Kazuchika Okada vs. Katsuyori Shibata (NJPW Sakura Genesis 2017 4/9/17)

This review was commissioned by Nicholas Anderson over on my Ko-fi account.

Without hyperbole, a mythic match.

There’s so much wrapped up into this bout that it will forever exist beyond itself. The most notable aspect to it is, of course, Shibata’s injury. At the time and for many years afterwards, it was thought that this would be Katsuyori Shibata’s last ever match. In one of the match’s most iconic moments, Shibata hits a shoot headbutt and in the process gives himself a subdural hematoma–a severe case of bleeding in the brain. Combined with dehydration caused by the exertion of the match, Shibata experienced paralysis in half of his body and would be rushed to a hospital soon after the conclusion of the match. The gravity of the injury kept Shibata out of active professional wrestling competition for four years before a triumphant return in Budokan Hall in 2021. Even now, some four years into Shibata’s post-comeback run as a wrestler, this match still acts as a clear turning point for the man’s career. Regardless of one’s opinion on his current work, it’s hard to deny that something about Katsuyori Shibata dies in the ring here tonight against Kazuchika Okada. In 2025, a certain level of intensity can no longer be accessed, any hopes of main event status are ill advised, and despite being presented as a tough guy, there’s still the prevailing sense that Shibata now is living in the shadow of his own legacy.

Wrapped into all that reality is the way grand stories always warp. There’s jokes and memes (brain removal, of course) and the continued propagation of the match’s status as something greater than just the action between the ropes.

The key here is that the match doesn’t reach that status if it isn’t just so fucking great.

There’s an immensity here that hasn’t lost any of its luster in the time since. For one, the sheer atmosphere of the moment is undeniable. Even as someone that lived through this match, experienced it in the moment, I found myself stunned revisiting it and just listening to this match. We’ll talk about sound more later on, but this crowd is on absolute fire. There’s enough distance now from peak Bushiroad New Japan in the 2010s to say that they truly captured a captivated and wildly invested audience in that time. Just listen to Sumo Hall here, the immediate pop for the first notes of Shibata’s music, the swelling roar to even the tiniest moments. At one point early in the bout, Okada attempts a drop down to trip up Shibata and the challenger simply grabs a side headlock on the challenge and Sumo Hall pops for it. It’s as in tune and reactive a crowd as there has ever been in pro wrestling history and they do so much to enhance this moment.

New Japan’s production is also on an absolute blinder during this promotional run. Take the early shot of Okada posing in the corner in his bright, bedazzled robe, with fake money raining down upon him as Shibata waits patiently in the corner for the bell to ring. The cameraman in the corner frames it perfectly so that the money only seems to rain on Okada’s side of the screen, there’s a scarily perfect divide where none of the pomp and circumstance can even seem to touch Shibata. I bring this up because it’s important to note that New Japan here appears to be capturing a moment, something so much different from creating a moment. One doesn’t feel their touch here, none of it is heavy handed or even seemingly intentional, it all flows forth like the organic realities created by these two clashing personalities being in such proximity to each other. In contrast to so much other pro wrestling production, one never feels like everything was perfectly blocked and coordinated to get this shot, the viewer just feels like a camera happened to be present to see the truth unfold before them.

Then the bell rings, and good fucking God.

You want to talk about sound? Shibata’s strikes in this match still echo to this day. Don’t even take my word for it, just look up any compilation or clip that TV Asahi has somehow let slip between their fingers and see what moments people choose to memorialize from this match. Nine times out of ten, it’s as proof to the weight and viciousness that Shibata puts behind every single blow he delivers here. Shibata fills this match with some absolute goddamn HEATERS. Every time one thinks that there’s no further place to go, Shibata puts just a little more stank on another strike, and does so with such a variety and attitude behind all of them that it rarely feels repetitive at all. It’s the intention behind the blows that matters most here, with the early striking being a direct response to Okada trying to break up the chain wrestling, and then devolving into Shibata taking more and more glee in trying to embarrass the golden boy. To Okada’s credit, this match features some of his crispest, if still inconsistent, striking ever. But even working at his best, Okada’s elbows and uppercuts in this still drown next to what Shibata brings to the table.

But there’s been great and scary strikes scattered throughout all of wrestling history. This match may have some of those at its pinnacle, but it’s really nothing without all the intangible work that Okada and Shibata both put in here.

For one, there’s an innate sense that Shibata’s wrestling with the weight of history on his shoulders. There’s an undercurrent here of this being a battle for what New Japan could be, and what it will come to be. Shibata comes from a time before the Bushiroad epics, and had a long twisting road coming back to the company where it is now. His style and offense in this match harkens back to a different time. There’s the obvious touches like Inoki’s manjigatame or even the Indian deathlock, but there’s other moments here too, likely unintentional but weighty nonetheless such as Shibata’s preference for a simple sleeper or even the Fujiwara armbar he utilizes to try and soften up Okada’s lariating arm. All of it combines with the almost serene intensity that Shibata embodies in this match. His confidence isn’t loud at all–his elbows take care of that–but he feels so at ease her letting Okada drown on the mat in the early exchanges or walking right into Okada’s face in the most direct way to cut off the champion’s control.

As for the champion himself, that’s where I start to hit a stumbling block in this match. As great as Okada is in this match, and this run in general, he fully remains Not My Guy. To his credit, he grazes transcendence here. There’s so much he does right. While not a patch on Shibata, his striking is stronger here than it maybe has ever been in his entire career. From a selling standpoint, the half dead glaze in his eyes while dealing with Shibata’s final sleeper attempt genuinely stokes the crowd into a frothing anticipation. His late match arm selling also doesn’t get enough credit, especially for how proportional it feels to the amount of damage and time Shibata himself dedicates to working over the arm. Okada does just enough there, including during strike exchanges, to remind us that his arm is in danger and that there’s something there for him to overcome. And when it’s time to put the finishing touches on the challenger, he mostly, mostly, does so with the required energy.

And yet.

Okada’s signature calm demeanor can’t help but stifle this match. As purposeful as the early matwork feels as a show of Shibata’s superiority with grappling, the match seems to undercut this point when later Okada goes to some fairly limp holds on the ground to work over Shibata’s neck. At the same time, Okada relies heavily on his signature transitions in this match in a way that feels a little uninspired given how much grander everything else around it feels. When Shibata’s been beating on his ass as well he has, it’s the slightest eye roll when Okada relies on that clunky top turnbuckle dropkick to seize control in the early half of the match. It’s those transitions that truly put an asterisk on this bout (or sorry to spoil, shave one off it). The narrative of Okada enduring this all-time great assault makes sense, and they do just enough with it to make this all feel as beautiful as it is, but it’s just enough to keep this out of the light of true perfection. All of which is to say, it doesn’t feel like Okada earns it here.

Instead, especially with hindsight, it’s a match about Shibata losing.

Up to a certain point, it does feel like Shibata’s finally overcoming. When Okada hits that fucking Rainmaker and Shibata absorbs the full force of it and roars in defiance, I fucking howled like an animal. It’s such a glorious display, this shining moment of God’s true son blazing in the light against the pretty boy with the magic lariat. And that moment’s immediately followed by That Headbutt. The one that cracks too deep, the one that sends a trickle of blood down Shibata’s face, the one that produces one of the most iconic images in pro wrestling history.

Shibata bleeds and divinity gives way to humanity.

Even with the bleed in his brain, it all feels like it should be possible. Shibata doesn’t drop and the blood is the only sign that there’s a more serious problem. And unfortunately for Shibata, the character, he only loses himself here even more. He uses a Rainmaker set up to pull Okada into one of the most insane slaps ever (lovingly termed The Bitchmaker in retrospect) and retains wrist control to keep beating on Okada. Even fans at this point of the journey–with Okada having finally gotten over Tanahashi in the Tokyo Dome the year before–could tell you that’s a mistake. You don’t grab Okada by the wrist, because he can always grab it back.

Okada grabs the wrist and in a final surge of adrenaline, finally hits that Rainmaker flush. Okada’s rush here in the finish still just isn’t quite as cathartic as it should be, but even now the devastation of this cut off still rings true. In this watchthrough too, one painful detail stands out. Watch the spin on that final Rainmaker, you can see Shibata get his wrist up, winding back, maybe for a final strike, just anything to cut off that goddamn Rainmaker. Maybe it’s the damage to his brain, maybe it’s the booker’s hand, whatever it is, Okada beats him to the fucking punch. Rainmaker, and a three.

Shibata stumbles to the back, we don’t see him collapse but now we know that he does.

It’s still astonishing, mythic in all the right ways. It always is, when one sees a man reach the top, graze it with his fingertips, before crashing all the way back down. It’s a single moment of transcendence. We taste it, right alongside Shibata. Maybe just getting there was enough.

IS IT BETTER THAN 6/3/94? Despite sharing similar problems, they also share very similar strengths and qualities. Both are stories of a long suffering challenger getting closer than ever, rising beyond even themselves, only to be brought low by the man across the ring. In this case, it’s a matter of pure sentiment and mine lies with Okada and Shibata for being there, in the moment, living it with them.

Rating: ****3/4