This is a sister article to CM Punk and the self imposed off season.
After Sunday night, CM Punk is leaving WWE. Whether that’s permanent or only for a period of time, the point is that his match with John Cena will be the last of his current run. The narrative stakes are quite high: Punk wants to take the championship with him, and Cena will supposedly be fired if this occurs. That’s all well and good. Certainly we’ve had important matches with suitably ominous consequences before. But Sunday’s event has been hyped not because of the match or the stipulation, but in a succession of three scenes, each raising the stakes a little more.
When we first witnessed Punk’s soliloquy and subsequent silent scream three weeks ago, it signalled the official end of WWE’s off season. It was the kind of thing that doesn’t happen very often: a supposed live mic in the hands of a man unwilling to bend to the company’s whims, unleashing years of frustration on a captivated, sympathetic crowd. Inside language, references to past employees, and that dirty W word were casually reintroduced to a space long cleansed of these things. It was harrowing, threatening. Punk, for perhaps the first time in WWE, embodied transgression.
And then he was gone, suspended by Mr. McMahon, a character we haven’t seen in years (we’ve of course seen Vince, but there’s quite the difference). His presence let those of us who know better that WWE was arming this narrative with admirable thrust. His explanation was interrupted by John Cena, a man Punk has defeated a number of times this year. John would then defend Punk against McMahon and then define the WWE Championship as not only an earned possession but something that needs defending against the worthy. Without proper challenges, Cena suggested, the championship means nothing. McMahon, in a moment of heretic hubris, reneged on the suspension, and returned the status quo, with fresh qualifications and consequences.
Finally, the apparent contract signing. McMahon, holding so little faith in Cena, was willing to give the madman everything he wanted. And mad those demands were. Private Jet. Merchandise. Movies. Ice Cream Bars. Gloriously pro wrestling in their absurdity, Punk’s demands were cut short, this time by Cena, the only sane person in this story [Editor’s note: “poo-poo pee-pee” comments notwithstanding].
There was no more to add. The story was already dynamite, but Cena and Punk’s tense discussion of dynasties and underdogs added yet another layer. It seems impossible not to cheer Punk here. Even Cena acknowledges this. Punk has taken the ultimate “**** you I won’t do what you tell me” stance by simply cashing in and walking away. In a game so hard to leave, Punk appears bulletproof, resolute. We believe that he’s going home to sit on his couch and rest, because that’s what we would all love to do. More than beat up our boss, what we want is to be rid of the shackles of our unloved labour.
Punk’s expectational debt ends Sunday. He will go home, with the belt or without, and we will be happy and envious that he did. The debt in question is with WWE. Proper credit has not been given to the writers and producers of this show for delivering such a satisfying story. Their debt is with the next show, and the next story, and the next era. They have grabbed us with Punk. Now, without him, they will have to try harder to keep us.
K Sawyer Paul is an author and publisher living in Toronto. He tweets and tumbls. In the wrestling world he is known for This is Sports Entertainment and The Footnotes of Wrestling. Edited by Mitch.
