The Death of Wrestling's "Old School" Mentality — And Why This Feud Matters More Than You Think
Let me tell you why I can't stop thinking about this seemingly trivial wrestling drama involving Arik Cannon, Avery Styles, and GCW. On the surface, it's just another social media squabble about whether someone should carry chairs at an indie show. But if you peel back the layers, what we're witnessing is a generational reckoning — a clash between wrestling's blood-and-sweat traditions and the new era's realities.
The Sacred Ritual of "Paying Dues"
Arik Cannon's criticism of Avery Styles centers on an unspoken rule in wrestling: juniors do grunt work to earn respect. This isn't just about chair setups — it's about proving you're willing to suffer like those before you. From my perspective, this ritual has always been wrestling's version of hazing. But here's what bugs me: while Cannon invokes this tradition, he does so as an outsider to GCW. That disconnect reveals something crucial — the "old school" ethos is becoming weaponized by people who want to gatekeep rather than mentor.
Why GCW's Statement Speaks Volumes
When GCW said "Cannon speaks for himself," they weren't just covering their backs. They were signaling a strategic choice to distance themselves from toxic gatekeeping. Let me unpack this: promotions today walk a tightrope between honoring tradition and appealing to modern audiences. By refusing to endorse Cannon's stance, GCW subtly positions itself as a bridge between eras. Smart move? Absolutely. But it also raises a deeper question — are wrestling companies becoming too corporate to uphold the gritty culture that made them special?
The Avery Styles Paradox: Nepotism or New Era Reality?
Let's address the elephant in the room — Avery Styles is AJ Styles' son. Critics immediately scream "nepotism," but here's the twist: in 2023, legacy athletes exist in every sport. My take? The outrage feels oddly selective. We celebrate Dwayne Johnson's football lineage but mock Avery for existing in wrestling? This hypocrisy reveals wrestling's identity crisis — we want to be mainstream like the NFL yet cling to underground "hardcore" values. The real story isn't Avery's work ethic — it's our collective cognitive dissonance.
What This Feud Reveals About Wrestling's Cultural Schism
Here's the angle nobody's talking about: this isn't about chairs. It's about control. Veterans like Cannon fear losing influence as the industry evolves. Younger talents see wrestling as a meritocracy where viral moments matter more than mopping mats. What makes this particularly fascinating is how social media amplifies these tensions — every minor slight becomes a Twitter war within hours. I've never seen a generation gap manifest so vividly in a single argument.
The Uncomfortable Truth About Wrestling's Future
Let me challenge your assumptions: maybe "paying dues" should die. Before you rage-tweet me, consider this — the obsession with menial tasks often masks systemic issues: poor pay, lack of training resources, and burnout. While I respect the grind of indie wrestlers, I can't ignore how this culture enables exploitation. The real question isn't whether Avery should move chairs — it's whether we want wrestling to remain a cultish "club" or become a sustainable career path.
Final Takeaway: Why I'm Rooting for Avery (And You Should Too)
Here's my contrarian conclusion: Avery Styles represents inevitable change. Whether he becomes a star or fades away, his very presence forces wrestling to confront its contradictions. From my perspective, the next decade will be defined by how the industry balances respect for its past with the demands of a new generation. And honestly? That evolution terrifies me — and excites me — in equal measure. Maybe the real story isn't about any one wrestler, but about all of us wrestling fans figuring out what we value most.
