Do you ever have those moments where you revisit a story you knew long ago, only to have it recontextualized, leaving a different imprint as the experience feels new again?
I remember that moment myself – an evening on a 2012 April weekend, seeing a card loaded with matches of mixed quality, with the main event seeing John Cena face off against one of the faces of The Attitude Era, “The Rock”, Dwayne Johnson..
But speaking of The Attitude Era, one match on that same card has stuck out to fans and is still often spoken about with fond reverence and glassy eyes. Among all the great bouts in WrestleMania’s history, one that would become memorable would be The Undertaker’s Hell in a Cell bout against Triple H.
It’s a story that goes a long, long way back, all of which is well-documented and discussed ad infinitum, so I will spare you because we are talking about this match, which is irrefutably one of the greatest Hell in a Cell matches of all time. Specifically, we are talking about my personal feelings on it upon a rewatch, where after all these years, I see this match in a new light.
The premise for this match is wrought with Hunter’s desire for revenge on Undertaker for retiring Shawn Michaels at WrestleMania 26 and to be the one who finally ends The Streak. The Undertaker seeks to remove what he perceived to be a stain on his Streak, as he couldn’t leave with his legs under him in Atlanta, Georgia, the year prior after a hard-fought victory against Triple H at WrestleMania 27 in 2011. 2012 was going to exorcize the demons that sat in both men’s minds. It had to.
Much like Shawn Michaels at WrestleMania 26, Undertaker had to prove he was still that Phenom of a monster that we’ve all grown to know. To him, that ending was just as bad as losing his streak. He can’t be just human. He didn’t wrestle for a full year. But when he demanded Triple H face him at ‘Mania, Undertaker gave an ultimatum: he would cut his hair until he got his match. As we know, Hunter obliged.
The match was to be contested in the structure with its own hellish legacy, and was billed as an “End of an Era”, the death of The Attitude Era. A period of time that cast its shadow over the industry, and often the benchmark and sometimes unfair measuring stick for who people expected to be as stars. It inspired much of wrestling in what was a highly profitable era for the company, where almost everyone was a star.
That era was long gone, yet it was hard to let go. This match was an attempt to contain that feeling, that memory which remains and let it die. Let it swallow itself whole and disappear and let the world move on. Let it self-cannibalize on itself as it chews and chokes and dies.
From the start of the match, the steel surrounded both opponents, staring daggers into one another’s soul, as the fog from The Undertaker’s entrance blew in the Florida sky. Undertaker, missing his flowing black mane. The referee for the match is Shawn Michaels, who has somewhat left his career as a competitor behind him. He’s had his time in the sun and lost his opportunity against The Phenom and is begrudgingly content.
Given the history he has as Triple H’s best friend, one would think he would move things to the favor of The Cerebral Assassin, but he remained adamant that his respect for The Undertaker would see him remain partial the whole way through. He has left the Attitude Era behind him.
Upon the toll of the bells, the men trade blows, roaring into action in typical Attitude Era fashion. Undertaker maintains a dominant offense early, but Hunter comes back with just as much fight in him. Like true opponents grown in one of the most brutal periods in WWE history, both men make exquisite use of their environment, including steel chairs, the ring posts, and the ring steps, alongside the Cell itself.
I’d say the moment this match began to turn into something else the further I watched was when The Undertaker rammed the steel steps right between the eyes of Triple H. These were men conditioned to go to the well that quenched their thirst for glory, and they were not afraid to get their hands dirty to get that sip.
That’s when this match no longer felt like two legends, strong and filled with prestige, but rather two aging veterans, ready to set the score once and for all. Old men that feel they have something more to prove, while the man in the middle tries to reason with them.
This gruesomeness sings violently through the night, leaving its mark on both men like a kiss of death, leaving welts and bruises and blood as the match progresses. Tattoos of nostalgia and pain are etched on their skin throughout the progression of the match.
Melodrama flows well – a specialty of Shawn Michaels, as he pleaded with both men not to go too far, not to cross the line that he knows all too well they wouldn’t come back from. To him, the thought of the Attitude Era finally dying is etched on his face. For all his reprimanding, it fell on deaf ears.
The Cerebral Assassin orders Shawn to end the match or he will, even if it comes at the cost of The Undertaker, who in turn refuses to give in. He must eliminate Hunter even if he has to kill him. A sledgehammer toppled The Undertaker, all for a two-count that was mere milliseconds from being a three. The same sledgehammer would continue to be used as the deathly tool it is.
We all want it to stop, but we can’t look away. In the best way, we are glued to the violence, stunned in silence. This feels more than a wrestling match. This felt like the woes of life wrung like a rag and staining the mat with what The Attitude Era symbolized.
The commentary table sells the match with Jim Ross in the form you’d expect of him from a story wrought with emotion and anger and history. His voice, feeling like pages of a weathered book read many times over, narrates a story of two stubborn old men with barely enough power to finish each other off. This has a different feel than the typical J.R./Jerry Lawler match commentary.
Soon, Shawn is incapacitated as punishment for The Undertaker not having ended the match early. Charles Robinson replaces him briefly, before he too is taken out by a frustrated Phenom.
Annoyed, Shawn retaliates, as does Hunter, all for naught against The Deadman. Jim Ross on commentary beautifully describes the testament of The Undertaker, of how he will not die, as Shawn Michaels writhes from Undertaker kicking out of Triple H’s pin.
Even Triple H is beyond hope as the goal to win is the only thing he thought and felt, pushing Michaels out of the ring, only for Undertaker to rise up and strike with the fire and fury of Hell itself, capped with a Tombstone Piledriver.
It does not seal the deal, as Undertaker stared in disbelief while Michaels cringes tearfully as the match is prolonged.
It’s easy to tell both men are battered and weary, yet their bodies move with such passion, fists and legs flying like a shootout on the interstate highway.
Pedigrees, sledgehammers, and Tombstones abound, but none bring about the desired result.
The tables have turned, with The Undertaker now barks to Triple H that he must stop. This must come to an end, and that it won’t end the way Hunter wishes it to. Foolishly, The Game slowly grabs his hammer and slowly rises as The Undertaker watches, ripping it from Hunter’s hands.
Shaking his head, Undertaker knows he must finish off the weary challenger for his intangible title. He knows it, Shawn knows it, and the exhausted, bloody face of Hunter Hearst Helmsley knows it.
Defiantly, knowing the match is over before the final bell even rings, Helmsley makes the famous signature DX crotch chop gesture. The Undertaker whacks The Game with the sledgehammer and flings it back at the cage; it reverberates in its damage.
Readying another Tombstone, The Undertaker watches as Hunter tries and fails to climb up the Jacob’s Ladder that is The Undertaker’s battered and beaten body. It’s over. It needed to be done. The Undertaker deploys the final Tombstone and the near 80,000 fans in the Sun Life Stadium chant with each count Shawn’s hand makes until the match is over and the Attitude Era is dead.
Another year passed, another soul claimed to feed the almighty Streak.
HBK and ‘Taker embrace in a hug and the pair lifts Triple H to his feet, carrying him to the entrance as a group. It’s a memorable image that is burned into the eyes of fans, as it was to be remembered, as it always will be remembered.
Hunter, with glazed eyes, stands confused, heartbroken, and defeated. Shawn is relieved it is all over. Undertaker’s soul is cleansed from that first crack in the armor that was his aura the previous year. It is there that he is doomed to go full circle, believing himself to be invincible and immortal before his Streak would end at the hands of Brock Lesnar two years later.
What I had meant about this match being recontextualized for me is that these men were no longer the larger than life superstars I grew up watching. No, those men weren’t there anymore. Just two old grizzled, torn up veterans who were lucky enough to outlast some of their contemporaries to cement their status as the best. They were two old cowboys destined for this shootout in a town that was no longer big enough for the both of them.
In the years before and since, WWE has attempted returning to the well that was The Attitude Era. How could you though? Capturing lighting in a bottle twice is a near impossible feat. But you can’t resurrect the Attitude Era. It’s dead – it’s heart punctured beautifully by the stake that was this Hell in a Cell match.
When I first watched it, it signified the end of my childhood. Watching it now, it has become two men who fought through their deteriorating bodies. I say that not out of the hilarious prospect of two old geezers battling it out, but as the finale, the climax and end of a story that was given enough time and care to say what it needed to.
In the Sun LIfe Stadium on this April night, it was time for the world to move on.
Wrestling has progressed past this point and taken the lessons learned to create new ones and make new stars.
Only then can it escape this era’s shadow, left in the confines of the past.
