As the wrestling world rallies around Jim Ross and his battle with colon cancer, it’s hard not to think about the importance of commentary in professional wrestling.

Jim Ross himself was the verbal soundtrack to many of the most iconic moments in WWE and WCW history.  His partnership with Jerry “The King” Lawler and the preponderance of turns, swerves and surprises during the late ‘90s “attitude” era, still means that at any point in my actual real life when someone unexpected turns up, the voice I hear in my head is that of Good Ol’ JR: “Bah Gawd, King – he’s here!”  And, again in my actual real life, when someone does something dastardly or underhanded to me or someone I know, it’s Jim Ross’s voice that hisses “sonofabitch!”

Much as I have always hated Vince McMahon for being the monster he clearly is (and, believe me, his commentary was somehow even worse than his moral compass), I do credit listening to the man’s appalling play-by-play as a child for developing my vocabulary way beyond that of my non-wrestling-watching peers.  Words like “pugnacious”, “histrionic”, “probiscis”, “faeces”, “Machiavellian”, “manoeuvre”, and even “verbosity” (which wrestling was giving me), all became part of my “lexicon” – another McMahon word I picked up.

And would I have ever got behind the underground phenomenon that was ECW without the signature voice of Joey Styles calling the action from his one-man booth?  Sure, he would be joined latterly by comic support from Joel Gertner and Don Callis, but I was already a fan by that point.  And, yes, still today when something shocking happens in my actual real life, it is Joey Styles yelling a screeching “Oh my God!” that accompanies it in my head.

But before Styles, Vince, JR, or the King, the first ever wrestling commentary team I heard were the duo that made me a fan in the first place: Gorilla Monsoon and Bobby “The Brain” Heenan.  Much as the spectacle of WrestleMania VIII attracted me to the product, and good as (some of) the matches were, when my friend left the VHS tape of WrestleMania at my house in the spring of 1992, it was the commentary that made me want to watch it again and again.  The back-and-forth banter of Gorilla and The Brain.  Usually ending with a chastising “will you just stop!” from Monsoon after Heenan had said something hilarious but reprehensible.  It was my first introduction to what I now call “heel logic” – justifying the awful things a bad guy does in the ring to cheat and being appalled by the fair play and sportsmanship of the babyface.  Hearing Bobby’s account of the title match between his man, Ric Flair, and the the “Macho Man” Randy Savage, was like he had been watching a completely different match.  And he told jokes throughout the show that could rival any of the professional comedians I was also growing to love on TV.

Wanting the context to the April supershow, I eventually bought the video cassette of the 1992 Royal Rumble.  If you want a masterclass in heel logic, listen to Heenan’s commentary for an hour as Ric Flair battles twenty-nine other opponents to claim the vacant World Championship.

The first time I went to a live wrestling show it was at the Royal Albert Hall.  I was in awe seeing my heroes from TV doing their thing right there in front of me.  But when I discovered that you don’t get to hear commentary live, I remember feeling something significant was missing from the presentation.  As good as the show was, I felt disappointed.  And that feeling has never left when watching wrestling live.  It becomes particularly clear when watching a live TV taping or pay-per-view.  At least a house show is designed to be shown without commentary.  Often on TV, commentators play an essential role in giving the viewer key information, context, and even helping to tell the story unfolding physically in the ring.  You notice its absence hugely, and it is always my first thing I do following attendance at a show like that to watch it back when I get home, complete with commentary.

When I think about all the things that made me stop watching WWE a while back, the poor quality of the commentary was a major factor.  With Vince McMahon shouting in everybody’s ear, the commentary booth felt soulless.  Just a place to get the next bit of product placement in or do some marketing for later in the show.  McMahon’s micro-managing meant nobody’s personality was allowed to show and everything felt the same.  By the same token, part of what kept me watching over the years, even when the in-ring product in WWE was stale and predictable, were things that broke through that McMahon monotony.  Mauro Ranallo over on NXT, or the years Michael Cole was partnered up with JBL, or Corey Graves, and “heel logic” returned to the WWE booth.  When AEW arrived on the scene, the quality of its commentating was one of the things which made me stick with it and, soon, start to prefer it from WWE.  Not only the return of Jim Ross (though long past his prime, there was no doubting the power of comforting familiarity when words like “slobberknocker” and “government mule” returned to our screens), but the debut (to my ears) of the excellent Excalibur.  Then, once they realised that Alex Marvez was not the right guy long-term, the return of Tony Schiavone, a voice I had loved not only on WCW as a kid, but on my well-worn VHS copy of SummerSlam 1989 being the admirable straight-man to another bastion of heel logic, Jesse “The Body” Ventura.  

What made AEW immediately different was the looser feel of the commentary team.  They felt far less “produced” and their personalities were able to come through.  Soon, old “commentary Jones”, Taz, joined the booth too, providing his unique brand of comedy and colour to the broadcast.  It made me realise how much I had missed his voice once he left WWE.  And then Nigel McGuinness joined the team for Collision and I remembered another amazing commentary talent from back when NXT was good and Triple H was in charge, instead of Vince McMahon.

McGuinness might be the modern master of heel logic, and his lengthy verbal feud with Bryan Danielson and consistent championing of Christian Cage were a joy to hear in his first year or so with the company.  But AEW had another ace up their sleeve when it came to commentary compared with WWE.  Not only did they have a looser feel, allowing the commentators to shine and express themselves each broadcast, but they used the commentary table to help get certain talent over with regular appearances on guest coms.  For example, Don Callis does guest commentary whenever anyone from his “Family” fights, and as a result we develop a stronger relationship to all the people in his stable and the underlying back-story of Callis as creepy uncle figure, sinisterly obsessed with good looking and powerful young athletes and quick to drop you the minute you get hurt.  Daddy Magic, Matt Menard, commentated regularly when his protégé, Daniel Garcia, battled in the ring and, as a result, extra layers were added to Garcia’s feuds with people like MJF.  MJF, likewise, is always a good time on commentary, and AEW have used his sporadic appearances on the headset to develop rivalries as well as the general obnoxiousness of the character.  Toni Storm, too, has benefitted from regular guest commentary spots allowing us greater insight into her delusional worldview.  And who could forget how brilliant Chris Jericho was as semi-permanent commentator during the pandemic?  Although CM Punk might sooner forget his time in AEW, his occasional free reign in the commentary booth played a large part in cementing his status as a speaker of truth to power.

When I started watching WWE again, when Punk returned to the company in 2023, it was the improvement in commentary I noticed the most.  With McMahon gone, Michael Cole was suddenly a breath of fresh air, showing a personality I hadn’t seen from him since his fun heel run over a decade ago.  And Pat McAfee, who I had only ever seen before as a weird NFL guest who loved wrestling, seemed to play a large part in the rejuvenation of Michael Cole.  McAfee impressed me immediately with his personality and lack of performance on commentary.  He was clearly just being himself and his love of the product came through, just as it did on AEW with the commentary team there.  Other WWE commentators like Wade Barrett and, when he joined, Joe Tessitore, also seem to be breathing new life into the product as part of the new Triple H regime.  Sometimes, when I’m busy doing chores, the commentary on both WWE and AEW is good enough that I don’t even pay much attention to the match in the ring.  I keep abreast with what’s going on from the commentary teams just fine.  And, if they don’t keep me aware of the action, they at least keep me entertained.

This month both AEW and WWE even brought their commentary teams into the in-ring action.  Over on WWE Raw, former World Champion, Gunther, got mad at Michael Cole for what he said about him at WrestleMania and tried to choke Cole out.  Cole’s broadcast partner, Pat McAfee got involved and Gunther choked McAfee out instead.  They ended up fighting at Backlash in an entertaining match.  McAfee didn’t win, but he earned the respect of the former champion.  On AEW, it was Tony Schiavone playing the Michael Cole role and tag team, FTR, playing the role of Gunther.  They were angry at what Schiavone and McGuinness had said about them on Collision and bullied the elderly announcer to draw out the ex ROH champion.  Along with Daniel Garcia, McGuinness fought the dastardly tag team at Double or Nothing.  Although the commentator didn’t win, he reminded fans how good he could be and FTR continued their run as the company’s top assholes.  In both cases, the real emotional involvement for the viewer was not the athletes competing in the ring, but the non-athlete commentator on the outside whose honour was being defended by their more athletic partner.  We cared about McAfee and McGuinness because we didn’t like to see Michael Cole or Tony Schiavone being bullied.  We cared because we care about our commentators.

A good commentary team can transform an entire audience’s relationship with the product.  In the 1990s, when WWE was under fire for steroid use and they were forced to revert to a more athletic and less muscular style, we were reminded constantly by commentators how “we’re all the same size once we’re down on the mat”.  A simple phrase which made believable the smaller world champion, Bret Hart, beating larger opponents with his submission hold, the sharpshooter.  When a commentator reminds us how important the legacy of a championship is, the match in which that championship is being contested becomes important.  When they ignore the legacy of the belt and talk instead about that week’s sponsors and what’s coming up next, the match passes without fanfare.  When commentators can’t control their excitement or shock at a moment in the ring, it is infectious to the viewer who feels their emotions too.  When commentators put talent over, guess what, the talent gets over.  “Mrs Foley’s baby boy” had all the talent in the world, but would we care as much without Jim Ross’ enthusiasm?  I doubt it.  I saw a bunch of insane Mick Foley death matches on traded VHS tapes back in the 90s, but with either no commentary at all, or commentary in another language, it felt like part of the story was missing.  Meanwhile “oh my God – they killed him!” is still the go-to call whenever someone takes a bump as insane as Foley’s King of the Ring dive off a Hell in a Cell cage.  When it felt like Jim Ross was worried about his friend, we worried too.  The stunt man becomes a human when the commentators tell us their story.  

Is El Grande Americano Chad Gable?  All I know is that Pat McAfee and Michael Cole’s disagreement about it elevates the angle.  Will “Hangman” Adam Page finally topple Jon Moxley at All In Texas and free the AEW championship belt from the Deathrider’s briefcase of despair?  Who knows?  But the anger Tony Schiavone and Excalibur show about the belt being locked away in that box each week builds my anger too and makes me want Hangman, or anyone, to free the belt from Mox’s clutches.  

If none of what I’ve said this month resonates, then I have a simple challenge for you.  Next week, take an episode of Raw, Smackdown, Dynamite or Collision, and press your “mute” button every time a match begins.  See how engaged you are just watching the moves in the ring without the play-by-play and colour narration.  See how much you care without allowing your emotions to be properly signposted by professional storytellers.  It’s not that the match alone can’t do it, but it certainly can’t do it as well as it’s done when the commentary team is doing their magic too.

Go back and watch your favourite pay-per-view match without the commentary on.  See how much is missing.

I’ve come to peace with the fact there is no commentary at live events these days.  I go in with my eyes open, there for the atmosphere and knowing I’ll watch it back “properly” when I get home.  Besides, after being obsessed with wrestling commentary for over thirty years now, it’s not like I don’t have a constant running commentary going on in my head at all times anyway.  I just watch what happens in the ring, soak in the sound of the crowd, and get lost in my own internal commentary team – where Bobby Heenan and Gorilla Monsoon are still alive and bickering, Joey Styles still screams out his shock whenever a table is broken, and Jim Ross is cancer-free and reminding us all that his “momma is watching at home” as someone stomps a mudhole in someone and walks it dry.       

Until next time…so long everybody! DaN McKee

www.everythingdanmckee.com

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