End ze giri. Enzuigiris are cool. Antonio Inoki couldn't have got to his station in life without back brain kicking dudes and Bad News Allen-slash-Brown showed us how to really turn the ghetto blaster up on fools. Owen Hart elevated the art by making his enzuigiri a trademark reversal off of the leg catch. Maybe it's the rise of shoot-style muay Thai-inspired kicking spots and hand-to-hand combat that resemble scenes in The Raid: Redemption, but I felt inundated with enzuigiri attempts. This evening had at least a half dozen sequences getting terminated with enzuigiris as the punctuation mark, and probably more attempts throughout the card. This would be fine if not for the fact that enzuigiris are deceivingly tricky to fake well. All too often, guys end up just kicking their opponent's hand eight inches away from his head for an incongruous sound effect with nearly a foot of daylight between them. Koslov missed one so badly a dude sweating through his polar fleece in front of me yelled “Not even close!” frighteningly loud. Why can't people start selling the spinning back kick? If you want an element of realism, what's more real than body shots? If people are willing to accept the preposterous heart punch as a plausible move, I think it's high-time for body shot KO's in the ring.
Respect the humble dropkick. One of the best received spots — or least one that actually drew inspired audience conversation beyond “Holy shit!” — was Okada effortlessly jumping from the canvas and nailing a dropkick to the face of a Bullet Clubber sitting on the top rope. His execution and surprising level of hops gave it 10 times the power. Even as the match progressed in more exciting fashion, I still heard people reflecting on Okada's overall athleticism and grace, courtesy of the dropkick. A.J. Styles and Roderick Strong both got off some killer dropkicks on the evening, too. When people talk about which pro-wrestlers had the best move of a certain kind, the dropkick is normally one of the ones that is brought up quickly. It's a staple. There's a reason Hogan is constantly shit on for not being able to do a decent one. It's what validates Jim Brunzell as a human being. My lasting mental image of Curt Hennig is not a Perfectplex, but the hip and knee extension on that high-angle standing dropkick. There is simply no way for jumping up and kicking someone in the face with two feet to go out of style. How does the dropkick not enjoy a Japanese lariat-type significance, where it is venerable enough to be an outside-the-box match finisher? You can do it, Okada. I believe in you. Gambate.
Wrasslin' shows, the new pre-drinking? Not including the pre-event dark match, this event started at 7:30 pm local time and ran til just before 10:50 pm. I didn't even leave my home until 6:50, and I was back by 11:30. That's barely four-and-a-half hours from my front door, back to my front door. I tried to watch an episode of Monday Night Raw a few months ago and nearly died of a self-inflicted gunshot wound after 45 minutes. It's ironic, since you'd assume the WWE's mainstream, soap opera-ish product will be conducive to a broader appeal, but if you wanted someone who didn't give a shit about pro-wrestling to be entertained, you're infinitely better off taking them to an ROH show. Nevermind not having to deal with the much larger crowd, the population present at this event was a wonderfully entertaining blend of diehard fans whose enthusiasm directly added to the product both intentionally and unintentionally and drunken undesirables whose enthusiasm directly added to the product both intentionally and unintentionally. As I walked down Main Street to hit the subway, nearly every fan I heard on a street corner was talking about which bar they were going to drink at. The assumption is that going to a pro-wrestling show, should you choose to do so, would be your evening. If anything, it could just be the beginning. Next time ROH comes to your town, take some quasi-ironic Tumblr wannabe model out to see ol' Austin Jenkins defend his strap. You'll get drunk together while she marvels at how all these muscly dudes are bringing back 1990's chokers, you can debate which wrestler has the wettest hair, ooh and aah over some high spots and still get the hell out of dodge by 11 p.m, more than enough time to get arrested by sunrise.
