When Will Ospreay made his way to the ring in Wembley Stadium, he took a walk down memory lane.
With the unit he formed in New Japan nearly six years ago at his hip, he walked past Zack Sabre Jr, a generational rival and fellow cornerstone of the UK indie scene.
He walked past Michael Oku, the man he passed the torch to in Rev Pro the night before his last match in Wembley Stadium.
He walked past Ricochet, who shared the ring with Ospreay the night he became the centerpiece of wrestling discourse for the first time.
He walked past Swerve Strickland, a reminder of his greatest defeat and greatest success in AEW.
He walked past Mark Davis and Kyle Fletcher, who just a few years ago would have donned the red tracksuits that United Empire was wearing now.
He embraced his wife before Callum Newman, his protege and the new leader of United Empire, helped him put on his ring jacket.
Lastly, just steps before walking to the stage, he walked past Jon Moxley. The man who put Ospreay on the shelf and then helped rebuild him.
A fan’s connection to their favorite wrestler, and to wrestling as a whole, is a unique thing. It has the same ups and downs as sports fandom: the wins and the losses, the championships and the defeats, the memories and the things you’d love to forget. But what sets wrestling apart is the feeling when you know it’s time. The moment when you know for a fact that the big win is coming. But do you really know?
That’s the magic.
Will Ospreay has been my favorite wrestler since 2019 and my first favorite wrestler that I have been able to watch develop into a finished article in real time.
After getting my foot in the door with Voices of Wrestling, my first handful of articles was a Will Ospreay retrospective series, so while I watched the highlight reel of Will’s career, I started taking a trip down memory lane as well.
I thought about watching him win the Progress Championship at my little desk in the first apartment I shared with my wife.
I thought about setting up my router and laptop on a cardboard box so I could watch his first G1 match on our moving day.
I thought about staying up to watch his Wrestle Kingdom match against Kenny Omega and waking up early to watch him beat Okada in the G1.
I thought about watching his title match against Swerve to take my mind off of medical issues in my family.
I thought about my son’s amazement when I showed him the PAC match from All Out 2024. After all that, I had one lasting thought: it’s time.
I was skeptical coming into this match, not of the wrestlers but of the company. If you had asked me a month ago, I would have bet on Death Rider interference. If you asked me on Saturday, I would have bet on an angle with United Empire. I am so glad I was wrong. This was a note-perfect payoff for Ospreay’s journey to the title and the same for what I assume is the swan song of Kenny Omega in the AEW main event scene. It rewarded you for watching the previous matches in the series. It had the table spots and early blood from Wrestle Kingdom. It had the Tiger Driver from Forbidden Door, but the most powerful callbacks were the ones that didn’t happen. There was no Don Callis interference, there was no screwdriver, there were no blood capsules in Kenny Omega’s mouth.
This was two men, one on one, for the top prize in the business.
Kenny Omega was at his best in this match. Gone was the Kenny Omega who spent the better part of a year working a more methodical style. He was powerful, he was snappy, he was nasty. He was frenzied, trying to put Ospreay through a table and then settling for busting him open with a monitor when that didn’t work. He sent a message through the camera to Will, who was unconscious behind him. He beat Will to the punch with the Tiger Driver. He hit the One Winged Angel, but it wasn’t enough.
When Will Ospreay faced Kenny Omega in the Tokyo Dome, he wasn’t ready.
When he faced Kenny Omega in Toronto, he needed help.
But in London, powered by family and country, Will Ospreay would not be defeated. Will learned from his mistakes. He hit the Tiger Driver without hesitation. He didn’t play with his food. The Aerial Assassin put Kenny Omega down.
In my bubble, there has been a growing discontent with the direction that wrestling is going. There have been times where I have wondered why I invest so much time keeping up with this dumb sport. Matches like this are why. I wish that all wrestling could make me feel how this match made me feel, but the special thing about this match is that it can’t happen all the time. The special thing about this match is that it’s singular. This moment can never be replicated for Will Ospreay. It was fleeting, but it will live on forever. You had to be there, not just on Sunday, but for all the years before that.
This match made me remember why I’ve been watching since I was a child and why I can’t seem to kick it. It made me grateful for the site that publishes my work, for the community that I can talk to about this silly hobby we all share, for the memories I’ve made at shows with people who I would have never met without it.
When Hiroshi Tanahashi retired at Wrestle Kingdom, it felt like the Match of the Year race was locked up. More than that, it felt like a book had closed on wrestling history. The discussion afterward felt funereal, resigned to the fact that it would never be like this again. Since then, there have been highs and lows, but the last couple of weeks, starting with the G1 Final, have the feeling of a new book being opened. It’s too soon to tell if this is a honeymoon period or it’s here to stay, but one thing is clear: there is still magic in professional wrestling.
