Flupke's Month in Wrestling: August 2023
ActWres gir'Z - Gatoh Move - Marvelous - Modern Nomad Pro - SEAdLINNNG - Tokyo Joshi Pro
Front Matter
Each image used in this newsletter is linked to the Twitter account responsible for it: simply click through to bring up the original post. If you are a photographer whose image I have used here, and you do not grant me permission to reproduce your work, please let me know (Twitter: @FlupkeDiFlupke) and I will remove it. Thanks!
写真家さん、ここにイメージが写すことが許可しなければ聞いて下さって私は大至急除きます (ツイターの @FlupkeDiFlupke です)。ありがとうございます！
The Michelin Guide Star System
One star - Very good
cookingpro wrestling in its category.Two stars - Excellent
cookingpro wrestling, worth a detour.Three stars - Exceptional
cuisinepro wrestling, worthy of a special journey.
Subscribe now!
Subscribe to Marshmallow Bomb for free to receive all our posts direct to your inbox, or donate $5 a month to access the full archive. A portion of every subscription supports Amazon Frontlines, an organisation dedicated to working with Indigenous peoples to defend their way of life, the Amazon rainforest, and our climate future.
ActWres girl’Z
31.07 / Shinkiba 1st Ring
When Stuart Broad pulled off another bail-switching miracle to take the penultimate wicket of the 2023 Ashes, then followed it up two overs later with the winning ball and rode off into the retirement sunset having just narrowly prevented Australia from winning in England for the first time in two decades, he embodied to the fullest a quality that people are now calling “Main Character Energy”. I was reminded of Broad’s heroics watching this match, where Asako Mia took to the stage like a child performing for the family camcorder at their fourth birthday party, and seemed never to question for a single moment her right or ability to channel the energy and legacy of the recently-retired Great Muta.
What works especially well about this is that there are moments of genuine breakthrough scattered amongst the juvenile nonsense - that bridge spot doesn’t achieve anything concrete in terms of results, but it does strike me as something Asako might not have been able to do before adding the face paint of a legend to her pigtails and Thumbelina dress. As with Yuuki Mashiro, we’re in a space where Asako can’t really much of anything yet, but wants to do everything, and has zero sense of decorum with regards to how she goes about it. Mashiro was rushed into becoming a “proper wrestler” too soon for my liking, which was clearly a by-product of the upheavals to the Ice Ribbon roster that marked her tenure with the company, but I’m pretty confident that Asasko can avoid that fate for a while yet.
SEAdLINNNG
Mio Momono vs. Rico Kaiju
26.07 / Shinkiba 1st Ring
Let’s continue on this theme a little longer: Yuuki Mashiro, like Lulu Pencil, was my favourite wrestler for a meaningful chunk of time despite only working for a grand total of 17 months, and it’s hard to deny that Asako Mia fits into the space that both she and Lulu have left behind. Earlier in this SEAdLINNNG show we saw Misa Kagura in a high-speed match, filling the niche that Miyuki Takase once carved out there - it’s not that Takase is gone, it’s just that she now occupies a very different rung on the ladder from when she was a high-speed ingenue, running around and hyping herself up with maximum enthusiasm (although you could argue that this is precisely how she’s gotten herself over in the States). Wrestlers come along and offer me something I didn’t know I needed, and then when they go away again I find I still need that thing, and it’s left to someone new to pick up the slack. It’s the circle of life.
What was so remarkable about this match is the extent to which Mio is offering the same set of flavours and textures that she offered in her rookie years. She’s the senior here, and she comes in wearing the AAAW title, but it’s as if it’s never once occurred to her that levelling up in terms of experience often entails a change of offence, or at least a shift in vibes. Not for Mio! She may be considerably more powerful now than she was in 2018, but on the evidence of this match she’s still every bit the bratty junior, screaming with every move, spamming squiggling desperation lateral presses and wild crossbodies, selling her opponent’s offence by flinging herself around like flubber.
It gets to a point where you wonder if she’s actually doing her job properly - isn’t the role of the outsider in a match like this to take a step back and let the home prospect tell their story? But then Rico fires up as we know she can, and manages to match Mio for intensity, and takes back some of the shine in a valiant losing effort. I might have assumed back in the Freshlive days that Mio would have embraced a more level-headed in-ring persona by this point in her career, and I don’t think it’s solely because of her catalogue of injuries that this transformation hasn’t come to pass: Mio is simply too stubborn to become anything other than the fully-formed character she arrived as, the lion-hearted zashiki-warashi clinging onto that armbar even while Takumi tries to deadlift her out of it, even though she’s now the one doing most of the deadlifts.
Marvelous
Mio Momono vs. Mayumi Ozaki
07.08 / Korakuen Hall
The flip-side of Mio’s bloody mindedness is that she can come undone when someone comes at her with an approach she isn’t used to. It’s only when Mio starts unloading headbutts deep into this match that you feel as though she and her opponent are roughly on the same page, and Ozaki’s response to this onslaught is to bring out a steel chair, which serves to further emphasise the difference in spirit between these two competitors.
It would never occur to Mio to reach for a foreign object, not because of any pronounced moral qualms but because she would simply never not back herself to get the job done the way she’s been taught. Headbutts flirt with transgression but they’re ultimately permissible under the by-laws of Fighting Spirit, because they take a physical toll on the headbutter as well as the headbuttee. Steel chairs on the other hand are easily swung and deal damage disproportionately; they’re suitable only for cowards or for wrestlers who are sufficiently jaded with the whole business of Fighting Spirit that they don’t care who calls them a coward. Ozaki couldn’t care less, while Mio cares almost to a fault. In the end, Mio does use the chair, to break up a pin, but no sooner has she taken advantage of this tool than she casts it aside and goes back to using her bare hands. Almost to a fault - she’s not Johnny Gargano.
The moral fabric of this match comes out even louder in practice than it did on paper. Mio is the hero here because it would never occur to her (without massive provocation, at least) to think “maybe this would be easier if I had a chain”, and because it’s for the good of the sport that we keep people like Mio around and keep them innocent. One Ozaki is a thrilling and piquant point of difference and a reminder of why we’re all here (just listen to the voices of the Marvelous faithful!), but the prospect of a universe full of Ozakis is a nihilistic vortex that not even OZ Academy ever dares contemplate for too long. Mio, for all her chaotic appearance, is on the side of order here, fighting with all the force of a categorical imperative against the void. Nobody has to spell this out on commentary or in a promo for you to read the message loud and clear, it’s there in everything these two do.
This was a surprise challenge, given the historic isolation of OZ Academy and Marvelous from one another, and it was certainly a surprise title change, but on reflection this is precisely what you should expect when you unleash Mayumi Ozaki on an unsuspecting roster - not just all her experience but also the Zero Fucks Given attitude, which in wrestling (as in life) always serves as a convenient shortcut to getting dirty business done. Mio faced a range of challenges to get here, and the win over Nagashima felt like her cashing in on everything she’d learned, but even through the road to GAEAISM and beyond Mio never faced an outsider this hostile, this openly contemptuous of the principles that Mio wears on her sleeve in every match. Fans throw streamers for Mio after she loses here because defeat doesn’t diminish the value of that attitude or those principles, or what they mean for this set of loyal supporters. I don’t necessarily expect Mio to be the one to take the belt back off Ozaki, but if she does manage to right this historic wrong with her own two hands it’ll feel like she’s rescuing joy itself from the very clutches of despair.
Michelin Guide Star Rating: ☆
Tokyo Joshi Pro
Miyu Yamashita vs. Yuki Arai
12.08 / Korakuen Hall
You can see where the Yuki Arai sceptics are coming from, but I’ve never once bought the argument that she’s been over-pushed in her two years with Tokyo Joshi, because she’s always managed to look the part. The fact that she’s consistently been helped along in this by wrestlers who knew both the means and the importance of making her look good doesn’t invalidate her own efforts - neither Mirai Maiumi nor Maki Itoh nor Saki Akai nor Aja Kong nor Hikari Noa could do Arai’s own moves for her. They could shepherd her along, control the pacing and steer the action, but it’s Arai’s axe kick that makes the fans go ahhhh.
But there’s looking the part and there’s looking the part. When Arai faced Miyu for the first time in front of a partisan Nagoya crowd in December 2021, her biggest achievement was not falling to pieces, showing courage and tenacity, not looking like an idol on holiday but looking like a proper pro wrestler. Her expression at the end of that match felt like a premonition of the future: she’s dedicated to this thing now, and she won’t rest until she’s made it to the very top.
This match felt like the closest thing yet to a fulfillment of that vision. Arai actually gets her ass kicked for a good half of the thirteen minute runtime. The tables appear to turn when Miyu has her in the ropes, hitting kick after kick into Arai’s back, and it’s like some dam bursts inside the Genius Girl as she realises that is precisely the sort of moment you need to seize if you’re ever going to force your way through to the upper echelons of the Princess Road. She gets to her feet, strikes a clubbing retaliatory blow to Miyu’s back, lays her out with a furious Big Boot. There’s a strike exchange and Arai’s forearms are far from tokenistic - they’re loud statements of intent. Arai grabs hold of a full nelson that Miyu can neither power nor finesse her way out of, and when Arai then turns this into a towering, crashing Full Nelson Buster it feels like a watershed moment. It’s Mizuki’s Cutie Special at Ariaka Coliseum, Miu Watanabe’s Teardrop in this exact spot a year prior.
The way Arai hustles to capitalise in the four minutes that follow are up there with the most exciting wrestling anyone has put out all year. Arai is flying, breathing fire, seeing through time, and she succeeds in either dodging or weathering three Skull Kicks and hitting three axe kicks of her own. But when all is said and done the story of the tenth Tokyo Princess Cup will be remembered for the story of Miyu’s enduring desire to succeed at the top level in her home somewhat estranged home promotion, and it only takes a split second of hesitation from Arai for the Mega Champ to land the killer blow. Many have been in this position before, running Miyu close before succumbing to an instant knock-out, but there’s something about Arai’s undeniable star power that makes this one feel extra special. Whatever becomes of her - retired by 2024, Princess of Princess Champion by 2025 - this was a landmark match not just for her but for Tokyo Joshi as a whole.
Michelin Guide Star Rating: ☆☆
Rika Tatsumi vs. Yuki Kamifuku
12.08 / Korakuen Hall
It happens. In tournament football, teams often seem set to seize the narrative during the group stages before faltering at the first hurdle in the knock-outs, because the knock-outs feature such narrative-busting contrivances as penalty shoot-outs. It isn’t flattering to deceive, it’s just how single elimination tournaments work. Japan have done this quite a lot recently, both in the men’s and women’s World Cups, but they’re by no means alone.
Chris Brookes wasn’t alone either in coming into this match touting Rika Tatsumi as the “most consistent performer” of TJPW’s 2023. You could even go as far as to argue that under the twin reigns of Tatsumi and Mizuki we’ve moved closer to something like a STARDOM white belt/red belt arrangement: the latter is still considerably harder to get your hands on, but you’d be hard-pressed to pick a clear winner if the two singles champions ever faced off. We’re certainly a long way from where we were in 2020 when the belts were held by Yuki Kamifuku and Yuka Sakazaki respectively.
But wait! Yuki Kamifuku won this match! And the fact that this match felt for all the world like Rika’s to lose illustrates something about Kamiyu’s reputation. She was a rank outsider coming into this semi-final, despite actually having won a singles title tournament before, unlike Rika. Since winning the International Princess title, Rika has started to feel like a puzzle waiting to be solved - Miu Watanabe, Billie Starkz, Yuki Aino and Shoko Nakajima have all failed in their efforts to out-fox her. That it should be Kamiyu that would eventually figure out the right combination was a surprise but hardly unprecedented - you wouldn’t have had her down as the favourite to triumph over Shoko, Mirai Maiumi and Hikari Noa at Wrestle Princess 1 either, but there are worse things to be than a perennial dark horse.
The semi-final before this belonged to Yuki Arai - Miyu played her role beautifully, but she was a piece of architecture, not a protagonist. This match on the other hand felt like it brought the best of both characters to the fore - Rika’s strategic fluidity meets Kamiyu’s cleverness and back-to-the-wall refusal to be written off, to produce an intriguing tournament encounter that complimented, rather than eclipsing, the bildungsroman crescendo of the semi-main event and the satisfying, chapter-closing feel of the final the following day. I’m still a little sore we didn’t get another (exceedingly rare) Rika vs Miyu singles match to close out the tournament, but if 2023 wasn’t to be Rika’s year exclusively then this was arguably a more intriguing way for her to bow out than a third consecutive crushing defeat at the hands of the Mega Champ.
Gatoh Move
Mei Suruga vs. Nina Samuels
26.08 / The Yard Theatre, Hackney
This remainder of this newlsetter is going to get a little self-indulgent, but bear with me.
There’s a story I cling to fondly from what was probably the peak of my love affair with rabbit-hole joshi wrestling. It was 2017 or 2018 and I’d recently been introduced to Gatoh Move (“I hope people watch it cause when I say Riho and Kotori are great it looks like I'm kidding and I am very not”, was what my hook-up said after recommending me my first match). Aasa Maika was hadn’t retired yet and I’d seen pictures of her performing as part of an underground idol duo (?) called Onigiri Pro. I caught Emi Sakura at the end of an EVE show and let on that I knew about both Aasa Maika and Onigiri Pro, and she eyed me suspiciously and later asked a friend who sometimes works as a go-between for visiting Japanese talent “why does this guy know so much about joshi?”
In the years that followed, the Gatoh Move YouTube channel caught fire, moving from sporadic uploads to a regular output of one match a day, including exhibition matches from all the rookies that debuted after Riho’s graduation. Emi started bringing DareJo t-shirts to EVE shows, and then had Lulu Pencil design her own shirt the night before travelling to London in November 2019, leading to the unforgettable spectacle of a sell-out merch queue for a rookie performer who wasn’t even booked on the show. Then the pandemic happened, and Emi responded with Choco Pro, which turned Gatoh Move almost overnight into arguably the most internationally-minded joshi promotion in the entire industry. Emi recognised a worldwide market of weirdos she could market her underground promotion to and monetised the hell out of it while doubling down on its quirky appeal. In my more self-regarding moments I like to recall that encounter with Emi, and think of myself as a weeb that made a difference.
A little later down the line, before the pandemic struck, I was in talks with a few people with a modicum of influence in the British wrestling scene about organising a Gatoh Move UK show. It was appealing in part because it felt so feasible: Chris Brookes was still working as a bridge between the British and Japanese scenes, and the success of Schadenfreude & Friends’ shows in Manchester’s Frog & Bucket had revealed an appetite for pointedly underground wrestling. Mei and Lulu had made a splash at the 2019 SHE-1, not only with their t-shirt sales but also with what was in effect a Gatoh Move offer match on night two. And Emi had been a stalwart visitor to the UK indie scene for close to a decade, a commitment for which she was recently (and emotionally) thanked via an induction into the EVE Wrestling Hall of Fame.
Given all of this, it would be easy to take AEW’s decision not to book Emi for Wembley Stadium personally. Tony Khan had the Young Bucks come out in Freddie Mercury gear, and paid for Saraya to use We Will Rock You as her entrance theme, but couldn’t find space for the near thirty-year veteran who trained their champion, who was already set to be in London that weekend, and whose entire thing is loving Queen and Freddie Mercury! But this feels like wasted energy. AEW has consistently sidelined women’s wrestling, and they just did the biggest ever paid gate for a wrestling show. They could and should do more to highlight female performers, but they don’t, and they get away with it. All my friends who were in attendance at All In, many of whom do care deeply about women’s wrestling, came away ecstatic. AEW is mainstream entertainment now, and Emi Sakura is not a mainstream figure. You can recognise her disappointment at failing to reach a major personal milestone while still acknowledging and embracing this fact: Emi is a weird and singular artist, the world she has created is better suited to a 100-seater sweatbox in Hackney than a 90,000-seater national football stadium, and this is what drew many of us to Gatoh Move in the first place.
But here’s the point I always come back to: just because Sakura’s vision for wrestling is quirky and experimental doesn’t mean it doesn’t run on solid fundamentals. Across the two collaborations that Gatoh Move ran with EVE the day before All In, that fact was never more in evidence than in the main event of the first of these shows, an utterly classical undersized babyface vs overdog heel encounter between Mei Suruga and Nina Samuels. Nina was a perfect villain for a venue the size of Resistance Gallery, because of her ability to play simple, tried-and-tested melodies with absolute conviction. And Mei possesses the full range of skills required of all the great underdogs in wrestling history: she’s sympathetic working from beneath and convincing when she mounts her comebacks; she can bend the crowd to her will and bend the rules to her advantage without it feeling like a major transgression. Transplant this match beat-by-beat out of its quirky context, substitute in some men in black trunks, and it would get over at Wembley Stadium. It might not win Match of the Night next to some of the more oversized theatrics, but it would satisfy.
And another point I often come back to: just because I know that Mei Suruga has the tools, if not the overall packaging, to thrill 90,000 wrestling fans, doesn’t mean I feel thwarted by the fact that she isn’t currently doing just that. I hope that she doesn’t feel thwarted by it either. I like sitting on the weirdos table, and recognising that matches that take place in a converted dentist’s waiting room can be all-time greats, and going to London along with the biggest gathering of wrestling fans on record and not attending the main event. I hope that Mei enjoys being a superstar for a loyal online community and teaching working mums to fall in love with pro wrestling at the DareJo dojo. I hope and believe that she derives power, not regret, from existing on pro wrestling’s margins. And I also hope that her mentor recognises the immense mark she’s made on the business, the way she’s opened up pockets in wrestling’s imaginative fabric that didn’t exist before her, even if her thanks for at this landmark weekend came not at Wembley at the Dome in Tufnell Park, in the form of a gaudy glass trophy and an in-ring dance-along to Queen.
Modern Nomad Pro Wrestling
Mei Suruga vs. Chie Koishikawa
29.08 / The Bread Shed, Manchester
Every month this year I’ve thought to myself that I’ll give up writing this newsletter. I’m trying to write a novel; I’m trying to branch out into making music; I have a dog that’s asking me for a walk while I write this and it’s nearly September, which means it’s almost time to go back to work. I think about the relationship I had with wrestling five years ago, the amount of mental and emotional energy I dedicated to it, and how much of this has fallen away as the world around me has changed and moved on. But there’s always something that brings me back: Rika winning the title, Mio winning the title, Hyper Misao turning Mahiro Kiryu into the protagonist of all wrestling, Bad Bunny.
This month’s salvation came in the form of a Tuesday Night Graps x Choco Pro crossover mat wrestling show in the back room of a pub ten minutes by bike from my house, book-ended by a chaotic Ichigaya-style classic which set the tone for the rest of the evening and a tearful anniversary celebration for the wrestler whose painstakingly-imported t-shirt I was wearing (thanks Matt). Such were the things I’d dream of back at the Frog & Bucket in the Before-Times, and just because it’s arrived a little late (and sans Chris Brookes, the man who, along with Emi Sakura, made so much of this possible) doesn’t mean it doesn’t still feel like one of my wildest fantasies fulfilled. I was one of the hundred-or-so people that got to see Mei Suruga working heel in Manchester (she almost kicked a member of the front row in the face before the match had even begun), who got to see Chie Koishikawa fly off a handrail and nail Mei with a double axe-handle on the fourth anniversary of her debut and pop a crowd of northeners that may or may not have ever seen these two work before. “Special” is a thing that can scale up or down - it can mean packing 80,000 into Wembley Stadium for a promotion that grew more-or-less organically out of the indie scene, or it can mean a cake and candles and being part of a warm welcome for a still-fledgling talent on her first trip overseas. I can’t go on. I’ll go on.
(And I haven’t even watched Sareee vs. Arisa Nakajima yet.)