It was once said that the WWF Intercontinental championship was given to the best worker in the company. This was a very easy thing to declare when the context behind it was talking about the late great “Mr. Perfect” Curt Hennig, who is widely regarded as one of the strongest performers in the modern era. However, in a prior wrestling era, there was some merit to the statement, because when you look at the list of names of guys who held it prior to 2000, it pretty much has been nothing but stars who have achieved success in the business.
WCW’s take on the United States championship was that it was again, for particularly standout talents, but also a means of declaring a potential number one contender for the more prestigious World championship. And again, like the Intercontinental championship, with few exceptions (David Flair), the list of names of guys who held the US title are pretty noteworthy.
What I’m getting at here is that the Intercontinental and United States championships, the second-tier titles that were once no-less important and prestigious to hold, are pretty much worthless in today’s dynamic wrestling industry.
Yes, I have to imagine that the wrestlers who get to win them and hold them are certainly proud to be able to have such distinctions to be able to check off on their lists of career achievements (aka Wikipedia), and when the day is over, who doesn’tlike holding a championship belt?
However, the way I see it, there are times when winning a second-tier belt warrants celebration and rejoice, but there are plenty of instances where I see a title change occur, and simply think “oooohh, that’s no good for X.” Contrarily, in many of these skeptical instances, I perceive the loss of a title as almost something of a promotion, more meaningful, and a sign of things to come, depending on the wrestler who dropped it.
A little while ago, Dean Ambrose lost the US title in a battle royale that Sheamus won. Despite having dropped the title, Ambrose was portrayed very strongly, eliminated two notable wrestlers before essentially being blindsided before he was eliminated. My immediate reaction was that Dean Ambrose’s persona was now liberated of the US title, and that he and the rest of The Shield were free to pursue bigger and better storylines. Literally, the US title being on Ambrose was something of a metaphorical anchor, and that although it made him look good on television, it was absolutely handcuffing the WWE’s creative team from being able to really tap into the story potential of The Shield as a unit, instead of three individuals.
However for Sheamus, I can’t help but think that him now being the US champion is not a good thing at all. The way the WWE utilizes their secondary champions in this era, when a second-tier belt is given to a guy, it’s pretty much saying “Here is your wall, you are now prohibited from going beyond it.” Sure, Sheamus looks good on television with a belt, but his potential for main event status is completely incapacitated, and until Creative comes up with bigger and better things for him, expect him to be involved with a lower-tier of wrestlers including Fandango, Curtis Axel, Jack Swagger and Damien Sandow.
By this definition, Sheamus winning the US title is a perfect example of demotion by promotion, while Dean Ambrose is on the cusp of promotion by virtue of demotion.
This happens way more often than people realize, and it’s one of the things that I still truly enjoy identifying by watching wrestling to this day. More recent examples were like when the Miz had a very successful run as the US champion; within the same calendar year in which he lost the US title to Daniel Bryan, he would soon become the World champion, and go on to headline Wrestlemania the following year, while Daniel Bryan kind of floundered in the midcard. Dolph Ziggler held the US title for a good bit, and after a seemingly “upset” loss to Zack Ryder, Ziggler ascended to the World title picture, while Ryder was merely more or less rewarded with the US title for getting over on his own steam.
In fact, within the last few years, it’s more safe to say the logic of reward for getting over is a more apt description of what the secondary titles kind of mean in today’s WWE. Cases in point is Santino (pictured above), who has (unfortunately) held both the Intercontinental and US titles over the last few years. Look, I understand the importance of Santino in the company, and that kids need to have a wacky, schticky guy to pop for, but from a traditionalist standpoint, Santino etching his name on the title histories of such once-prestigious titles is kind of a joke.
The concept of promotion through demotion isn’t exclusive to just the secondary belts, it’s essentially applicable to all the titles in the company. This is no more prevalent than the case of Daniel Bryan, whom I legitimately do like, but I’ve been saying for months that putting the World championship on him is kind of risky, because it essentially culminates the entire YES movement storyline. The World championship is the peak of the mountain, and what happens after you reach the peak? Eventually, you have to start going back down, and with a convoluted storyline with Kane, bordering comically over-acted first thing after completing the two-year long journey to the top of the mountain, it appears that the Daniel Bryan ride is losing steam.
It’s just particularly easy to zero in on the second-tier belts, because over the better part of the last two decades, the Intercontinental and US titles have become pretty-looking jokes and petty consolation prizes. Symbols of talent at getting over with the crowd and/or being a placeholder in the middle of the pack, but definitely pigeon-holed into a box with lesser talents, until a loss, decides if you’re headed up, or down.
Championship belts look good, and I understand their importance in the history of the industry. But in a creative-driven business where captivating storylines are more important than results, championship belts have become somewhat handicaps when it comes to drawing lines and divvying people out into not-easily escapable boxes.
