Jumping Nothing

There is an alternative. Far from the world of matadors and John Cena's dad, away from indie wrestling's pale imitations, there is a place where wrestling is still strong, proud and captivating. That place is Japan. For the benefit of their souls, Karl and Michael watch a wrestling show that's actually good, staying seated for five and a half hours of dragons, Deloreans and demonic possession, of dropkicks that haven't forgotten the effective in-ring logic of a dropkick, and of Americans who just shout FUCK into the camera to get a pop. The January 4 Tokyo Dome show is NJPW's Wrestlemania: the promotion's Gary-from-Pokemon, Okada, takes on the upstart Naito for the bigger, golder belt, while podcast favourite Tanahashi's Hair takes on the dastardly, alcohol-consuming Shinsuke Nakamura for the Intercontinental Title. Old school friends Goto and Shibata go at it with the stiffness, and Bray, Ireland's most complicated musculature Prince Devitt is inhabited by Carnage from Spiderman for his Junior Heavyweight