On Saturday, March 3 the unthinkable happened.
Well, unthinkable if you’ve never watched pro wrestling.
Sixteen-time WWE champion and hero to millions John Cena won the 2025 Elimination Chamber match. He did so by questionable but legal means. After an already-eliminated Seth Rollins stomped CM Punk’s head into the mat, Cena seized the opportunity and uncharacteristically scurried to apply an STF submission hold to an already-dazed Punk. In true heroic enhancement fashion, Punk passed out to the hold rather than tapping out and Cena notched his return to the WrestleMania main event, presumably against current WWE Champion Cody Rhodes.
Cena lingered in the ring for the next segment, which in hindsight was also unlike him. It might have made sense for him to stick around long enough to shake Cody’s hand, but Cena played up his humility and Cody had work to do. Cena held his usual pose a bit longer than usual, a smirk on his face in place of the usual resolutely-set jaw or cheesy grin.
Something seemed off.
Rhodes congratulated Cena on his victory and turned his attention to The Rock, who seems to adopt his villainous Final Boss persona when it suits him, then drop kayfabe when it doesn’t.
For some reason, The Rock is making a big deal about wanting Cody’s soul—a Faustian bargain that would have made a ton of sense if The Undertaker and/or Kane were active competitors or if Kevin Sullivan were still alive. As most fans expected, Cody turned The Rock down. Said fans likely didn’t expect Cody’s language, which would have been rough back in the Attitude Era.
Cena sold Rhodes’ Rock rebuke like a fifth grader learning how babies are made in the schoolyard. He embraced his fellow superhero, presaging a passing of the torch from movie star to Stardust.
Then The Rock gave the high sign—a three-fingered throat slash which now fires debate across the internet. I’ll get back to that.
In the meantime, the fix was in.
In a moment I won’t soon forget, Cena stepped back from Cody. A week before Oscar night, he shattered Rhodes’ Golden Globes with a swift kick (I see you, Dustin!). Cena, Rock and Cactus Jack … er … Travis Scott beat Cody bloody, raised their arms together and mean-mugged for the cameras.
I’m rarely surprised by wrestling storylines these days, but WWE got me good. I was impressed by the callbacks and long-term storytelling throughout the segment, and looking back on it, by Cena’s latest, possibly last WWE run (I know Cena says he won’t come back, but I’ve seen so many permanent retirements undone I won’t blame him if he does).
Most fans point to The Rock’s weight belt, which he smeared with Cody’s blood. I was more impressed with another part of the assault. At one point Rhodes’ gold watch came loose. Cena retrieved it and mauled Cody with it. If you’ve read this column before you know I’m a bit of a watch nut. I had the chance to talk watches briefly on the latest Wrestling and Everything: Coast to Coast podcast with former Pro Wrestling Illustrated writer Bob Smith. Cody’s watch looked suspiciously like his father Dusty’s solid gold Rolex Datejust. Legend has it that Cody’s father had pawned that watch to pay for Cody to chase his dreams as an actor. WWE got the watch out of hock and gifted to Cody when he won the championship last year. I imagine the real watch could take that kind of abuse. Rolexes are famously tough tool watches. I do hope they used a dupe, though. That watch is an object of wrestling lore. I wouldn’t risk it.
Cena’s apparent turn attracted mainstream media attention. WWE is a multi-billion dollar business and for two decades Cena was/is it’s standard bearer. My local newspaper, the Toronto Star, ran a story about why our city was the perfect location for this swerve.
Wrestling fans immediately called Cena’s turn the biggest pro wrestling plot twist since Hulk Hogan joined the nWo. In both cases a generational hero broke bad, legitimately shocking millions of fans.
I think there are a few key differences.
Cena made his turn in the promotion he’s called home for decades before the same audience that grew up with him. He’s made clear that his current run is his last, and claims that once this deal is up he will retire from the ring. Cena has been a part-time performer for more than five years, and hasn’t seen a WrestleMania main event in 10, but among his core fan base he is as popular as ever. In what I presume are out-of-character interviews Cena has been open for years that he would love to keep wrestling but knows that at his age he doesn’t have many more high-quality performances left. Apparently, he will taint his storyline legacy for his present heel run but would rather not do so when it comes to the matches themselves.
Hogan broke bad in WCW. Hogan main-evented WWE’s first nine WrestleManias, but his act had worn thin and audiences had started jeering him—most notably at the 1992 Royal Rumble, when Hogan pulled out Sid Justice after being eliminated himself. Hogan was roundly booed in his WrestleMania VIII match against Justice—so much so that the audience reaction had to be overlaid with cheering for subsequent broadcasts or videos. WWE had toyed with turning Hogan heel through the latter half of his run. Bruce Prichard was a proponent of an evil Hulkster. Vince McMahon refused, citing Hogan’s role model status.
Between WWE’s shaky legal and financial future and Hogan’s diminished standing due to the early 1990s steroid scandal, left the promotion. He received a lucrative offer from WCW-WWE’s biggest competitor—although “biggest” is a relative term. WWE dominated the market, but Hogan initially brought a new level of fan interest to his new employer.
That interest tapered off quickly. Hogan had aged. His US performances never focused on his in-ring work, which had slowed—especially given the rise of smaller, more athletic and acrobatic performers. Hogan’s character and promos felt dated. His opponents were either recycled WWE cronies or WWE stars like Vader or Ric Flair, whom he buried. Without steroids to inflate him, Hogan looked drawn and old. In reality, Hogan joined WCW at 40 years old and finished up at 47—about the same age as Cena is today.
WCW’s Hogan wasn’t quite the elder statesman that Cena is. His WCW tenure realized increasingly tepid responses and smaller houses.
Joining the nWo was surprising but it took place in hostile territory—to the extent that wrestling fans are tribalist, Hogan never enjoyed the love and loyalty he received in WWE.
I think the best part of Hogan’s heel act was actually Bobby Heenan’s commentary. Heenan had been a thorn in Hogan’s side since their days in the AWA. He was a frequent nemesis for Hogan, sending waves of heels after the Hulkster’s championship, and using his platform as a “broadcast journalist” on WWE TV to point out that Hogan was, as CM Punk said on Monday Night Raw, “A bald fraud.” While WCW’s announce team expressed shock and sadness at Hogan’s turn, Heenan gloated about being “right all along” about Hogan’s lack of integrity. Moreover, despite Hogan joining the Dark Side, Heenan still hated the man. It was awesome, and I wish Cena had that kind of rival to propel him further into the depths of evil.
Hogan’s turn extended his career and his status as a main eventer. It lacks the urgency and finality I feel with Cena’s actions. Hogan just went bad, outraged that fans no longer cheered him. Cena is desperate. That makes him dangerous.
Like Cena today, Hogan did a ton of charity work, including visiting dying children as part of the Make-a-Wish program. Hogan has granted over 200 children’s wishes. I clearly remember reading a wrestling magazine as a kid, where the back cover told the story of one little boy who so loved Hogan that the image of a signed 8×10 Hogan had gifted the child was etched on his tombstone. Hogan signed the photo and promised to wrestle the boy in heaven, in writing, then set in stone. Cena has granted more than 650 wishes. For years he was the most requested celebrity on their roster and holds the record for the number of wishes granted.
As a middle-aged man, I fully understand the need to refresh characters and advance storylines. But I became a wrestling fan as a kid. Even if I knew the action in front of me wasn’t real, somehow cheering for the good guys was. I have no problem turning a wrestler heel or face to provoke a reaction or establish a new feud, but when it comes to singular, heroic characters I feel like more is on the line. At least some of the children Hogan and Cena visited believed in them to their last breaths. I can’t help but feel that turning Cena, even in the twilight of his career is somehow disrespectful to those kids and their memories. I get it, and I’m wowed by how WWE pulled it off, but part of me viscerally dislikes it.
But I digress.
Betrayals are an inherent part of pro wrestling storyline. Everyone has their favorite.
Long before Hulk Hogan made a career of having his allies serially betray him, Bruno Sammartino sold-out Madison Square Garden against former allies like High Chief Peter Maivia (who also targeted Bob Backlund), Victor Rivera and Spiros Arion. Towards the end of Bruno’s full time career, he took young powerhouse Larry Zbyszko under his wing. Feeling upstaged by his mentor, Zbyszko turned on Bruno at a TV taping, bloodying him. This act of treachery led to a grudge match at Shea Stadium and a career-long heel run for Larry.
If you’re my age you remember Hulk Hogan’s poor judgment. Before WrestleMania Hogan headlined Toronto’s Big Event against Paul Orndorff, who piledrove his former friend through the mat over a missed phone call. Or perhaps you remember the build to WrestleMania, when lifelong babyface Andre the Giant grew jealous over the size of Hulk’s trophy. Or Randy Savage, who saw lust in Hogan’s eyes over his valet Elizabeth, and turned heel while champion over his hatred of Hogan (Brutus Beefcake did the same thing in WCW to depraved indifference). Or maybe it’s the epic visual of Shawn Michaels superkicking Marty Jannetty through a plate glass window—although this happened when both men were tag team mid-carders; I wouldn’t have guessed that Michaels would go on to his Hall of Fame career. Or maybe it’s Steve Austin’s ill-fated turn in the main event of WrestleMania 17. Audiences rejected “Stone Cold” as a bad guy and he turned back good within months. I think it’s because Austin was never really a good guy. He was a sociopathic anti-hero and we loved him for it, so whatever evil he did would never be out of character.
While many see parallels between Cena and Hogan, I’ve always thought Cena’s career arc is closer to Bob Backlund’s.
Wrestling fans diminish Backlund’s contributions to WWE as a long-reigning babyface champion, but he carried the promotion from 1978-1983. Backlund was always positioned as a wholesome All-American. Cena grew into that role after debuting as a blank slate of a babyface and finding his groove as a rapping heel. Both started their reigns against a litany of monsters but had their best performances in extended runs against better workers (Backlund fought Greg Valentine, Sgt. Slaughter, Don Muraco and Ken Patera, while Cena did his best work against Randy Orton, Edge, Seth Rollins and CM Punk).
I also think both men suffered by comparison to the champions who came before them.
One of the biggest victims of WWF’s transition from lucrative territory under Vincent J. McMahon to international entertainment company under Vincent K. McMahon, Backlund was groomed by Vincent J. to be a long-term champion — an “All American” good guy fighting off an endless series of foreign menaces and monsters.
Backlund followed a similar formula to previous long-term babyface champions Bruno Sammartino and Pedro Morales. Sammartino was an Italian immigrant and Morales was Puerto Rican. Both were incredibly popular across the Northeastern United States, first within their own communities, then crossing over into other working class, immigrant and minority groups that made up New York’s melting pot and a sizable chunk of pro wrestling’s fan base. Backlund was popular as well, but striving for a universal hero, Vince Sr. wound up with a great technical wrestler with a bland persona.
Cena had his own tough acts to follow: “Stone Cold” Steve Austin and The Rock (who’s still around. Go figure). Cena also represented a shift in wrestling’s presentation. I’ll get to that next time.
By the time Backlund lost his title business hit a low ebb. One of Vincent K McMahon’s first orders of business on buying WWE from his father was to move the title from Backlund to Hogan and let Hulkamania run wild. Vince initially wanted Backlund to break bad and dye his hair black in 1983. Backlund would have turned heel as champion and lost to Hogan directly. Backlund refused in order to save his school-aged daughter from bullying. Instead, Backlund lost the title to the Iron Sheik, who did the honors for Hogan three weeks later.
Backlund was immediately phased out of the title picture. He left WWE altogether by August 1984 and returned eight years later, a squeaky-clean retro act beset by a lack of killer instinct. Backlund has acknowledged that his initial return just didn’t work. Fortunately, by this point his daughter was in high school and bullying was less likely. Presented with an opportunity to turn heel, Backlund enthusiastically agreed. In the summer of 1994 an objectively out of contention Backlund received a pity shot at World Champion Bret Hart’s title on an episode of Superstars. The match received an uncharacteristic build for a syndicated show. Backlund’s backstory including the trauma of his loss to the Iron Sheik played out before a new audience. The fact that Backlund had not submitted to Sheik’s Camel Clutch, but lost because his manager Arnold Skaaland threw in the towel foreshadowed Backlund’s transition.
Backlund lost his match against Hart, a victim of his own good sportsmanship. When Bret tried to shake Backlund’s hand after the match and console him over his loss, Backlund snapped. He slapped Hart and procured his old crossface chickenwing finisher on the champion while screaming incoherently. Backlund eventually emerged from his feral state and stared at his hands, aghast at his actions.
This scene repeated itself over the next few weeks as Backlund attacked his opponents, backstage personnel and even his old manager, Skaaland. He continued trancing in and out until he embraced his dark side and went stark raving mad. Bob became Mr. Backlund. An avid reader and serial goal-setter in real life, he busted out a vocabulary and knowledge of American history that would make Nick Bockwinkel jealous. Backlund’s references may have been factually and grammatically incorrect but he spoke his truth. Backlund rode his new insane character to a November 1994 WWF championship victory over Hart. Backlund’s reaction to his win was priceless. In a post-match interview he screamed how he felt “like God.”
Backlund claims that he was originally supposed to enjoy a year-long title run. Plans changed and McMahon instead directed him to lose the belt three days later in convincing fashion to rising star Kevin “Diesel” Nash.
Cena is undoubtedly a more colorful wrestler than Backlund, but both played versions of an All-American Hero. I think it speaks more to how American identity has changed. Backlund was soft-spoken unless provoked to anger, and preferred scientific holds and following the rules. He would break them and have wild brawls if need be.
And now both men get a climactic heel run.
Cena has mostly been out of the WWE world title picture for the past decade. He has been part time at best for the past five years and has lost more than he’s won in his few supercard appearances. WWE has plenty of heels who snapped after being cost an opportunity at a title. Kevin Owens, Seth Rollins and Drew McIntyre are all playing slightly more stable versions of Mr. Backlund. All three men are former champions as well. They’ve also endured multiple character changes and turns. Cena has been a constant. His turn appears calculated.
Or maybe the last 20 years were artifice and this has been the real John Cena all along.
TOP PHOTO: John Cena at Elimination Chamber on March 1, 2025. WWE photo
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