The Bash 2009: Rey Mysterio and Chris Jericho Rescue a Show That Never Finds Its Own Identity

The Championship Scramble is an awkward match type, but this group gives its moving-parts structure enough urgency to work. Christian and Jack Swagger establish the pace, Finlay adds physicality, and the staggered entrances let each new wrestler briefly change the mathematics. Mark Henry's interim fall gives the middle stretch a useful jolt before Swagger steals the designation back. The best material belongs to Tommy Dreamer, who spends the closing minute desperately preventing anyone else from scoring after planting Christian with the DDT. That final scramble turns a rules-heavy concept into something emotionally simple: Dreamer only has to survive. It is not elegant, and five wrestlers never quite become one coherent match, but the finish makes the champion feel resourceful rather than lucky.

Chris Jericho and Rey Mysterio are operating on a different level from the rest of the card. Their counters feel learned rather than rehearsed, because each man has spent months discovering the other's shortcuts and escape routes. Jericho keeps returning to Mysterio's mask as both an insult and a tactical objective, while Mysterio answers with speed that never turns the match into empty motion. The closing sequence is exceptional. Jericho appears to solve the rivalry by yanking away the mask, only to discover that Mysterio has a second one underneath; the moment of disbelief creates the opening for another 619 and the springboard splash. It is clever without being cute, athletic without losing the story, and satisfying without ending the feud's edge. This is one of WWE's best matches of 2009.

The no-disqualification label promises freedom, but the match mostly exists to create a doorway for Kane's return. The Great Khali controls the early minutes with size and blunt offense while Dolph Ziggler bumps around him and searches for openings. A steel chair enters the picture, yet the stipulation never develops into a sustained strategy or escalation. Then Kane arrives, attacks Khali with the chair, and hands Ziggler the pin. As an angle, it is efficient enough and gives the audience a recognizable surprise. As a pay-per-view match, it is thin. Ziggler gains a victory without earning much competitive credibility, Khali becomes a prop in somebody else's story, and the four-minute runtime makes the advertised stipulation feel ornamental rather than necessary.

The surprise addition of Edge and Chris Jericho gives the tag-title match instant star power, though it also makes the original rivalry feel secondary. Carlito and Primo bring the quickest exchanges, while Cody Rhodes and Ted DiBiase spend much of the match trying to isolate opportunities rather than control the whole field. Jericho and Edge wisely work like opportunists who were dropped into a championship match with no reason to respect anybody else's plans. The finish captures that idea: Carlito hits the Backstabber and appears ready to retain, only for Edge's legal tag to reveal itself and a Spear to steal the belts. The match is compact and professionally organized, but the title change matters more than the wrestling that produces it. The new champions are the story, not the journey.

Michelle McCool and Melina receive barely enough time to establish a championship match, yet they use a clear target to keep it coherent. McCool attacks Melina's leg, Alicia Fox's presence adds a small layer of distraction, and Melina sells the damage while trying to create bursts of offense. The match never develops the crowd investment or escalation needed to feel major, but it avoids the chaotic shorthand that often limited women's matches in this era. McCool's Faith Breaker provides a decisive finish and a clean championship change. Six minutes still leaves the bout feeling more like an important television segment than a pay-per-view showcase. The performers are doing useful work inside a narrow window; the larger limitation is that WWE does not give their title story enough room to become emotionally significant.

Jeff Hardy and CM Punk have enough natural contrast that even an intentionally unsatisfying finish can advance the rivalry. Hardy wrestles with urgency, trying to reclaim the championship that Punk took from him three weeks earlier, while Punk is increasingly defensive and irritated whenever Hardy gains momentum. The false finish after the Swanton Bomb briefly gives the building the title change it wants before Punk's foot under the rope forces the match onward. Then Punk kicks the referee and is disqualified, preserving the championship while giving Hardy another reason to distrust him. The finish suppresses the match's ceiling, because fifteen minutes of good work never reaches a true competitive conclusion. Still, the frustration is purposeful. This is less a destination than the chapter where Punk's plausible deniability begins to collapse.

For weeks, The Miz has declared himself 7-0 against John Cena by counting forfeits and non-matches, which creates an obvious pay-per-view question: can he survive once Cena is actually standing across from him? WWE answers it so decisively that the story loses most of its future value. Cena controls the important exchanges, hits the Attitude Adjustment, and forces Miz to submit to the STF in under six minutes. There is nothing mechanically disastrous here, and Miz's character work gives the opening moments some personality. The problem is competitive framing. A rising antagonist who has spent weeks demanding recognition is not exposed gradually; he is simply dismissed. Contemporary criticism centered on the same issue. The match proves Cena is superior, but it does almost nothing to make the victory feel important or Miz feel worth revisiting.

Randy Orton and Triple H are burdened by familiarity, so the Three Stages of Hell stipulation has to manufacture escalation the rivalry can no longer create by novelty alone. The first fall is intentionally abrupt when Triple H uses a chair and gets disqualified, sacrificing a point to damage Orton. He answers in the Falls Count Anywhere fall with a Pedigree on the floor, tying the score and moving the match into the stretcher finale. The third stage is the strongest because the finish line gives every shove and escape an obvious purpose. Legacy's interference is predictable but effective, helping Orton cross the line before Triple H gets post-match revenge with the sledgehammer. It is overbooked and less urgent than their recent television work, yet the structure keeps twenty-one minutes moving and produces a credible main-event fight.