“Ugh, I can’t believe they’re making _________ look so weak.” — Random Internet Commentator
It happens all the time. A favorite wrestler isn’t portrayed as a world-beating badass, and his or her fan chorus starts crying that the wrestling company is making him or her look “weak”. As if not being the best, strongest, coolest, toughest and smartest character all the time is a mortal sin.1 Obviously, on a base, wholly-immersed-in-the-story level, all of us want our favorite wrestlers to win all the time. If anyone watches wrestling totally detached from an emotional level, maybe then wins and losses wouldn’t matter so much in terms of investment, but then I would ask why anyone would watch a form of entertainment where they can’t be involved on some level. Even those like Bethlehem Shoals who watch the NBA without a favorite team still love the game of basketball enough that they’re not watching each contest strictly analytically. So yes, the dismay at “weakness” is to be expected
That being said, where would any wrestling character be without a moment of weakness? We never find out about a person’s character when they’re at their strongest. However, it’s in their moments of despair and anguish where we find out what they’re truly made of. Superman movies aren’t made with the Man of Steel beating up bad guys for two hours and making it look easy. That would be boring. It’s the conflict, whether it’s Lex Luthor shooting kryptonite at him or Superman going through an internal, existential crisis that makes the movie. In turn, wrestling characters grow not by pumping their fists and going “WOO WOO WOO” all the time or by overcoming non-existent odds over hapless opponents. Not so oddly enough, only the former situation is put under the microscope while the latter’s lack of weakness is always called out.
Obviously, people are going to complain about Zack Ryder being made to look “weak” more than John Cena, mainly because Cena has already “made it”. It all goes back to the stereotypical wrestling fan attitude that once someone finally gets over, they have to start losing every match or else they’re using some vague political magic to somehow keep their spot. That being said, both guys need equally to show their vulnerable sides.
But how does someone make it? Yeah, there are the Goldbergs of the world who do it by never losing, but remember how memorable he was after he lost? Yeah, me neither. Most of the people worth a damn survive hardships on their way to the top. “Stone Cold” Steve Austin didn’t break through to the main event by beating Bret Hart. He passed out in the Sharpshooter in a moment of stubbornness, choosing to “die” rather than give up. Mick Foley became legendary because of the lengths he went to make other people look good. The Rock lost as much as he won at the main event level. Undertaker “died” and came back so many times that it was almost ritual. Ric Flair made a habit of giving the false hope that the hometown hero could beat him before he won in the end and made everyone hate him even more.
In the same vein, Ryder running around acting like a horror movie victim is necessary. Okay, maybe the exact execution of his fear and the story that’s being told might not be totally conventional. But in order for him to evolve from a one-note club hopper into the next level, there needs to be a hook. If that means Ryder has to overcome his fear and face Kane, then wouldn’t his weakness have been worth it?
Wrestling is not a sport inasmuch as the best characters aren’t the ones who are strongest all the time. They’re the ones who show the best development. For that to take place, weakness is necessary. The story is king, and stories where everyone is awesome are just boring.2
TH writes The Wrestling Blog and broadcasts The Wrestling Podcast. You can find him on Twitter, or at various other spots around the Internet. He also loves Chikara, and quite frankly, thinks you should too.
Edited by Jason Mann.
