By Laura Mauro @lauranmauro
It sometimes seems as though, for wrestling fans, any excuse to indulge in petty tribalism will do. With the status of NJPW’s Hiromu Takahashi still not fully known following a neck injury incurred in his match against Dragon Lee at the G1 Special on Saturday night, debate has reignited over whether the WWE or NJPW style is inherently safer. It’s a dead end argument: both ‘styles’ have pros and cons in terms of their impact on the health of their respective rosters. The ‘safer’ WWE style can only offer so much protection with the unbelievably gruelling schedule its performers are required to work to, while NJPW’s far lighter schedule has to contend with both its talent performing elsewhere – sometimes multiple elsewheres, on multiple nights, across the world.
In any case, it’s an irrelevant argument; what happened to Hiromu was a mistake, pure and simple, and it could have happened to anyone. And it frequently does: see the Muscle Buster that ended Tyson Kidd’s career, or the buckle bomb that put Finn Balor out of commission for over six months. Or the botched sunset flip that paralysed Yoshihiro Takayama. For the most part, wrestling is safer and less extreme than the glory days of ECW. (In fact, both Dreamer and Taz have suffered broken necks during their careers – it’s no small wonder that Dreamer is still wrestling today.) But wrestling is physical, and injuries are inevitable. Mistakes are inevitable. For some, an accumulation of injuries obtained over the breadth of a career might ultimately spell the end – Paige retired at 25, having begun her wrestling career at just 13 years old. Not even the best wrestlers in the world are immune to the occasional botched spot. It might earn you a black eye, or a broken wrist. It might end your career. These are the risks all wrestlers take.
There are questions to ask, though, and perhaps discussions to be had. Some of them are industry-level problems that we as fans have no power over: the unionisation of the World of Sport Wrestling roster shows that progress can be made, but WWE’s roster is still working a punishing 300+ days a year, and the company does not even provide health insurance – surely a disastrous combination in an inherently dangerous industry. There’s also the matter of wrestlers continuing to work despite injury. Sami Zayn was recently revealed to have been working with not one, but two torn rotator cuffs. And lest we think of this as a WWE problem, we might also note Hiroshi Tanahashi, working through a torn bicep, and Dalton Castle, who looks as though he might crumble under the pressure of multiple injuries, including an injured back. The competitiveness of wrestling means that, understandably, time off to recuperate may translate as missing opportunities that might not present themselves again. For indie wrestlers, depending on the contracts they work to, it also translates as a loss of earnings. And speaking of this: while I apportion no blame to Dragon Lee for what happened, it’s worth noting that this was his fourth match in just 24 hours – it’s not unreasonable to assume that he must already have been tired. This is something we (rightly) mention when we discuss the WWE schedule: that tired, burnt-out workers are more prone to being injured, and to making mistakes. The same is true for indie workers, who may not be beholden to a punishing schedule the way WWE’s roster are, but who often do work to the point of exhaustion and injury. Again, these are systemic issues which require a shift in working cultural attitudes, and are largely beyond the influence of fans.
Another issue, perhaps even more complex, is individual wrestling styles. While it’s obviously worth noting that injuries can happen to even the ‘safest’ wrestler, there are those whose consistent recklessness is as worrying as it is admittedly thrilling to watch. I’m thinking here of Will Ospreay, whose apparent disregard for his own wellbeing makes for incredibly exciting matches, but there comes a point where the concerned wincing begins to overshadow the cheering – it’s a miracle that he didn’t end up with a broken neck following the truly horrible bump he took at Sakura Genesis in April. And this isn’t an isolated incident; Ospreay’s matches sometimes look like experiments in the most innovative way to punish one’s own body. Some have wondered out loud if he might be heading the same way as the Dynamite Kid. It’s not just Ospreay: for all the jokes made about Ibushi’s complete disregard for his own neck, there are moments where it can be genuinely uncomfortable to watch him accordion in on himself, as though his spine were a bungee cord. And those who put this down to ‘NJPW Style’ are misguided, in my view – wrestlers like Suzuki and Ishii, the epitome of ‘strong style’, are generally very safe workers. Okada is capable of great spectacle without much in the way of insanely high risk. Conversely, the WWE style, sometimes considered boring due to its emphasis on relatively low-risk moves, can actually be very exciting to watch – Mustafa Ali’s recent match with Buddy Murphy showed that it is entirely possible to marry the ‘WWE Style’ with high-impact, high-spectacle matches. (NXT is a different animal at this point, so I won’t bring it into the conversation, except to say that it is, in my view, an ideal balance of exciting and reasonably safe.) It’s disingenuous to lay the fault at the door of any one promotion, as each has its own issues, and – perhaps more to the point – the mistake leading to Hiromu’s injury could happen to anyone, at any time.
There is another factor: the fans. It’s undeniable that, in wrestling, the greater the spectacle, the more fans react. When I talk about Will Ospreay’s recklessness, it comes with the caveat that his recklessness is what makes him exciting to watch. ‘We Want Tables!’ is a standard chant across the board for most promotions. Then there’s the matter of blood. I understand that blading is a bloodborne disease risk (which is a very real issue – Abdullah the Butcher was proven to have infected Devon ‘Hannibal’ Nicholson with Hepatitis C, while Nigel McGuinness’ career came to an abrupt halt due to contracting Hepatitis B. It’s been said that there are wrestlers on the indie circuit who have contracted HIV via blading, broken glass, barbed wire) WWE, among other promotions, are ultimately in the right to have banned the practise. But I can’t deny, as a fan, and as someone who is drawn in by the spectacle, that there is something about blood that heightens the drama of a match. The motif of Naito’s bloodstained white suit still sticks in my memory a month later. The occasional glimpse of accidental bloodshed in WWE is exciting in an almost illicit way. It’s amazing how much a few drops of blood and the sound of heavy impact adds to the gravity of what is ultimately a make-believe sport and yet here we all are, going nuts whenever Ibushi moonsaults off a balcony. And that’s not to make a moral judgement; if, as Roland Barthes posits, wrestling is a ‘spectacle of excess’, then pain and injury is part of that spectacle. As we chant for tables and cheer for risky spots, are we unwittingly encouraging wrestlers to take greater risks? It’s hard to say, and it’s a moot point, in any case; it’s simply not realistic to suggest that wrestling fans temper their love of the spectacle for the sake of safety. Risk, as with everything else I’ve mentioned, is for the industry to regulate. And though banning moves may prove unpopular, sometimes it’s hard to argue against it – I can’t speak for anyone else, but after Daniel Bryan and Shibata and, yes, Chris Benoit, I’ve no stomach for headbutts in the ring anymore.
All of which is just blowing hot air in the discussion surrounding Dragon Lee and Hiromu. The Phoenix Plex is perhaps a riskier move than some, but has been executed safely by Dragon Lee (and Hiromu) on many occasions. It just happened to go wrong this time. Just like the Muscle Buster went wrong. Just like the Buckle Bomb went wrong. Just like Sami Zayn throwing his arms up in celebration somehow went wrong (and this was before his ‘WWE touring schedule’ days.) The arguments springing up over WWE and NJPW and which company is safer are ridiculous in the context of this particular accident; there is no point to partisanship here. We can only hope that Hiromu makes a full recovery, and that we have not seen the end of his career yet.
