The more things change.

Featured image by @high_kkk

Nothing stays the same.

Take Kazuchika Okada. His ascent to the top of New Japan Pro Wrestling helped sparked renewed interest in the company, one that helped bring in greater international interest than ever. About a decade of booking centered itself on solidifying his position as the most important Japanese wrestler of an entire generation and fans from all over the world flocked to witness that rise to the top. The unforeseen side effect of greater international interest though, is that interest soon turns into competition. The WWE began chipping away with signings of the likes of Finn Balor, AJ Styles, and Shinsuke Nakamura. By the time AEW opened in 2019 though, there was more opportunity than ever in America for talents that had found a foothold in Japan. In just a few years, Kenny Omega, Jay White, Will Ospreay, even Katsuyori Shibata found themselves signing with AEW and becoming staples of their TV product. Most significantly though, the golden boy himself, Kazuchika Okada, stepped away from the company to chase his fortunes abroad. There, Okada would always be a feature on TV but never the leading star, which allowed him to settle into this groove of occasionally being called upon to wrestle important matches in the style that made him famous, but focusing far more on classic heel antics to make the most of his TV time. In lieu of regular half hour epics, Okada gave us the finger (quite literally) and cackled at the heroes and insincerely begged forgiveness of the referees.

Then there’s Hiroshi Tanahashi. As opposed to the shifting pro wrestling landscape, what chips away at Tanahashi most of all is time. Such has been the story of his career for the last two decades. In the 2010s, the specter of time took on the physical form of Kazuchika Okada–a younger, favored competitor chasing him down through the decade until Tanahashi’s grip on New Japan finally slackened. It’s not hard to see the wear and tear on his body though, especially given how important that is to his persona as a pro wrestler. Physically speaking, it’s been downhill for Tanahashi for a long time now. He’s not as quick as he was, the striking which was never quite his strong suit to begin with got softer, and his agility suffered too as that signature leap over the ropes to climb for the High Fly Flow ended up more strained and awkward with time. The physical transition coupled with an administrative one as well. Tanahashi’s transition away from the ring became all the clearer when he was appointed president of New Japan Pro Wrestling.

In spite of all that, there’s a constancy to Hiroshi Tanahashi.

The title of “ace” does not come lightly, and it brings with it a sense of stability that I’ve always associated with Tana. Even after Okada overtook him in the Dome in 2016, it’s Tanahashi that I thought of leading New Japan through difficult periods. When the pandemic hit and the company was forced to run shows in a quarter filled Tokyo Dome, it was Tanahashi weaving magic from near silence against Shingo Takagi. When the big names all started leaving, it was Tanahashi’s presence along with the likes of Hirooki Goto that maintained a last sliver of connection to the 2010s Bushiroad boom. The man drew his line in the sand. Through thick and thin, Hiroshi Tanahashi was a New Japan guy through and through, as integral to the company’s identity as the famed lion mark upon the cerulean. Things may change, but this much would not.

It’s that obstinate steadiness that confronts Kazuchika Okada in the Tokyo Dome.

Okada himself bears all the markings of shifting sands in this match. He comes out to his new theme song by One Ok Rock, he wears an AEW title belt on his waist, and he’s announced as “from AEW.” Even with Gedo on his side once again, even breathing in the rarefied Tokyo Dome air, this is not the same man that just two years ago wrestled Bryan Danielson, and certainly not the same man that clung to Hiroshi Tanahashi’s wrist to overtake him ten years ago. It’s all that wonderful contrast that really brings this match to life once the bell rings. It is once again the very same battle that Tanahashi has been fighting for years now: not just the cocky figure that is Okada, but all the things that Okada has come to represent in his career: the inevitability of time.

On that front, Okada brings one of his liveliest performances in a long time. It’s characterized by a truly evil, malicious spirit that goes through the entire bout. All that sneering cockiness that Okada’s amplified throughout his time in AEW takes on a truly vicious tone here against Tanahashi. It’s his meanest performance in a very long time, probably his most dastardly since he callously murdered Kaito Kiyomiya’s dreams in this same building. As opposed to the almost seething indifference he brought to Kiyomiya, Okada brings smug mockery to his attack on Hiroshi Tanahashi. He refuses the clean break at the open, and he’s actively mocking the Tokyo Dome’s chants of “Go Ace.” When he DDTs Tanahashi on the floor, he brings out that insincere begging off of Red Shoes as he often does in the states. Beautifully too, the sold out crowd is game to give Okada the heat he needs here. They boo Okada at every turn, never once giving him the reception of a returning prodigal son. Good! Reject that blonde motherfucker that took the money abroad, the wrestling is all the better for it.

Of course, the star of the show is Hiroshi Tanahashi though. Broadly speaking, the match has all the hallmarks of his signature construction. Small details like milking the most out of a Boston Crab immediately after a World Title was decided with the very same hold. The match also regularly turns on these massive feeling transitions that can’t help but amplify the built in emotional stakes of the match. Take Tanahashi’s first comeback after Okada controls much of the opening minutes of the match. It’s not just that Tanahashi comes back against that snide motherfucker, it is also that he does so by skinning the cat over the top rope–something I wouldn’t have guessed that he was still physically capable of at this point. And when he starts going after that leg of Okada, one can’t help but leap up thinking that maybe there’s a path forward here for him after all.

But what Tanahashi really excels at in this match is conveying his conflict not just with Okada but with his own failing body. At every turn, Okada’s able to stuff Tanahashi’s control simply by being a lot quicker to the pass. Tanahashi takes too long to nail his signature senton? Okada’s able to catch him with the dropkick to the floor. Tanahashi’s started going for the leg? He’s too slow bridging the distance, so Okada catches him with the neckbreaker. All the old standbys and moments of magic that Tanahashi seemed capable of in the past simply do not work anymore. Where once a big right hand slap had enough stopping power to cut off an attempted Rainmaker, now Okada stands there and eats five or so in succession without much trouble and still gets to land his lariat flush. Even worse for Tanahashi, all of Okada’s own standbys are twice as damaging against an even older and more broken down Ace. The tombstone on the floor often spelled the end for a Tanahashi in his prime, when Okada hits one on the ramp this time around, it’s a veritable miracle that Tanahashi makes it back into the ring at all. Of course, it’s Tanahashi that gets the most of that moment too with his agonized crawl accompanied by the panic of the crowd and the visual of the lion mark projected upon the entrance stage behind him. And awaiting him in the ring, just a continued relentless attack from an Okada all the way in his bag, certain of victory, and more than willing to lay on humiliation alongside the physical beating of multiple Tombstones and lariats.

It’s clear from the go that Tanahashi just won’t have what it takes to get it done.

And that’s a strength of the match, not a failing. With the odds so clearly against him, every breakthrough hits like lightning. Smartly, it often comes when Tanahashi catches Okada rushing in to bridge the distance. He’s able to catch a Sling Blade and close in on Okada for just a bit. A big Sleeper to take the younger man’s breath away, and a little from help from his friends Katusyori Shibata and Shinsuke Nakamura to hit that first High Fly Flow. These are just fleeting moments of strength though, and importantly, built far more on emotion than reality. Does electricity surge through my blood when Tanahashi hits that Boma Ye? Undoubtedly. But the foundation of Tanahashi’s offensive is shaky at best, he’s out here trading bombs from the past and as a consequence completely neglects the leg attack he attempted early. There’s enough there that he gets Okada to fall for one final Gambit, but at that point it’s a matter of buying seconds and not securing victory.

The genius of this match though is that if Tanahashi’s not coming away with three, he still takes a pound of flesh with him, offering it to us the fans that have loved him and are living and dying by his success on this night. He’s not going to win, but he’s refusal to go down easy allows him one final moral victory over Kazuchika Okada. If Hiroshi Tanahashi is going to lose his final match in pro wrestling, he’s not doing so to the Don Callis facsimile of Kazuchika Okada that’s been coasting his way through a cushy TV contract. He’s not going to lie down for the man playing bits for the hard cam and punctuating every promo with “bitch” to increasingly diminishing returns. On his way out the door, Tanahashi gives us one final piece of comeuppance and pay off to a story we didn’t even know was being told. All that refusal and denial that Okada’s been leaning on in AEW, these cheap tricks that make him a fun midcard TV act, allow him the runway to touch transcendence once again after I’d long assumed it was behind him.

Hiroshi Tanahashi won’t go easy, so Okada must change. It happens some time after Tanahashi kicks out of the first Rainmaker of the match, as the old man has to drag himself to his feet using Okada’s very own body. Okada puts him down with a thunderous body slam, climbs to the top, and doesn’t step off, but rather leaps off. He stands right in the middle of the ring, and it isn’t a finger, it’s arms out wide, the Rainmaker reborn if only for a moment. With it, there’s an implicit admission on his part. Okada in the States is not this, the man that held multiple made up belts just to appease him and walking through 20 minute time limit matches is someone a little lesser than, a little less true. If that feels too harsh a judgement, then a simpler fact holds: whoever Okada was in AEW couldn’t beat Hiroshi Tanahashi even as an old man. The Rainmaker had to show up, even briefly, to put an end to a career as stunning as Tana’s. If Hiroshi Tanahashi can’t turn back the clock, he’ll force his killer to instead.

It’s a beautiful gift Tanahashi leaves. It’s a gift to Okada who gets one more classic in the Dome, which in itself is a gift to both Okada’s fans and detractors. Wake the fuck up, kid, do me that dignity at the very least.

Time wins in the end though. That much will never change.