The inevitable decline of the main event ego
Let’s be real. Chris Jericho has been on my television screen since 1999, and for most of that time, I’ve been front row for the rollercoaster. From the Y2J countdown to the list-making, scarf-wearing genius of 2016, the man is a first-ballot Hall of Famer. But lately, observing his current run in AEW feels less like watching a legend and more like watching a guy refuse to leave the party after the lights went up.
Jericho recently addressed the segment of the fanbase that has soured on him, expressing a distinct lack of concern for whether they eventually come back around. He basically implied that if you don't like his current output, you're missing the point or just destined to be a hater. It’s a very Jericho sentiment. He’s spent three decades curating his brand, but there’s a massive gap between being a self-described icon and being a compelling act every single week.
The Jericho Vortex is real
The problem isn't just that he’s polarizing. The issue is the gravitational pull of the Jericho Vortex. Remember back in 2021 when Sammy Guevara was arguably the hottest act in the company? Then he got pulled into the orbit of the Inner Circle and the JAS for what felt like an eternity. By the time he clawed his way out, the casual audience had stopped caring, and Sammy was relegated to playing second fiddle to Jericho’s latest mid-life crisis character.
We saw it again with Action Andretti. That win on the January 4, 2023 episode of Dynamite should have propelled the kid into the stratosphere. Instead, he got chewed up and spat out by the Jericho machinery. When someone dominates the oxygen in the room for this long, it stops being about elevating the next generation and starts being about keeping oneself relevant at the expense of the product’s growth.
The king of the pivot has no more moves
Jericho has always been the king of the reinvention. He turned the Codebreaker into a finisher that looked like an actual kill shot in 2008. He made a list funny enough to keep people laughing for an entire year. But his recent work feels like a collection of greatest hits played at half speed. When he stands in the ring now, I don't see the guy who had that 20-minute classic against Shawn Michaels at No Mercy. I see a guy who is trying to force a reaction that isn't there anymore.
His comments about not needing to change hearts and minds feel defensive because he knows deep down that the crowd is cooling off. He’s banking on the idea that the audience will eventually 'get it' or that his past achievements shield him from legitimate criticism. Newsflash: The history books are great, but they don't help you bridge the gap when you're working a dead-end feud that has dragged on for three months too long.
Refusing to read the room
I don’t care if you hate me, I just don’t want you to be bored.
That used to be his brand, but boredom is exactly what’s happening in his segments recently. It’s hard to stay invested when the segments involve recursive storytelling that never really concludes in a satisfying way. He can talk all he wants about his impact, but the live reaction meter is the only scorecard that matters in this business.
Is he a legend? Absolutely. Will we miss him when he’s gone? Probably. But right now, his refusal to step back and let the air out of his own tires is hurting the show. AEW needs to focus on building new stars who don't rely on being attached to the 'Demo God' to get a reaction. If he wants us to change our minds about his current direction, he needs to do something he hasn't done in years: stop trying to be the guy in charge of the show and just be a wrestler again.
