Indefatigably, Yes!
It’s more Art than you can pull in a cart with your whole (Brett (the Hitman)) Heart! (if you gave a fart.)
Unnecessary Disclosure: I don’t watch wrestling. I don’t watch football, baseball, or whatever other forms of ritualized combat qualify as “sportsball.” I don’t follow the rankings, I don’t track the stats, and I couldn’t tell you what John Cena’s finishing move was before he delivered the ultimate heel turn at Elimination Chamber 2025. But some moments transcend the medium they come packaged in. Some betrayals are too big to be confined to their original stage. And when something this culturally and politically potent happens inside a wrestling ring, even those of us who don’t normally care have to take notice.
That said, I will fully admit that I am operating completely out of my depth here. My knowledge of professional wrestling is limited to whatever cultural osmosis happens when you grow up in a world where people randomly yell “Can you smell what The Rock is cooking?” and where John Cena is both an actual person and a very funny meme about invisibility. I have absolutely no business writing about wrestling—which is why I’m about to do it anyway.
Because, somehow, despite my deep, yawning ignorance, I have become convinced that John Cena’s heel turn wasn’t just a wrestling storyline. It was a metaphor for the death of American exceptionalism (the belief that the United States is either distinctive, unique, or exemplary compared to other nations) and a direct parallel to the U.S. abandoning Ukraine. That’s right. I have no qualifications to say this, and yet, here we are. I have become the academic equivalent of a guy standing on a folding chair at a sports bar, shouting “THIS IS ABOUT FOREIGN POLICY” while everyone around me just wants to watch dudes hit each other with chairs.
John Cena’s heel turn at Elimination Chamber 2025 wasn’t just a wrestling betrayal—it was the televised death of American exceptionalism. It’s the final nail in the coffin of the illusion that the good guys always win, played out under the bright lights of WWE’s squared circle.
For two decades, Cena stood as the unshakable corporate face of professional wrestling—an immovable pillar of Hustle, Loyalty, Respect, a larger-than-life embodiment of bootstrap ideology, unwavering morality, and sanitized American heroism. He was the last true babyface in a world where even Superman gets deconstructed. (Again)
But at Elimination Chamber, Cena didn’t just turn heel—he turned heel in the most symbolically devastating way possible. He aligned himself with figures of unchecked power (The Rock, Travis Scott), and, most tellingly, he shattered Cody Rhodes with a full-force low blow. (those rocks aint gonna be cooking like they used to, sorry Cody)
This wasn’t just a wrestling angle. This was a political allegory in tights—one that mirrors the United States’ shifting stance on Ukraine under Trump. And we have to give credit where it’s due: The writers at The Daily Show were among the first to connect these dots, pointing out how Cena’s heel turn mirrors America’s betrayal of its supposed commitments. Their sharp analysis laid the groundwork for understanding just how deep this moment cuts.
The Slow, Inevitable Heel Turn
Cena’s betrayal wasn’t just about turning his back on Cody—it was about turning his back on the very ideals he spent his career representing. In the same way, the U.S. has spent decades positioning itself as the protector of democracy, the world’s last moral authority, only to slowly retreat into transactional cynicism.
Now, am I implying that John Cena is, in fact, a living metaphor for American foreign policy? Yes? Am I also implying that I, a person who had to Google “Is heel good or bad?” before writing this, am somehow qualified to make that claim? Also, yes? This is my WrestleMania. And I am getting suplexed by my own hubris.
- For years, fans booed Cena while he remained the “good guy,” much like skepticism about American foreign policy has been growing.
- WWE, like American political leaders, stuck to the script too long, ignoring the obvious cracks in the facade.
- Trump’s approach to Ukraine has signaled a shift from ideological commitment to cold, pragmatic realpolitik—just as Cena’s heel turn was a calculated rejection of virtue in favor of power.
- Cody, much like Ukraine, represents the scrappy underdog fighting against impossible odds, believing in the mythology of “good guys” always prevailing—until the biggest “good guy” in the world showed him that belief was a lie.
The Low Blow as a Geopolitical Statement
Let’s not gloss over the symbolism of Cena’s method of betrayal. He didn’t just beat Cody. He obliterated his baby-bubbles, ‘turned his confidence into a pancake, “Refurbished the family jewels”, and turned his whole belief system into a pulpy, bruised metaphor for global disillusionment.
That wasn’t just a dirty move—it was a metaphorical press release.
- A low blow doesn’t just hurt—it undermines. It reduces a person from an ideal to a crumpled heap. The United States pulling back support for Ukraine doesn’t just weaken Ukraine’s military efforts—it publicly exposes the fragility of its position.
- Cena’s face persona represented the moral branding of American power—and his heel turn is the final exposure that these ideals were only ever as strong as their convenience.
- This wasn’t just an attack—it was a deliberate act of humiliation. The kind of betrayal that doesn’t just weaken you. It changes you.
- There is no honor in geopolitics. There is no loyalty in wrestling. There is only power.
There Is No Exit (Because It’s a Cage Match)
Sartre famously said, “Hell is other people.” That’s cute. But Hell is realizing the man who embodied everything you believed in just shattered your future, your faith, and any lingering sense of comfort in your lower abdomen.
Cody wasn’t just beaten—he was philosophically dismembered in real-time. Cena’s turn didn’t just change WWE. It shattered the illusion that the good guys always win.
Much like Ukraine, much like America’s moral authority, much like all of us watching from the cheap seats—Cody learned the hard way that there is no exit. There’s only survival. And the heels always play to win.
Cena’s heel turn is more than a wrestling moment. It’s a masterclass in meta-political theater. WWE has always played with real-world power dynamics, but this? This is next-level mythmaking.
Cena’s betrayal wasn’t just scripted—it was inevitable. Because in the end, heels don’t just win. They write history.
Wrestling is fake. The betrayal is real.
I started writing this from a place of detachment, a casual observer analyzing a spectacle from the outside. But as I dug deeper, I found something I wasn’t expecting: a real appreciation for professional wrestling as a platform for political discourse.
Wrestling, at its best, isn’t just theater—it’s myth-making that taps into the cultural psyche. It’s a reflection of the world we live in, distilled into heroes, villains, and betrayals that resonate far beyond the ring.
Maybe I still won’t follow the rankings or tune in for every pay-per-view. Maybe my knowledge of this world will remain surface-level at best. But I can’t deny it anymore: this absurd, hypermasculine, over-the-top form of entertainment might just be one of the most potent vehicles for political storytelling we have left.
Or, you know, maybe I just got worked. Either way, 10/10 storyline. No notes.
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