Shooting Gallery: John Cena, Roman Reigns, and a Awakening of WWE
August 30, 2017 - WWE
Last week on Raw, John Cena exercised his free-agent standing and jumped boat from WWE’s Tuesday show, SmackDown Live. Normally, this could be seen as a weakling pierce to get WWE’s biggest star on a subsequent pay-per-view (No Mercy is Raw-only), yet this was immediately something some-more than a guest-star role. In a face of a specially disproportionate acquire from a Brooklyn crowd, Cena didn’t rubbish time. He didn’t call out a batch knave (old-school Cena’s batch and trade) or an up-and-comer (the go-to pierce of his contemporary shtick). Instead, he immediately called out a post-Cena face of a company: Roman Reigns.
In another era, this would be Hulk Hogan vs. a Ultimate Warrior—the unavoidable strife of dual momentous heroes. Now, though, it’s Mayweather-McGregor, a big-money strife of dual flawed, roughly irregular megastars. When Cena seemed final Monday, he was lustily booed; given a postmodern epoch of pro wrestling took hold, a competing chants of “Let’s go Cena!” and “Cena sucks!” have come to conclude a assembly separate between a unchanging fans and a superfans. It’s those who are simply convinced by Cena’s Wonderbread attract pitted opposite those hardened to wrestling’s uncomplicated style. (It’s both wise and absurd that a diehards are nominally defence to a bottom pride of a form, yet whatever.) Cena has warranted a avaricious honour of a smarks over a past several years, yet they still intone “Cena sucks!” during him, both as an mocking tenure of fondness and as a poke during a WWE office. That was always a indicate of fans branch on Cena—sure, he did suck, yet WWE inorganically overexposing him during a responsibility of everybody else on a register was distant worse.
That a mind-set that led to Cena’s perpetual pull hasn’t altered is evidenced by a some-more new climb of Reigns, whose whole singles run has been ham-handed and generally despised. While he got his satisfactory share of cheers during first—he had a advantage of gripping a accoutrements of a super-popular Shield when a organisation separate up, and there’s no denying that he looks a part—even a outlines held on and started booing Reigns eventually. WWE held on, too, and started presenting him as a low-key heel. Where Cena grinned during a boos, Reigns snarled. It was a pointed focus from his before antiheroic persona, and it didn’t take a diabolical impulse to accomplish. As one high-ranking WWE exec told me, “He’s already a biggest heel in a company. Why disaster with success?”
In a complicated WWE, a usually approach to unequivocally be a heel is to be legitimately resented or despised, since to get a smark buy-in, we have to piss them off during a same time we nettle a small kids. We disapprove respectfully during Alexa Bliss or Paul Heyman, yet a many hated performers in WWE are a heroes who got tip billing yet honourable it—or being viewed to merit it, during least. (This also accounts for most of a loathing of Stephanie McMahon and her husband, Triple H, who mount to get a company.)
Last week on Raw, when Cena and Reigns met in a ring, it felt like WWE was finally acknowledging a disconnect. The usually thing Cena and Reigns have in common is that they’re unsuccessful print boys for a company, pretended heroes who get some-more boos than cult leaders and monstrous savages. This was underscored when they were assimilated in a ring by a Miz, one of a purest retro heels on a roster, who was serenaded with cheers when he decried a volume of shade time allocated for Reigns and Cena.
“In life, you’re always told that if we work hard, if we chip away, if we block away, and if we do your job, afterwards your impulse will come. we am ill of watchful for my impulse while dual undeserving people like we dual get moments week after week after week.” In another day and age we’d call that a worked shoot—the ephemeral art of sanctimonious to go off script—but in a post–CM Punk era, it was usually a heel mouthing off. But it still felt like a exhale of uninformed air: Finally, someone was observant what we were all thinking. (Miz is one of those “we disapprove him politely” performers, yet it contingency be remarkable that, notwithstanding his stream greatness, he’s still blazing off a decade of bad will for being force-fed to fans like a mean proto-Reigns.)
On Monday, Cena and Reigns pronounced it themselves. In a stage that played out like Aaron Sorkin fantasy-booking in a wrestling chatroom, Cena laid into Reigns for being a “cheap-ass corporately combined John Cena bootleg.”
“He ain’t the guy,” Cena snarked, referencing Reigns’s laughably unexcited nickname. “Dude, you’re usually a guy. A male perplexing so desperately to fill boots that we never will.” This was a worked fire a complicated wrestling fan had been watchful for.
After an early forsaken line (which indeed underscored a realness of a moment), Reigns dismissed back, “You’re not as large a understanding as we consider we are,” pursuit him a “Yes-man” and a “part-timin’ feign bitch.” He echoed some of a Miz’s rabble complaints from a before week (which themselves echoed some of Cena’s grievances with a Rock from behind in a day): “I’ll be darned if we don’t bust my donkey Friday-Saturday-Sunday-Monday each singular week so we can hang out on a Today show.”
The live assembly was removing behind Cena as they found a common rivalry in Reigns, and it was tough to repudiate a law of Cena’s argument. Even if we’d rather see some other guys during a tip of a card, “I’m still here since we can’t do your job” rang true; Cena could have stayed on SmackDown, after all. But usually as a throng was about to lift Cena out on a shoulders, Reigns scored one fatal shot. “You know what irritates we about me?” he asked. “You can’t bury me, John.”
Even yet Cena has spent a final act of his career assisting new talent get over, he sat atop a immobile hierarchy for so prolonged that a dart sticks. He competence not have a repute of perfectionist wins during a responsibility of his opponents that, say, Triple H does (though he’s not wholly clean), yet if we review “bury” not as an rejection to put other guys over yet an inability to, it’s a tough critique. Cena’s diligence as a company’s tip babyface and a inability to build him an equal is damning; Edge’s condensed career was a tragedy on this count, as was Punk’s departure, yet after those dual you’d have to widen to make an arch box for a Miz. It wasn’t until Punk was left that Cena satisfied what had been blank from his career a whole time. He had copiousness of rivals in story lines, yet nothing in any verbatim clarity of a word. When Cena shifted his career toward assisting a subsequent epoch of stars, a programs transitioned in a really genuine clarity from work to shoot. The matches weren’t about some melodramatic thought of victory, they were about tangible success.
When CM Punk cut the worked-shoot promo that launched a postmodern epoch behind in 2012, a indirect argument gathering Cena to be a improved in-ring wrestler, and positively brought out some of a best promos of his career. But on Monday night, Cena finally seemed to have mastered a moves that Punk was kicking his donkey with. (He also during one indicate yelled “See ya, fourth wall!” proof that usually John Cena can make a worked fire corny.)
Too often, a problem with pro wrestling is a miss of introspection and self-awareness. John Cena’s been valiantly interesting a boos for years, even as he strove to challenge a knocks on him as a worker. But it wasn’t until Monday’s attack on Reigns that he showed he was tuned in to what a boos were perplexing to say. When he called Reigns a “John Cena bootleg” he was practically usurpation all of his other insults on himself. Fans everywhere are seeking either Monday’s discourse was “real” or not, and that’s all a justification we need to contend that a shred was a resounding success. That’s what a worked fire does—it evokes a same state of entrenched stress that a bad male pulsation on your hero’s conduct did when we were a kid. The answer, if it needs to be said, is yes: that was both genuine and not real, and WWE knew it was promulgation them out there to contend genuine things within a context of their televised unreality. That doesn’t make a shred reduction interesting—it creates it hopeful.
There was a forgettable impulse in a stage where Reigns pronounced to Cena, “So maybe it’s not that we don’t wish to quarrel you. Maybe we usually don’t need to.” This is sincerely customary heel shtick, and was impressed by what came after. But it was telling, since if Reigns is a vital essence of a front office’s base-born plans, this is a flattering candid takedown of what was viewed to be WWE’s organizing truth before to final week: Why would we put Cena and Reigns together when they’re a dual biggest heroes? In that sense, this wasn’t a worked shoot—it was an intervention.
But over that, there’s a doubt of control. Why put ourselves during a forgiveness of a fans, we suppose WWE executives asking, whose reactions can’t be predicted? By a finish of a segment, Reigns has sealed a agreement to quarrel Cena, and WWE had answered his doubt clearly: they do need them to fight. WWE had given adult on micromanaging a futures of Cena and Reigns. The fans will hearten and disapprove as it suits them.
There are copiousness of fans out there celebrating Monday’s shred as Reigns’s central heel turn. But in holding a guff from Cena, by similar to a angle in a initial place, he’s practically exhibiting self-awareness—and so is WWE, that is a genuine aim of Reigns’s boos. In a end, this competence be a ideal ploy to get him over as a babyface. And how splendidly mocking it would be if John Cena—the male whose career Reigns’s is modeled on—were a one to make it happen.
This will positively be a branch indicate for Reigns, either or not he gets some cheers out of it. But usually as a “Cena sucks” fortuitous is carefully entertaining him now, my theory is that doctrinaire fans are prepared to accept Reigns. He’s already a improved wrestler than Cena was in 2012, and fans know we’ve been giving him too most grief. The problem is WWE’s, after all. With WWE publicly airing a grievances of a everyfan around Cena, a biggest knocks on Reigns are moot. (The slow doubt is when and if they focus to a clearly unavoidable Reigns vs. Lesnar WrestleMania match, since as shortly as that happens, a good will evaporates.) The Miz might have been shuffled aside from a categorical eventuality design again, yet his difference ring true: “If we work hard, if we block away, if we chip away, if we do your job, afterwards your impulse will come.” The impulse for a Cena-Reigns reclamation plan is now.
In a aged days, wrestlers worked out disagreements in a ring, and in doing so worked out a fans’ existential anxieties. Now each compare is an event to solve a company’s existential problems—how do we make wrestling matter in 2017?—and a fans’ unique anxiety: will they give us what we want?
Later in a show, announcer Michael Cole pronounced that Cena and Reigns had been “shooting from a hip,” yet he was fast corrected by boothmate Corey Graves: no, they were “shooting from a heart.” In 2017, there isn’t anything that comes out of a announcers’ mouths that isn’t a corporate line. Oftentimes it leads to monotony, yet it can be illuminating. It wasn’t a shoot—it was a worked shoot. For once, a finale doesn’t feel predetermined. WWE knew what it was doing. That’s something to get vehement about.