Bryan Danielson makes every last match count

No pro wrestler thrives on making you think he’s about to get maimed more than Bryan Danielson. Selling the damage of a fight is a non-negotiable part of the job for anyone in the industry, but for Danielson, acting out his character’s pain almost feels like an act of sadism. He’s 43 years old, nearing the end of a full-time career that began 25 years ago, and still carrying the burden of a multi-year hiatus due to a little thing called “career-ending” concussion issues. Especially after moving from the PG WWE to the PG-13 AEW in 2021, his fights have become bloodier, rougher, and more of a tightrope act for his visibly deteriorating body.

While Danielson’s time with the company has cemented his legacy, his path in AEW has also been continually blocked by real-life injuries, like the broken arm he suffered during a PPV main event last summer (he finished the fight) or the broken orbital bone he suffered shortly after his return this fall. Mixed in with those real-life horrors, however, were creative decisions based on the emotions they evoked – in-fight doctor exams, mock fencing reactions, and that drama after a PPV fight in April.

The story of Bryan Danielson, the real guy, is that of a performer who loves his work but should probably stop soon, for his sake and for his family’s sake. Over the course of what has been marketed as his final full-time year in the business, the story of Bryan Danielson, the character, has struck exactly the same notes. Danielson’s AEW tenure, in both roles, culminated on Sunday in the main event of the fledgling promotion’s second annual Wembley Stadium show. Everything included. In that match, he finally won the company’s top championship with a performance that made everyone realize that he wouldn’t be around much longer.

In keeping with the expansive, if sometimes frustratingly esoteric spirit of AEW, the greatest emotional rewards in Everything included required a wrestling knowledge that goes far beyond the company’s own storylines, spanning both international and historical careers. I’m thinking of the surprise return of Nigel McGuinness, whose career “ended” in 2011 for medical reasons, and his duel with New Japan Pro Wrestling star Zack Sabre Jr., which was then interrupted by Kazuchika Okada. McGuinness is a commentator in AEW, but his career has never been contextualized on television. Sabre seems to be the next contender for the New Japan title, but that’s, you know, in Japan. And Okada is now a signed AEW talent, but his entire reputation is built on his work in his home country. If you limited yourself to just AEW’s product, you’d miss most of the story.

That all-encompassing fan sentiment from the company itself — the message that it matters even when it’s not happening in their space — helped make the main event an instant classic. The outcome was foreshadowed by the stipulation that Danielson would immediately retire if he didn’t beat champion Swerve Strickland, but the obvious ending ultimately fed the melodrama that drew its fuel from a quarter century of goodwill between Danielson and fans. Performing to “The Final Countdown” — once a fun theme choice from his early days in cult-favorite Ring of Honor, now a poignant anthem reminding everyone how far he’s come since then — Danielson never looked like a wrestler about to leave his boots in the ring. As he fired up the fans and greeted his family at the barrier, he looked like a loving father, the people’s hero and someone with more to give. When Jim Ross, the instantly recognizable 72-year-old commentator battling serious health issues, unexpectedly came in to commentate on the main event, I couldn’t contain my emotions. The aging process can never be just one story.

What followed was an epic that, in my opinion, surpassed even the grandeur of Sting’s retirement. While Strickland, at the hottest of his life, was a great foil as a dark, intense villain in his athletic prime, Danielson leaned into his fragility. AEW has consistently and unconventionally portrayed its male heroes as loving and empathetic, and especially strong for this reasonand this match continued that theme in the most absurd way possible: Danielson, bloodied and pathetic and utterly beaten down, became essentially invincible by shouting “I love you!” over and over to his family. Strickland – cold and ruthless and individualistic – was no match for his father’s mystical strength. This fable, built on one man’s very real professional success despite physical adversity, is a bizarre, tear-jerking concoction that can only be brewed in professional wrestling.

Danielson says he needs neck surgery, so he probably only has a few more fights in this chapter before he puts down the belt and moves on to a late-career cameo. Throughout this time, I’ve been doing my best to consciously remind myself to appreciate his work; I guess I thought it would make time go slower. We’re almost at the end now. As a somewhat compassionate person, I think I’ll just be grateful when Danielson can leave AEW on his own. But as a selfish fan, I wanted this night at Wembley to last forever.