Suzuki and Liger have been feuding violently for most of the year. Suzuki is, on the surface, the furthest thing from Jyushin Liger it is possible to be, while still being a New Japan wrestler. They are, however, two sides of the same profession.
Category: Japanese Wrestling
Yoshi-Hashi doesn’t have a lot of the things wrestling stars have. He’s not beautiful like Ibushi, or charming like Taguchi, or hard like Ishii. He doesn’t have the natural charisma or athleticism of Nakamura or Okada. He’s not comfortable on mic or powerful in his crowd work. He’s pretty awkward, usually, visibly anxious and vocal about being in pain. His shoulder is always taped, and unlike other wrestlers who wear sleeves or pads or black support wraps, he just wears tape. He’s open about injury in a way most wrestlers, pretending to be gods, aren’t. He’s a good wrestler, technically, but there are lots of good wrestlers.
The Golden Lovers – neither of whom have officially self-identified as queer, or straight, though Kenny’s made a lot of references to dating both men and women – have, over nearly a decade, made queer romance the center of their professional personas in a way no tag team ever has.
There are very few wrestling romances with happy endings, let alone queer romances. However, the Golden Lovers have avoided this cliche, treated their relationship with total solemnity and sincerity – even when they were on opposite sides of the ring.
This is a story about one of the greatest feuds and rivalries in wrestling, the story of the relationship between a man and one who hurt him so deeply he carried the grudge like a live coal for years until he could achieve his bitter vengeance. It’s the tale of a relationship full of abuse and degradation, leading to utter annihilation. It’s a story of hatred and revenge. Strange as this may sound, it may…
It makes a busy wrestling blog proprietor’s day when a stranger shows up out of nowhere offering a shrewd critical take on the art of blading. Please enjoy this piece by new contributor Kid Mankind, and be forewarned: there is blood. There are three ways to bleed in a wrestling ring. There is an accidental split of the skin – maybe a baby face landed a lucky hit on someone’s nose, maybe the jagged edge…
I’m not quite sure what I expected when I sat down in the movie theater to watch “My Dad is a Heel Wrestler,” the new movie starring Hiroshi Tanahashi and a host of other NJPW wrestlers. Considering it had NJPW’s official stamp of approval, I was fairly certain it wouldn’t be pulling the curtain aside to show wrestlers calling their matches and bookers deciding who was going over whom. And it was a children’s movie,…
It’s December 2016, and I’m at my second New Japan show. I know barely anything about any of the wrestlers, it’s all a buzz of new names and styles. The main event is a tag match, and the first wrestler to the ring is someone who goes by EVIL (in English, in all caps), carrying a scythe and wearing a purple and black velour robe. He is quite possibly the most extra wrestler I have…
There’s a notorious moment in wrestling history called the “Finger Poke of Doom.” It’s the culmination of months’ worth of feud between two warring factions of the WCW, led by Kevin Nash and Hulk Hogan respectively. At the climax of the conflict, Nash and Hogan finally face each other, glowering, in the ring. There’s a long, tense moment. And then Hogan reaches out and pokes Nash in the chest with one finger, lightly, and Nash…
It’s late 2015, Dan and I have figured out how to buy tickets for New Japan Pro Wrestling shows and managed to attend a couple of shows: in the mountains of Gifu, in the sumo hall in our home base of Nagoya. We’ve even become members of the NJPW fan club, which gives us access to perks and better seats. It’s time to finally make our way to Tokyo and the Mecca of professional wrestling…
Who are we, as wrestling fans, and what have we lost? It’s March 28, 1962, in Los Angeles, California. It’s a Wednesday night at the Grand Olympic Auditorium, just south of Downtown, the famous arena about which Charles Bukowski once wrote, “the gallery boys went ape and the fighters fought like fighters and the place was blue with cigar smoke, and how we screamed, baby baby, and threw money and drank our whiskey.” That night…