Part of the appeal of pro wrestling, especially as a kid, is the over-the-top characters that seem like they’ve been photocopied directly from the pages of comic books or cartoons. As a young kid, my wrestling heroes occupied similar places as Batman, the Ninja Turtles, and the Muppet Babies. Even the occasional crossover between universes was attempted. Hulk Hogan’s cartoon was a bit before my time, but I occasionally caught reruns of it on USA in the early 90s, and WCW had briefly brought in Art Barr to play “The Juicer,” a just different enough to not get sued version of Beetlejuice. What I was unaware of was that in Japan the crossover was much more common, and that their cartoon stars crossed over into the ring in fun, creative ways I could have never imagined. In 1992, my world was changed forever when I was introduced to Jushin “Thunder” Liger.
Liger was the first wrestler from Japan I remember seeing. He came into WCW in 91, but I remember vividly his matches against and with Brian Pillman in 1992. This is my rosetta stone. Seeing Liger gave me the idea that all wrestlers from Japan were these incredible wrestlers who could do all kinds of exciting and dangerous looking moves. While I wasn’t imagining the variety that strong style, kings road, joshi, juniors, deathmatch, and shootstyle would bring me once I really dived into the world of puroresu, I didn’t even know or understand those words, but I was right.
Jushin Liger was the title of a popular manga (comic book) that had been adapted into a popular animated series. In 1989, New Japan Pro Wrestling purchased the rights to the character in order to give it to a wrestler, hoping to capitalize on the crossover audience of young boys who were into both. This was a tactic that had been successful some years earlier, when Tiger Mask had leapt from anime screens to New Japan rings and captivated a generation with his high-flying, acrobatic style.
I was a few years away from really discovering anime in ’92, but by the late 90s it would become one of the few hobbies that rivaled my love of wrestling for a while. The crossover that New Japan was looking for would bear its fruits at home immediately, but as the decade wore on, more and more American kids were discovering these cartoons from Japan and becoming obsessed. Just as WCW and WWF were hitting their peaks, I was watching Pokémon and Dragon Ball Z every day after school. Adolescent boys all over were going Super Saiyan and telling their teachers to suck it, and it’s fascinating to me how this was seemingly an experience Japanese boys were having a dozen years prior. It lends credence to the theory that there are no unique experiences, and I think that’s beautiful.
Like my cartoons, I tend to prefer my wrestling from Japan. Various reasons play into it, many covered in other entries on this blog, but it’s safe to say I’ve been called a “weeb” a time or two in my life. Liger was the reason this idea was in my head. I associated Japanese wrestling with high-end in-ring work, and as I grew and became a “smarter” fan, that was what I became most interested in seeking out. While obviously Japan offers a buffet of different styles to enjoy, much of it was exactly what I want in my pro wrestling. From wild action, to bloody brawls, to epic title matches full of 2.9 kickouts and neck trauma, the seed was planted by Liger. If I hadn’t seen him,this blog might not exist, or you’d be reading my Billy Gunn entry instead. Because of that moment in 1992, January 5, 2020 caused me to cry twice for moments I’ll always cherish.
Hoping lightning would strike twice, the Liger role was given to Keiichi Yamada, a 5’7″ (supposedly, wrestling heights tend to be notoriously exaggerated) junior heavyweight wrestler who had initially been rejected from the New Japan training system due to his small stature. After a few years toiling away in Mexico, desperate to be a pro wrestler at any cost, he was accepted into the dojo and began a journey that would see him become not only a star, but the face of junior heavyweight wrestling.
When I first laid eyes on Liger, he was like some otherworldly creature come to life. The outfit, red and white, with a dark black outline, almost as if drawn on like in a comic book. The mask, red and silver with three horns protruding, one forming a point at the top and the others stretching from either side. Silver eyes, once again with that hard black shading line making them seem like a pair of cool futuristic glasses. White fangs coming from the mouth, a gentle reminder that this is somehow a lion/tiger hybrid. He wrestled like a bird/human hybrid.
Liger was poetry in motion, his character making him seem like he was capable of doing things that should only be able to be drawn. It’s a testament to the man playing him how often he was able to perform feats of acrobatics that defied logic, most notably his own invention, the Shooting Star Press. This is a move in which a wrestler jumps from the top rope, does a backwards somersault while in the air, and lands chest-to-chest with their opponent. The physics of doing a backwards flip while jumping forward is mind-bending to me in 2026, and it was unlike anything people had seen in the late 80s. This was a time when smaller wrestlers were treated as a novelty at best and rarely taken seriously as money-drawing wrestlers. Only in the beautifully weird world of pro wrestling would a cartoon character doing acrobatics cause something to be taken more seriously, but it worked.
Liger became the face and booker (the person in charge of making the matches and creative decisions) of junior heavyweight wrestling for New Japan in the 90s, a time regarded as a financial and creative peak for the company. This was highlighted by the 1994 Super J Cup, which is, for my money, the best wrestling show of all time. The show was a cross-promotional event meant to showcase some of the best lighter-weight wrestlers in the world, and Liger wanted to use the tournament to make a star out of The Great Sasuke, an exciting flyer from the Michinoku Pro group.
Sasuke had been grabbing headlines all over the wrestling world with his exciting style, and Liger knew he would be the right choice to showcase the power of that style, despite him not working for the company. In addition to Liger and Sasuke, the tournament would feature a who’s who of the top smaller wrestlers, including Hayabusa, Shinjiro Otani, Negro Casas, Super Delfin, Gedo (the current, as of early 2026, booker of New Japan), Dean Malenko, Black Tiger (Eddie Guerrero), and Wild Pegasus (the reason I chose “who’s who” instead of “murderers’ row” — Chris Benoit).
Sasuke would meet Liger in the semi-finals of the tournament, and they would put on a classic that is still considered among the best work of either man’s illustrious career. Sasuke is the hot indie darling who has been lighting the world on fire, but now he’s come up against the top guy in the top company, and Liger gives the upstart no respect. Liger proceeds to begin the match by beating the stuffing out of Sasuke, much to the chagrin of the crowd, who have adopted Sasuke as their hero for the night. It’s a joy to watch a naturally beloved babyface play heel. It happens on occasion, and Liger plays the role with such ability, making the crowd hate him as he welcomes their new hero to the “big leagues.”
Sasuke, however, has the indomitable spirit of a man who knows this is the biggest opportunity of his life. Liger is already considered the gold standard for juniors, and a victory over him would legitimize Sasuke even if he lost the final. As Sasuke starts to turn the tide, he realizes that while Liger can outwrestle him, he can’t keep up with Sasuke through the air. All of a sudden, the bar for acrobatic wrestling has been pushed even further, and its flag bearer is lagging behind. What Liger is losing in the physical department, however, he gains in the mental one. Knowing when to strike is as important as the strikes themselves.
After a prolonged beating by Liger, Sasuke jumps to the ropes to attempt another aerial stunt, and the risk that all wrestlers take happens, he slips and falls flat on his face. Without missing a beat, Liger is clapping and gesturing at him, telling Sasuke, the crowd, and the whole world through those few seconds and movements that this guy is a sloppy loser who doesn’t belong in his ring or on his level. Sasuke gets up from the embarrassment and immediately hits Liger with a Hurricanrana to pin him and advance to the finals of the tournament. Liger had used his position to tell us all a story about bullying, trying your hardest at every turn, and, most importantly, perseverance.
Sasuke would go on to win the tournament in another exceptional final match, but the Liger match would hold a special place in people’s memories specifically because of how Liger reacted both to the slip and throughout the entire match. So good was Liger’s performance that some theorize the slip was always scripted into the match, that Sasuke was supposed to garner that reaction to make Liger’s comeuppance that much sweeter.
As the years passed, Liger became a legend wherever he went, a favorite for independent promotions all over the world to bring in to guarantee both a crowd and an excellent match. His home remained in New Japan, however, and he spent the 90s as the undisputed ace of his division. As the years passed, he would begin to phase himself downward in order to give new, younger wrestlers their opportunity to shine and become stars in their own right. It’s so rare for a booker, especially one who is still actively wrestling, to put their ego aside and do what must be done for the company and the sport as a whole. Liger understood that the ecosystem he had been lucky enough to help create would collapse if he were the only one allowed to be at the top of it.
Liger never had any issues losing or looking weak. If anything, he probably could have been a bigger star had he chosen to run through opponents, not sell for them, beat them, and always win. But this wasn’t just about him. It was about every other 5’7″ or smaller kid who assumed wrestling wasn’t for him because he was too small. Liger had been broke and nearly homeless while living in Mexico, and he knew that in order to help smaller wrestlers get the breaks they deserved, the perception in the eyes of fans and company higher-ups had to completely change. He made sure that the next generation of juniors wouldn’t suffer the way he did due to rejection over size. That selflessness endeared him to his peers and created a world much safer and better than the one he came up in.
As the 2010s wound down, Liger was in his mid-50s, and while the mask and bodysuit helped to hide aging from our eyes, his body was feeling every bump and bruise from the last 30-plus years. He announced that he would be retiring at the January 2020 Tokyo Dome, and spent the last year of his career on a retirement tour that took him all over the world to say goodbye to the fans who had loved him throughout the years. These tours have started to become more common as the greats of the past have finally been put in a position to be appreciated for their accomplishments as a whole, rather than for a specific match or moment. It’s a great way to get old fans back for a show and to remind adults why they loved it in the first place.
I love these tours and think more people should be doing them. It’s a chance for the person to be honored, appreciated, and, most importantly to them, to make a few last big paydays before their main source of income is gone. We as fans also get our chance to say goodbye in person at least once and reflect on what that person has meant to us. So much of pro wrestling is aimed at the ever-elusive “casual fan” who kind of likes or used to like wrestling but doesn’t really follow it. The assumption is that hardcore fans like myself will always be around, and companies should be focusing on growth instead of appealing to the people who are already converted. A retirement tour is an exercise in being a hardcore fan, and it’s nice for people like us to have something in the business we all love so much.
Every city Liger hit in Japan had a memory attached to it. A match, a moment that meant something to those fans from previous trips over the last 30 years. Every stop in Europe and North America had people just like me who had discovered his work at some point and had their entire world opened up. This is our chance as fans to give these people their flowers while we can, by buying a ticket, a picture, a shirt, whatever. Liger was the first Japanese wrestler a whole lot of us ever saw perform. Him finally riding off into the sunset felt like a part of us was leaving with him, and it meant all that much more when I heard his music hit at the 2019 New Japan/Ring of Honor show at Madison Square Garden. It was my chance to see him live and scream his name out like I had always wanted. A simple entry in a battle royal, nothing spectacular or impressive, but it was him! The reason I was sitting in that seat, and took the trip in the first place was because of how he made me feel 27 years prior and I got to see him live, hear the song, scream his name.
As much as the child in me was overjoyed that day, the adult understands the retirement all too well. I can’t imagine what that many years of pro wrestling does to your body. I’ve got 20 years in restaurants and my knees and back have a dull, constant pain running through them. I don’t see retirement as something I’ll be doing any time soon, if ever, and I worry about how my body will hold up when I’m in my 50s, 60s, and beyond (hopefully). As my clock ticks down to 40, I understand the athletes of my youth more and less, more because those aches and pains affect me too, and I never could have expected how it would feel despite all the warnings it was coming; less because if I hurt doing my job, how the hell has anyone ever done professional wrestling (or any athletic endeavor, honestly) for any extended period of time. It breeds a whole new type of respect and awe for their ability to take care of themselves and not crumble into dust. I took about 3 bumps in a wrestling ring in my 20s, and that was probably 2 too many. Seeing their ability makes me want to at least make it to 50 with minimal pain.
On January 4th and 5th, Liger retired at the Tokyo Dome in front of a stadium full of adoring fans. He got to work with some of his greatest opponents and rivals in an 8-man tag on the first night, and tagged with longtime friend and rival Naoki Sano against Hiromu Takahashi and Dragon Lee on the second night, putting a bow on a career unlike any other. As I watched him say goodbye to the fans in attendance, I felt the tears coming down my cheek, saying goodbye to the man who changed everything for smaller wrestlers. Saying goodbye to my rosetta stone.
Raised By the Ring 