A bright summer sky heats a Nevada canyon. One man walks and climbs, wearing dark pants, a backpack, and a sleeveless black hoodie. He threatens a man who is not there, but will hear them nonetheless; he hears it through digital energy, through clouds and prayers and thoughts.
This man, Bryan Danielson lifts his hood, and his face is that which is ragged with age but holds years of experience, rage, and pride. It is the blue-green eyes that have seen a career die and be reborn again. Against the brightly lit sky on velvet wasteland, he vows to test that which has thrived without his experience, and thus it exists without his consent. For he is, as he states, the litmus test.
Bryan Danielson pours vitriol to the camera pointed at his face to his foe, Kazuchika Okada.
“You call yourself ‘The Rainmaker’. When you step into the ring with me, you’re getting into the fucking desert – and there ain’t gonna be no rain.”
I’ve already told you the story of this match, this dream match, this first encounter. Bryan Danielson had spent over a decade of his career behind the walls of another company, but he’s almost two years to the outside of that wall, fighting opponents he’d not have otherwise fought. He’s circumvented systems made to work against him. He’s tested almost everyone he had not gotten the chance to before. Not Okada.
Kazuchika Okada is one of a kind. A flash in the pan, a bolt of lightning, a rage of perfection that cannot be quieted that easily.
He’s not the Kazuchika Okada that Danielson might have watched in Connecticut. That man who rocked the Tokyo Dome isn’t the one who wore brighter gear and fought to have a two year title reign with the IWGP Heavyweight Championship. Not the same one, at least. He now wears black trunks and doesn’t take disrespect from anyone who comes at him cockily. They have to earn it. He will beat you until your ribs crack and splinter until your skin is black, purple, and red from the pain, and until his signature lariat, Rainmaker crushes your windpipe and leaves you writhing and gasping on the mat for desperate air.
You have to be quick, thoughtful, wise, and careful to go toe-to-toe with him. You have to bring your own umbrella to stay dry from his rain, because that hypothermia is going to get you if you don’t. It’s as though it were simple math to him, second nature in a world of harsh difficulties.
Danielson isn’t the same guy he was, either. He’s a beast who has fought to prove his dominance and then to survive, and through it all, he’s been salivating over any opportunity to kick some heads in. He and his partners in the Blackpool Combat Club live the reality of blood every night.
And for one night only, in the Scotiabank Arena under a Toronto night sky, this clash of the same reality collides for something special. Like gazing up at the beauty of the Aurora Borealis or seeing the darkness of an eclipse, this is what moments are made of.
It’s about the execution, not just in kayfabe, but in the actuality of the performance to see who is the best in wrestling; this is to see who can be the ugliest motherfucker in the world.
As every technical hold and submission is met with reversals, flips, and counters, this moment will be etched in time like acid rain on copper. Those that are lucky to live in the moment can breathe it in.
Gloria in exelsis Deo.
The story of who is better is one to spawn further stories that will span for many more years until the wheels fall off both men and even then, the ramifications will ripple throughout future history.
Amid the cheers and boos and the acclaim to follow, this is what it is about. The hairs on your arm standing up and the shivers down your spine as your mind seeks to comprehend as you are lost in the sway of each ticking second and every thud on the mat.
A former WWE champion against a former IWGP champion seeking to determine who is a god, and who is the sacrificial goat, that compulsion to watch for who is the better man.
So rejoice – the business is thriving. Rejoice that companies all over are pushing in parallel to this moment, They push for the moments to see who is the best, they push to show which identity is meant to shine.
Whether it’s Danielson nearly tapping out the Rainmaker in the LaBell Lock or wondering if Okada’s lariat will be countered by the American Dragon, destiny waits. Tenacity meets might in holy war.
I can’t help but shudder in awe that we fans are getting nights like this, where dream matches are the point of the show, and having stories from other places cross over and character arcs clash. That’s the sensation of Forbidden Door season. There are far more incredible real-life sensations, for sure, but for wrestling fans, this is a nirvanic ecstasy that lets us absorb and take part in one of the most unique forms of fiction known to entertainment. Kenny Omega vs Will Ospreay and MJF vs Hiroshi Tanahashi, for example, has fans interested for their own reasons and their own stories split among two different companies. This applies also to Bryan Danielson and Kazuchika Okada’s Forbidden Door match.
So even if you don’t understand the magnitude, take a moment to sit in silence, watch it play out from bell to bell, and appreciate this for what it is on a night when there won’t be any rain.
Maybe then you’ll see beyond the clouds and you will gaze at the sky and see the world’s joys for what they are.
