Jumbo Tsuruta vs Mitsuharu Misawa
Number One Contenders Match
09/01/1990
Nippon Budokan, Tokyo, Japan
(reviewed 03/26/2024) If last time was a fluke wherein the overmatched, fresh-faced heavyweight eked out a win against a far more capable veteran, this is two men meeting on roughly equal ground. They both know it too. In a build-up tag the day before this Mitsuharu Misawa knocked Masanobu Fuchi out cold with a flying elbow, the younger man trying to peel the veteran off the mat for another move before simply pinning him. That elbow is what first laid out Jumbo Tsuruta back in May, kicking off this entire feud, and only now does Misawa recognize the weapon he has at his disposal. He wastes no time in using it here. When they first lock up Misawa backs his opponent into the ropes and goes to elbow him, though the wary Jumbo blocks it. Misawa returns the favor when Jumbo tries the same tack a moment later, quicker and craftier than AJPW’s top star. No more is he an up-and-comer out of his depth. Now he’s the man.
As with last time, Jumbo’s attacks take as much out of him as they do Misawa. He’s constantly shaking out a wrist stiffened by a shot to the stomach, gingerly flexing the knee he just used to upend his opponent. Barely ten years separate the two in age but Jumbo is undoubtedly the old man, already diagnosed with the disease that will take his life, fighting a losing battle against his own body as much as the man on the other side of the ring. In turn Misawa is implacable, his stoicism serving the story of the match for once; for the kid’s crime of youthful indifference, Jumbo is constantly shooting him these looks of disgust and dread, anger and apprehension. It sickens him, how easy this all seems for his young opponent.
Again and again you see Jumbo stopping to catch his breath. He has to actively gather himself to reverse an armlock early on, only to have the younger, more athletic man kick his way free with such easy speed that it takes Jumbo a moment to realize he’s been bested. The kid’s just so fast, so strong. Misawa instantly rolls back in the ring when Jumbo shitcans him to the floor, making it back inside before Jumbo fully makes it out. A few elbows instantly turn the tide when they lock up again, briefly handing Misawa control of the match that Jumbo has to wrench back with a much greater effort. It’s only when Misawa returns to his ineffective highflying offense that Jumbo firmly takes charge again; those piddly jump kicks barely effect the superheavyweight, who cuts the younger man off with a petty elbow of his own.
There’s no other word for it, unsurprisingly. Pettiness drives Jumbo’s every action here. He doesn’t merely duck out of the way of Misawa’s diving headbutt, he drives the man’s face into the mat himself. When he hits a Thesz Press for a pinfall he wraps his hands around Misawa’s throat for added leverage or, in a darker frame of mind, another way to end this. But pettiness alone won’t win him anything; when Jumbo tries the same reversal that won Misawa their last match, the younger man simply kicks out. He’ll need more than empty resentment to put this fan favorite away.
While there are more than a few chants in his favor Jumbo seems surprised by Budokan’s support for Misawa, repeatedly shooting worried glances at the people who once gave him strength and have now largely left him out to dry. When referee Kyohei Wada pries him off Misawa after he simply mounts the kid and mangles him with illegal punches, Jumbo looks like he’s lashing out at the crowd as much as anyone in the ring. Even if Misawa hasn’t yet taken his place on the card, Jumbo knows the younger man has taken his place in the hearts and minds of the All Japan fans.
It’s an awful thing, coming to realize what you’ve lost through no fault of your own, and Jumbo plays that bitterness beautifully. Every time Misawa hits him with a big elbow he grabs his head with both hands and twists his face up not merely in pain but in frustration, frustration that this, of all things, is what does him in. Not a head drop, not a powerbomb, not an illegal weapon, not even the bloodletting he’s avoided carefully for years, but a simple strike anyone can do. A measly elbow. The crook of the arm. Is that all it takes? After twenty years, after all he’s earned, that’s all it takes to put him down? It’s insulting as much as anything.
That insult makes all the difference. When Misawa backs Jumbo into the corner and lays into him with a few more elbows, Jumbo fires back with a headbutt. Then another. Then he dropkicks the kid right in the teeth. Spite got Jumbo this far and it’ll take him a little farther yet. Misawa fights on but fumbles some foolish attempts at highflying, returning to an old him who couldn’t win a match like this. In June he won when he matched Jumbo’s more direct methods; here he loses sight of how far he’s come in twelve short weeks. It comes down to a standoff of sorts, both men trading blows in the middle of the ring. Misawa’s elbows send Jumbo flying back in a way the veteran’s own never could but Jumbo beats him to the punch in a race to hit a lariat, his one strike superior to Misawa’s. A second backdrop driver seals the deal.
Does it matter much, in the end? Not really. Jumbo earns another shot at the Triple Crown and wins it for a third time. Even that year-long reign won’t stop what’s coming. It’s like Cousin Ellis said. Hard as Jumbo tries to take back what was took from him, more’s going out the door. After a while all he can do is try to stop the bleeding—something he’s all too familiar with at this point.
People got this feud all wrong; this is the star-making match of the series. Last time Jumbo was definitively better before a momentary bit of brilliance (or a lucky break, take your pick) gave Misawa the win. Here Jumbo reasserts his role as ace of the company but illustrates, with every passing moment, that he won’t retain that title for long. Jumbo’s last day in the sun has already dawned. A new star gleams on the horizon, one that wasn’t there back in June. We’ll see how long twilight lasts.
HOW DOES THIS COMPARE TO SHAWN MICHAELS VS THE UNDERTAKER FROM WM25: Think the last thousand words on this match ought to tell you that I like its story a lot more than the one in HBK/Taker, so I’ll take a more personal stance here. This is the defining performance of my second or third-favorite wrestler ever, a guy so central to my understanding of professional wrestling that his image is littered all across this blog from page headers to the site logo. You’ll simply have to excuse me if I think his career-best work outshines ol’ Mike Hickenbottom and Mean Mark’s phony baloney passion play.
VERDICT: Way fucking better than Shawn Michaels vs The Undertaker from WrestleMania 25
Brock Hates Wrestling 