So AEW Revolution. Obviously, if we're playing word association, the first thing that comes to mind is...? That's right. The Great Muta! Muta finally retired earlier this year, and while I've always been a huge fan, I wasn't able to catch his final match (against LIJ fixture Naito). Bummer. One of the three musketeers of puroresu, Muta left us plenty of badass matches to watch. Everything from his moveset to his entrance attire was simply regal. For better or worse, his legacy is stained with blood. Quite literally. How do I mean? Well, one of his early bouts gave us "the Muta scale," a ceremonious (or unceremonious, depending on your perspective) way for fans and journalists to gauge the amount of blood in a match. Abrupt paragraph break!
The Texas Death Match between Jon Moxley and "'Hangman" Adam Page would flatten the scale. Leafing through comments online, it would appear that the intemperate fight was a hit with AEW's faithful. Of course, I fucking hated it. Hate is a strong word; it's also appropriate for today's column. Am I the only sucker who wants professional wrestling to make a grand return to the mainstream? I'm talking about success, folks. I'm talking about 1998 levels of success. Sure, everyone knows it's a work now, but that's no reason to keep the business on the fringes of established entertainment. There is a reason why ECW never challenged the throne, so to speak. Timing played a role, but blood played a bigger role. Blood, blood, blood!
There is no clever stagecraft behind jamming a fork into your opponent's forehead. Anyone can do it. Mox/Page was so violent, it snookered the show's natural momentum and robbed the following matches of a clamorous crowd. I never thought I'd say this, but I preferred the TNT Championship match between Wardlow and Samoa Joe. Why? Because it was wrestling. There were moves and stuff. Thankfully, the crowd came back for the main event. By the way, Bryan Danielson's juice job should have been our first sighting of blood for the night. Actually, I can't remember who bled first (it might have been MJF), but you get my point.
In horror films, gore is supposed to be the icing on top, not the cake. The tendril, not the filament (???). The same logic applies to all combat sports, whether they are predetermined or not. Last night's Texas Death Match served up nothing but icing, and by the end of it, I was ready to vomit. I'm just one curmudgeon, though. No doubt, the Muta scale will be tipped again, and AEW's ratings will remain stagnant. You can't have your icing and eat it, too. Ask yourself, what would The Great Muta do? Holy shit, that rhymed.
No comments:
Post a Comment