End of an Era: Goodbye to AEW 1.0

There was no sign of “Hangman” Adam Page last night in Los Angeles during the promotion’s first ever west coast swing. As AEW celebrated itself in Hollywood in front of executives from broadcast partners at Warner Media, the former champion was not one of the talents taken out of the barn and displayed like a show pony for the entertainment world.

The episode was a stunning departure from the company’s first three years, as it aired its first ever Vince Russo-style “he’s shooting now, boys” angle with the incomparable MJF (Max Friedman) launching the promotion in an entirely new direction with an out-of-character promo pretending to delve into the group’s backstage issues. For years people have been comparing AEW to WCW. But I don’t think anyone meant Russo’s version, the incoherent, line-blurring mess of a show that helped doom wrestling on Turner television for almost two decades.

Page was nowhere to be seen. Kenny Omega, likewise, was barely a ghost. For two years, AEW was built around telling his story, culminating with Hangman’s title victory. No more. Cody Rhodes, of course, is in Stamford, currently rising up the ranks in the WWE and pursuing a new dream. Last night, and at the pay-per-view, the Elite were barely an after-thought, now figures from the past who helped build a wrestling promotion, only to see themselves and all their peers slowly replaced by talent from WWE.

Double or Nothing saw the crowning of CM Punk, the promotion’s big signing who once ruled the ring in New York. Adam Cole, Kyle O’Reilly, the Hardy Boys and Malakai Black all joined him in the winner’s circle, a clear indication of a company changing direction. Of the core team from the company’s early days, only the Young Bucks and Chris Jericho remain, holding firm for dear life as the promotion fully replaces their “Change the World” vision with Tony Khan’s own idea of what wrestling can and should be.

Friedman, who was part of an elaborate work over the weekend convincing the wrestling media that he was going to no-show the promotion’s pay-per-view, blasted Khan as a money mark, complained about his own paltry pay (though he has likely signed a big new contract), attacked fans for not supporting him and made it clear to all the boys in the back that he was the best performer on the roster. It was a masterful tour-de-force that will no doubt devolve into a complete mess within a month, the company (as wrestling companies will do) convinced that fans are more obsessed with the backstage politics of the business than they are the kinetic action actually presented on-screen.

But what makes that behind-the-scenes stuff in the wrestling dirtsheets so compelling is the sordid and secretive nature of the reporting. It feels like getting a glimpse of something you aren’t supposed to see—if you flip the lights on and the roaches scatter, it’s not the same, especially when it’s just pretend. When the industry’s whisper campaigns come out of the dark, it’s just sad, muscly men back-biting each other to convince a rich guy that they should win a fake fight.

Obviously, one week in, it’s too early to judge the angle’s success or failure. But one thing is apparent already—this is a new AEW. It’s time, if you haven’t already, to say goodbye to the beautiful, sprawling mess that was All Elite Wrestling. It was the first promotion I’ve loved in decades, a blast of pure energy that showed what talent that had been rejected by the establishment could do when their big ideas were matched with a checkbook that was equally large.

To me AEW will always be Kenny Omega battling his own demons, Hangman Page battling the bottle, Darby Allin with a dive to nowhere and Joey Janela lighting a cigarette. It was Jon Moxley bringing a serious face to this gathering of goofballs, the Meat Man, masked announcers, the Young Bucks performing feats only a lunatic would ever conceive, let alone try. It was Japanese joshi holding a women’s division together with silly string and hope, it was mainstream wrestling’s first trans superstar. God bless him, it was earnest Cody clinging desperately to a vision of wrestling long past.

It was beautiful chaos.

But that was the before times.

Once a safe haven for a few stalwarts whose vision was too powerful to be contained by the independent scene, it’s now just another corporate wrestling promotion, a version of the now-vanquished NXT, only an NXT without Vince McMahon to destroy all the good ideas and promising talent that spring forth. And that’s okay—it was inevitable even. But I will miss it all the same. The King of wrestling promotions is dead, replaced by a new, shinier, more polished version. Long live the king.