Necro Butcher Is the Glue Holding Together an Inokism Three Way

Orchid Cugini of Live, Laugh, Liger Bomb regrets not flexing with Lex.

Even though we've been friends and occasional creative partners for over a decade, I am unsure why Colette invited me to fill Joseph's shoes this week. I'd been a lifelong casual wrestling fan until 2021, and my more recent efforts toward finding a deeper appreciation for this ridiculous form of entertainment have me exploring match-ups & promotions that are far less intellectually stimulating than the ones covered here. I am relatively sure that both of these brilliant critics have too much self-respect to sit through Bryan Alvarez vs. Jungle Boy at APW Union Landing to answer the question "Why do I hate watching Jack Perry so much?" and I am quite sure that Colette knew that I would be tempted to recommend we watch the longest Young Bucks match I could find. But I'm entirely sure that she knew I would never pass up an opportunity to pick her brain about the in-ring philosophies I am coming to appreciate in the wake of Sting's retirement on the off-chance I'd learn something new about the types of wrestling she's loved for most of her life. So I picked three matches that included at least one wrestler I have heard her praise in casual conversations, fully anticipating we'd wind up having a conversation that would open my eyes wider to the greatness of Sting or Luger or Scott Steiner that would awaken in me a newfound appreciation of the territory-era wrestling she grew up on that I am now coming to love.

Unfortunately, this is the match we watched instead.

I have a decent understanding of Inokism's core tenants, thanks to the comprehensive work of Chris Charlton and Jonathan Foye and the countless Wikipedia wormholes I've found myself in while trying to figure out precisely what happened to Katsuyori Shibata's brain in 2017. But in terms of actually, you know, watching the matches, I've spent far more time over the last year watching the unsung heroes of the aught-era American indie scene ooze buckets of blood at the Don Preston Recreation Center. Considering it was this very blog that introduced me to the brilliant work of Volk Han, you would think I would pick a better match as an introduction to the Inoki Genome Federation. But no. I am a freak. There is no way I could prevent myself from prioritizing this clusterfuck on a match and dragging Colette along with me.

I've been thinking about threeway matches even since Dave Metzler rushed to call Konosuke Takeshita vs. Will Ospreay vs. Ricochet "the best threeway match of all time" (which, in my eyes, would have been the worst match of the year if not for The Tragedy at The Copper Box). Generally speaking, I'm not a fan of this match layout. Threeways work best for me when they act as the turning point in a dramatic feud that pushes a babyface or neutral-leaning competitor to confront their moral compass. There is still some enjoyment to be found when that tension point is lacking if the workers commit to a workrate sprint, even if those matches end up deteriorating into empty-calories spotfests.  But more often than not, I find that threeways expose the flaws in a specific type of harebrained modern wrestler's philosophical approach to match structure more often than it highlights their strengths.

Ironically enough, Rob Van Dam is very likely the archetype that many of these harebrained modern wrestlers use as their stylistic starting point. On the surface, it would appear that Rob Van Dam has the exact skillset that would lend itself to Antonio Inoki's vision for puroresu. Unfortunately, this is not the same Rob Van Dam that stunned the AJPW crowd against Danny Kroffat at the Budokan in 1995; the Rob Van Dam we get here is burnt out and disillusioned with the wrestling industry, and it shows. There is a lack of urgency in most of his offense, his selling is pedestrian, and he is clearly past his prime. It's not the worst work of his career, but the sloppiness and lethargy that riddled his TNA run a few years later is starting to show. If there had ever been a chance for RVD to make this a great match, it would likely have to happen before August of 2008.

IGF

It shouldn't shock anyone that Necro Butcher is the glue that holds this together. While RVD and Kashin are happy doing a halfhearted exhibition between two disinterested junior heavyweights, Butcher is the one serving as the driving force of both chaos and narrative, throwing his hands in the air when he can't seem to get his hands on his faster opponents when the bell rings and then hilariously single-legging the ref out of frustration. Without him, this is a halfhearted exhibition between two disinterested junior heavyweights; with him, there's an honest attempt at .....a comedy match? In the company that's meant to highlight pro wrestling as the strongest martial art?! There are not enough interabangs to express how confounding this choice was, considering the wide range of violence and awe that Butcher and RVD are capable of.

I don't have much to say about Kendo Kashin, who really feels like an auxiliary component here. Even after getting the first fall after Necro, it feels as if his role is to highlight his two gaijin opponent's clashing stylistic approaches and mostly stay out of their way. He does nothing of note in the six minutes where he goes one-on-one with RVD, and you could watch this match 13 times without remembering a single thing he does offensively. If he brings any value to this match, it's mostly lost on me.

Despite the issues here, some brilliance can be found when Necro makes good on his pre-match promise of turning this into a brawl. Necro runs the blade after Kashin clocks him in the head with a title belt, causing an immaculate pool of crimson that I wish we got a better shot of to splatter and drip on the mat. Butcher and Kashin start smacking each other with a guardrail and a fern near the entrance ramp, only for RVD to land on both with a dive from the stage. There's no real logic to it, but it is good fun.

It's not enough to salvage the match, but it's enough to salvage the minutes you've wasted watching this if only for the sheer novelty of seeing what could have been possible between Butcher and Van Dam had their paths crossed sooner. There's an alternative universe where this match happens in front of 1,600 problematic Philadelphians while New Jack beats the shit out of Santino Marella in the locker room for stealing his socks, and I'm sure the match between those three would be much more enjoyable. But this is the best we've got.

RATING: **1/2, would not recommend