2022 - A Year In Review, Part Two: AEW

Having already dealt with the state of the world at large, and with scattered thoughts on the goings on in WWE, it’s time to turn my attentions to part 2, and the year that was for AEW.

It has been very much a year of two halves for AEW, and it’s tempting to place the blame for that situation almost solely at the feet of one CM Punk, but it’s a much deeper issue than that. 2022 was the year that AEW emphatically reached the end of their long honeymoon period.

The final AEW pay-per-view of 2021 - Full Gear - featured the final chapter (for now) of one of the promotion’s foundational stories, the rivalry and title feud between Kenny Omega and Adam “Hangman” Page. In Part One, I criticised WWE's booking of Bray Wyatt to effectively feud with himself - now, of course, “Man vs. Man” is one of the age-old narrative archetypes, it’s just the shockingly literal way it’s been presented that makes Wyatt’s masturbatory self-indulgences so awful. In AEW’s case, Hangman Page’s battle with his own insecurities and anxieties was the story - Kenny Omega may have been the opponent he needed to beat, but only insofar as Omega represented everything that Hangman wasn’t. The victory was a symbolic defeat of his own self-doubt, as much of the reigning champion. It was a rare example of something actually approaching subtlety in American TV wrestling, and it made a heroic babyface of a man who, pre-AEW, had been an afterthought, a Pointless answer to the question “can you name ever member of Bullet Club?”. That pay-per-view also marked the last PPV appearance of Cody Rhodes in AEW.

Cody Rhodes
Of course, Cody jumping ship to WWE was already a topic of discussion in Part One, but it’s also worth reflecting on his stint in AEW. In the beginning, he was the de facto face of the company - well-presented in expensive suits, confident on the microphone, and a constant presence in the wider media surrounding the promotion, he was the conduit for the fans’ enthusiasms and support for this exciting new venture. From the outset, he specialised in overbooked, overwrought, and often counter-intuitively booked matches and feuds, always taking three steps when one would do, but the sheer goodwill that the fans harboured for him was enough to carry him through, with the help of occasional performances that exceeded his reputation as a consistent Three And A Half Stars wrestler. Whether his genuine classic match with older brother Dustin (though, typically for Cody, this was a match built up with a story that ignored countless potential storytelling avenues - Dustin exerting some tough love to stop the younger Cody from making the same mistakes he felt he had, or Cody as the crowned heir apparent to their father invoking the jealous rage of an older brother who rarely experienced his father’s love and support - in favour of a confused build in which Cody saw Dustin as a stand-in for the Attitude Era as a whole), or taking a beating with a leather strap from MJF, those individual moments delivered in a way few can, and were enough to overlook some of his weirder moments - we can ignore the inconsistent booking of Brandi Rhodes as simultaneous heel wrestler, babyface manager, coward and bad-ass, emotional rollercoasters against the late Brodie Lee, or subsequent feuds built on wrestlers who were already heels “turning on” Cody after claims of being his best friend, so long as we get to the firework factory. As 2021 rolled over into 2022, the Firework Factory had never looked further away.

Whether it was a lengthy feud with utility player QT Marshall, a promising feud with Anthony Ogogo being lost in a mess of nationalistic flag-waving promos - including one in which Cody seemed to claim that his child’s mixed race parentage was a uniquely American phenomenon; a perplexing line to take when feuding with a mixed race opponent from England - or a post-match promo following a match with Malakai Black in which Cody seemed to tease retirement, without ever deigning to mention his opponent, Cody Rhodes in AEW was losing a lot of the goodwill he had garnered and, in hindsight, may have been a stand-in for the promotion as a whole. Cody has long been excellent at promoting a one-and-done match, but struggles to hold up his end of a programme on weekly TV - whether that’s an issue of front-loading all of his ideas into the start of a feud with little to follow up in steps two and three, or the growing suspicion among fans that he was working towards a kind of meta-narrative, actively frustrating fans into a heel turn that wasn’t a heel turn, the result was usually confusing and frustrating television. Confusing because his character and motivations were inconsistent and muddled, frustrating because he was capable of so much more.

It shouldn’t have been a surprise that Cody returned to WWE at the first opportunity. While Kenny Omega and the Young Bucks seemed to view AEW as a genuine opportunity to present an alternative to WWE, and to present their wrestling philosophy on the grandest possible stage, for Cody Rhodes it was an exercise in proving the strength of the Cody Rhodes brand. When Cody left WWE in 2016, out of creative frustration, the end-goal was always to prove WWE wrong in their assessment of his worth. Having firmly established himself as a main event prospect, the mission was a success, and when WWE came calling, Cody was always going to answer.

The biggest disappointment for many was the number of matches left on the table. Either by playing it safe in holding off on big matches against AEW’s top stars, or by allowing him to exist solely in his self-contained “Codyverse”, Rhodes left AEW having barely wrestled its biggest names. Despite two years at the upper echelon of the same company, Cody Rhodes never wrestled Kenny Omega.

Post-Cody

With Cody Rhodes departing AEW in February, the landscape changed. Not just an on-screen character, but a popular figure behind-the-scenes, an EVP, and somebody with significant influence over creative, Rhodes’ departure was felt at all levels. A promotion that was once spoken of in glowing terms of a positive, friendly and welcoming backstage atmosphere, and that had managed to keep Brodie Lee’s illness under wraps and celebrate his life with some of the most joyous and bittersweet wrestling programming in history, through 2022 became surrounded by rumours of backstage dissent, in-fighting, sometimes literal fighting, and a backstage culture that was as leaky as a sieve when it came to dirtsheets and wrestling gossipmongers.

It would be foolish to blame all of that on Cody Rhodes’ departure, but the concurrent shift in the balance of power, with yet more control seized by Tony Khan and Tony Khan alone, can’t have helped. The size of AEW’s roster had long been a source of criticism by fans, and one that I had largely ignored - if you’re a promoter, “we have too many talented and popular wrestlers” is the sort of “problem” you dream of having - but as it became ever more bloated in 2022, and with the addition of Tony Khan’s purchase of ROH and its integration on to AEW television, it became harder to overlook. Wrestlers disappeared from TV for weeks or months at a time without explanation, and resentment over being overlooked in favour of new signings presumably festered. Triple H taking the reins over in WWE made many AEW converts, who had left WWE frustrated with the company under Vince McMahon, now saw the grass as greener with their old NXT boss in the seat of power. AEW was no longer the promised land for wrestlers, nor the beloved alternative for fans, and it spent much of the year struggling for an identity. That this all blew up in the form of CM Punk’s unhinged, likely pre-planned rant following All Out, and the backstage fracas that ensued, was, it seems inevitable.

CM Punk had, himself, almost fallen into Cody Rhodes territory. While his early feud with Eddie Kingston was inspired and believable, an atmosphere carried over into his feud with MJF in 2022, culminating in a classic Dog Collar Match, beyond that, his on-screen character became a conflicted mess, a thin-skinned babyface who insulted fans, and skated by on goodwill. By the time of his title feuds with Jon Moxley and Hangman Page that led directly to his blow-up at All Out, Punk skirted around insider comments, put-downs and airing dirty laundry in public, amid a confusingly booked feud, marred by injury, and hot-shotting title matches on television. Like so much of Cody’s booking, the tail end of Punk’s run always took three steps where one would have done. And, like Cody, Punk left AEW - or so it seemed - with most of his biggest potential matches left on the table. He never shared the ring with Kenny Omega, The Young Bucks, or Bryan Danielson, we never saw what a CM Punk/Orange Cassidy match might have looked like, or revisited his WWE feud with Chris Jericho.

MJF

MJF, too, was responsible for making some major headlines, and resorting to behind-the-scenes gossip, at the expense of two years of storyline investment. While his feud with CM Punk masterfully weaved real emotions and real stories into a compelling on-screen narrative, his subsequent feud with Wardlow was hopelessly overshadowed by “reality”. In the blow-off match between the two, after the inevitable slow burn babyface turn of MJF’s former bodyguard, all anybody wanted to talk about was whether MJF had booked a plane home from a previous show and was on his way out of the company. On the following episode of Dynamite, when MJF cut a promo attacking Tony Khan and AEW, Wardlow didn’t even get a mention. The whining heel had just lost what should have been a star-making match to his rival, and that should have been the only thing on his mind, he should have been consumed by it. At the very least, he should have acknowledged it. He did no such thing. Wardlow’s crowning moment was lost in the shuffle, amid endless tedious rumour.

That’s the thing about “worked shoot” angles - they only work when they accent the on-screen story, not when they undermine it. CM Punk’s Pipebomb promo wasn’t a masterpiece just for namedropping Colt Cabana and talking about his frustrations with WWE management, but for how it wove those real issues into the narrative, and how he still used the opportunity to sell his PPV match with John Cena. MJF running down Tony Khan only served to detract from the story he was supposed to be a part of, and to provide air-time to issues that had nothing to do with the narrative of the TV show they occurred on.

It’s not, as some would argue, a problem unique to wrestling - behind-the-scenes drama contributes to how we consume all kinds of media. We know ahead of time when a new actor is set to debut in Doctor Who, and are more likely to tune in to see them. Tony Stark’s death in Avengers: End-Game is made meaningful, even in a movie in which all other deaths are reversible, and after numerous prior on-screen “deaths” and retirements for the character, not because the narrative works particularly hard to make it so, but because the filmmakers know that the audience know that Robert Downey Jr. isn’t contracted for any more movies, so this one must be for real. By contrast, we know certain characters aren’t really dead because we know they have another movie or two on their deal. We watch certain Marvel TV series not purely for their own sake, but to see how they lay their foundation for a movie due out in two years’ time. Is this all really so different from watching a wrestling pay-per-view not necessarily to see who wins, but to see how the booking gets from Point A to the rumoured Point B match at Wrestlemania? But where other media hasn’t gone quite so far as wrestling is that, even at its most inclined to break the fourth wall, Hollywood are never going to allow an actor to step outside of their role mid-production, and speak directly to the audience about how everything they’ve just watched was phony but don’t worry, this next scene, that’s definitely for real. It would be absurd. But that’s what wrestling does time and time again, and that’s what AEW allowed MJF to do at the expense of what should have been Wardlow’s coronation.

I’ll confess, I never really got the hype behind MJF prior to the CM Punk feud. His promos are often derivative, and rely on lowest common denominator cheap heat. At a time when audiences are used to the scripted stop-start rhythms of a WWE promo, it felt to me that many had simply mistaken a wrestler speaking off the cuff and with confidence for genuine great mic work; his promos did little to sell matches or events, nor were they memorable. That all changed against CM Punk, with some of the most compelling work of his, or anyone’s career. To throw that away at the expense of worked shoot nonsense was a massive error of judgement.

MJF ultimately made his return, after several months’ absence, at All Out, winning a guaranteed title shot before confronting CM Punk after the main event. It was as if the Wardlow feud never happened, that MJF’s absence had all been for this. It wasn’t a bad idea - MJF as the perennial thorn in Punk’s side, spoiling his proudest moment, was good storytelling, and fit the conniving, weaselly character of MJF himself. Problem was, Punk was hurt, and the match couldn’t happen. Worse still, he was moments away from delivering the diatribe that led directly to his likely exit from AEW. The MJF/Punk feud was a non-starter, so now what?

Now What?
”Now what?” may well be a poisoned chalice for AEW. While, with feuds like Kenny Omega vs. Hangman Page, Tony Khan (and/or whoever assists him in booking and producing) has shown himself to be adept at long-term planning and booking the big picture arc of a story, AEW television is rarely worse than when having to make last-minute adjustments and be booked on the fly. Much of AEW’s 2022 has been the story of excellent pay-per-views belied by an underwhelming build, few worse than the NJPW crossover Forbidden Door.

After All Out, Tony Khan was left without a World Champion, without Trios Champions, and with his planned World Title feud in tatters. It’s unlikely that his plan all along had been for the Trios title to become almost immediately an afterthought, waiting around for The Elite to return from their suspensions, following a highly promoted tournament - perhaps The Elite were to feud with the Jericho Appreciation Society, the Blackpool Combat Club, or a combination of CM Punk & FTR, we’ll never know. As for the World Title, Jon Moxley cancelled his vacation and geared up for a feud with MJF. But with no opportunity to explore the planned storytelling avenues of a renewed MJF/CM Punk feud, the road to Full Gear 2022 was paved with nonsense - the stable who helped MJF earn his title shot were almost immediately disassociated from him, MJF teased an ill-advised babyface turn, and the story became more about MJF’s history with Moxley’s manager William Regal than any personal issues between him and Moxley. Regal’s role would likewise become bogged down with worked shoot, real-life drama, amid rumours of him returning to WWE, and while I could make efforts to make sense of the convoluted double or triple turn, pinwheeling from villainous heel to sympathetic old man victim, of Regal’s last few weeks in AEW, it’s not really worth the effort. Once again, reality was taking precedent over what should have been the storyline focus.

Now, MJF is World Champion, but still doesn’t feel like he’s had the appropriate crowning moment. His first challenger is Bryan Danielson, defending the honour of William Regal - a man no longer in the company, and who turned on Jon Moxley to help MJF win the belt in the first place. Danielson has been embroiled in a never-ending feud with the Jericho Appreciation Society, and doesn’t feel like the main event must-see talent that he was when he entered AEW and wrestled incredible matches against Jon Moxley, Kenny Omega, and Hangman Page. That’s no problem - if anyone can effortlessly elevate themselves up to the upper echelon again, it’s Bryan Danielson, I’m just not convinced MJF is the dance partner to keep him there.

What Else?

We’re back, then, to this sense of AEW at the end of a honeymoon period. It’s no longer the fresh new brand, no longer a grassroots operation featuring all your favourite indie wrestlers pulling together, and no longer the exciting destination for wrestlers who feel WWE have failed to recognise their potential. It’s a promotion beset with rumours of backstage squabbles, inconsistent booking, and now it’s AEW accused of misusing or under-utilising some of its stars.

For the most part, the integration of any number of former WWE names has been handled reasonably well - the likes of Samoa Joe, Swerve Strickland, Keith Lee, and Bryan Danielson feel thoroughly part of the AEW furniture, not like opportunistic signings from The Other Company. But there are exceptions. Saraya - the former Paige - returned to wrestling and debuted at Full Gear with a victory over Britt Baker, but not before finding time for some truly atrocious microphone work, and promos that reminded me of nothing more than Rikishi’s brief stint as Junior Fatu in TNA; clearly there for a paycheck, he mumbled his way through a backstage interview, forgetting the names of his planned opponents. Saraya, with WWE pacing and diction, after admitting on a podcast interview that she hadn’t watched AEW’s product, delivered the worst kind of WWE promo - rather than putting her opponent over, or selling the promotion as the place to be, Saraya made it clear that she was the star, deigning to work with an opponent who had never achieved half of what she has. Given that Britt is a former AEW Women’s Champion and the centrepiece of the division, it was an inauspicious start to a run that has yet to pay dividends.

There were other confusing decisions - Powerhouse Hobbs’ breakout win over Ricky Starks at All Out has yet to be capitalised on. Miro has disappeared from television. Eddie Kingston, following a dream match with Jun Akiyama and a superb pitch-man promo on the All Out pre-show, has yet to wrestle on Dynamite or Rampage again. The Motor City Machine Guns, one of the greatest tag teams of all time, made their one-off AEW debut in an underwhelming six-man tag as allies of Jay Lethal. Claudio Castagnoli and Wheeler YUTA closed a ROH pay-per-view with an implied challenge to FTR, and nobody has ever mentioned it since. Once upon a time, I had a defence of AEW - if an angle aired on WWE television that was ill thought out and badly performed, it was just bad television and likely went exactly as they planned it, whereas in AEW, bad decisions were often rectified and resolved; now, AEW is a litany of poor decision-making and baffling lapses of judgement, with no guarantee that they’ll right themselves. I take no pleasure in saying that, it’s a real shame.

There have been bright spots, though, and on balance I would still say they were the stronger of the two major US wrestling promotions in 2022. The Acclaimed have been a home-grown success story, making Billy Gunn an unlikely hot property 33 years into his career, and with a superb tag title match against Swerve In Our Glory under their belts. The quality of wrestling has been largely excellent. Konosuke Takeshita is a beautiful, brilliant wrestler. Jamie Hayter has become the star she was born to be. Anarchy In The Arena gave us the visual of a blood-soaked Eddie Kingston intent on setting Chris Jericho and Bryan Danielson on fire. Martha Hart and her children actually appearing on a pro-wrestling show, and being treated with the respect and dignity they deserve. As the year draws to a close, it feels like AEW is getting back on the right track.

But this remains a promotion with an identity crisis. A lot of what I loved about early AEW is nowhere to be found - the sense that anybody could show up, an open-door policy that allowed for free cross-promotion with NJPW, Impact, AAA, OWE, TJPW and the independent scene, and a love of wrestling’s history outside of the narrow confines of WWE’s codified “Legends”; legendary Memphis announcer Dave Brown guesting on AEW Dark in 2019, Aja Kong turning up for a match, and cameos from Konnan, Baron Von Raschke and the Rock N Roll Express, all feel a million miles away from the more self-contained AEW of 2022. That may seem like a minority view - some old wrestler getting a nostalgia pop doesn’t dictate the quality of a whole show - but it speaks to something that made AEW stand out from WWE, and that’s the sense that it exists within a wider world outside of its own TV broadcast. A familiar local legend is a marker that the show is taking place in a real location, and one that differs from last week or next week’s show, and makes every show feel more real, more alive, and more unique. Perhaps we will see a return to that in 2023, as AEW expands their touring boundaries, even going so far as running shows in the UK, time will tell. But the opposite direction of travel is one toward WWE-ification, the mistakes that WCW and TNA made before AEW was a twinkle in Tony Khan’s eye, of aping how the industry leader does things at the expense of what brought you to the dance.

Moving forward, the waters are likely tumultuous for AEW. There will be more high profile departures, more backstage drama, and more free-flowing gossip, and how the promotion manages that situation will cast a long shadow. Hopefully, with the CM Punk experiment likely over, and a shortage of ex-WWE talent jumping ship, AEW now has a more settled main event picture, and a healthy undercard of young talent all primed for greatness. The tools are all there for a constructive rebuilding year, to steady the ship and elevate the likes of Jungle Boy, Hook, Ricky Starks and Wardlow towards genuine headliner status. All they have to do is not get in their own way.