Chapter 1: The Last Time Is Now

[WrestleWizard]

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THE BOARDROOM: JOURNAL OF THE UNDISPUTED CHAMPION

DATE: March 2, 2025
TIME: 2:45 AM ET
LOCATION: The Ritz-Carlton, Toronto - Penthouse Suite
AUTHOR: Cody Rhodes

They say the heaviest thing in the world isn't a dumbbell, or a stone, or even the weight of a nation on your back. It's a crown. For the last year, I have carried this ten pounds of gold and leather everywhere I go. I have smiled. I have signed the autographs. I have been the "quarterback" that this company needed. I kissed the babies and I shook the hands, and I ignored the fact that slowly, piece by piece, the sharks were circling.
Tonight, I stopped swimming. Tonight, I bought the ocean.

I’m sitting here in the dark of this hotel suite. The city of Toronto is asleep, or maybe it’s just lying in stunned silence after what I did. My hands are still trembling slightly—not from adrenaline, not from fear, but from the residual vibration of delivering three Cross Rhodes to the man who once defined this industry.

I need to write this down. I need to justify it to the paper before I can justify it to the face in the mirror tomorrow morning.

7:45 PM - THE INTERVIEW

It started with the headache. The fifteen staples in my forehead from the Royal Rumble are itching. Byron Saxton was asking me standard questions—softballs about "legacy" and "heart." I gave him the answers he wanted. The answers the old Cody would give. "I'm fighting for the fans," "I'm a fighting champion." It tasted like ash in my mouth.

Then the air changed.

When The Rock walked into the frame, the temperature dropped ten degrees. I’ve known Dwayne for years. I’ve wrestled him. But this wasn't Dwayne. This wasn't the "People's Champion." This was the Final Boss. He didn't look at me with malice; he looked at me with appraisal. Like I was a distressed asset he was considering acquiring.

"Walk with me," he said.

I hesitated. The camera caught that hesitation. But in my head, the calculus had already begun. Lesnar is back. Rollins is unstable. Owens wants to kill me. The Bloodline is splintered but dangerous. How long can I survive on "heart"? How long until I'm just another tragedy in a history book?
I followed him.

8:00 PM - THE MERGER

We didn't go to a locker room. We went to an executive office deep in the bowels of the Rogers Centre. Leather chairs, mahogany table, a bottle of Teremana that probably costs more than my first year's downside guarantee. Paul Heyman was there, standing in the shadows, clutching his phone like a lifeline.

Rock didn't scream. He didn't threaten. He poured two glasses.

"You're tired, Cody," he said. It wasn't a question. "I can see it in your eyes. You finished the story. Congratulations. But now you're realizing the sequel is a horror movie."

He laid it out for me. Simple. Brutal. Corporate.

He told me Roman Reigns chose sentiment over sustainability. Roman wanted to be loved by his family more than he wanted to rule the industry. And because of that, Roman is weak. Roman is a liability.

"The Board," Rock said, leaning forward, "needs stability. We need a face that won't break. We need an Undisputed Champion who understands that this isn't a sport, Cody. It's a business. You can keep fighting the current, drowning in your own morals while the wolves eat you alive... or you can build a dam. You can control the water."

He offered me the one thing I haven't had since I returned to WWE: Security.

"Align with me," he said. "And you stay champion forever. We protect the asset. We protect the legacy. We erase Roman, and we build a new Board of Directors. You, me, the Wiseman. Unstoppable."

I thought about my father. The "American Dream." The common man. He fought the power his whole life. And he died without the big one. He died beloved, but he died without the power to change his destiny.

I don't want to be a Dream anymore. I want to be the Reality.

I took the glass. I drank. I sold my soul, and I was surprised by how smooth it went down.

9:30 PM - THE PREPARATION

While the Chamber matches were happening—while bodies were being broken on steel—I was in a private dressing room. No Nightmare logo. No red, white, and blue. Just black.

Putting on the tactical gear felt strange. It was utilitarian. Cold. When I pulled that ballistic mask over my face, the "Cody Rhodes" who kisses babies disappeared. I became an instrument of the Board.

I watched the monitor. I watched Roman run the gauntlet.

I have to give him credit. He fought like a demon. He took everything Solo, Jacob, Strowman, and Moxley threw at him. He was bleeding, broken, gasping for air. The crowd was chanting his name. "Yeet." "Tribal Chief."

It made me sick.

Where were those chants when I was bleeding in Indianapolis? Where was that love when I was defending this title in every city, every night, while Roman sat at home? They turned on me because I was too available. They loved him because he was rare.

Rock was right. The people are fickle. The Board is forever.

11:15 PM - THE EXECUTION

I was under the ring for twenty minutes. The smell of dust, steel, and sweat. I could hear the violence above me. I heard the roar when Roman speared Moxley through the barbed wire. I heard the silence when Rock took the mic.

"I found the one man who hates you as much as I do."

That was my cue.

I slid out. The crowd didn't see me. Roman was on his knees, a broken king in a ruined kingdom.

The low blow wasn't honorable. It wasn't "dashing." It was necessary. It was efficient.

When I took off the mask... that sound. I will never forget that sound. 50,000 people didn't boo. They gasped. It was the sound of air leaving the room. It was the sound of childhoods dying.

I looked at Roman. He looked up at me, one eye swollen shut, blood matting his beard. He didn't look angry. He looked... confused.

"Why?" he mouthed.

I didn't answer him. I didn't owe him an answer. I grabbed him. Cross Rhodes.

I felt the vertebrae shift.

Rock was laughing on the stage. A deep, rich laugh. I picked Roman up again. Cross Rhodes.

This is for the years you held the title hostage. This is for the spotlight you hogged.

I picked him up a third time. Cross Rhodes.

This is for making me choose between being a hero and being a champion.

When the ref counted three, I didn't feel remorse. I felt light. The burden was gone. I stood up, and I saw Paul Heyman nodding at me. I saw The Rock clapping. I looked at the crowd, and I saw hatred. Pure, unadulterated hatred.

Good. Let them hate. Hate buys tickets. Hate drives engagement. Hate is sustainable.

1:00 AM - THE DEPARTURE

Walking backstage was a gauntlet of its own.

Jey Uso was standing near the curtain. He didn't say a word. He just looked at me like I was a stranger. Seth Rollins was being checked by medics on a gurney. He laughed. He actually laughed. "Welcome to the dark side, Rhodes," he wheezed.

I got into the black SUV with Rock and Paul. We didn't speak for the first ten minutes.

Rock finally broke the silence. "Business just went up, gentlemen."

Paul handed me a water. "My Tribal Chief," he said to Rock. Then he looked at me. "Mr. Rhodes... the Undisputed Future."

It’s a new title. A new designation.

2:45 AM - THE MIRROR

So here I am. The suit is hung up. The title is sitting on the desk, gleaming under the hotel lamp.

I’m looking at my reflection. The scar on my pec is still there. The staples in my head are still there. But the eyes are different.

I know what they will call me tomorrow. Traitor. Sellout. Corporate Cody.

Let them.

My father spent his life trying to reach the top of the mountain, relying on the love of the people to carry him. I realized tonight that the love of the people is a variable I can't control.

But The Rock? The Board? The Machine? That is a constant.

I kept the title. I secured my future. I ensured that the Rhodes name will be at the head of the table for the next decade, not just the next month.
I didn't sell out, Dad. I bought in.

Time to sleep. I have a photoshoot for the new "Board of Directors" merch at 8:00 AM.

Business is booming.

- C.R.​

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THE DAY THE MUSIC DIED: ELIMINATION CHAMBER 2025 AUTOPSY​

DATE: March 2, 2025
TIME: 4:15 AM ET
LOCATION: The Hotel Bar, Toronto (Corner Booth, 3rd Coffee)
AUTHOR: WrestleWizard
I have been doing this for twenty-two years. I remember where I was when the glass shattered for the last time at WrestleMania 19. I remember the silence when the Streak ended. I remember the collective gasp when Seth Rollins swung the chair into Roman’s back in 2014.

But tonight? Tonight sits differently in my stomach.

Usually, after a show of this magnitude, the hotel bar is buzzing. Fans are chanting, debating star ratings, arguing about botches. Tonight, the lobby of the Ritz is quiet. It’s a funeral parlor quiet. It’s the silence of 50,000 people trying to process a betrayal they never saw coming, orchestrated by a man they trusted implicitly.

I’m on my third cup of black coffee, trying to type this out before the adrenaline crash hits, and I keep deleting sentences. How do you quantify the death of a hero? How do you explain that the "American Nightmare" didn't just turn heel—he sold out?

Let’s back up. Because before the sky fell, we watched some damn good wrestling.

THE WOMEN: IRON AND STEEL​

If tonight is remembered for the ending, it should be respected for the beginning. Bianca Belair and Stephanie Vaquer didn't just wrestle a match; they fought a war of attrition. We talk a lot about "storytelling" in this business, but seeing the EST go 38 minutes—surviving the insanity of Liv Morgan (who was terrifyingly unhinged tonight), the arrogance of Tessa Blanchard, and the desperate dynastic clawing of Charlotte Flair—was a masterclass.

The "Tower of Doom" spot will be on highlight reels for a decade, but the moment that stuck with me was the finish. Bianca didn’t win with a flash pin. She didn't win with a fluke. She hit the K.O.D., realized it wasn't enough to keep Vaquer down, and hit it again. That’s the kind of psychology we miss sometimes. And Rhea Ripley? Watching from that skybox like a Bond villain? Perfect. That stare-down was money.

THE MEN: THE PASSING OF THE TORCH (FORCEFULLY)​

Then came the meat grinder. The Men's Chamber was chaotic, violent, and necessary.

We need to talk about Bron Breakker. Tonight was his graduation ceremony. I’ve been critical of his push in the past, feeling it was too much, too soon. I was wrong. Watching him stare down Brock Lesnar—not with fear, but with hunger—was chilling. And then he did it. He pinned the Beast. Clean. In the middle. That wasn't just a pinfall; that was a transfer of power. Lesnar destroying him afterward was predictable, but it doesn't erase the three count. Breakker is a made man.

And Randy Orton. The Viper. Twenty-plus years in, and he moves with a smoothness that defies biology. Him winning was the right call. The history with Cody (which now takes on a horrifying new context) is too rich to ignore. But the subplot of CM Punk returning to take out Rollins? That’s the X-factor. Punk vs. Rollins is going to be a blood feud, but right now, it feels like a side dish to the main course.

THE GAUNTLET: THE PASSION OF THE ROMAN​

Then... the main event.

I’ve spent years criticizing Roman Reigns. during the "Big Dog" era, I hated the forced push. During the "Bloodline" era, I grew tired of the interference. But tonight? Tonight, Roman Reigns was the greatest babyface on the planet.

The Rock designed this to be an execution, but Roman turned it into a martyrdom.

• Solo Sikoa: Roman fighting his own blood, the man who usurped his seat at the table. You could feel the heartbreak in every strike.
• Jacob Fatu: A monster. Roman surviving him was a miracle of selling.
• Braun Strowman: A callback to their classic rivalry. Choking him out was poetic.
• Jon Moxley: This is where it got real. When Moxley came out with the barbed wire, the air left the building. Seeing Roman spear him through the wire? That wasn't wrestling. That was sacrifice.

By the time Roman was kneeling in the center of the ring, bleeding from a dozen cuts, he wasn't the Tribal Chief anymore. He was just a man refusing to die. The crowd loved him. I loved him. We all believed he had done the impossible.

THE BETRAYAL: THE NIGHTMARE REALIZED​

And then the lights didn't go out. The music didn't hit. Just a man in a mask.

When Cody Rhodes revealed his face, I didn't write anything in my notebook for five minutes.

Think about the narrative arc here. Cody Rhodes returned to WWE to "finish the story." He was the antithesis of the corporate machine. He was the people's choice. He fought through a torn pectoral. He fought through the heartache of WrestleMania 39. He finally won the big one.

And what did he do with it?

He realized that being the "People's Champion" is hard. He realized that the fans turn on you (look at how they cheered Roman tonight). So he took the easy way out. He aligned with The Rock. He aligned with the Board.

The visual of Cody, Rock, and Heyman standing over Roman... it’s the nWo forming at Bash at the Beach '96. It’s Austin shaking Vince’s hand at WrestleMania X-Seven. It’s Rollins betraying the Shield. But it somehow feels worse.

Because Cody didn't do it out of anger. He did it out of business.

That interview he gave afterward? The smirk? The "Undisputed Future"? It’s terrifying because it makes sense. Cody looked at Roman—battered, broken, relying on the love of the crowd—and decided he didn't want that life. He chose the suit over the sword.

THE ROAD TO LAS VEGAS​

So, where does this leave us for WrestleMania 41?

We are looking at Roman Reigns vs. The Rock under "Bloodline Rules." But now, Roman is the underdog. Roman is the one fighting the system. It’s the ultimate inversion of his character arc.

And Cody Rhodes vs. Randy Orton? The Mentor vs. The Student. But now, the Student is the tyrant. Randy Orton, the man who made a career out of killing legends, is now the only hope to save the title from being held hostage in a boardroom.

FINAL THOUGHTS​

I’m exhausted. My throat hurts from gasping. My heart hurts for the kid in the front row I saw crying when Cody hit that third Cross Rhodes.

But god help me, I can’t wait for Raw on Monday night.

They broke our hearts tonight. They took the white-meat babyface we invested three years in and turned him into a corporate shill. They took the villain we spent three years hating and turned him into a sympathetic warrior.

They manipulated us. They played us. And it was absolute perfection.

Wrestling is at its best when it blurs the lines between reality and fiction. Tonight, Cody Rhodes didn't just turn heel on Roman Reigns. He turned heel on the idea of Cody Rhodes. He killed the Dream to survive the Reality.

Twenty-two years I've been watching this. And tonight, I feel like I'm seeing it for the first time again.

Rating: A+ (and a broken heart)

- WW