WHY WWE'S ENGAGEMENT ERA IS AWESOME

Before Vince McMahon test-drove Hulkamania on the international stage, pro wrestling’s biggest problem was getting people to believe it was real. Gone were the days when wrestling was a featured act at a state fair or traveling carnival. The promoters became their own versions of P.T. Barnum, and the greatest showmen learned to look straight into the hard cam—either insulting the audience’s intelligence or inspiring kids to say their prayers and take their vitamins—all while selling out arenas.

In 2025, we all know wrestling is predetermined. And with the rise of the internet and social media, clinging to the "wrestling is real" gimmick isn’t just outdated—it shows a lack of awareness about how far the business has evolved. That’s why I don’t get the backlash against WWE Unreal. Sure, it “exposed the business,” but let’s not pretend we haven’t seen this in other kinds of programs, The Dark Side of the Ring, for example. Wrestlers also have had DVD documentaries for decades. If anything, what shocked me was how much Triple H actually knew as executive producer, writer, and director. Nothing in his Wiki says about his college education, so it's even better that he learned about production while still working as an active performer.

That’s why he’s running WWE now.

Not just because he married Vince’s daughter.

It's because Triple H gets it.

Just look at how he directed the production truck during the John Cena heel turn. That was masterful. And it proves a point: when you think about your favorite wrestling moment, are you picturing the promo or the camera angle? Was that steel chair swinging in from Camera A or did it land with a tight shot from Camera B? These are questions that matter when the product is this polished.

I’ve worked in networks since 2002. My mom was a news director, and my dad was a news executive producer. I remember playing with camera switchers in the control booth when I was four. It still makes me cringe when someone says “pan down.” As my UST professor Ed Villarante used to say, “pan” comes from “panoramic”—you pan left to right, not up and down.

Unlike dramas, sitcoms, or even most reality shows, live newscasts and live sports events like pro wrestling are unpredictable. And while stories matter in wrestling, they often take a backseat to the spectacle.

SummerSlam is no exception.

John Cena's heel turn was fan service—plain and simple. Add The Rock and Travis Scott to the mix, and you’ve got a mainstream pop-culture moment built for headlines and replay value. The turn has been polarizing, sure, but in many ways, it sets up what WWE does best: create moments that keep fans talking and wanting more. Because now that Cena has turned heel, the same fans who begged for it for years… just want him to go back to being the hero.

And that’s the genius of it.

Back when he was a full-time performer, a heel turn would’ve been bad for business. Cena wasn’t just the face of the company—he was the top merchandise seller and the all-time leader in Make-A-Wish appearances. Turning him heel then would’ve risked alienating kids, parents, and sponsors. But now that he’s pushing 50 and preparing for life after wrestling, the rules are different. His acting career isn’t boxed into the stereotypical "macho man with a sledgehammer" trope. His role in Peacemaker proves that—he’s like DC’s Deadpool, but with more heart and less edge.

The difference between Cena and someone like Batista is that Cena doesn’t need to drop muscle mass or chase dark, brooding characters. He can be funny, flexible, and surprisingly deep, all while staying true to himself. Yes, 2025 is probably his final year as a full-time WWE competitor, but don’t count him out of future matches. He’s still John Cena. And if WWE calls, he’ll answer, especially if there’s a kid somewhere who still believes in hustle, loyalty, and respect.

If wrestling organizations were basketball franchises, Triple H would be both coach and general manager. He knows when to call an audible, when to bench a storyline, and when to let a storyline breathe. And most importantly, he knows how to manage egos in a business where egos often explode.

Take the John Cena heel turn. Or the CM Punk–Seth Rollins saga. Or even the extended Bloodline storyline. These aren’t just angles. They’re calculated chess moves that stretch across months, sometimes years, of storytelling.

In NXT, we saw the brutal brilliance of Tommaso Ciampa vs. Johnny Gargano. Triple H took that same slow-burn intensity and applied it to Rollins vs. Punk. Every time Punk is about to rise, Rollins is there to knock him down. Whether or not Rollins was actually injured before SummerSlam, the fact that he showed up and spoiled Punk’s moment was pure heartbreak—and pure WWE.

I just saw Rollins’ post-SummerSlam interview with Rich Eisen. The entire crew thought he was too hurt to even attend the premium live event. But when he limped into the ring and crushed Punk’s championship moment, you could feel the audience gasp.

That’s production. That’s planning. That’s professional wrestling in the Triple H era.

And let’s not forget how The Bloodline storyline continues to ripple across WWE’s roster. Sure, Solo Sikoa and Jacob Fatu are front and center now, but the aftershocks are everywhere—Kevin Owens vs. Cody Rhodes, Roman Reigns vs. Paul Heyman, Cody’s tension with The Rock, Sami Zayn’s strained friendship with Owens, and even Heyman aligning with Seth Rollins. These aren't random pairings. These are carefully placed dominoes, set in motion years ago.

In many ways, Triple H is undoing the damage Vince McMahon did to the territorial system—but in reverse. Vince consolidated power by destroying the territories. Triple H is expanding WWE’s universe by partnering with promotions. TNA, AAA, EVOLVE, and smaller indie orgs now serve as talent pipelines to NXT. It’s the reverse Uno card of pro wrestling history.

And WWE's real competitive edge over AEW?

Mainstream media impact.

While AEW is catering to hardcore fans, WWE is reaching everyone else. They're putting their product in front of eyeballs on laptops, tablets, phones—everywhere. They’re not just airing shows. They’re everywhere: YouTube clips, TikTok highlights, sports talk shows, streaming services.

That’s why they tap influencers like Logan Paul, IShowSpeed, and even singers like Travis Scott, Bad Bunny, and Jelly Roll. These aren’t just celebrity cameos. They’re engagement magnets. WWE isn’t just trying to keep fans watching Raw—they’re making sure you scroll past WWE content on a Tuesday lunch break.

Take the RAW after SummerSlam. LA Knight finally got his shot at Seth Rollins for the RAW Championship. But as Rollins shifted gears mid-match, possibly with the intent to injure Knight, out came CM Punk to make the save.

But here’s the twist: Punk attacked Rollins. The crowd popped.

But the punch, while protective in spirit, technically cost Knight the match via disqualification.

This wasn’t just a random moment. It was by design. Knight loses his chance. Punk reignites his beef with Rollins. And now Knight has beef with both of them. The real win? This created another dynamic to the Rollins versus Punk feud. The discourse ranged from “Punk did the right thing” to “he just stole Knight’s moment.”

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We know that there is a chance that this feud will culminate in next year's Wrestlemania, so adding a fresh face like Knight would prolong this.

And we haven't gotten into Gunther's rematch stipulation yet.

I understand why some wrestling purists are frustrated. They think Cena’s turn was too late. They think CM Punk is being robbed. They don't want to see Brock Lesnar and his magnificent man bun. And sure, some things could’ve been handled differently.

But imagine if today’s fanbase had to live through the Montreal Screwjob. Or the formation of the nWo. Or WCW’s “Soldberg” era.

This era isn’t perfect—but it’s necessary.

Wrestling is evolving, and to grow, it needs to embrace more than just in-ring stories. It needs spectacle. It needs production value. It needs shock and awe. If we just wanted better storylines without the hoopla, we’d go back to doing matches in well-lit gymnasiums, like where former WWE stars and independent wrestlers meet and greet their fans.

WWE isn’t just a wrestling company anymore. It’s a global content company—one that produces television for the casual viewer and the diehard fan. And if Triple H stays the course, WWE won’t just survive. It’ll dominate the next generation of entertainment.