『AEW Full Gear Full of Blood and a Boatload of Belt Changes』のカバーアート

AEW Full Gear Full of Blood and a Boatload of Belt Changes

AEW Full Gear Full of Blood and a Boatload of Belt Changes

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 AEW's Full Gear 2025 was a spectacle that swung wildly between brilliance and overkill, proving once again that the company thrives on high-stakes drama—but sometimes piles on the extremes like it's allergic to subtlety. Four title changes lit up the ledger (FTR's tag team triumph, Ricochet's gauntlet glory for the new National belt, Mark Briscoe's gritty TNT grab, and Samoa Joe's cage-clinching World Championship heist), but let's pump the brakes: that's not evolution; it's title turnover roulette. In one night? It risks diluting the prestige of every strap, turning reigns into revolving doors. AEW's booking is ambitious, sure, but this many flips feels less like smart storytelling and more like a frantic bid to keep viewers hooked—consequences be damned. One or two shifts would've sufficed to build heat; four just screams "change for change's sake."
The action? Electric in spots, exhausting in others. That Blood & Guts Lite aesthetic—O'Reilly's No Holds Barred brawl with Moxley, Briscoe's No DQ demolition derby, and the main-event steel cage slaughter between Page and Joe—delivered visceral thrills, no doubt. Page's crimson cascade and Joe's unyielding choke? The kind of raw intensity that etches memories. But excess crept in hard: thumbtacks, kendo sticks, and enough hardware to stock a Home Depot aisle. It's brutal artistry... until it borders on gratuitous, leaving fans numb to the "soul" amid the splatter. Wrestling's grit is gold, but when every midcard grudge devolves into a blood ritual, it cheapens the violence. Dial it back, AEW—let the psychology breathe without the constant red tide.
Still, seeds for 2026? Planted deep, if a bit predictably. Timeless Love Bombs (Storm & Shirakawa) earning stipulation rights in their tag tournament opener teases delicious mayhem, FTR's resurgence hints at a redemption saga worth rooting for, and Don Callis slinking away with wounds sets up inevitable revenge. The Young Bucks' $1M trios payday? Hilarious cash-grab fodder—rumors of them eyeing a TNA buyout already swirling like bad cologne. High stakes? Undeniable. But with so much flipping and flopping, will any of it stick?
MVP Watch: Samoa Joe emerges as the undisputed king, his methodical menace a welcome anchor in the storm. Ricochet, though? He owned that 22-minute Casino Gauntlet with flips that defied physics—midcard magic we needed more of, less gore. Props to Darby Allin and Hangman Page for selling the heartbreak (and headshots) like pros, but damn, give these cowboys a break from the perpetual punishment.
Full Gear 2025? A statement, yeah—AEW's all-in on global collabs (CMLL's Sky Team nod was a highlight), tournament twists, and real risks. But if the future's this formulaic in its frenzy—endless extremes and belt swaps—I'm wary.

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