Mourning a Bastard I've Never Met

On Sunday evening my band was playing a very lovely show at the Cooperage in Milwaukee. We played well in front of a crew of locals who either hadn't seen us before or hadn't seen us in a while, and at 9:30 PM we were enjoying the headlining set from Marielle Allschwang & the Visitations when I glanced at my phone. There was a message from a fellow wrestling fan friend of mine in all caps:

"OH MY GOD PAC DIED."

Trying to process the words on my screen, I quickly checked Cageside Seats and saw that it was real. A real sentence that stated a real fact. Benjamin Satterley, aka Neville in WWE, PAC everywhere else, who kicked off AEW's All Out PPV just the night before with an incredible opening-match banger with Andrade El Idolo: dead at age 40.

I don't think I have a single wrestling fan friend who didn't think PAC was cool as shit. He combined high-flying, technical mat wrestling, and power moves in a unique brew that could please just about anyone. I've read the word "crisp" in reference to his ring work more times than I'd care to this week, but if the shoe fits, wear it out, I guess. And he performed with the nasty disposition of a pissed-off badger, all scowls and stewing and damp, always damp (probably from the storm cloud permanently hanging over his head). All indications are that this miserable personality was the exact opposite of his real-life temperament, which makes his work all that much more impressive. How the hell does anyone not break character and start giggling like mad while they are being interviewed by Renee Paquette through the door of a sauna?

I first saw PAC do his thing at the Miramar Theater in Milwaukee back in 2011, as part of Dragongate USA's Way of the Ronin event. First off, just look who was all on this card – it's bonkers. This show was my first taste of Brodie Lee, Johnny Gargano, Ricochet, Akira Tozawa, Uhaa Nation, etc. I don't remember many of the matches, but I remember seeing my first ever Red/Black Arrow corkscrew shooting star press and thinking, "that dude is insane." Just two years later, I started watching early NXT and there he was, holding the NXT Title as Adrian Neville. "Oh shit, it's that PAC guy!"

His entire AEW run is, of course, outstanding. For Peak PAC Performance, though, it's all about a few days at the end of February 2020. On February 26, he worked against Kenny Omega in one of the best laid out 30-minute Iron Man matches I've seen. He and Kenny had spectacular chemistry and laid out a great story: Kenny dominates the first half of the match and hits PAC with all his best stuff – snapdragon suplexes, Kotaro crushers, you name it – but PAC won't stay down, reeling as he is. In a terrific pissy-heel gambit, PAC bashes Kenny with a chair in full view of the referee, sacrificing a DQ decision and going down 1-0. Damage done, PAC capitalizes immediately and pins Kenny after a Black Arrow like a minute later; he goes on to dominate the entire back half of the match, the intentional DQ seemingly paying off, locking Kenny into his Brutalizer finish as the clock ticks down to zero. Kenny eventually rallies in sudden death overtime and pins PAC for the win after a One Winged Angel, but PAC comes out of the match looking strong as hell: while losing in overtime, PAC scored the only pinfall in regulation, subconsciously reminding the audience that he's not just some chickenshit heel. He's legit.

Three days later, PAC takes part in my favorite AEW match, and one of my favorite matches of all time, as he becomes the perfect foil for the debuting Orange Cassidy.

This isn't just a perfect comedy wrestling match; it's a perfect match. Orange, at this point, is making his AEW in-ring debut. Hardcore indy wrestling fans may have already seen him face Colt Cabana while trying not to spill a beer, or getting rocked to sleep by Gentleman Jervis Cottonbelly, but most wrestling fans had no idea whether this so-called "King of Sloth Style" could actually work. What better opponent for the laid-back, work-smarter-not-harder Orange Cassidy than the ever-intense, humorless Bastard?

They work what is, at its core, a boilerplate match - early babyface shine; heel gets heat; babyface comeback gets cut off; babyface comeback catches fire; finish. Cassidy, the babyface, gets that early shine, surprising PAC and the audience with some stunning hands-in-pockets offense before PAC lays him out and starts dominating. He gets loads of heat before the key mid-match sequence that everyone remembers: after a cocky pin where PAC pulls Orange off the mat at two, he tries to finish OC off with the Black Arrow, while Cassidy slowly rolls away and out of the ring. Frustrated, PAC climbs off the turnbuckle, leaves the ring, grabs Orange, and tosses him back in...only for Orange to roll away again. When OC starts rolling a third time, PAC angrily storms over to cut off Cassidy at the apron, and Cassidy's shit-eating grin absolutely ENRAGES PAC while giving up the game: he's been playing possum the entire time in order to rest and recharge.

The subsequent babyface comeback has the crowd rocking before PAC cuts it off; once Orange stuns the Bastard with an Orange Punch and gets the real comeback underway, the crowd is ON FIRE. Orange connects on a tornado DDT, then climbs the top rope and strikes with a diving DDT. PAC, reeling, can only flee to safety by doing the exact same thing he was pissed at Orange for doing earlier: rolling out of the ring. (Side note: it wasn't until tonight's rewatch of this match where I finally noticed that Excalibur calls the action here by saying, "Cassidy! Pursuing PAC with all the ferocity of a humble Fire Ant!" Very droll, Excalibur.)

(During the Dynamite tribute episode to PAC this past Wednesday, Orange and Jon Moxley worked the opening match and paid tribute to the Revolution contest by essentially re-creating the rollaway sequence, including Mox heading off the third roll and Orange kind of sadly grinning at him before starting a comeback that matched the Revolution tilt spot-for-spot before Mox cut it off. Well played, gentlemen.)

Eventually PAC does get the win after his future Death Triangle partners, Penta and Fenix, do a run-in and distract Orange, but by then, Cassidy has already been made as AEW's newest star. Orange Cassidy is now one of AEW's legacy talents (as much as a 7-year-old company can have legacy talent), but without PAC, that doesn't happen as quickly, or maybe at all. The miserable Bastard sells, scowls, reacts, and blows his top in his specifically intense way, and it all makes Orange look like a license to print money. PAC's played the heel as perfectly as anyone ever has. It's rare for two wrestlers to find each other as perfectly diametric opposites as rivals. Orange Cassidy and PAC, arguably, were as opposite as "Nature Boy" Ric Flair and family man Ricky Steamboat, and were destined to dance forever. Or at least, as long as they were both around.

Man, what a fucking drag.

My band started our set on Sunday with a quick nod to an acquaintance in our local music scene who had suddenly passed away over the weekend, so hearts were already a bit heavy. I've been thinking about him a lot this week as well as the professional wrestler I never met whose body of work made a deep impression on me. We wrestling fans sure do have a parasocial streak. Sure, fans of any public performer do ("fan" is short for "fanatic," after all), but some wrestling fans are a unique breed of weirdo, all stalking people in the airport for autographs when they're not on the clock, and the like. This clearly isn't that, but it has caused me to ruminate on how attached people get to the artists whose work connects with them, whether or not they've actually met said artist. It's just the nature of art, isn't it? Art's core, essential purpose is to foster a human connection, to tickle someone's brain either emotionally or intellectually (or, ideally, both). Our friend, Fran, connected with us through his music and his incredible poster art (my wife and I have several of his pieces up in the house, including ones he did for our bands). The bands we play in have connected us to people both known and unknown. Benjamin Satterley connected with us and with thousands more through his preferred form of car-crash performance art. He made people he didn't know feel something, and that's sort of the goal of every artist, whether or not that connection results in a real-life friendship (although for me, the connections that create new friends are really what it's all about).

This week, Amanda Huber, an employee of AEW who was married to another wrestler who died too young, Brodie Lee, had to plead with some (ostensibly well-meaning?) fans to stop trying to pay tribute to PAC and her late husband with obnoxious AI art showing Brodie and other dead wrestlers welcoming PAC into Dead Wrestler Heaven, or something similarly ghoulish. It was weirdly reassuring and validating to hear someone of prominence trash that crap (and also point out that PAC actively hated AI art as well), but more than anything, seeing this side-story bubble up while pondering all these heady questions about the purpose of art served to reinforce what I was already reminding myself in my head: that good art connects human beings.

Like, ok. The below Very Dumb Tweet was circulating this week. I don't know who Nick Saraev is and I don't care enough to Google his ass, but I know this dude does not understand music or art at all. I don't know what he's looking for in the art he consumes, but if he's looking for something that he can personalize to his specific tastes, rather than something that was created by someone other than the instructions he typed into an AI prompt, he's missing out on what makes listening to music or looking at a painting or reading a book (or even a show flier!) so soul-nurturing – the connection to someone else, another person and their ideas, a perspective outside their own. The isolated, AI-dominated tech-bro world these schmoes are advocating for – a world where we customize all the art we consume and use a computer prompt to decide what to eat, who to talk to, how to dress, etc., etc., blah-fucking-blah – is a world where community is destroyed, humans are isolated from each other, and frankly, where fascism thrives. This is why totalitarian regimes stomp out non-state-sponsored art; art builds community (just look at your local music scene!), and community organizing is poison to the fascists. AI art doesn't foster shit.

This is a wild diversion from talking about a dead wrestler who I'm going to miss seeing on my television, but it's a roundabout way of saying that while I am very sad that PAC is gone, I am happy that his absence makes me sad. It should. Yes, I never met this guy, but engaging with his body of work has stimulated by brain and fed my soul. Dissecting his character, examining the choices he and his opponents made in the choreographed dances they danced brings me joy and gives me ideas for themes and ideas to explore in the lyrics and musical ideas I contribute to my bands. (If you have to ask how the hell watching a wrestling match could possibly influence a song, you're sadly not an artist of any kind.) Art is a conversation with a person you may have never met, but in engaging with that art, you do get to know them a tiny bit. By making and sharing art, real art, you get to share a piece of yourself with the world. The more you do the thing and make the thing, the more likely you are to reach someone. So do the thing. Make the thing. Someone out there will engage with it, appreciate it, get something out of it, and that's beautiful.

After Dynamite on Wednesday, Jon Moxley went back into the ring to thank the fans for being there. Because he excels at promos, he basically distilled everything I am typing here into a couple hundred words:

“A lot of people tonight tried to put into words… something when there is no words and I don’t have anybody… and I don’t have any special or smart or genius words for the situation where there are no words. But I wanted to share this one thing that PAC said one time that was one of the most — one of my favorite lines anybody’s ever said specific to us. [PAC] was sitting in a sauna in my basement doing a promo, cause we thought it was funny for him to be sitting in a sauna just sweating, being the Bastard, miserable in a sauna. And [he’s] describing who we are, what this team is, what we do every single day.

“And he said, forgive my language, he said, ‘We are professionals who give a shit.’

“And it’s probably my favorite thing anybody has ever said, and it’s what we aspire to — it’s just a cooler, funner way to say what we aspire, to every single day. And not everybody’s a pro wrestler. Maybe you do something else. But whatever you do with your time while you’re here, every single day — give a shit.

“If you’re gonna do something, do it well. If you’re gonna cook an omelet, if you’re gonna go to your job, if you’re gonna pick your kids up from school and take them to the park, whatever it is you do, do it with purpose and give a shit. Do it with purpose and gratitude. Surround yourself with people that you love that also give a shit about the same things that you do. And that — I don’t know, cause I don’t know anything —but that might be the key to life.”

Thanks to Benjamin Satterley for giving a shit and for making incredible performance art that makes me want to give a shit too.