I’ve been thinking about time a lot recently, a natural byproduct of the Greatest Wrestler Ever project. The entire project is an exercise in obsessive retrospection, a near endless sifting through decades worth of history across the entire world. There’s always another great wrestler, another great match to see. The process never ends, history waits for nobody.
When considering the greatest wrestlers of all time, I must of course ponder Eddie Kingston and Chris Hero. Kingston and Hero are fascinating pro wrestlers, bound together by their own sordid history forever whether they like it or not. Then there’s the fact that these two are notorious students of the game as well. I imagine that’s why so many fans have a certain kinship with them (and why other fans find them tedious)–we recognize the same obsession, the same crazed devotion to the craft that we experience ourselves. Hero and Kingston don’t agree on a lot of things, but get either of them started on 90s Japanese wrestling, and suddenly they don’t sound all that different from each other. Where those two differentiate themselves from us, of course, is that they’re practitioners instead of just observers. They went that last step, paid the additional price that many of us will never comprehend–the years lost, the relationships sacrificed, the aches and bruises stacking up. And that makes them part of the grander tapestry of the industry as a whole, no longer just observers, but placed under the microscope themselves.
And when watching Eddie Kingston and Chris Hero work together in 2007 and apart in 2026, one can’t help but feel the sheer weight of all that history. They’ve both found themselves under the same promotional banner once again, with Eddie Kingston as still an active wrestler and Chris Hero devoting more time to the backstage workings of things. But sometimes, the stars still align, and you get something like Chris Hero and Eddie Kingston both wrestling intergender matches as veteran obstacles for promising women to test themselves against just eight days apart. Funny how things fall into place sometimes.
Senka Akatsuki vs. Chris Hero (West Coast Pro West Coast vs. The World 4/16/26)
It’s fascinating how many worlds come together to make this match function as well as it does. Talk about history, this match is dripping with it despite being a first-time ever encounter. The match finds itself at the center of the Venn diagram that has Senka Atsuki underdog match on one side, and on the other, the Chris Hero bully match. Booking this during WrestleMania weekend ties it implicitly to the star-making Senka vs. Aja match from the previous year’s festivities, and as far as Aja Kong stand-ins go, Chris Hero is a more than worthy replacement.
In the 2010s, Hero traveled the world pushing a whole new generation of indie up-and-comers with his bullying tactics. Those big, thunderous elbows to the head, body-compressing piledrivers, you name it. It was a natural progression for Hero, adjusting his style to the size he gained during the decade, and using that entirely to his advantage in the ring. The fun part about his performance here against Senka is that he strips it all down to just the core elements: a well-placed elbow here and there to cut off Senka’s momentum, and a piledriver saved only for the absolute climax of each five minute portion of the bout.
It’s not just the care of timing too, his performance here feels simplified for the better in a lot of ways. Take the elbow strike. Many fans of Chris Hero will think of that elbow first and foremost when recalling his matches, especially in the 2010s. The man perfected that elbow, filled his matches with it, so much so that elbow spamming was a criticism often thrown at Hero in the last decade. While that criticism might have been occasionally true, it’d be impossible to levy that accusation at this match. By my count, Hero hits a grand total of three elbows here. Even more impressive? Dressed here in his casual wear, he makes what’s either a choice of necessity or creativity, not to hit a thigh slap on those elbows. They’re not as loud, and yet they all mean a hell of a lot more. Do I sort of wish for that same auditory smack again? A little. But it’s to Hero’s credit that removing this obvious little trick never took away the force of what the elbow signified. When Senka runs into that elbow and drops to the mat after making so much headway before that, it’s just as devastating to the crowd in attendance, if not moreso, than a million “better” or at least louder elbows that Hero’s delivered throughout his entire career.
Which is not to say that Chris Hero can’t hit anymore either. Watch that man get a boot up and just run through Senka Akatsuki, and you would be forgiven in thinking that he might have just killed this promising young worker from Japan. When he clubs her on the back, there’s still a resounding thud that cuts through the invested and roaring audience.
None of it works half as well without Senka herself though, of course. Her own dedication to history and craft–perhaps the most exciting student of Chigusa Nagayo in years–has allowed her to reclaim so much meaning from the things often taken for granted. When she hits that body slam on Hero, you’d think this crowd had teleported straight from the Pontiac Silverdome in 87. And every time someone’s shoulders hit the mat, it’s an immediate race to get back up out of that pinfall; single count of one would be an insult too devastating to bear. When Hero demands to know, “Who are you,” a lesser wrestler would let the moment down, make it feel too hokey and rehearsed. But when Senka shouts her name out and throws her whole goddamn weight into trying to knock that big man down, it’s the stuff that pro wrestling thrives on. Pure emotion channeled through violence.
Rating: ***3/4
Eddie Kingston vs. Charli Evans (SLA Canvas of Dreams 2 4/24/26)
There’s an easy game to play for both Eddie Kingston’s fans and critics: what puro references is he getting to this time? There’s the stuff baked into his presentation that will never go away like the big suplexes, the chops from Kobashi, the Uraken from Aja, the yellow and black from Tenryu and Kawada. Charli Evans goes the extra mile here to complete the picture, coming out in Misawa’s emerald and silver. Funny enough, Misawa’s not the first person to come to mind with this display. Instead, it reminds me more of Eddie himself, clad in the Ace’s colors in 2020 going up against someone stronger and more dominant than himself in Jon Moxley. For both Eddie in 2020 and Charli here in 2026, it’s wishful thinking. Perhaps to put it more kindly, it’s something more of an invocation–calling upon the Forever Ace and his magical elbow to provide the strength necessary to achieve what feels impossible.
The thing that has never rung true to me when people criticize Eddie’s regular use of famous tropes from Japanese wrestling is the idea that this is some sort of “cosplay” of their work. Whether that particular term is used or not, there’s always a sort of judgement that it’s either beneath Eddie or that the entire thing can read as phony. While I can understand that it might be grating or indulgent, the one thing that Eddie’s never been to me is disingenuous. No matter what moves that man’s doing, he is 100%, unequivocally himself, and there’s never any separating that from the references he goes to. Most importantly to me, in Kingston’s hands they cease to be references at all, and become extensions of himself and the immediate moment at hand.
This might be one of his most successful attempts at blending both history and the present.
Despite wearing Kawada’s colors, Eddie Kingston’s the one poised for victory on this night. How could he not be? He’s the wrestler coming down from the big TV promotions to revisit his independent stomping grounds. Beyond status, just use your eyes too. He’s a full head taller than Evans, and maybe twice her size in general. How’s Charli ever going to overcome that?
What Eddie does here is become an obstacle for Charli that walks the fine line between bully and ace. Outside of spitting at her a little deeper into the match, it’s not so much that he’s mean to Charli, so much as he’s just so goddamn much to handle. He makes her work for everything. And I do mean everything, nothing in the match comes across as routine or simple. Charli can barely get a headlock or a wristlock on Eddie without Eddie reversing the pressure on her or simply overpowering her. If she hits anything less than the hardest possible strike, or at least string together enough to make an impact, Eddie’s not going to drop. And when Eddie himself strikes–and Jesus Christ, does that man hit hard–she goes tumbling down fast. This is not a match where two wrestlers stand and take turns hitting each other because that’s just what wrestlers do. It’s a match where every blow means more because they all mean different things. One chop from Eddie is worth maybe ten from Charli, and it’s in that discrepancy, that innate friction, that we find the drama that fuels so much of the finest pro wrestling.
Evans does a great job conveying the struggle here. She shows us that it’s fucking difficult to wrestle Eddie Kingston, and beyond that, that it fucking hurts too. When Eddie drops her with a thunderous chop, it looks like it takes her a long time just to get the breath back into her body. When Eddie starts tossing her about with those big suplexes, her only recourse is to roll to the floor (perhaps her finest tribute to the colors she bears, and I say that with a lot of love). My god, by the end of it, she can barely even stand, she’s leaning against the ropes, she’s tapping into all these techniques and expressions that run through Eddie Kingston all the way to the pillars he loves so much.
And through it all, Eddie’s just putting in the best work of his return run yet here. Dominating the space, projecting the sort of cool but never quite cruel dominance that marked the best of his ROH World Championship work in 2023. Most impressive is his incredibly proficiency at proportion here. He’s the one that has to time when to drop, when to give. In both kayfabe and reality, Eddie Kingston has to do the work to make Charli’s offense matter. If he bumps with ease, it dissembles the entire illusion. But because he stands tall, because he walks through her, she is forced to be better. Hit harder! Those slaps she’s nailing him with in the end, the rush of the elbows, and the euphoria of that goddamn German suplex.
And again, like Hero as well, the pruning that comes with age. In a different time, maybe Eddie takes a few more big suplexes to really seal the deal here. Perhaps he allows Evans the kick out on that spinning backfist he nails her with. But Eddie and Hero both are craftsmen that never stopped refining their work. Here too, we see Eddie’s new preoccupation, getting the DDT back to being a finisher (like Adam Priest before him). And goddamn it, if it doesn’t just work because Eddie wills it into being so.
Nothing ever comes easy for Eddie Kingston, and he pays that struggle forward. Earn every single thing you’re ever going to get, especially from someone who’s had to do the same his whole life. This isn’t 2007 Eddie Kingston trying to choke the lift out of a man, this is a man who’s risen higher than he ever thought possible, and acts with the poise befitting of that stature. He’s measured and careful here, but never bland. It’s an absolute masterclass of a performance from one of the best to ever do it.
Rating: ****
