AEW Five Fingers of Death (and Friends) 3/9 - 3/15 Part 2

AEW Revolution 3/15/26

Jon Moxley vs Konosuke Takeshita

MD: Who are we as a people? What do we deserve? What do we demand? What standards do we hold ourselves to? What standards do we hold others to?

The most pernicious truth of the last ten years is that the worst thing a public figure can do is apologize. At best, he can tell people that he's sorry for how his actions made them feel. So long as he doesn't look down, doesn't hesitate, just posts through it, then even in the worst case, he will likely survive to enjoy the fruits of his actions with very few consequences.

What does this have to do with wrestling? Everything. Wrestling has always been a mirror of society, a morality play where wish fulfillment fantasies of justice finally being done could play out in the form of violence and stooging comeuppance.

What does it say about AEW and what does it say about us that Jon Moxley was allowed to get away with what he did without true punishment, all because he worked hard, spouted platitudes, and most importantly, won?

Let's recap some of what he did again. He betrayed a brother, committing regicide and fratricide all at once, ending a man who even on the downswing of his career had reached the pinnacle through his own efforts. And why? Was it because Danielson had lost sight of the goal? Had left promises unfulfilled to achieve personal gain? Was it that the inner peace Bryan found made him complacent and lazy? Was the world still on the wrong trajectory, the Jack Perrys of the world getting title shots instead of the truly deserving? Was the only course correction possible one of betrayal and destruction?

Or was it something else? Jealousy of not just this brother but all of his brothers near and far? Jealousy of the peace Bryan found when his own heart was roiling? Fear that he was being left behind? That those things he claimed to believe in mattered less than ever? 

Maybe it was a little of both. Every crime has motive and opportunity. That inner peace of Bryan Danielson? That provided the opportunity. I don't buy that it created a valid motive. 

So a bag went over Danielson's head. Cleaning solution went down Orange Cassidy's throat. Darby Allin was tossed down stairs. Mark Briscoe was crushed even after dedicating victory to his children. Will Ospreay's neck was shattered. Lies were whispered again and again in poor Wheeler Yuta's ear.

And the hypocrisy went hand-in-hand with the fell actions. Private Party were bullied into elevating themselves and not a word from Mox for their triumph. The belt was locked away. No one under thirty was getting title shots. 

Instead it was Cope and Cope and Cope again. And with Cope came the baseball bat with nails on it, Spike. But as Spike came down upon Mox's back, fear found its way to the forefront of his heart.

That fear created an opportunity for Hangman Page to defeat Mox and restore the belt to its proper place, to bring it back to the people.

The fear didn't fade. It made Jon Moxley tremble as Darby Allin got revenge, delayed as it was. Having tapped once, he found his back against the wall, first against Daniel Garcia (who he was able to recruit instead of vanquish, more whispered lies) and then against Kyle O'Reilly. Running, hiding, tapping. He was a wounded animal on his (damaged) back foot. Yes, some, like Darby had gotten a measure of revenge on him. Yes, even Bryan Danielson had come back to help ensure he didn't leave All In with the title. But was that justice? Had he truly gotten his comeuppance? Even looking the coward, even looking WEAK, had he truly paid for what he had done?

He had reached a sort of bottom, a physical bottom, a reputational bottom. But had he paid for what he had done?

And what about his claims of justification? Had he made AEW stronger? Better? Maybe. Or maybe its strength was always in plurality. Many different styles. Many different voices. Many different views of what pro wrestling is and what it can be. 

See, maybe it was never about AEW at all. Maybe it was always about Jon Moxley. Maybe he realized that the world was leaving him behind. Maybe it was a last, desperate grasp of a conservative man to hang on to relevancy, to force meaning itself back into a shape that he could recognize, that he was comfortable with. 

So at the start of the Continental Classic, he was a man who, to the world, looked like he had so little left to lose, but that too was a lie. He had lost so much but had never truly paid for what he had done. He was, in many ways, right back to where he had been before betraying his brother, except for now, it was all revealed to the world.

Maybe that's what he needed after all. A reputational bottoming out. To gain something tangible and then lose it. To be pushed against the wall. Maybe he needed to build something up, a false castle of sticks instead of stone and see it all burn down so that it might burn with it the brush that had grown around his soul. 

Hobbled, he entered the C2. No interference. No compromise. No surrender. None of the crutches of the last year. Just a man against other men. A man against nature. 

And after an initial deficit, a fallen man falling even farther, he triumphed. He triumphed through one battle after the next. Sometimes he got a bit of help from the machinations of those around him, Fletcher's failed attempt to cheat, how far Takeshita had pushed Okada (before his successful cheating attempt), but he triumphed none the less. And then he stood in the center of the ring and pretended like it was enough, that it was all his doing, that this was the world he had made through his wretched actions, a world of warriors, of valor, of hard work. 

And here's the thing. I think he may well have believed it. The fans had started to support him again, and they'd only support him more and more in the weeks to come. After all the underhanded chicanery of his world title run, he had insulated himself through the rules of the Continental title. 

The worst thing about all of this wasn't that he had a title again, wasn't even that the Death Riders hadn't turned on him for his weakness, the monster he created devouring him. It's that he found a delusional sort of peace through it all, a mockery of what Bryan Danielson had actually worked for.

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

Actually though, the worst thing was that we, as fans, were just meant to accept it. That's how it looked at least. Maybe the worst thing was that we were accepting it. The Continental Classic had been masterful. It took a Moxley at the end of his rope and had him climb, hand after hand, inch after inch, all his way to victory. 

He earned it. He earned the title. But that didn't mean he earned the speech. That didn't mean he earned forgiveness. 

But in front of crowds who are just happy to be there, who just want to cheer for all the wrestlers and see awesome things, it was enough. He was an awesome thing. His struggle was an awesome thing. Crowds were in awe of it. 

It was a babyface turn that wasn't earned. A turn without a turn. In many ways, it mimicked both Hangman and Statlander's journeys, where the crowds went for them before they did something worth going for. Where they got their prize before apologizing (in Hangman's case) or deciding to stand for something again (in Statlander's). 

Moxley is a star. He is a presence. The fans want to cheer him. 

It left the Death Riders high and dry. They didn't turn on Moxley to cement it, not at his lowest or not when he won the title and started spouting off in ways that went against everything they had done in the previous year. It meant that instead of two months of Wheeler Yuta hiding hiding his hair from the world, he had to reveal it quickly, his own heat muted because Mox is a de facto babyface. It means that we're back to the early days of the BCC where they can be babyfaces one day and heels the next, good hands that can be fit into matches, interesting matches even, but that don't actually mean half as much as they could in the grand scheme of things. 

And it meant that we had this very strange match where a babyface who acted like a heel went up against a heel who acted like a babyface.

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

Takeshita wanted what Moxley had, redemption (true or false) through combat. His sins weren't quite as bad. He had betrayed Omega years earlier, had been a bully and a rogue, was trapped in an association, a family, that no longer valued him as it once did. 

But he was a man remembering his honor and he wanted what Moxley had, a shield against all the evil of the world, including the evil within him. Being Continental Champion meant no interference but still having plausible deniability to his own family members for why they couldn't be there to do dark deeds in his name. 

He had taken Moxley to the limit but that wasn't enough. Takeshita wanted this badly. Moxley needed it, for the second he lost the title, he would lose this shield to hide behind. No longer able to hide from the world, and especially from himself, his peace would be shattered.

So they fought, and it was a clever, clever match, both the parts I enjoyed and the parts I didn't. 

They met in the center of the ring to begin, forearms smashing into one another's face. Usually, this was exactly where Moxley loved to be, in the midst of a strike exchange. Takeshita was younger, larger, stronger, just as tough, and Moxley was forced to retreat. 

One thing that's incredibly clear to Mox now, however, is that it didn't matter how he wins. All that mattered was that he does, so he honed in on Takeshita's damaged eye (damaged in a battle with Claudio). He pounded it. He bit it. He dragged it across the top rope. The eye opened up the leg. 

And the leg was supposed to open up Takeshita completely, was supposed to allow Moxley to hit the Death Rider, a Pile Driver, his stomp. It didn't though. Takeshita refused to bend. Moxley could chip away at him but not hit bombs. Takeshita, on the other hand, hit his bombs, the cradle tombstone into the German, the Blue Thunder Bomb. But he hit them as hope spots he couldn't capitalize on. 

They went into a second strike exchange and this time Takeshita's knee gave out. Moxley couldn't hit that stomp the first time on the apron, but he powered through and got it the second, opening Takeshita up both literally and figuratively.

As they passed the twenty minute mark, the match went off the rails and became a fighting spirit epic. Takeshita came back to get the best of a third strike exchange, and both men not just hit bombs, but hit them in a way to show their over the top toughness. They kicked out of finishers. Takeshita even kicked out at one. They popped back to their feet and hit move after move without consequence until both fell over. It's all the stuff I tend to have no use for because it inverts the narrative weight of moves the deeper the match goes. I get the value of it. I get the excitement. I get the warrior spirit it represents and how it highlights adrenaline and toughness and everything else. I just don't think it's worth the cost relative to showing the escalating weight of moves down the stretch.

Here, though? Here, maybe it was worth it, not because of anything specific they did, but because it was very much Takeshita's match at this point, his world, and because Jon Moxley survived it.

Jon Moxley endured it. Jon Moxley powered through it, forcing that leg to give out one last time, finally locking in the choke, finally stamping down Takeshita's final act of defiance to lock the arm, finally making him pass out to win the day.

Once again, toughness, grit, determination, endurance were shown to matter more than anything else, including conventional morality. Once again, might made right.

And so Jon Moxley was rewarded. He put out his hand, and despite his better judgment, despite his first instincts, despite all the emotion in his heart, Takeshita returned to the ring and shook Moxley's hand. 

Peace through combat. Fabricated peace in the soul of Jon Moxley. So long as he continued to win, he'd never, ever have to look down again.

It's the perfect crime for our modern world.

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

But then the lights went off. The video package played. The whole arena went green. The music hit. And there was Ospreay. 

A loose end. 

And I don't know what to think. I really don't. Look, there's an amazing story here. Jon Moxley did horrible things, unforgivable things. He burned it all down to build it all back up, all for his own sake, and he was finally at peace for it. The fans were back behind him. He had gold once again. The Death Riders were by his side and a willing, even loving, part of his glorious facade. He hadn't done a single thing to earn redemption except for to fight and win. He hadn't owned up to anything. And yet, he had his cake and ate it too. It was the perfect modern male fantasy in so many ways. 

We're months into it now and he's up against heels. He made it past the point of no return. Over the border. He's safe.

Yet here's Ospreay, a ghost of his past, someone the crowd will support, someone who theoretically can call Mox out for all he did, and all he had become, and all he still was, no matter how much he won. He could beat him, but in a perfect world, he could remind him what that would mean again and again before he did. Even in pro wrestling, justice can and should be more than just putting someone through a table.

But it's Will Ospreay, who for all of his charisma, innovation, athleticism, and enthusiasm, has the nuance and subtly of a brick to the skull. It's not a good "moral high ground" month for Will either, given some of what happened in EVE recently. And the fans are already firmly behind Mox, so to call him out in all the ways that matter and that will make them uncomfortable, the ways that matter not just for this storyline, but also in restoring a moral underpinning to literally every storyline AEW does, an essential cornerstone that is already weak and frayed, preventing emotional investment and narrative coherency from audiences in ways that matter most (and that may not fully register with the creative forces within the company, I hate to say)... 

Well, I guess time will tell, won't it. Maybe, unlike Jon Moxley, we're getting what we deserve after all.