AEW Dynasty’s inaugural event on April 21st, 2024 in St. Louis, Missouri was an incredibly stacked card. New champions were crowned, stories were told, history was made, and the crowd in Chaifetz Arena was loud and rowdy.
Among the praise of the show sits the dream match between former NJPW talent Will Ospreay and industry veteran Bryan Danielson. Two different paths, one destiny. A collision course that led to a match that none who bore witness to it shall forget.
Whenever matches such as dream matches or storied builds culminate in big bouts, the energy is palpable and the experience engraves itself upon fans for a lifetime. That’s the charm of being a professional wrestling fan. You watch, live in the moment, as trained talents perform in a way that defies expectations and you believe that superheroes are real. When executed perfectly, it washes the world away from you in rapture, and all that exists is this moment. This is for you.
Competitors that live by separate styles yet find a way to mesh them well often create this aura. Will Ospreay’s way of wrestling is one made in Japan, a refined machine that took years to perfect. He had to be forged in a foreign country to be undeniable. There was a lot of growing up to do, and in the end, Will Ospreay has become who he was always meant to be, as the universe has willed it.
Danielson took a different route, one that was wrought with the adversity of his time that shaped who and what he could be. He came from a time when men of his size would be mocked and laughed at, but he honed his skills amid fans that would be hard to please and would make it known. Nothing like the respectful Japanese crowd, the 2000s American audience made their thoughts known. Bryan would silence them soon through sheer dedication. Trained by Shawn Michaels and Antonio Inoki, he became a technical wrestling wizard. Anything thrown at him, he’d adapt from. From Ring of Honor to WWE to AEW, the path of The American Dragon was paved with his will.
On this night, no matter the build, this clash was set to satiate fans who invested so much in the spectacle these men bring to any match. This would be over thirty minutes of immortal action.
It started with an atmosphere so electric, yet so common with dream matches. Mostly, the crowd was decidedly in favor of Ospreay.
This mattered little to Danielson, who kept his early plans as physical as possible, targeting any areas he could weaken. Having studied his young opponent, Danielson knew it would take more than skill. It would take decades of experience and strategy to whittle down such a force. After landing a kick at Ospreay’s midsection, he kept at it and kept at it, knowing that, if time wills it, he could leave enough damage to gain a win. “Best Wrestler in the World” or bust.
Whittling away at the ribs and stretching the Brit out, this luck proved only fleeting, as Ospreay began landing his shots on Danielson. It was overwhelming for Danielson, after a series of offense followed up by his patented Skytwister Press, so much so that he had to recuperate and compose his flow.
Throughout the match, neither man could maintain a singular advantage over the other for long. Either Ospreay’s resolve or Danielson’s cunning would counter any strike or submission, and there was no compromise for either.
The crowd, how their clamor did burn. The Missouri audience knew the flames of this moment would be fleeting, yet time did not exist. They did not believe themselves worthy of it. Yet, they cheered and cheered, a cacophonous opera of jubilation that this is what professional wrestling could be. Savor it. Remember it.
I sat there watching, my own heart pausing as if it were watching; my blood was ice. The hairs on my arms stood on end, and goosebumps spread. Like a novel that compels you to keep turning the page after reading each passage, every detail in Ospreay and Danielson beckoned forth a transfixion of attention, hypnotizing until the Pavlovian final bell.
Later, Will Ospreay unsuccessfully attempted to deploy a poisonrana pin that was narrowly escaped from, he attempted another of many Hidden Blades, but this particular one was missed by a hair, replaced only by Danielson’s Busaiku Knee. One, two,..no. Not now.
The fans stood, impelled to remain there, disbelieving of the heights being achieved. This has to be witnessed in full.
Here was a performance that would not soon be forgotten, memorialized eternally in the halls of professional wrestling history. A war between two individuals, tested. These men love it and the crowd loves it in them. Two wills contested, nested within a larger will, one bigger than a title. To be the best is to be the ace, and neither man willingly gave it up.
In one of the most visually striking sequences of the match, Will Ospreay was ensnared in a triangle choke, yet found the fighting spirit to transition Danielson’s gnarly hold into an unexpected yet explosive Styles Clash.
Akin to stars colliding, leaving only supernovas, there was no room for giving in, only for giving pain. No surrender. Only until one man falls may the glory shower upon them the mantle that comes with carrying the brand.
A standoff. This arrival could signal the end for one. Bryan Danielson summons forth “YES!” chants from the fans, the same connection that pushed him beyond himself to achieve victory before when it mattered most. He absorbed each reciprocated “YES!” like a plant to sunlight, and his eyes were closed to savor the ecstasy of it.
Opposite in the corner, Will Ospreay removed his elbow pad, staring deep into the soul of Danielson. Nothing mattered outside of this. All the noise, all the pulsating inside of him, all of the pain was numb. Only hitting his target.
Danielson stared back, wide-eyed. What a feeling it is, to live in fear, even for a split second. This is the moment. Only one shot left. Take it. Make it count.
Both men charge, with Ospreay’s Hidden Blade triumphing over the Buzaiku Knee.
Dazed, possibly defeated without knowing it, Danielson then is initially looked at by a medical professional before Ospreay lands him nastily on his head with a Storm Driver ‘91, followed up by a Hidden Blade to the back of Danielson’s skull, against the wishes of the medical professional. He simply doesn’t believe Bryan would fall like this. He’s seen the tapes. Danielson loves to play the opossum.
One, two, three. The crowd goes wild. Ospreay celebrates as “Elevated” plays throughout the arena.
Still, Danielson lay, with a group of professionals ready to help carry him off. Ospreay, concerned, does not know what to do. The guilt and the grief of possibly taking one of his heroes out are written on his face. Could he live with it?
Danielson eventually leaves on his feet when the cameras aren’t rolling. Ospreay in the post-show media scrum announces he’s retiring the Storm Driver ‘91. This can’t happen again.
When this match was over, I let out the heaviest exhale and my body was no longer tense. This is the frenetic adrenaline that makes professional wrestling so great.
Enough has been said about this match. We’re all grateful for it to have taken place beyond our expectations. What I love about dream matches is that when you notice both wrestlers are holding back and saving for more down the line, is that the story continues. At some point down the line, I feel Will Ospreay and Bryan Danielson may cross paths again and somehow find a way to surpass this match.
The best part for me is that it took place in a state just as historic to wrestling as Philadelphia, Washington, New York, Texas, or Illinois - Missouri is Harley Race country. For this, I’d love to see Dynasty ran in the Show-Me state every year, be it St. Louis or Kansas City.
State aside, this is what professional wrestling at its highest peaks can achieve. Since the mid-2010s, the industry was headed in such a direction that has brought us to moments like this. Moments like Swerve Strickland winning the AEW World Championship. Like Cody Rhodes finishing his story. Like Tetsuya Naito winning the IWGP Heavyweight Championship in the Tokyo Dome.
Wrestling was made for the feelings that jolts us out of our seats, screaming and shouting and crying and laughing and “Holy Shit!” Wrestling was made for this.
Folks, we live in a time in wrestling where dreams come true and magic is possible. It’s in every promotion. Amid the darkness, these are the moments of light that remind us why we are all here, no matter how soul-crushing the reality of humanity can be.
It’s why we come to this. So we can place our hopes and dreams in others through the act of violence. It’s why professional wrestling, like other methods of storytelling, asks us to think and feel beyond the surface. There’s always a deeper meaning when art asks it of itself.
This is what reminds us that all of what we feel from stories is that all of it - all of it - is real.
