For my first ever Throwback Thursday special, I’m going to talk about a match very near and dear to me; John Cena vs CM Punk for the WWE Championship. This match rekindled my love for wrestling, one that had waned over the years. Not that I didn’t watch, just that I lost my passion for it. Monday Raw was no longer a must for me. I certainly didn’t watch SmackDown anymore at this point.
In 2005, John Cena became the WWE Champion. It didn’t affect me much, because I had paid less attention to SmackDown after JBL became a thing. I was watching the dissolution of Evolution as Cena did his thing over on team Blue. Triple H had been my favorite heel in the company since the late 90s, so I cared far more about the intrigue of him and Batista. It was a fun feud. Everything changed at that years draft though.
When John Cena came out with that stupid spinning belt after being drafted to Raw, I immediately despised him. It was just too much for me. Wrestling had always dabbled in the absurd, and I loved it for that reason, but at that point, the 17 year old angsty teenager in me couldn’t handle it. Yes, I was 17 in 2005. Bite me.
Ok, yes, as you maybe could’ve figured out, I was one of the early adopters of the “Cena sucks” chants. The guy was a rainbow colored Hulk Hogan who rapped. I loved Hulk Hogan… when I was 7. By the time I was 17, Hulk Hogan was that experimental phase in Hogan’s career before he got cool in the nWo and became Hollywood. Cena was on top of the world of professional wrestling, and at first, I would watch to root against him. Then he just kept winning.
As wrestler after wrestler fell short to SuperCena and his 5 Moves of Doom, I just watched less and less. After WrestleMania 23, which was in my hometown of Detroit, I had become wrestling’s equivalent of a C-E Christian. I tuned in during WrestleMania season (Christmas) and SummerSlam season (Easter), but that was about it.
2010 gave me a moment of hope with the Nexus angle, but it wasn’t until CM Punk came along to turn wrestling upside down that I really became invested. When CM Punk became the number 1 contender and dropped his pipe bomb, I felt like someone was actually expressing some of my displeasures with the company on live TV. I was the voiceless for whom Punk spoke. I knew Punk’s contract was actually nearing its end, so I never imagined him winning, but for a moment, that line between reality and scripted TV was blurred. I wanted to watch his match. His match against the man I hated. The man that I blamed (misguided, yes; it wasn’t John Cena’s fault the WWE milked him for every penny) for the ruin of wrestling. It was on; Cena was set to defend his title against CM Punk. And I never imagined it playing out the way it did…
First, I knew Cena had begun getting boos. So it wasn’t unexpected. The crazy pop Punk got from the hometown crowd wasn’t even entirely unexpected. The way I felt? That was. I was actually invested. I cared about the match. I didn’t just want Punk to win, I needed him to win. I needed him to save the WWE. To bring it home to fans like myself. When Michael Cole announced that at midnight, CM Punk’s contract would expire, even though I knew there was no way he’d leave at that point, I felt like the company deserved it. They needed to have someone leave with the belt. They had turned it into a spinning toy. It was no longer the grandest prize for the grandest stage.
Sitting in the middle of the ring, Punk looked intense, and the crowd was driving him in his quest. Then Cena’s music hit, and yes he was booed. His music was drowned out by the boos. He just walked to the ring, knowing he was not the hero on that evening. The smaller, less muscly, more arrogant (in a good way) man standing across from him was. Punk was the man. And Cena was an obstacle. I felt that excitement building. My stomach started tightening in the same way it would when I watched a Detroit Red Wings playoff game. I was all in.
As the match began, I tried tempering my expectations. Cena was going to win. He was going to carry the belt to WrestleMania because he was taking on The Rock. That’s just how Cena’s storylines worked. It was just the way it was. Then the “You can’t wrestle” chants began. Oh, fuck this guy, he has to lose the match! Chicago will riot! The announcers dropped hints about the Montreal Screwjob, discussed whether fans should support the man who was going to leave them should he win, and generally tied degrading the character of CM Punk. It just kept planting hints. Cena was going to win, but he had to lose.
Who doesn’t want to quit in epic fashion? Take the highest prize in your company, then walk right out? That was why fans related to him. That was also why fans knew it was, at this point, a work. It had to be. We finally got our guy, and they weren’t going to let him walk out. Hell, you still hear chants for him during wrestling events. Watching the little guy out wrestle the giant Greek sculpture was everything the fans could want. The little high five as he battled Cena on the outside, the smile after a near-fall, everything. Punk was in control.
A funny thing happened in this match though. I also began to respect John Cena. I still hated his jorts. His hats. His overly colorful attire. He’d later be called a Fruity Pebble, and deservedly so, but it wasn’t fair at this point to say he couldn’t wrestle. At one point Booker T said Cena was turning the crowd… no, we were still all in on Punk, but Cena did deserve respect.
The moment Cena went for the 5 Knuckle Shuffle, only to get kicked by Punk was when I really began sitting on the edge of my seat. Every moment felt larger than the previous one. Cena hit the 5 Knuckle Shuffle on his next try, and my stomach dropped as he lifted Punk for the AA. Then Punk reversed it, pulling my spirits right back up. Some high knees and a spring-board clothesline had me cheering in my living room. Then the STFU happened, and I was in knots again, begging for it not to end with a submission. It was a roller coaster.
At this point, I was emotionally spent, but still had to see how it ended. It was art. It wasn’t a string of finishers either, like the WWE has become overly reliant on. They countered each other’s finishers over and over, leaving the fans spent, yet begging for more. Near the end of the match, when Cena finally did hit the AA, you legitimately thought it was over. Then Punk kicked out. That is how you execute a kick out from a finisher. Near the end, when it seems like no one could even have enough left in the tank to even get up, let alone kick out. Then a second AA. A second kick-out. SuperCena couldn’t keep the Voice of the Voiceless down. Then Punk reverses an Avalanche AA, hits his own finisher, but the GTS knocks Cena out of the ring. I never wanted the match to end, but needed a conclusion before I formed an ulcer.
It didn’t take long after that. The WWE booked it perfectly, as the finish came at the perfect time. Punk would throw Cena back into the ring, after Cena had already gotten amble time to recover. McMahon came down as Cena locks in an STFU and tried to recreate the Screwjob. Cena stops him, being the valiant face, breaking the hold. When returning to the ring, Punk hits the GTS. 1. 2. 3. McMahon tries for a Del Rio MITB cash-in, but Punk hits him with a right. He then escapes through the hometown crowd, blowing a kiss goodbye to the boss. Taking the belt with him.
Amazing match.
The Summer of Punk, as we now call it, was a wasted opportunity, yes. It could’ve been the launching point of something magic. That launch would be delayed, as Punk would lose the strap at SummerSlam, get involved in a Triple H feud, before finally regaining his title and holding it for 434 days, a modern record. Punk would burn out on the business and the backstage politics of the WWE, but not before paving the way for stars like Daniel Bryan, Finn Balor, Seth Rollins, Dean Ambrose, Kevin Owens, and many, many more. He was the indy darling who took over the biggest promotion in the world for a short period. He introduced elements of reality, which still makes for the best storylines in today’s wrestling.
I miss CM Punk every time I turn on a WWE program. He was one of my 5 favorite performers of all-time. He may be number 1 on that list if I sit and think about it. And I have him to thank for helping me fall back in love with professional wrestling.
We miss you Punk. Thank you for this match. Thank you for the entertainment. Thank you for the memories. And thank you for being you. No one else could accomplish what you did without your drive.
Give 'em the Chair Wrestling 