After a 2021 NJPW show, I sat with Jon Moxley in the Philadelphia airport, awaiting our return flight back to the Nevada desert. As a 21st-century flight, we experienced delays and headed to an adjacent airport bar, where we shared a drink to kill time. We were booked to wrestle each other for DEFY in a few months in the most important match of my pro wrestling career.  

I had Phil Schneider's "Way of the Blade: 100 of the Greatest Bloody Matches in Wrestling History" on me. Jon hadn't heard of the book, but I correctly assumed that it would be right at home on the unlikely former WWE Champion's bookshelf. 

As I passed through the first-class cabin to my economy seat, I decided to hand him my beloved copy detailing "100 of the Greatest Bloody Matches in Wrestling History." I never saw that book again, and a month later, I wasn't sure if I'd ever see Moxley again.

Jon Good

At this point in my career, I was at my trollish best, having just finished my MMA career with a win the previous year in the Professional Fighters League and now proudly carrying the New Japan Pro Wrestling STRONG Championship as its inaugural title-holder.

Weeks before our scheduled match in Seattle-based DEFY Wrestling, Jon entered an inpatient alcohol treatment program for an indeterminate amount of time. 

For years, we've witnessed this man perform death-defying feats, showing a general disregard for his personal safety at all costs. At his most vulnerable and now with a newborn baby, he bravely walked away from wrestling while at the top of the industry. 

Like me, fans were caught off guard, wondering when they would see him again. Our fight was now in limbo.

Death Rider

In January of 2022, Moxley emerged like Bigfoot in the Patterson-Gimlin film. He was more rugged, unrefined, and hairier than ever, now carrying a focused element of danger. 

Most impressively, the man seemingly walked right out of the rehabilitation center and back to the top of the industry, stomping through the competition while continuing to receive the fans' adoration. Mox was somehow able to use his newfound sobriety to reach a higher level in the ring.

Faithful 

The match with Mox was back on for April 2022 in my seventh appearance in DEFY — a promotion where some of the very best in the business have plied their trade and continue to do so. Each card is filled with Pacific Northwest acts, established independent wrestlers, and even national television stars, all of them with something to prove. 

The supportive locker room atmosphere can't compare to the rabid fervor of the near-1,000 fans packing the building's lower and upper decks, many of them looking like Portlandia extras, complete with handlebar mustaches and skin covered in tasteful stick-and-pokes, fixed-wheel bikes locked safely outside.

The faithful DEFY fans, known as "the Defyance," had seen me fight in bruising battles, acrobatic three-way contests, and even witnessed me kissing their androgynous Weirdo Hero, Randy Myers. I had never planned for them, or anyone, to see me like they would that night with Mox.

Unfathomable

Two weeks before the match, I appeared on Phil Schneider's Way of the Blade podcast. Phil asked if I had any matches where I had bladed — at the time, I was adamantly against the idea and had no interest in it. I was still fighting MMA up until that year, so the idea of cutting myself and having it reopen in a fight, causing me to lose out on a $30,000 payday, was unfathomable. 

In other pro wrestling matches, I had fallen through tables and been bashed with objects, knowing that if I got busted open hardway, it was somehow more acceptable. Still, I didn't intend to ever purposely open myself up in a match. This mindset remained unchanged going into the match with Moxley.

A wrestling match can take many forms: a challenger fighting from underneath but falling victim to a more dominant competitor, a bully getting their comeuppance at the hands of an honorable athlete who's driven to the brink, or simply two people trying to prove that their opponent doesn't have what it takes.

In the process of coming up with a match, the wrestlers usually work out some sort of linear blueprint — we plan sequences, come up with ideas for reversals, and figure out callback spots. 

None of that overt planning would ever come to pass with me and Mox. It had to be a fight from start to finish. 

Wild Thing

Outside the ring, dealing with Moxley is like talking to a domesticated animal. Inside the ring, it's like dealing with a wild animal. Backstage at DEFY, Jon and I are confined to a private, cramped room that the company usually reserves for participants in the main event. He paces around, out of control yet completely focused. 

Moxley begins detailing his abstract vision for the match. I'm trying to make sense of his plans, and I begin to feel the walls closing in around me. It felt more like he was describing strategies for Chutes & Ladders than a professional wrestling match, but I figure, hell, I've been in real fights with uncooperative opponents — I can make it through anything this maniac can conjure up.

Mox suggests that I should blade during the match, but my inexperience makes me averse to handling it myself. Jon offers the option of blading me, but he seems hesitant to essentially stab a UFC fighter in the head, even in a controlled environment.

Filthy

My adrenaline pumps as I dance my way to the ring through the Seattle crowd, riling them up as obnoxiously as possible without having to mention the long-gone Supersonics.

The fans weren't there for me. They were there to see Mox, and I made sure to let them know I didn't give a shit. I've fought and cornered at some of the biggest MMA events in the sport's history, I've wrestled in front of thousands of people, and even in front of an audience of just 17, but this night felt different.

The crowd begins to shout "welcome back!" in unison for Mox, but I silence their chants by removing my hot pants to reveal a second set of hot pants. 

We're off to the races, both of us activated by the crowd's relentless energy. They continue to chant "Moxley's gonna kill you!" Sure, guys.

Jon and I begin to jockey for position, and I'm able to get the better of the grappling action, as I should. Mox has proven himself to be no slouch on the mat and uses martial arts training to great success, but there's levels to this shit.

Mox and everyone in attendance knows that he needs to make it an unbridled fight. He has to try and hang with me on the ground, which leads to us throwing forearms; I close my fist and connect with his jaw, and suddenly, we're here. We waited months amid the chaos of our lives and traveled across the country for this: It's time to fucking fight. 

I take a moment to mug for the fans, who eat it up. Outside the ring, I suplex Mox on the exposed floor, then use the post to bust him open. Jon emerges bloodied, satisfying the Seattle crowd's lust and demonstrating his ability as one of the best modern wrestlers to run the blade. 

I kick and even bite at the cut, leaving myself and the mat covered in his blood. He fights out of a choke and delivers headbutt after headbutt before dropping me with a suplex. He fights on, mustering the strength to clothesline me back to the floor. 

I land a kick to stifle him for a second, and in an attempt to repeat my success from earlier, I try sending him back into the ringpost, this time leading to my downfall. Moxley reverses it, sending me face-first into the same steel post from earlier. Jon's on top of me, I feel a punch connect with my forehead, then a thin spike all the way to what feels like my frontal lobe.

The crowd is aghast, their previous cheers turning to concerned murmurs as we both come up bloodied. I'm in some sort of alternate universe as my forehead leaks onto the mat, Jon continuing to lay in elbows. 

Mox is a pro, cinching in every hold around my neck, my head now flowing profusely. Each strike sprays red mist into the air and across the canvas. The same fans who vociferously booed me earlier have begun to gasp at the horror of my bloodied face, their screams and shrieks echoing throughout Washington Hall as they cry for mercy. 

Somehow, the most important professional wrestling match of my career has turned into some sort of live snuff film here in Seattle, with me playing the part of the all-too-willing victim. 

Despite having lost an alarming amount of blood, now nearly covering my entire body and Jon's, I still have some fight left in me. We clothesline each other and continue to brawl as the crowd tells us to Fight Forever. I'd love to, but it's becoming increasingly unlikely. 

My heart beats faster and faster with every strike, throw, and hold. I can't see, I can't think, and I can't even form a mental image of what our match would even look like at this point. I hit a Kamigoye knee strike (the same maneuver that pierced Drew Parker's leg) and try to follow it up with a choke as I race to finish the match. 

I lock in the most tried-and-true submission in fighting history — the rear naked choke — but Jon counters, delivering a double underhook DDT. With neither one of us willing to give up throughout the fight, it only makes sense that I go out defiantly, spitting blood in his face before receiving some Pride FC-era knee strikes to the head. He connects with his signature Death Rider and scores the pinfall, leaving us and the mat covered with blood.

Never Wanted To Feel So Alive

I lost a lot of blood that night in Washington Hall, but more importantly, I gained the crowd's respect. Years later, this still stands out as the most talked-about singles match of my career and will probably remain that way. 

While wrestling fans knew I was a tough competitor, they didn't know that I was willing to fight for my life for them. Without a single weapon, Jon Moxley and I fought until our scheduled professional wrestling contest became a de facto deathmatch. As gruesome, terrifying, and dangerous as it was, I've never wanted to feel so alive as I did that night.

Tom Lawlor is a professional wrestler, retired mixed martial artist, and podcast host. He has competed in companies such as UFC, PFL, NJPW, MLW, and AEW.