It is 12:15 AM EST on the morning of May 31st, 2026. It’s been months since I wrote anything about wrestling. I’ve come close, here and there, to having some ideas and thoughts, to being struck certain ways by certain matches (JACKY KAMIE & Riiita vs. Kagetora & Susumu Yokosuka, for example, almost got it out of me). But still, nothing. The current wrestling landscape is weird. Partially in a transition phase, partially a down period, and partially dominated by mega-corporations and/or billionaires, real connections to wrestling are harder and harder to find. Fandoms are split, discourse is ugly – it’s hard to find your footing sometimes. Post-COVID wrestling is weird.
That’s not to say it’s bad. In fact, it can be very great. As I get older, my preferences in wrestling have changed. I prefer gritty, ugly, bloody wrestling, but I like modern theatrics that come with it. I like the meticulously planned 2026 blowoff. But I also prefer authenticity. That’s key – it needs to feel real.
And wrestling has been full of those in the past few years! FTR vs. The Briscoes, Jon Moxley vs. Hangman Page, MJF vs. CM Punk, various Bryan Danielson feuds… there’s been a lot of great wrestling feuds that have featured genuine hate that has really appealed to my wrestling sensibilities.
Which is why, in the wee hours of the night, I’m having trouble understanding, processing, and loving one of the most bizarre wrestling experiences of my life – El Grande Americano vs. The Original El Grande Americano, from the WWE/AAA Noche de los Grandes show.
I won’t lie – I have not been locked into this feud, or even watched it at all, so I won’t pretend to by explaining to you the details of the build. It would be disingenuous of me. Instead, I will tell you all that I knew going in – El Grande Americano (the artist formerly known as Ludvig Kairser or Marcel Barthel or Axel Dieter Jr.) has become the most over babyface in AAA (I almost said Mexico but…. Mistico is still out there) by being a white guy wearing a mask and endearing himself to lucha and Mexican culture. There’s a love story in there somewhere, too. Of course, this El Grande Americano was not the first one – the Original El Grande Americano (Chad Gable), who was originally replaced due to an injury, is out for revenge, wanting to be the sole owner of the name and the gimmick. Naturally, this led to a mask vs mask match.
There was a lot of hype and buzz about this match. The dumbest people you know were saying this is the best feud in wrestling. But what I saw was just… weird. It felt like people pretending to be luchadores (because it is). It felt like a play about wrestling – hitting all the beats there should be if you were going to try to make something as dramatic as possible. It felt as inauthentic and ridiculous as you can get.
I tuned in with great curiosity. I’m currently out of commission with a bum leg – I haven’t been leaving my house. I just watched an electric NBA Conference Finals Game 7, and now it was time for some big-time wrestling.
From the beginning, this match felt big. The crowd was electric all night. The entrances felt massive – huge boos (to the point where, given WWE’s reputation, you questioned if they were piped in), larger cheers, entrances featuring mariachi bands, some wearing masks, some forcing the crowd to sing along.
It didn’t feel like it was leading to a match, though. Instead, it looked like what a movie would interpret wrestling to be, like it was shot for The Wrestler, or Heels. Some fans like to tell you, “This… is cinema!” about the dumbest, most convoluted WWE story you can think of. This really was cinema, though not in a flattering way. It was just strange.
The intros had all of the pomp and circumstances you’d expect from a WWE style blowoff. Then the bell rang. And the weirdness didn’t go away. You had two non-Mexican guys in a WWE-owned lucha promotion cosplaying a major mask vs. mask match. It was as inauthentic as you can get.
And it worked.
The first stretch of the match was filled with a lot of punches, kicks, chops, big moves. The movements all felt over the top. Again, like these guys were TRYING to do something. You could FEEL that they were trying to make this a big match, that they wanted to hit all of the beats for a match like this. There’s working hard, and there’s working too hard, and this was the latter.
But as it went on, it was very clear that these guys cared about this match. Two journeymen wrestlers who have jumped from gimmick to gimmick for their entire WWE careers. And as it went on, the effort became endearing. There were big moves – some looked great, some looked questionable. There were possible attempts at blading that didn’t work; hard-way blood that did. There was mask ripping and more blading (this time it worked). More big moves and table spots (of course). The crowd was invested every second, cheering their hero, booing the villain. There was no cool heel here, no blurring the lines. It was definitive – this crowd desperately wanted their guy to win.
There was, of course, interference. Los Americanos Hermanos (Bruto Creed and Julio Creed) ran in and interrupted a pin at the exact right time. It worked – the crowd was aghast. Bravo Americano (Tyler Bate) and Rayo Americano (Pete Dunne) ran in to run them off, of course using kendo sticks). One hit a big dive off the bleachers, sending the Hermanos packing for the night.
Eventually, Andrea Bazarte, the girlfriend of El Grande Americano, who was fired in the build-up to the match, raced to the front row, ticket in pocket, to cheer her man. So trite, so cheesy…. And so perfect. It worked. A simple wrestling story – the bloody heel getting in the face of his opponent’s family, only to be attacked by the valiant babyface. Again, the crowd was insane.
The match continued. I won’t go through every detail, but just know this – every nearfall got a major reaction. The crowd SCREAMED when they thought Americano would tap out. They cheered when he didn’t give up.
And, finally, he won. He vanquished his foe. The crowd went bonkers. Tears were shed. El Grande Americano was joined in the ring by his family in tears, his son wearing a wrestling singlet just like his dad.
Blood pouring into his eyes, he unmasked, revealing himself to be Chad Gable, born March 8th, 1986, in the United States, a 13-year veteran.
Of course, we knew that. But when he told El Grand Americano that he was the sole owner of the name now, it felt like it meant something. It weirdly felt… real.
After Gable left the ring, El Grande Americano and Bazarte were left alone, mask ripped but still on, eye socket swelling and blood dry. And, of course, they danced, arm in arm, because of course they did – that’s how these stories are supposed to end.
I was left a bit stunned after. Not just because I saw a great wrestling match (I did). But because I couldn’t believe how much I loved something that was blatantly, obviously phony and fake. A complete pageant, something written beat by beat to be your traditional wrestling story. And I realized, in the end, that wanting things to be so real all the time, wanting to know that the wrestlers on screen are who we want them to be and think they are, has lost some of the magic. In wanting shades of grey, sometimes the joy of the plain, black and white gets lost. And sometimes, the most basic wrestling stories can be the most engaging.
I don’t know if I’ll ever watch another WWEAAA match. I’m not sure I’m hooked onto this story or these wrestlers going forward. I don’t know. But tonight, I had more genuine fun watching a wrestling match than I have in a long time. And that is what wrestling is all about, no matter how we got there.
