“The world is waiting with bated breath: who will set the standard for pro-wrestling in the modern day?”
Walker Stewart’s words, in the final stretch of Ryohei Oiwa and Yuya Uemura’s match in the finale of the “G1 Climax 36,” echoed a sentiment that has loomed over New Japan Pro Wrestling this decade.
Who will carry the torch forward into this new era?
The answer proved to be Ryohei Oiwa.
As a member of Zack Sabre Jr.’s stable, The Mighty Don’t Kneel, Oiwa’s youth belies his technical acumen. At his core, he’s a fundamentalist. Where Sabre Jr. is the man of a thousand holds, Oiwa is the man who practices one hold a thousand times.
His finishing maneuver, Big Rock, is a variation of a headlock; nothing more and nothing less. However, it’s Oiwa’s use of that move throughout this year’s G1 Climax Tournament, and the results it’s yielded, that have affirmed his commitment to the fundamentals of professional wrestling. It’s a move that accentuates the subtleties of professional wrestling.
Affectionately referred to as “The Grip,” Oiwa’s application of simple holds has become appointment viewing for wrestling fans. Through the use of the medium’s unique artifice, Oiwa exaggerates the struggle of grappling in a way that defies conventional wisdom.
Professional wrestling is a unique institution. It’s the only “sport” that operates 52 weeks a year. There is no offseason. In its conceit, the only constant is that it continues advancing; traversing eras, styles, promotions, and the stars themselves.
Famed wrestler and one-time King of Pancrase, Minoru Suzuki, believes this to be pro-wrestling’s one, universal truth.
“Yesterday, I met an old pro wrestling journalist. It seems like his mind is stuck in the ’90s. Comparing now in 2025 with the past… I had no idea what he was trying to say at all. What you need to live in the present is to smash through what’s right in front of you and move forward. To fight the now. I don’t have time to look back and reminisce. Even if you compare or lament… the reality that’s coming at you right in front of you won’t wait. Pro wrestling changes shape like waves, one after another. If you stop or look back… you’ll just drift in this rough sea. I’m moving forward…”
For the past seven years, NJPW has failed to look towards the future. Instead, they’ve tried to recapture the magic that produced the Bushiroad boom in the previous decade. Losing Kazuchika Okada, Will Ospreay, “Switchblade” Jay White, Tetsuya Naito, and Kota Ibushi only hindered their efforts.
This summer, NJPW planted their feet and aimed for something truer; building a brighter future that bears a closer semblance to Antonio Inoki’s vision nearly 55 years ago than its resurgence in the late aughts.
Oiwa and his opponent, Yuya Uemura, structured this match around the use of a simple maneuver: a headlock. Therein lies the fulcrum of this match.
In professional wrestling, offensive maneuvers live and die by their efficacy. And efficacy is determined by the recipient’s reaction. This is the art of “selling,” in its simplest form.
Oiwa had already submitted former IWGP World Heavyweight Champions SANADA and Hirooki Goto, with his Big Rock, earlier in the tournament. Their sacrifice gave the maneuver the allure of a .44 magnum. The Big Rock spells death.
Uemura was the immediate aggressor, applying constant pressure. While Oiwa sought relief, all roads led back to the headlock — which Uemura used to similar effect.
Like Oiwa, Uemura has become a runaway freight train in his own right. Known as the “Heat Storm,” Uemura is reminiscent of the babyfaces of the 1980s. To that end, he’s been compared to the “Ace of the Universe” himself, Hiroshi Tanahashi.
You’ll often hear seasoned wrestling fans use the term “rest hold” to describe rudimentary catch-as-catch-can wrestling maneuvers. The notion is uniquely cynical, insinuating that wrestlers use “rest holds” to avoid overworking themselves. The truth is that the devil is in the details.
Here, both men conveyed complete dismay whenever they applied a prolonged hold. There’s no relief for Oiwa when he’s trying to escape one of Uemura’s well-executed wrist locks. Oiwa writhes in pain, desperately searching for relief.
That’s what makes Oiwa and Uemura’s struggle so beautiful. It’s a pure expression of love for the unique artifice of professional wrestling. It’s a reminder that everything old can be new again, given time and commitment.
Minoru Suzuki’s sentiment may be noble, but a commitment to progress doesn’t necessitate the rejection of a century’s worth of tradition. Oiwa and Uemura’s effort is a testament to that.
Professional wrestling is timeless. So is this match.
Rating: ****¾
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