The Case for More One-Counts in Wrestling
Once a match begins, the first pin-fall attempt should be a one-count more often. Change my mind.
We see the same thing every match. Two Counts. Every cover. For the entirety of the match. Until the end of the match. Every match on the show. Every show of the year.
The endless parade of identical two-counts from the opening minutes until the finish is a mechanical, predictable habit of modern wrestling. It flattens the drama. When every cover looks and feels the same until the last one, the audience learns to treat the first eight or nine as filler. This undercuts the very thing pinfalls are supposed to do: measure how close someone is to losing and how much the match has escalated.
Think about a match like Jazz (Not the HOF wrestler, but the music). If a modern match were music it would sound like this: 2-2-2-2-2-2-2-2-3. Flat! A structure like 1-1-2-2-2-1-2-3 (or whatever fits the story) adds variation and gives the counts themselves renewed meaning. Two counts are so predictable, so boring, that fans have brought large white signs that say ‘2’ for decades because the trope has entirely worn itself out. The audience knows. It’s time to do something about it.
Early one-counts sell that both guys are still primed, resilient, and a long way from being finished. Reaching two says, “The Match Is Getting Into Deeper Water.” A late one-count on a finisher or a big move becomes a legitimate shock instead of just another near-fall that everyone expects to fail. AEW All In’s use of the one-count worked because it broke the pattern and the crowd reacted like something unexpected had happened. But those examples still relied on the same basic premise: a one-count kickout after a finisher. That’s not the only way to use the device.
A one-count can communicate several things. Here are three ways a one-count can tell a story.
1.) The wrestler is fresh and hasn’t been significantly damaged.
2.) The wrestler covering is desperate and attempting to steal an unexpected victory.
3.) The move was insufficient to create a serious threat. Seriously, how many times have you cringed after seeing a two-count after a botch? A one-count helps sell the inevitable announcer cover-up, “They didn’t get all of it.” Well, if they didn’t get all of it, why are they still getting the same two-count they got on the previous attempt when they DID get all of it? Hell, if you’re a performer, and you know a move is botched, kick out at zero! Don’t make the audience swallow horse shit and expect them to like it!
Wrestlers are durable. The average WWE wrestler takes 10-15 bumps on TV per match, and up to 25 on PPV. The average AEW wrestler takes 15-25 bumps on TV per match, and up to 50 (!) on PPV. Modern performers absorb A LOT. The audience knows this. Their endurance is foundational to why we love them. But when every match on the show defaults to the same two-count rhythm, the device loses power.
I would be remiss if I did not address the logic that a wrestler uses an extra second or two to remain pinned and “rest” before kicking out. I was an amateur wrestler in high school. I was pinned fifty percent of the time. Even when I was battered and exhausted, I never evvvvvvver used one or two seconds to ‘rest.’ I was squirming and writhing to escape. William Regal, wrestling savant that he is, inspired this column when he advised talent to cover, and kick out, like their careers depend on it.
In summary, I don’t need to eliminate two-counts. I need them to mean something again. If every near-fall looks the same, none of them feel special. Making the first serious cover a one-count more often, and treating the climb to two as an actual escalation, is a low-cost way to make matches feel less automated and more like a fight that is actually progressing. More of that, please.