Hiroshi Tanahashi vs. Kazuchika Okada, Wrestle Kingdom 20, 1.4.26: Just Breathe

There's a line in a Jeff Rosenstock song, “All This Useless Energy,” from his outstanding 2018 LP POST-:

Oh please
You’re not fooling anyone
When you say you tried your best
‘cause you can’t be your best at anything
When you can’t get any rest

In the last year, there have been some days where it's damn near impossible to relax. I don't know about y'all, but sometimes the State of Things is just a little too oppressive. Eric Bachmann sang “It's hard to be human” on the last Archers of Loaf record; both Eric and Jeff wrote these songs I'm quoting in response to the same shit that's driven many of us to the edge over the past 10 years. MAGA, Covid...ok, mostly MAGA and Covid. There's a consolation in knowing these brilliant lyricists are feeling the way I've been feeling, but that consolation doesn't always help me remember to take deep breaths at my desk. Don't get me wrong, I like my office job—quite a lot, actually. It's just that, ok. Today, for example. That low-key humming in the base of my head and my chest, that's been there since 2016 or so? Like the mosquitos that would sneak into my childhood bedroom during the summer, staying still until the lights went out at bedtime, and then buzzing in the pitch-black distance? The mosquito buzzed too close to my ear a few times today. It's hard to do your job to the best of your ability when THE WORLD (*waves at everything*) makes it hard to breathe. It's only been in the last few months that I've become attuned to my lungs enough that I'm finally recognizing when anxiety is making my breaths too shallow; that I'm finally noticing when I need to pause and consciously take a biiig ol' inhale and saturate my blood with enough oxygen to not curse the other drivers on my morning commute. You can't be your best anything if you can't get any rest. You can't get any rest if you can't take in a full breath. Lord, it's hard to be human.

Is that why I was moved to tears by Hiroshi Tanahashi's retirement match at Wrestle Kingdom 20? Because you know who else hasn't been at their best in the last 19 or 20 months? That sassy little Rainmaker, Kazuchika Okada.

There's this word that's become an annoying meme among the Internet Wrestling Commentariat: cinema. Every piece of effective long-term storytelling, every callback, every Moment that pops the fans—it's all cinema now. I don't know where this originated; I know Triple H recently said WWE isn't a sport, but that it's a movie about a sport (as if that forgives every backstage segment where two wrestlers refuse to acknowledge the cameraperson right in front of them). Well, ok—wrestling is a storytelling medium, and if we're gonna compare it to the movies, everyone knows that the best movies tell stories with a compelling villain. The Star Wars saga is about Darth Vader, and the Wrestle Kingdom 20 main event, Tanahashi's retirement notwithstanding, was all about Kazuchika Okada.

Okada made his debut as a full-time member of the AEW roster in March 2024, quickly won the Continental Championship from Edward Kingston, and hasn't been without a title since (while he recently lost that title to Jonathan Moxley, he's still the International Champion, having unified those belts back in July by beating Kenneth Omega). But while he's been a non-stop champion, he's also been a total stinker. Shithead Okada, as I have been calling this version of ol' Kaz, adopted a new persona for his American viewing audience. Whereas the Rainmaker of NJPW fame was a confident, slightly cocky gladiator who never took a shortcut, Shithead Okada is a delightfully obnoxious rulebreaker, still able to defeat anyone in the world, but preferring to put in less work than he did during his seven IWGP Heavyweight Championship reigns. He's way more likely to use foreign objects these days (in fact, he just recently used a screwdriver on his fellow Don Callis Family member, Konosuke Takeshita); his leaping elbow drop from the top turnbuckle has been replaced with a lazily collapsing one not unlike that of Orange Cassidy. And most telling of all, he's replaced his iconic “Rainmaker pose” with a saucy middle finger. What a dick! He's taken his lighter AEW work schedule to the extreme, making it a part of his character. It's been entertaining, even if it means we haven't had a half-hour five star classic out of this man in AEW yet.

It was this version of the Rainmaker that Okada vowed to bring to Wrestle Kingdom when Tanahashi's retirement match was booked. He'd done the same old act in the Tokyo Dome for a decade; why not show the fans something new? Also, he certainly seems like he's been having a lot of fun half-assing it—granted, it's easy to say when a half-assed Okada is still one of the most dominant professional wrestlers in the world. Cocky Okada was certain that he'd have no trouble sending the Ace of NJPW out to pasture on his back, in the tried and true tradition of pro wrestling retirement matches.

Here's the thing about this match: upon viewing, it instantly joined my pantheon of Favorite Matches of All Time. If wrestling is a storytelling art form, this tale was an all-timer in terms of emotional beats, a clear hero and foil, and a story so effective that fans of any language could understand what was happening. New Japan excels at using the in-ring action of a match to carry the storytelling load, rather than leaning on in-ring promos or backstage segments (of which there are none, save the occasional fight during the post-match pressers). When it comes to using the action to tell the tale, this match is Steamboat-Flair. It's Bret vs. Owen at WrestleMania X. It's Bret vs. Austin at Mania 13. It blew right past Orange Cassidy vs. PAC from AEW Revolution 2020 (still my favorite AEW match to date!). Hell, the Hiroshi Tanahashi retirement match is right up there with anything from the Kenny Omega/Kazuchika Okada NJPW series. Yeah, it's that affecting.

The match is informed by everything both guys have been up to since they last saw each other. Having covered the Shithead already, let's discuss the belle of the ball, Tanahashi. He's 49 years old, and while his knees have been giving him grief for years now, it's been more obvious in the last 12 months. He's slowed down and it's clear that just walking is uncomfortable, if not painful, for the man these days. As is the case with so many veterans going into their last match, Tana is a clear underdog. As Chris Charlton mentions on commentary, Okada's won their last four matches even before factoring in Tana's health. But he also notes that over 46,000 will be solidly behind the Ace in this one. Still, Okada works this match from a position of strength, as befits his heel persona. Tana works from underneath early on, even having a comeback or two cut out from under him. The crowd will need to rally for their hero. That said, Tana does climb back into an advantage with the signature move that still makes me wince every time I see it—his dragon screw leg whip. Okada looks like his knee is about to rupture, he's in so much pain. But still, it doesn't take long for Okada to gain the upper hand again, connecting on that lazy falling elbow and going right into the fake-out Rainmaker pose. The shit-eating grin he flashes when flipping off the Tokyo Dome crowd for the first time absolutely enrages the fans, who rain boos down on him. Oh, he's having a great time.

It's during Tana's lowest point in the match that I start to question exactly how this is all going to play out. Okada assaults the Ace with a trio of tombstone piledrivers: one in the middle of the ring, cutting off a Tanahashi comeback; a follow-up tombstone on the entrance ramp, leading to Tana barely getting back onto the apron at the count of nineteen; and one final tombstone just to be insulting. Okada goes for the cover, only to pull Tana's shoulders up at the count of two. Just to be a dick about it, he does this twice. The crowd boos like crazy, and I say to myself: if this version of Okada beats Tanahashi, this crowd is going to be bummed. But 49-year-old retiring Tana surely isn't going to rally and beat Okada, is he? ...Is he?

He's not, because Okada is (amazingly) still in his 30s and in his prime, and while Tana looks as quick and agile as he has in years working this match, you can still see him pushing himself beyond what his 49-year-old body should logically allow. When Tana channels his fellow musketeers, smacking Okada with a Katsuyori Shibata penalty kick and following it up with his old rival/friend Shinsuke Nakamura's Bomaye knee strike, neither are on the level of his old mates. The Bomaye, in particular, looks like the Ace leaving his feet on a nearly empty tank. But while Okada has that smug look on his face, Hiroshi Tanahashi refuses to stay down, even after his comeback is once again cut off by the best dropkick in the biz.

Watching the match again, I looked to see when exactly it happens. When Tanahashi forces Kazuchika Okada to drop the act and once again become the best version of himself. I can see now that it's when Tana barely kicks out of the second-last Rainmaker clothesline of the night. As the crowd erupts, the grin, and the Shithead, leave Okada's face. He stands over Tanahashi's fallen body, and he urges the crowd on, to cheer louder for their hero. He waves his arms up and down, and then he climbs the turnbuckle. But the lazy, Orange Cassidy-style elbow drop is gone. Okada leaps and puts his all into the elbow, and this time, he follows it up with the Rainmaker pose of old. And my wife audibly gasps while I grin like a maniac, chills shooting up my spine. With the crowd going crazy, she notices that, just for a second, Okada needs to look straight up at the ceiling, lest he shed tears himself. A brief peek behind the character. He quickly composes himself, and as he finally channels the Rainmaker of old, delivers a crushing lariat—one that Tana sells with just a little extra bounce off the mat. And with that, it's over. And if you're watching the match and haven't figured it out just yet, Chris Charlton is there to put a bow on it: “he couldn't win until he became the Rainmaker of old, until Hiroshi Tanahashi brought the absolute best out of him, the way he's brought out the very best of all of us for twenty-six years.” So who really won this match? Cinema? Yeah, fine. Cinema.

I'm not working with the cleanest metaphor here. I'm not sure if in this post, I'm Okada, looking for a Tanahashi to get my mojo back, or if I'm Tana, rooting for The World to pull its collective head out its ass. Maybe a little of both. Hell, I'm two years older than Tana, after all. And I walk like he does when I get out of bed in the morning (damn plantar fasciitis!). I'm not a smug dick like Okada's character has been (at least, I don't think so), and I don't feel like the villain in a story...but there was a look, a glare, an eye-roll, that crossed his face after Tana kicked out of that Rainmaker, and when I saw that exasperation, for a second, I felt, it me. And like me in those moments where The News, or the commute, or whatever It is, is just too damn much, Kazuchika Okada took a moment to breathe. Standing in that final Rainmaker pose, one of the world's best professional wrestlers inhaled deeply, and became himself again. We should all be so lucky, to have a Hiroshi Tanahashi of our own.