My December roundup is a short one, as a combination of being home for Christmas/Hogmanay and putting a lot of effort into my match-of-the-year list has limited my current wrestling watching. It means it’s only really covering the first half of the month, but there were still some big moments to talk about and a few things to celebrate, so hopefully, you’ll find something to enjoy.
Here’s a wee secret for you. As much as I love having a dig at those Twitter types who spend all their time whining that every wrestler over thirty should offer themselves as a sacrifice to the latest youngster with a bit of talent, I do get it. New people getting the chance to run with the ball is exciting, and one of the great joys of this nonsense is watching someone go from the bottom to the top. Watching a wrestler burst into tears as they hold their first title is joyous, and I could happily watch that once a month or so. Sure, it probably isn’t the brightest decision in the world, but it feels good, and like a rat repeatedly pushing the button that makes it orgasm to death, I’d probably have a great time right until I didn’t.
But the problem with that desire is that it ignores something kind of obvious. The people at the top of the card? The ones who are cruelly holding back your favourite? They still exist. They’re still flesh and blood human beings, most of whom are only in their early thirties and (in and out of kayfabe) why on earth would they step aside? While these impudent youngsters were still at school, they were working their arses off, building a legacy and crafting a space for themselves in an industry where, not that long ago, joshi companies used to go out of business fairly regularly. On TJPW’s 10th anniversary, the old-guard team was made up of the people who this company laid their foundations on the back of, and why the hell should they now be ushered into an early grave?
And for all the potential excitement of that revolving door of talent, I cannot help feeling like watching your Miyu Yamashitas and Shoko Nakajimas of this world cling to their crowns and fight off those who came after is even better. Just look at this sprawling, epic main event, in which the youngsters dared to get the first fall when Arisu called Shoko off-guard. It turned what had been a nice day out for the veterans’ team into a challenge to their throne, at which point they went out of their way to show these kids who they had picked a fight with. Gone was the bickering and pissing about, and in its place were the five cornerstones of this company daring people like Miu Watanabe to step up to their level. Is it frustrating when she can’t? Of course! But it should be frustrating. It’s frustrating in the same way that watching a younger Miyu Yamashita being destroyed by Meiko Satomura was frustrating. The benchmark has been set high, and if these kids want to reach it, they have to prove they are every bit as good as those who came before.
It was an idea that ran through this entire match and created one of the best, if not the best, multi-person matches I’ve seen this year. In other people’s hands, this kind of thirty-minute epic would have been messy and all over the place as everyone tried to get their shit it, but this was lean and tight, a generational battle between two sides who love each other but aren’t afraid to fight for what they want. It showed that not only the future of TJPW is bright, but the present, too, and while we’re losing one of them to an adventure in America, I’m pretty sure those foundations are strong enough to survive without her.
Bryan Danielson vs Eddie Kingston, Collision (2/12/23), AEW
It’s funny to think that the most commercially successful period of Bryan Danielson’s career saw him portraying the loveable everyman. I don’t want to suggest he wasn’t good at that (he clearly was), but watching Danielson take Kingston apart in this match, he’s so clearly a prick. When we talk about wrestling bullies, we often mean guys who are bigger and stronger than everyone else, but Danielson is of a different breed. With his eyepatch and tight braids, Danielson is a bully because he’s better than everyone else, and he knows it.
And what better person could there be for him to bully than actual everyman Eddie Kingston? Eddie is a wrestler driven by emotion, as his ability to channel his anger at the world into his craft is his biggest strength and weakness. On his day, it becomes a weapon that he turns on opponents, unleashing those years of pent-up frustration in a flurry of blows. When it goes wrong, he becomes wild and erratic, being led by the nose by those who know how to push his buttons. Unfortunately for him, Danielson is one of those people.
Because the opening of this match almost makes it look like Bryan has made a mistake. He’s goading Kingston, drawing him into exchanging chops, and ending up flat on his arse when he does. However, every time Eddie throws one of those chops, it’s a strike he could have been throwing at Danielson’s eye, and the longer that went, the more the man that many consider the GOAT was able to chip away at Kingston. By the time Eddie finally unleashed, slapping Bryan around the side of the head (with blows that I can’t imagine anyone who is recovering from a broken orbital bone should be taking), it was too late. The damage was done, and Danielson flew up through the gears to put him down for three.
It was a tactical masterclass from Danielson, as it felt like a logical and well-thought-out approach to beating a hothead like Kingston. When you combine it with his general portrayal of a smug wee shite and Eddie’s extraordinary selling (his attempt to fire up after a German, only to have his legs give way from under him, was superb), this was exceptional TV wrestling. It’s proof, again, that when AEW gets out of their way and lets their best wrestlers do the stuff they’re good at, there is so much to like about this company. More of this and less of the bollocks, please.
The stories of TJPW and Yuka Sakazaki are so intertwined that they’re almost the same tale. Birthed in colourful silliness, they’ve grown and evolved to a level I don’t think anyone could have predicted back on those early shows. TJPW has shifted from the quirky wee idol promotion that piggybacks off DDT to a force in its own right. Yuka, meanwhile, has evolved from a high-flying clown (literally at some points) into a hard hitter who is perhaps the only person who can stand next to Miyu Yamashita and dare to proclaim themselves the face of the company. I don’t think it’s an exaggeration to say that one couldn’t exist without the other, and while they’re now both going their separate ways, they’ll always be a part of each other.
So, it’s no surprise that TJPW ensured Sakazaki got a proper goodbye. She was allowed to open and close this show, starting with some nonsense alongside her old bandmates Antonio Honda, Rika Tatsumi and Trans AM Hiroshi, before getting emotional in the main event. It was, in its way, an encapsulation of her career, a growth from silliness to a final hard-hitting three minutes with Mizuki where they threw everything at the wall one last time. Not that Yuka ever truly turned her back on nonsense. She’s far too brilliant to do that.
But what shone here, a bit like with Saki Akai’s retirement, was the affection from the rest of the roster for Sakazaki. More than one person described her as being like their big sister, and even your Shokos and Miyus clearly hold her in high regard, trusting her as someone they can turn to when they’re not sure where to go next. As everyone from Runa to the wee cat to Mizuki wiped away the tears, you can’t help feeling that she’ll be missed as much as a figure backstage as a presence in the ring. I know Twitter has crafted its narrative about her wielding an iron fist over the roster, but that’s so blatantly nonsense that it’s not worth entertaining. It’s hard to replace someone who is that loved and respected.
That’s for them to figure out, though, and at the moment, it’s time to celebrate Sakazaki’s TJPW career. From the epic title matches to the brilliance of MagiRabbi through her cooking challenges on the Wrestle Universe shows (which, honestly, might be the thing I miss the most). Yuka has done it all in Tokyo Joshi three times over, and while that’s an argument for it being the right time for her to leave, I would have happily watched her do it times four and five. Sadly, at least for now, we won’t get that, but if she’s heading off to America, I can only hope someone out there realises how special she is. If they don’t, they’re even bigger fools than I thought.
Magenta (Maria & Riko Kawahata) vs Takumi Iroha & Chikayo Nagashima, Marvelous (10/12/23), Marvelous
What is it they say about finishing the story?
Magenta’s rise has been the rare wrestling storyline that has come off without a hitch. Starting as rivals, Riko and Maria found common ground as a pairing and have slowly and steadily improved, gradually blooming into one of my favourite tag teams. There were setbacks – their first attempt to challenge Takumi and Chikayo ended when Iroha defeated them both in a handicap match – but it’s always felt like they were moving forward, figuring out their strengths and weaknesses and building to this match. Moments like this are so often derailed, be it by injuries or a failure to strike when the iron is hot, that there is a pure and simple joy in seeing one play out exactly how it should have.
It also helps that the match was outstanding, a near half-hour-long epic that felt like a fraction of that. The problem with having champions with Iroha and Nagashima is that they can become unbeatable, especially in a company with a tiny roster. However, with the aid of the buildup tags, we slowly saw Magenta’s plan come together as they picked away at the edges of the champs, surviving as much of that hard-hitting offence as they could and waiting for one of them to make a mistake. Because, for all their dominance, Takumi and Chikayo have always had a banana skin moment in them, as they’re perhaps just that little bit too confident in their ability to power through any fuck ups and get the win regardless.
And when they did strike (Riko wriggling out of a Running Three, leaving Maria free to big boot Iroha into a small package), it toed the line between a smash and grab and a perfectly worked victory. It was a moment of opportunism, but it was planned opportunism, a trap being sprung at the exact right moment to get the win. When you’re going up against two of the best, you can’t expect to outhit them, so instead, you have to outthink them, and that’s what Magenta did. As they both burst into tears afterwards, it was hard not to feel like your heart was growing two sizes, as we’ve now got a very exciting tag reign to look forward to in 2023.
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