By the time the sun finished melting over Arlington, Texas; a place where the heat is best described as a spiritual experience and the only thing thicker than the air is the brisket grease in your pores; a special kind of pilgrimage had begun. Less than 24 hours before All Elite Wrestling’s (AEW) All-In pay-per-view at Globe Life Field, a different kind of gospel was preached at the Esports Stadium, where Ring of Honor (ROH) held its Supercard of Honor: a 12-match spectacle that felt like Shakespeare in spandex, if Shakespeare had written exclusively about powerbombs and betrayal.
There were no soft openers here. Even the pre-show was out for blood; or at least nostalgia. Enter the Von Erich grandchildren, Texas wrestling royalty by birthright and Iron Claw. They dispatched the Premier Athletes with a finishing move older than most of the audience’s knees. The roar of the crowd could’ve convinced you we’d time-traveled to the Dallas Sportatorium in 1984, minus the cigarette haze and probably several health code violations. The moment was as sentimental as it was sweaty.
Then came the first match of the main card: Hechicero, a Mexican wizard of pain (the name literally translates to “sorcerer,” because why not?), against Michael Oku, who hails from London and wrestles like a caffeinated ballet dancer. It was a battle of style versus sorcery, both men trading flips, chops, and vaguely physics-defying feats of athleticism. Hechicero won, but Oku left with the audience’s collective heart, which in wrestling, is often worth more than the winner’s purse; especially when the purse is metaphorical and probably made of steel.
The next match asked a simple question: What if capitalism was in the ring, but with moonsaults? A fatal four-way where the winner got $50,000; a solid mid-size sedan or three months’ rent in a major U.S. city. AR Fox, Adam Priest, Atlantis Jr., and Lee Johnson beat the ever-loving daylights out of each other for the check, but it was AR Fox who flew the highest, hit the hardest, and smiled the brightest with a mouth full of gold teeth and victory.
Then came the ROH Pure Rules match, which is like watching a fencing match break out in a jiu-jitsu class. The premise: win with technique, not chaos. Lee Moriarty, a 31-year-old future titleholder and walking protein shake, faced Blue Panther, a 64-year-old luchador who may or may not be a superhero. The audience; naturally; threw its support behind the silver-haired legend. Every lock and reversal earned a scream. When Blue Panther lost, the chants kept coming. In wrestling, age is just a number, but chants are eternal.
Next up: the Sons of Texas, a tag team made up of Dustin Rhodes (yes, that Rhodes) and Sammy Guevara (a man who flips like his internal compass is broken), sauntered out dressed as Superman and Green Lantern, because of course they did. With some Von Erich interference and enough good ol’ fashioned Texan gusto to fill a Whataburger drive-thru, they defeated The Infantry. Somewhere, Stan Lee probably smiled. Or rolled over.
And then: family drama, pro-wrestling’s favorite genre. Nick Wayne, the “young boy with many fathers” (not hyperbole, just complicated storylines), fought Titan with his biological mother in his corner and Christian Cage waiting backstage to re-adopt him emotionally. Wayne won, because sometimes all it takes is complex paternity issues and a superkick. Post-match, Christian emerged to smother the boy in half-resentful, half-horrified love. It was basically Succession in singlets.
A women’s four-way match followed that resembled the fever dream of a K-pop concert manager trapped inside a mosh pit: Mina Shirakawa, Miyu Yamashita, Persephone, and Yuka Sakazaki turned the ring into a glittery war zone. Sparkles, screams, slaps, and suplexes collided until Mina stood victorious, shimmering in triumph, covered in bruises and maybe someone else’s glitter.
Then came the twin peaks of the evening. First: Thunder Rosa vs. Athena. Two of the most ferocious women in wrestling trading kicks and glares with enough electricity to reboot the Texas power grid. It wasn’t the cleanest match; it occasionally wandered into the land of confused pacing; but the passion? Undeniable. Athena retained, and her Dallas faithful roared like they’d all just been promised lower property taxes.
Finally, the night ended with a violent ballet between Bandido and Konosuke Takeshita; two men who spent thirty minutes actively trying to defy gravity, physics, and the concept of self-preservation. There were flips off top ropes, top of barricades, and possibly out of the known universe. The crowd, already emotionally and vocally exhausted, found new reserves of bloodthirsty glee as the two men quite literally bled for their art. In the end, Bandido took the ROH Championship, drenched in sweat and whatever hope remains for wrestling as both sport and spectacle.
It was a night of chaos, glory, family dynasties, and mid-air cartwheels. A prelude of madness before AEW’s All In. A love letter to the absurdity and beauty of wrestling; written in body slams and shouted across a Texas arena.
