Wide Angle

The World’s Greatest Pro Wrestler Is a Slacker Who Channels Paul Rudd

Orange Cassidy is taking on the world—and the very nature of pro wrestling—with his hands in his pockets.

Paul Rudd looks at Orange Cassidy in a photo collage; both are in aviator sunglasses and jean jackets.
Photo illustration by Slate. Photos by USA Films and Vivien Killilea/Getty Images for IMDb.

There are many contenders for the title of best pro wrestler in the world. WWE universal champion Roman Reigns is the biggest star by far. AEW world champion Maxwell Jacob Friedman, aka MJF, is probably the best talker and most compelling character. As far as putting on state-of-the-art matches, you can’t beat Kenny Omega, Will Ospreay, and Mike Bailey. The best high-flyer is El Hijo del Vikingo, no one wrings emotions out of an audience like Cody Rhodes, and you should never count out Kazuchika Okada.

But I reckon the best wrestler of 2023 is also the one who best embodies pro wrestling itself: Orange Cassidy, AEW’s international champion and slacker supreme.

Cassidy is unlike wrestlers who, like many comedians, play a heightened version of themselves, à la Steve Austin or Ric Flair. Cassidy, who has been wrestling since 2004 and in his current persona since 2012 (his real name is James Cipperly), is a total gimmick, and his gimmick is that he doesn’t care. This is clear from the moment he enters the arena. Loosely based on the douchey himbo Paul Rudd played in Wet Hot American Summer, Cassidy comes out to Jefferson Starship’s “Jane,” that movie’s opening-credits theme. He’s billed as being from “wherever,” with a weight of “whatever.” When fans cheer him on as he makes his way to the ring—some of them even putting in the effort to dress in his signature aviator sunglasses, denim jacket, and denim joggers—he returns the favor by greeting them with a limp fist bump or a halfhearted high-five. Then he salutes the audience with a flaccid thumbs-up.

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Cassidy’s trademark moves aren’t a powerslam or a suplex, but light, obviously harmless kicks that lead up to his “big move”: putting his hands in his pockets. Once he does—and usually his opponent will try to prevent it, since hands in pockets is to Orange Cassidy what spinach is to Popeye—Cassidy somehow manages to do a series of moves all with no hands. Flips, dives outside the ring, dropkicks, kip-ups—it’s a sight to behold. Through each match, the unflappable Cassidy prefers not to try, until he does. It’s an amazing performance.

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Orange Cassidy was the perfect character for indie wrestling, where goofy gimmicks such as Dan the Dad (who wrestles with his precious coffee mug) and Luigi Primo (who literally makes a pizza during his matches) abound. But Cassidy is way more than an indie gimmick—he’s the international champion for the second-largest wrestling company in the world, which is on TBS and TNT and is poised to sell out Wembley Stadium later this month. Cassidy’s goofiness may be a throwback to the days of the turnbuckle-eating monster George “the Animal” Steele, the Elvis-impersonating Honky Tonk Man, and the fairly self-explanatory Repo Man, who would “repossess” other wrestlers’ belongings, but once Cassidy’s matches get going, he can create a match no less athletic and acrobatic than those of top stars such as Ricochet and Seth Rollins.

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Cassidy has much in common with the legendary Undertaker—another wrestler who built a stellar career on a goofy gimmick. Being a member of the undead isn’t any more credible than being a slacker, but both dudes commit to a ridiculous degree, stay in character at all times, and deliver great matches. Both also employ their character’s unique psychology to spectacular effect—the Undertaker’s zombie shtick and Cassidy’s theatrical apathy allow their matches to start slowly and speed up, taking fans on a tightly paced ride with a thrilling dramatic arc.

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And while Cassidy may tote his championship belt around in his rumpled JanSport backpack—slung, of course, over one shoulder—he carries off the role of champion shockingly well. When AEW introduced what was then called the All-Atlantic belt in June 2022, fans applauded the choice of Pac, a muscly Englishman with outstanding technical skills, but wondered why the heck AEW needed another title. With two men’s singles titles already—plus a slew of titles associated with their purchased sub-brand, Ring of Honor, not to mention champions from the likes of New Japan Pro-Wrestling and Lucha Libre AAA Worldwide frequently showing up—it was hard to see the point of another belt. When Cassidy took the title last October, who knew he’d go on to make the prize (since redubbed the International title) one of the most meaningful and frequently defended in wrestling, with 27 titles defenses as of this writing, most of them being, as commentator Jim Ross would say, “slobberknockers.”

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Long, serious title defenses, like those enjoyed in previous generations by Lou Thesz, Bruno Sammartino, Bob Backlund, Dory Funk Jr., Ric Flair, Hulk Hogan, and Nick Bockwinkel, create legends and give a focus to the whole production, in addition to selling tickets and drawing ratings. Wrestling just seems better with a strong main character, like how WWE is thriving with Roman Reigns on a 1,000-plus-day run. And while Cassidy isn’t the main character in AEW—its world champion remains MJF—he is the guy defending his title all the time in exciting matches, making you think that this week, surely this week, is the week he’s going to lose the title, because this small, thin, silly man can’t possibly retain the title again. Except he does. Ric Flair, the ultimate champion-in-peril, would be proud.

When Cassidy finally loses his title, his character will probably shrug his shoulders, but fans will be talking about this reign for years to come. Cassidy is a comedic goof and a credible champion. He’s silly and serious. He is pro wrestling.

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