Will wouldn’t quit, wouldn’t stop. He’d done nothing but take neck damage since he returned from surgery, but he couldn’t even imagine such an eventuality. He can’t even spell “eventuality.” So Hechicero dropped him throat first on the rail. Still, even after the Doctor checked on him more, he refused to throw in the towel. That’s not something to hold against him. Most babyfaces wouldn’t. It’s not exactly the same as doing a headstand when you didn’t need to. Still, it’s consistent; it’s all consistent! That’s the point!

But now, as they came back from their second commercial break, Hechicero had Will in real danger. He had him draped over the rope, yanking on the neck. Will got free and immediately charged right at Hechicero only to get tripped and go sailing over the top. Oh Will. Hechicero hit a dive of his own and followed it up with his diving elbow to a standing opponent but to the back of Will’s head. Again, brutal stuff. 

But it didn’t matter, because in this world that we’re stuck in, you don’t have to be smart. You just have to be incessant. If you don’t give up, and you don’t admit fault, and you just keep on tweeting through it, well… eventually things will go your way. That’s exactly what Will did and as Hechicero went for a suplex, Will turned it into a Stundog Millionaire. He used the distance that earned him to charge at Hechicero (of course he did) and ran right into a foot (of course he did). But he kept the pressure on and caught Hechicero over his shoulder. This time the shoulder gave way. Hechicero went for a small package. Ospreay was able to turn it over and then (again going tit for tat, anything you can do I can do better, in 12 year old fashion) went for a backslide of his own.

That didn’t work and neither did his attempt at the Oscutter, shoulder generally fine for it, by the way; it was just that Hechicero caught him. Hech followed it by turning another pin attempt into his vaulting rear naked choke, but here, maybe the great tactician overthought things and should have just kept it simple himself. He figured Ospreay would be ready for it and turned it into a cross armbreaker. Ospreay was able to tough it out (neck and all) and shove that round hole into the square peg once and for all, lifting him up for a Styles Clash and hitting the Hidden Blade for the pin and the win.

And I have to admit, having this lens in mind, the idea that the kayfabe character of Will Ospreay is a nigh-invulnerable, super powerful, ridiculously athletic blistering idiot meant that a lot of the narrative issues I would have had with the match could be brushed over. That doesn’t mean the drama was really maximized, though I think they got it closer than usual. It does mean that you could draw a throughline from beginning to end. Some side missions like the figure-four that didn’t really have any impact in the match over all? Well that was Will just being a petty idiot. Him doing handsprings perfectly and only selling after the fact? A stubborn idiot. The endless times he just charged into something? Well, that’s just Will, innit? And in the end, Hechicero found himself playing chess against someone playing checkers and instead of taking his king, got crowned on top of his head for his trouble. 

Dudley Do-Right has caught his man. George of the Jungle stopped the poachers. Goku vanquished the … evil Saiyans trying to invade earth? Peace is restored to the land. And thankfully, because everyone is twelve, no one even had to think too hard about it (except for me, I guess), and no one (not even me) even had to learn a moral lesson.

So there we have it. After 54 five star matches from the Observer, moral lesson or no, I think I’ve finally figured out the perfect framework to watch and appreciate Will Ospreay matches. And now, like anyone who stares at a Picasso painting for too long, I have a headache.

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Found Footage Friday: Universal Pro Wrestling 1992~!

Bulldog KT (Gedo)/Pat Tanaka/Villano IV vs. Coolie SZ (Jado)/Lightning Kid/Jerry Lynn Universal Pro 8/18/92

MD: It's important you know that Lynn and co. come out to Don't Cry by Asia. Also that Pat Tanaka is a huge jerk in this match and I'm all for it. They did a lot in 20+ minutes over three falls. It was fun to see Villano work with Lynn (bounding fast exchanges) and Kid (hitting him really, really hard and then taking all of Waltman's karate bs). The heels worked together well, lots of setting a babyface up for a double team or single shot. There were some nice pushes by Tanaka, on a suplex to give it extra oomph and then to set up the finish by basically shoving a victory rolling Lynn and Villano out of the ring. Gedo and Jado generally worked together but their stuff looked practiced, solid, and usually pretty mean. After coming back from a relatively long, cycled beatdown, Lynn broke up a hold on Kid and they hit a tandem missile dropkick/Northern Lights. Second fall had some funnier stuff from Lynn as he tossed Tanaka into the corner and Tanaka twisted twice on the way and then got down on his hands and knees and dog barked Gedo out of the ring. But it came back together for the fireworks down the stretch. 

ER: I was pretty blown away by this, a frenetically based long three falls match where every guy is working fast and hitting harder. Everyone had standout moments, with Jerry Lynn being the guy who blew me away the most. Lynn looked ready to work any promotion in the world, breezing into Japan and working smoking hot dodging and tumbling sequences with Villano IV, throwing perfect snug execution on everything he attempted. His offense makes extravagant bumps look necessary. When he hits a dropkick to Villano IV, it makes sense that it sends him flying out of the ring; when he blasts Pat Tanaka with a clothesline, he swings it so hard that it makes Tanaka's inside out flip bump seem like the natural way to get eaten by that clothesline. Everything Lynn did was crisp, established the pacing of the match, and followed through to logical match building conclusions. When I say I was blown away, I mean it. Jerry Lynn is a guy who I view as a known quantity. We've all seen many JL matches, we all know he's talented, the industry respects him, he's worked everywhere, etc. But seeing Lynn here is like seeing him for the first time, seeing things he was capable of that never defined his style. Lynn really could do it all...but I don't know how often I've seen him doing It better than he does here. 

The thing is, everyone kind of comes off that way. Jado and Gedo as beefed up Mr. Perfect Singlet Boys is the most interesting version of them in the 90s. I love the wave of T&C Surf Designs inspired Japanese indy wrestlers of the late 80s/early 90s, from the surf punks surrounding the ring in the most violent late 80s FMW Different Style bouts, to these two beefy Malibu boys in their mullets and surf suits. It's unfathomable to me that 1992 Jado and Gedo had great clotheslines, but video doesn't lie. Jado throws a top rope clothesline as hard as Ikeda ever threw, and that's arguably the toughest clothesline to throw well. Gedo blows up Jado with a clothesline that would get Tenryu's attention, and it's a wildly more interesting version of themselves than all their bad juniors wrestling the rest of the decade. 

If Pat Tanaka was a real jerk - he was! - then Villano IV might have been an outright sadist. This man was in his late 20s and a physical danger. If I praised Lynn's execution, then V4 deserves the same praise. Everything he does has such force behind it. He has these cool kneedrops, where he starts from a kneeling position and drives a knee into his opponent's temple, and I'm not sure I've ever seen legdrops thrown with more force. I didn't think you could get such impact from a standing legdrop, but Villano made them look like real finishers. 

But the thing that really stood out in a match filled with standouts, was Villano IV and Lightning Kid starting off the third fall with a literal shoot fight on the floor. I couldn't tell why it escalated, but they clearly start throwing increasingly harder and harder shots during a routine sequence. I don't know the exact moment it turned unprofessional, but Villano knocked Kid to the floor and Kid came up throwing elbows meant to crack jaws, and Villano recognized the intent behind those elbows immediately and landed five straight punches to Kid's face and head. This all happened within 15 seconds, where a hard Villano club to the back turned into a Kid shoot elbow, and suddenly Kid was fleeing while wisely shielding his face as Villano finds every uncovered part and lands every punch he throws. No idea what happened, but there's no mistaking those punches for worked, and whatever might have happened didn't affect Kid's big comeback in the tercera, which played as great retribution. Villano IV stood in for spin kicks and cooperated to make it look like a strong comeback, taking all of his kicks and making the decision to not punch him directly in the face, again. 

Gran Hamada/Panterita del Ring vs. Shu el Guerrero/Scorpio Jr. Universal Pro 8/18/92

MD: Shu and Scorpio come out to Simply Irresistible. Good for them. Anyway, I struggle a little with matches like this. There's just not a ton to say. There were 12+ minutes of bits/spots to start, and they were good! A lot of them were really good. But do I just list them? There wasn't a lot of rhyme or reason to them. There was a little bit of progression with early matwork, but after that, it was off into bit-land. Yes, Shu based well. Yes, Scorpio had some moments of stooging, including a great one where Pandrita was able to roll through on something, drive him out, and force him to walk down the ramp hands up in retreat so there was no dive. There was a great bit where Shu swiped away a Panterita dropkick and slapped his chest repeatedly only to end up in the corner for a knee driving headscissors takeover. Hamada in general looked like a million bucks. Then they had a few minutes of beatdown which was, again good (really liked a catapult where Shu choked Hamada down onto Scorpio's knees), and a comeback with a strike exchange and some big dives, before Shu scored a clutch powerbomb and a pretty swank tied up pin. Definitely good action. A lot of character and personality. Super entertaining. I'm sure DEAN would have been able to write the hell out of this. But all I can do is bear witness.

Kendo/Great Sasuke vs. Rocky Santana/Super Delfin Universal Pro 8/18/92

MD: This was the main event, 2/3 falls. By the way, the first match on the show, that we don't have, is Black Magic vs Rey Bucanero. Though it's 92 Bucanero so he was like 12. Ah well. Kendo comes out with a soccer type shirt with himself on it. The fans are immediately behind him.

The initial Kendo vs. Santana and Sasuke vs. Delfin exchanges (two times) are a lot of fun. Nice tricked out back and forth with Kendo and Santana where they both hit the mat hard and Sasuke being insanely flexible against Delfin. Some nice comedic bits in there as well, like Santana getting skidded out and Kendo sliding out to invite him back in and Santana faceplanting a few times. It's mostly friendly though Delfin takes (and misses) a swipe at one point. The fall ends with the pairings getting switched up and Sasuke flying off the top on both Santana and Delfin leading to a funny bit where they toss Kendo off and Sasuke tosses him back on until he finally sits on all of them for the pin.

Second fall switches the pairings for real, with Delfin falling for all of Kendo's tricks and Santana feeding for Sasuke. The rudos take over though and run a beatdown on one than the other than the first again. They tease a comeback but Delfin gets a tornado DDT and locks up Kendo for the pin. After that, Kendo gets rolled out of the ring hurt, and I thought this was going to turn into a different sort of match. It lets the de facto rudos control for a bit but Kendo just comes back in pissed a few minutes later and he gets into the most ridiculous kneeling strike exchange with Santana that I've ever seen. They whack each other, then fall over backwards then get counted and pop back up and do it some more. It goes on for quite a while and it is a crowd pleaser. After that, they pop right into dives with Sasuke knocking everyone out with the Space Flying Tiger Drop to get the countout win. Definitely fun. Might have been interesting to see it take a more grisly turn but that's not what they were doing here. 

ER: I love these proto-MPro matches where you can see the style almost fully gestated, the lightheartedness with the stiffness, the innovative movement with the strong lucha inspiration. I love Rocky Santana within this world. He understood the kind of regional lucha comedy that would crossover well to Japanese Indies, while also working stiff enough to capture the attention of the rest of the crowd. They laughed when Santana charged into the ring and tripped on the bottom rope, face planting into the ring and crying to the ref for support. When he did the exact same thing in the second fall, they ate it up, fully understanding his vibe. He bases as well as Hamada and moves the same, but he'll also break down and start punching people. The whole match building to a long stretch where Kendo and Santana kneel in front of each other and do several minutes of stiff punches, comedy punches, and exhausted punches, is brilliant. We've all seen enough "two men throwing strikes with no defense" at this point, but it's crazy how many innovative versions of that exist on small lucha shows and Japanese Indies. This exchange starts normal...until the strikes start becoming unexpected, sometimes silly, sometimes mean, thrown in a totally unpredictable rhythm. It looked like Kendo and Santana were playing some kind of memory game that nobody else knew the rules to, and this memory game involved being punched in the jaw, ear, and neck. I've never seen an exchange like it, one that had multiple goals and just kept going until everyone in the building was on board. That's wrestling, baby. 

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80s Joshi on Wednesday: Jaguar! Masami!

Volume 3

2. Devil Masami vs. Jaguar Yokota 1/26/82 

K: This is the first time on the set we get to see the company top babyface vs. top heel in a singles match. So much has changed since we last saw these two against each other wrestling for the Junior Title. Jaguar's the World Champion here, but this match is non-title (world title defences are rare and saved for big shows).

At the start Devil Masami seems unaware that bringing a weapon into the ring is illegal when the referee ushers her to remove it. This doesn't do much good as one of her seconds just passes her a chair instead, which Devil immediately uses to swing wilding at Yokota's head. But this backfires as Jaguar is too fast and one time Devil swings it so wildly her momentum takes her over the top rope and Jaguar chases after her. The opening makes Devil look very villainous and wild, but also a bit dumb. The brawl continues on the outside until Jaguar takes a big bump into the announcers after Devil banged her head on their table. So far, so good. Devil comes across as almost out of control.

Devil can't match Jaguar for wrestling skill. An interesting thing about the structure of this is the 'slow down' parts are actually when the babyface is in control, as Jaguar's mostly just keeping Devil trapped on the match and applying holds, whereas when Devil escapes everything gets wild again, but she can't do that without outside help/using her cane. Devil also tries to get a win by countout a couple of times, she'll take anything to get a win here.

I noticed the commentary shout out Mami Kumano when Devil gave us a big pendulum swing on the apron.

Towards the end is when we get the more classic exciting babyface segment. Jaguar begins her comeback with her spectacular handstand through an Irish Whip and into her flashiest offense to send Devil into retreat. She goes for 1 high-flying move too much though misses Devil with a crossbody to the outside and instead hits Masked Yu (a Black Devils crony). She looks very cool doing it though, however Devil can only capitalise on this by bludgeoning her with her cane over and over again until it looks like Jaguar has been injured. That's basically your finish. Devil rolls her into the ring, hits her with a big military press and actually pins her with it. They show Jaguar reach for the ropes, but actually Devil clearly got the 3 count before Jaguar had the ropes. Huge win for Devil.

Very good match. Devil vs. Jaguar is on.

***1/2

MD: This was pretty well constructed, actually. On top of it being Devil vs Yokota with both of them more or less formed. The openings that Masami got were because of interference, or feints, or decisions Yokota made. But it didn’t feel as haphazard or random as the Black Army sprawls of a couple of years earlier. It felt more measured and intentional. A tighter narrative.

Early on that meant that Masami was prevented from using the cane but swung the chair. Yokota dodged it (and they were big swings to dodge) but ended up getting thrashed on the outside. Masami pressed by attacking the throat and having a lot of mean, borderline illegal offense, but Yokota came back with the sunset flip reversal and then leaned in hard with the figure-four and then the nasty single leg version. That was broken up by Yu. That distraction allows Masami to use the cane and then the Kumano Swing. Yokota comes back with her dynamic handspring (which is up there with Fiera’s spinning kick as one of the best comeback moves ever), but she chooses to hit a dive on Yu instead of Masami. Good revenge but it clears the way for Masami’s last assault with the cane and the press back into the ring and the one in the ring for the win.

Previously there was just as sense all of that was happening almost at random or as part of the chaos and carnage of the Black Army. Here though, there was much more of a method to the madness and it made for a stronger match.

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AEW Five Fingers of Death 4/6 - 4/12 Part 2

AEW Dynasty 4/12/26

Darby Allin vs Andrade

MD: There's something to say for implicit storytelling in pro wrestling. You find it in Stan Hansen matches. You see it in shoot-style. Two characters. Two sets of attributes. Two histories. Two motivations. Two styles. One ring. A chemical reaction where things make sense because of two wrestlers being absolutely true to who they are, because things could not possibly play out any other way. You're not looking at conventional storytelling, but instead at fate, at nature playing its inevitable course. 

You're not going to learn who Andrade and Darby are from promos. You won't learn from video packages or media appearances. You won't even learn from Darby's artistically produced stunt films. With these two, you learn everything you need to know from watching them in the ring.

So who are they? They are two men whose greatest strengths are also their greatest weaknesses and their greatest weaknesses are also their greatest strengths.

Darby is undersized, but his shadow looms. You might say he's brave. You might say he's fearless. You might say he lacks common sense. Were you to say that he lacks substance, you might not be far off, but maybe, just maybe, that's what makes him constantly exist on the edge. Maybe he's never found anything else to make him feel alive. While he's a skilled and clever wrestler, that wouldn't be enough to survive in a world of relative giants, so he turns his body into a weapon and relies, bolstered by both experience and blind faith (contradictory as that may be) that his body will withstand whatever the world throws at it, even himself.

Andrade is a third-generation wrestler. He's been everywhere and done so many things. He doesn't have to push up against the darkness to feel alive; he's life incarnate, brash, bold, confident. He started his career as Brillante, Jr., and then made his career as Sombra. Light and darkness, he's seen it all. He carries himself that way, swagger driving his offense, dynamic and explosive. He would not be half the wrestler if he didn't lean so thoroughly into it, even if that means he pauses to hang in the ropes, even if that means he extracts himself from the action to take a picture with a fan in the first row. 

So that's who they are, a little of what they need in life, but what do they want here? The winner gets a title shot. What does that mean to them? 

Darby came into this claiming that he cared more than anyone. I don't actually think that's true, but I think, to the character of Darby Allin, it needs to be true, and the only way for it to be true, is for him to make it real. Everyone else cares about Everest (well, not wrestling fans), so if he climbed it, obviously he cared too right? Everyone cares about the world title, so if he claims it, then he must care too. He must care about something other than that momentary thrill. He must be a real boy. There must be substance to him. Unable to tap into the journey, all he can do is cling to the destination. 

And then there's Andrade. He's always been one for association, and here he's associated with Don Callis. A mouthpiece. I don't think he's looking for brotherhood in the way Kyle Fletcher does. But having been burned before, having been underutilized and unable to prove himself, he was looking for representation. It came at a cost. And now he was being used as a bargaining chip, as a mercenary, to keep Darby away from MJF. It chafes. It's not enough for Andrade to succeed; he must succeed as himself, leaning into the swagger, embracing the role, to prove to everyone that he can be the person he wants to be, that he wants to see in a selfie, if not a mirror, and still be a champion. 

Like any other form of fiction (and wrestling is a form of fiction even if it has athletic elements and live interactive qualities), structures and frameworks can help pro wrestling feel coherent and meaningful. Things work very well if you have a heel and a babyface, a shine with moments of heel triumph before comeuppance, heat with hope spots and cutoffs, and a comeback leading into a finishing stretch. But if the characters are strong enough, consistent enough, committed enough, compelling enough, a match can be carried without these things.

That meant that while this was close to 50-50, or at least 60-40 (Andrade), and had elements of your move/my move, the momentum shifts between your move and my move tended to be character driven, organic, meaningful, resonant. They were based on the opportunities created by the wrestlers' attributes and skill and likewise created by the weaknesses tied to them.

Andrade dodged Darby early by hitting a tranquilo pose in the ropes. Darby crashed right into him like a wrecking ball in response. He couldn't capitalize because of the damage done to him in that process and Andrade reversed a whip into the barricade. Instead of following up, Andrade took a selfie, letting Darby hit a dive off the top. Darby followed it by hitting a dropkick down the arena stairs, but he hurt himself and thus, when back in the ring, when he slammed his own body into Andrade, he faltered and buckled (selling in a meaningful way, not a performative, box checking one; this both was consequence and created consequence), and Andrade was able to take over.

The match continued on like that. Where it became 60-40 instead of 50-50 was because of Andrade's strength advantage and a chess move here or there. Andrade took an extra few seconds to pull his pants off before going for the moonsault, but he was ready for Darby to move (one of the few times where his double moonsault, unfortunately done in every match, felt organic). That meant Darby had to try all the harder, including hitting a crazy crucifix takeover off the top as a reversal, right into a hold. 

They continued on like this, Andrade locking in, Darby battered but undaunted, until Darby was able to survive Andrade's abrupt spinning back elbow and sneak out a "Last Supper" bridging pin to win. Post-match, pride bruised but undiminished, Andrade went back to shake Darby's hand. He had more to prove but nothing to be ashamed of. Darby, on the other hand, now has to live with the burden of success, of being the number one contender. Now he has to show both the world and himself just what is truly inside of him. Is he just a mindlessly determined crash test dummy or is there a fully fleshed out human being capable of caring and worthy of regard and admiration inside of him after all? The stories that pro wrestling can tell.

It was almost seventeen minutes that felt like a brisk ten. They teased finishers but didn't truly hit them. They left with mutual respect for one another, Andrade refusing to do anyone else's dirty work, wrestling only for himself. There's more left on the bone for a rematch. There were big spots and huge bumps, but this was character-driven and tightly-focused, especially for a match that was so evenly fought. You don't think of a Darby Allin match as showing discipline and restraint but this did. There wasn't a single spot which felt out of place, contrived, or worked back from instead of worked towards. Which meant, of course, that it worked brilliantly, both despite itself and because of itself.

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