Wrestling with God at WrestleMania

It's hard to make a babyface, unless you're willing to become the heel.

On Sunday night my recent rediscovery of professional wrestling reached a zenith as I watched Cody Rhodes “finish the story” and claim his place as the WWE undisputed champion, the top accolade denied to both his father and his older brother across their nearly 8 decades of combined time in the ring.

While the final match was as exciting as promised, with many twists and turns, false finishes, romps around the arena, and a series of unpredictable interferences by various wrestlers on both sides of the fight, it was, in my opinion, overshadowed by the previous night's events.

Perhaps my own perceptions were to blame; Saturday, the first time I had watched live wrestling since I was a kid, was at a friend’s house with other engaged guests. We had food and got there early enough so we wouldn’t miss any of the matches. It was the same vibe as a superbowl party.

In contrast, I caught Sunday night’s match just as the main event began, on the smaller TV in our bedroom, with the volume not too loud after putting the kids to bed in the next room over. I was by myself for most of the match, although my disinterested wife came home from an errand near enough to the end to ask me questions about why it matters if it’s fake.

But while circumstances took the shine off the moment, what really made the difference between the two contests was that while Cody Rhodes battled and bested the champion Roman Reigns for the title on Sunday, on Saturday, Cody lost in a far more dramatic fashion to a much greater foe.

By far, the most impressive performance of the two day event was the return of Dwayne “The Rock” Johnson, the most widely known wrestler since Hulk Hogan, and likely an even bigger star overall, due to his wildly successful transition into a legitimate Hollywood star.

Returning as a real-life owner in the Sports Entertainment Empire, his in-ring return represented the corporate interest of the company, in a way that Vince McMahon’s in ring antics did for many years. But unlike the former owner, whose ego drove him towards an obsession with buffing up and larping as a wrestler, the Rock has had an illustrious career as one of the all-time greats, and Saturday’s performance proved that his skills have not slipped.

While there were other angles to what happened, including the nepotism and corruption associated with the “bloodline” story, a narrative centered around the familial relation between The Rock, the champion Roman Reigns, and several other Samoan wrestlers, past and present, it was not necessary to make a compelling narrative.

The match was a tag team pitting Rhodes and an ally of strange circumstance, Seth Rollins, against Reigns, and his cousin The Rock, with the stakes being that if Cody’s team prevailed, Sunday night’s title match would be a fair fight, with a promise of no interference by other members of the “bloodline” tribe.

As the four men stared each other down in the ring, the contrast was immediately noticeable. Rhodes and Rollins are both talented athletes, but their physical appearance reflects the trend within professional wrestling towards natural builds that has occurred since the end of the steroid fueled freakshow of my childhood.

While redpilled manosphere types would take wild exception to the term “average looking”, as the two men represent the archetypal ideal of the top 1% of dating apps (over six feet, over six-figure income, well dressed, not fat, full heads of hair) their non-famous doppelgangers would fail to turn heads in the average gym or grocery store, and likely even shirtless at most beaches.

In contrast, their two opponents represent a far smaller portion of the population, genetic freaks who are far bigger, taller, stronger and faster than the average human; both of whom found success in the pure meritocracy of college and professional football before finding their way to wrestling. But while this superior genetic blessing created a stumbling block to the audience's acceptance of Reigns, who always seemed like a manufactured hero, it has long been a beloved aspect of his cousin The Rock’s persona, both on screen and in the ring.

Indeed, it was The Rock, at 51 years old, whose presence dominated the attention of the audience for most of the match. Noticeably bigger and taller than even his own younger teammate, The Rock’s physique showed virtually none of the signs that accompany wrestlers of his age. In contrast to legends like Rick Flair, whose poor life decisions kept them working for a paycheck long past their expiration date, The Rock has clearly devoted considerable resources and effort to ensuring his body would not betray the believability of his in ring performance.

Embracing his new persona as “The Final Boss”, it was The Rock’s first in ring match after his heel turn as a corporate bad guy, and he executed the role perfectly, threatening to fire the referee with language not suitable for broadcast television. Seth and Roman’s longtime rivalry was on the backburner. When it was all said and done, it was The Rock delivering the final blow to Cody Rhodes in the form of “The People’s Elbow”.

But there was more to it than that; because in the return of The Rock, there was a heroic element as well. The once colloquially named “people’s champion” had just received an official title, as holder of “The People’s Championship”, a legacy award received at the WWE Hall of Fame by the widow of the original “People’s Champion”, Muhamed Ali. Chants of “Rocky! Rocky!” resounded through the city of Philadelphia as the lines between the worlds of cinema, athletics, and entertainment blurred into a soporific haze of masculine emotions.

Here was a wrestler who spent the vast majority of his career in the heroic role as THE face, not only a good guy, but the main good guy - the representative face of the company. Absent from the ring for many years, yet joyfully celebrated for his successful transition to Hollywood stardom. To many fans, seeing The Rock was a nostalgic throwback to the childhood years when no suspension of disbelief was required to enjoy the larger than life drama of professional wrestling. In this sense, who could deny his rightful place at the top of the heap? He was still bigger and stronger than anyone else on the mat, and he knew just how to handle the spotlight.

Yet despite his “official” title as people’s champ, those people in the seats had been invested faithfully in the fate of Cody Rhodes, and there was more than a little hesitancy about trusting those in power to do the right thing, especially as they were now being referred to by The Rock as “Cody Crybabies”.

The fans had suffered long under the deaf ears of the longtime chairman, Vince McMahon, whose fetish for hiring muscular men as top contenders– despite their lack of skills in the ring or behind a microphone– had caused the loyal audience to languish for years as the WWE’s monopoly on wrestling had given them carte blanche to make the stars, with no fear of losing talent to competitors.

Having the Rock come back as the in-ring personification of “The Company'' reeks of the kind of despotic power play that has caused millennials and zoomers all over to “quiet quit” their dead-end jobs, as Baby Boomer managers and CEO’s refuse to make way for the next generation. Fans whose work-day escape comes in the form of wrestling blogs and videos were rightly depressed to encounter more of the same.

All of this fueled the compelling dynamics of the match, because for all his talent, charisma, and his long history with the fans, The Rock was not representing his own position at the top of the heap, but the continuation of the company artificially propping up the approved champion, a performer who finally became watchable when he admitted that no one liked him and embraced his inner bad guy.

This incarnation of corporate evil was necessary to not only “finish the story” of Cody Rhodes, but the metanarrative of the whole Rhodes family, whose struggle was not against flesh and blood, but powers, principalities, and egotistical CEO’s. The McMahon family seemed hellbent on embarrassing the Rhodes family. It was the Senior McMahon who decided to create the “dusty finish”, robbing his father of the title on a technicality, after he was handed the belt in the ring.

The Junior McMahon dressed the legendary performer in silly yellow polka dots, something that was supposed to be part of a “common man” gimmick, but just made him look silly. When his oldest son Dustin broke into the business, he was forced into the role of an androgynous character named Goldust, a gimmick seemingly designed to force him to flounder and quit. It was only his humble realization of the rarity of such opportunities that allowed him to make it work.

When Cody finally made it to the business, he had a successful start in the role of a young narcissist, but was soon pushed into a gimmicky role like his brothers; one forever destined to languish in the mid card, never to make it to the main event. This led to his decision to leave the biggest name in sports entertainment, walking away from a steady and secure income, to build a fanbase among various independent leagues, and eventually start his own rival company, All Elite Wrestling, before making his way back to the WWE.

That’s why, even despite the hijinks, appearances, and disappearances of several other stars within the Sunday Night championship match, it was far less engaging. There was no true rivalry between the man Cody Rhodes and the man Roman Reigns. This David and Goliath story was not about a scrappy wrestler with heart beating the terrible brooding giant; it was the story of one man defying corporate greed and nepotistic ego to revive the American dream of success through struggle.

Long before the starting bell rang, the writing was on the wall, the people had spoken, and everyone knew who the audience wanted to win. Vince McMahon might have denied it, but the good business sense of The Rock and Paul “Triple H” Levesque told them to give the people what they want. Cody had not only won a belt for his father, he had won back wrestling for the fans.

The brief moment of hope for a truly compelling match came when Roman Reigns put away the table that Cody had pulled out, since his Saturday night loss meant the match was a “no rules” affair, indicating that perhaps the champion wanted to fight on fair terms, mano a mano, but that was short lived as he pulled out a cane, and then a string of allies came to interrupt the fight whenever Roman Reigns came close to being pinned.

Ultimately, as the Undertaker caused The Rock to vanish from the ring under the cover of darkness, the two settled the score one on one, with the American Nightmare coming out on top, finally achieving the victory that his father never did. Roman couldn’t quite achieve the level of performance that could make people believe he was interested in winning a close match. Perhaps now that he’s freed of the burden of being the champ, he can embark on a hero’s journey of his own.

What stood out the most for myself, was a statement in the press conference by Levesque, the chief content creator.

“The hardest thing in this business right now is to make a babyface, and to make a babyface that almost everybody likes. Cody is that guy. But he’s not that guy because it’s manufactured, he is the right human being, he is everything you want to believe in and get behind.”

In the previous night’s press conference, The Rock subtly acknowledged that this outcome was a foregone conclusion, as it’s well known that the winners and losers are determined ahead of time; yet in a fascinating twist, they were compelled to acknowledge the will of the people.

In an ironic paradox, the sport lambasted for being predetermined, is the only one in which fans can sway the outcome. Perhaps this is a useful metaphor for faith, and the efficacy of prayers. Sports always seem rigged when they don’t go your way, and some poor folks can wait a lifetime without ever tasting victory.

I was only 20 years old when the Red Sox won the world series, but I remember a few 86 year old fans on TV, humble folks with the faith of Simeon, who somehow always knew they would glimpse salvation before their final days.

Yet most of us would be hard pressed to keep believing for 86 years without some evidence of an effect, and while some amount of disappointment can be assuaged by the logic that God knows what is best for us, when He consistently answers all our requests in the negative, it causes questions about why our desires are so out of sync with His own.

At some point, silence and rebuke will lead us to question who it is we are praying to. Pharaoh believed he was a god, and likely believed that he knew how to care for the Israelites better than the upstart Moses. He was tough, but stubborn slaves needed a strong hand to guide them; and many Israelites later had moments of regret for leaving the masters who had fed them, if not abundantly, then at least predictably.

Becoming a father has caused me to “wrestle” deeper with my own understanding of how God hears and answers our prayers. It’s no secret that giving your children everything they want is a sure path to a miserable life. To be a good father, sometimes you have to play the heel. Your kids might call you mean, they’ll almost certainly say they hate you; but we choose if it will be for saying “no more TV!” when they are 4, or when you finally put your foot down for the first time at age 18, or will it be at the news of your demise?

I’m probably too willing to give in, and in doing so, I’m leaving some of the hard knocks my kids need up to life and circumstance. I’m trusting God to make up for my weakness as a parent, for being too willing to answer my children’s foolish requests with affirmation.

Yet sometimes God answers our own ill-informed prayers in the positive. But when he does so, He always gives us a taste of what we need, to contrast what we want. When the Israelites asked for a king, He sent them Saul before sending David. And for those who think they know what makes “the good parts” of a King like David, He gives them a bit more in the form of Solomon, and that was a bit too much for his son to handle.

I’ve made quite a few complaints recently about the newest adaptation of Frank Herbert’s Dune, where the Director sought to show us the bad side of our heroes. But in doing so, he had to monkey around with the circumstances and environments. By making Paul a bit more like Pharaoh, he had to make someone else a bit more like Moses.

Whether he realized it or not, he proved Triple H’s point - The hardest thing to do right now is make a babyface. He thought we were making it too easy; that people just follow leaders blindly, so instead of giving people the story they wanted, he gave them what he thought they needed, and it seems to have backfired splendidly. To the director, Paul is a heel, and Chani’s a hero, it was supposed to be a twist, but it’s just more of the same. Every movie tells us that red blooded men are the heels, and women are sinless saints.

But of course the biggest change was made to the villain. The Baron’s predilection towards pederasty makes it far too clear to readers who the bad guys were. We ought to be suspicious about why cut and dry examples of good and evil are seen as too extreme by those in power. In 2024, the taboo protecting children is the last domino left standing, and the neutral morality police are already on their way to knock it down.

Just as many tire of Boomers being stingy in relinquishing the reins of power, the world is weary of everything good, wholesome, and noble being side-eyed and subverted. Anti-heros and sympathetic villains are constantly filling us with doubt, and sometimes we just want someone to root for who won’t turn around and stab us in the back. We want a hero who will tell us it’s going to be ok.

The People’s champion understood this very well, so in giving the people what they want, he decided to throw in what they need. They wanted Cody Rhodes, but what they needed was The Rock. The legend stepped in to become the thing that Roman Reigns could not be, and the thing that he had sadly lacked, someone bad enough to make him look good.

We need the heel because we are heels; when we encounter a perfect babyface, we always end up crucifying him. It’s only after suffering under Pharaoh, or King Saul, or Goliath that we are truly ready for our King to come.

Cody the hero faced and beat the champion who everyone despised. But Roman Reigns was not despised for being bad, but for being lame, for being clueless, for looking tall and strong and mighty like King Saul, for being foisted straight to the top of a peak of posers, bypassing his downward journey into darkness before emerging as the victor.

When Cody knocks him down, where does the story go? What is left to be done? What accomplishment is there in dethroning a poser? To hand him such an empty victory would be just as humiliating as dressing him in a ladies wig and yellow polka dots.

The Rock leveled up to bring his full value to the company, by becoming the heel. He takes the heat, he embraces the hate, and the hero shines all the brighter. There’s a strange kind of humility in playing the heel; it’s the death of the ego. It’s not about pleasing the fans, but raising up a replacement. The Heel is always loath to give up their place. But that quality of hubris means that the heel’s career always ends in a loss.

What we don’t see is the smile they hide when the final bell rings. That’s how they pass on the torch. That’s the real prize. And with someone finally worthy to pass it on, wrestling truly is back.