The last time I wrote about the squared circle, I was lamenting the plight of my then favorite grappler, one CM Punk. And in my screed, I laid bare why he no longer stood atop my list of favorites. Since then, I’ve continued to watch All Elite Wrestling (AEW), and keep loose tabs on the WWE. Punk defected back to the company that burnt him out — but now being run by Paul “HHH” Levesque instead of Vince “Likely Sexual Abuser” McMahon. In a way, I’m happy for Punk. In another, I remain disappointed. He’s already injured himself since rejoining the roster, and is amidst an interesting-if-frustrating feud with Drew McIntyre. Good for him, I guess. I’m not invested, but happy everyone must be making money.
So, with my favorite faux-fighter no longer filling his spot, who has taken it? Well, it’s not Bryan Danielson. He’s still amazing in the ring, and passionate on the mic. He also announced not too long ago he’s in the middle of his final full-time run in the ring. As such, he remains a favorite, but not the favorite. It’s also not Hangman Adam Page, who is rising in my personal ranks like a rocket. His recent comeback with a mean streak has been fun to watch. The anger and ire offer him an edge that is vastly superior to his previous moniker as The Millennial Cowboy. As good as Page has been, even if he’s able to finish his beef with current AEW Champion Swerve Strickland, he would only occupy my silver spot.
The gold belongs solely to Maxwell Jacob Friedman.
I suppose I should apologize to Mr. Friedman that it took 2 full paragraphs of mewling about others before declaring my admiration. In a perfect world, he’ll one day read this article, and I could pray that I get a “you’re right, idiot, you should have mentioned me earlier. And you’re writing sucks too” tweet about it. Nevertheless, let the ass kissing begin!
When AEW kicked off, five years ago, MJF (his ‘HHH’-esque abbreviation) was the chaotic evil pillar of fresh-faced talent the company introduced to the masses. For the nerdiest folks that occupy both pro-wrestling, and D&D, I offer that Jungle Boy Jack Perry was lawful good, Darby Allen was chaotic good, and Sammy Guevara was lawful evil. Don’t at me bros. I’m right, and you know it.
MJF exists as the perfect example of the postmodern pugilist. On the microphone, he breaks convention by name dropping and naysaying anyone and anything he deems fit. Where other wrestlers tap dance around ever saying the other company, Maxwell spits it with ease and a snicker. In between the ropes, he’s an Nth level heel — ripping off the moves, and japes of the best bad guys in the history of the sport. A common spot he tends to use has him artfully dodge an incoming attack with a slick flip which he then transitions to a Ric Flair strut capped off with a Ravishing Rick Rude pelvic gyration. In that singular sequence, MJF showcases exactly who he is: Someone who studied the best, stole from them with a smirk, and adds that modern edge his predecessors could never perform.
This past week, having been back from injury barely over a month, Mr. Friedman took on the International Champion Will Ospreay. Ospreay — a recent target of MJF — is very much the yin to Maxwell’s yang. Where Max gouges the eye, Will offers a gentlemanly handshake. Where Friedman distracts the ref and kicks his opponent in the nethers… Ospreay puts himself in between danger and the ref to spare them an inadvertent bump.These two collided in an hour long match for the belt. It was a pay-per-view quality event given almost no lead-in. Only a week before did the two exchange unpleasantries over MJF’s then-mistreatment of another young star in AEW, Daniel Garcia. No need to mansplain the entire fracas: just know that Max was mean, Will admonished him for it, and that-was-that.
The match itself is worthy of the long watch. It’s rare I ever have the desire to rewatch a pro-wrestling match, and I’ve now seen this bout three times. It’s a clinic of what modern wrestling could be. When pro-wrestling is really cooking? This was a three Michelin star meal. No amount of retelling here in words will do it justice. Watch the highlights and thank me later.
What absolutely destroys me is knowing MJF is 28 years old. To see someone with his in-ring acumen, and on-mic prowess this early in a career makes his boisterous claim of being a generational talent unquestionable. Look only to his fellow pillars for proof.
Darby Allen wrestles like he has a literal deathwish… but the stories he tells in the ring are often one-note.
Sammy Guevara has all the talent in the ring one could want — and can cut a decent promo — but he’s already proven to be unreliable making his single championship run memorable.
Jungle Boy Jack Perry needed an off-air feud with CM Punk to become anything more than a nepo-baby stunt double. And while he’s starting to become interesting (and a better talker) in his “Scapegoat” persona… he’s no MJF. Not by a Long Island mile.
While all four of these men will likely become household names in due time (albeit, the jury could be out on Sammy at present), MJF is already there. What sets him apart is evident. He’s done his homework, and presents himself as a fully fleshed-out product. Where Guevara and Perry have shown themselves early in their AEW tenure to be green, Max has always carried himself as the real deal. He wrestles confidently, and slowly — where others his age run at full speed until they are out of gas. He always aims to tell a story bell to bell. And unlike some in his class, he has multiple stories with which to relate. His clinic with Ospreay showcased multiple acts unto themselves. From “anything you can do, I can do better”, to “I’ve studied your tapes and have counters ready for all your flashy moves” straight to the classic “eh, screw it, I’ll just cheat.”.
The best heels in professional wrestling all share a common thread; that it will never be sweeter when they finally fall. MJF knows this, and leans into it like a seasoned veteran. What’s sad, in effect, is that when Max has previously dropped belts, the subsequent champion hasn’t taken the heat with the belt — Max remained the bigger draw. But that’s more on those following Max than its on him, right? If I were to pick any nits that exist with him? It’s only in the minutiae of his moveset. Max can flip, flop, and fly with the best of them. But he’s never really had a finishing maneuver that felt wholly his. His Salt of the Earth armbar is a nice heelish submission, but becomes less potent when/if Max fights a larger opponent. His recent adoption of a brainbuster is yawn-worthy (most other wrestlers have long used this only as a transition move), and him slugging a guy with a ring before the ref can spot is awesomely evil but not sustainable as a match-ender. It’s truly best used in moderation. But I digress.
MJF is, without doubt, my favorite wrestler working today in either company. He does more with less — able to route a crowd with his antics, sans Hollywood effect budgets (I’m looking at you, WWE). He’s capable of putting over other talent, and sewing long-term seeds with ease. That I could list out 4-5 AEW roster members with unfinished business for MJF right now shows how well he works within the system. All of this, and for those willing to buy in, Mr. Friedman has laid bare a bit of the boychic behind the baddie. As backstage rumors began regarding his contract, MJF returned from an injury sporting new ink: a poker chip brandishing the AEW logo, and the phrase “Bet On Yourself”. Sorry Max, but that wasn’t a heel move, and you know it. Because it’s an indication that MJF knows his home company will be a perennial second place to the machine that is WWE. Better to be at a place where not only is there more creative freedom, there’s ultimately more opportunity as a team to continue to thrive. Maxwell Jacob Friedman is leaning into it in the best way. Each feud he’ll have will elevate his opponent as being of a high caliber. And should he ever leave? Ideally that bet will have paid off in spades. He’s a team player, even when he’s vowing to be the engine of evil that destroys it from within, savvy?
So, kudos MJF. From one member of the tribe to another: you’re giving us all a bad name, and we’ll thank you for it later. Never stop being the scumbag we deserve.
