Like any entertainment medium, wrestling loves its tropes: those reliable storytelling shortcuts that spark heat or build legends.
Yet some refuse to die, no matter how threadbare they become.
Enter the championship belt theft: a trope as tried and tired as the sport itself. The setup is simple. The challenger snatches the gold, parades it as if earned rather than taken. Comedy, carnage or challenge ensues.
Perhaps its simplicity makes it alluring to wrestling creatives, who draw from this well all too often.
In the past month alone, we have seen two high-profile examples of the stolen championship story play out, to differing degrees of success. NXT’s Blake Monroe stole Tatum Paxley’s Women’s North American Championship on a surprise sabbatical, leading to a superb Stand and Deliver encounter that saw the rightful champion reclaim her title.
Just when we thought the trope had run its course, the Vanity Project (fellow heels and champions of the tried and tested) presented Monroe with her own personalised replica. The game continues.
The highest-profile example, currently running across the blue brand, is the stumbling saga between a newly turned Randy Orton, perennial babyface WWE Champion Cody Rhodes, and ESPN’s favoured son Pat McAfee. The creative (or lack thereof) in this history-fuelled feud has left many scratching their heads.
Rhodes and Orton share brutal, personal, legacy-defining history that could carry a feud on vibes alone. Even without Drew McIntyre, there were enough ingredients to make a compelling climb towards their WrestleMania bout. Yet here we are: watching McAfee and Orton drive off with the belt after a beatdown on the 10 April 2026 episode of SmackDown. Another line added to an already tired tome.
So what is the purpose of this trope which, despite its simplicity, so often stumbles in execution? And how can the SmackDown storytellers right the course before it is too late?
Looking Back:
Before considering how to move forward, it is important to look back at times when this trope successfully built heat and anticipation for a feud’s fevered encounter.
Quick caveat: it would be remiss not to mention the Pepsi-tattooed elephant in the room. CM Punk found himself involved in a subgenre of belt-related controversy in both WWE and AEW. In both instances, Punk genuinely won the titles, only to be stripped due to storyline or real-life complications. As these reigns involved legitimate victories rather than theft, they are omitted from this discussion.
Likewise, we are focusing solely on stolen championships, not stolen property in general wrestling storytelling (which is just as well, or this would read like a love letter to the Repo Man). Expect no mention of pilfered rings, watches, friendship bracelets or lanterns in the following retrospective.
Attitude and Altitude:
In my research down trope lane, I found numerous examples from wrestling’s territory days featuring stolen gold and other title-related chicanery. Listing them is difficult. This is not only due to scarce archival footage but also because wrestling has changed so drastically since then.
Ever since the creation of the Mr McMahon character in 1997 following that year’s Survivor Series, the game has changed. Fans and sceptics alike are in on the act, aware that the sports entertainment we gobble up leans much more toward entertainment than sport.
The first memorable example comes from a December 15 episode of Raw that same year.
It features one of wrestling’s greatest talkers and brawlers, Stone Cold Steve Austin, and his greatest rival, The Rock. For many millennial fans, the image of Austin tossing The Rock’s Intercontinental Championship into the black depths of the Piscataqua River is indelibly imprinted in our minds: a genuine pop culture moment. The act was shocking, unforgettable, and good enough to warrant a replay when The Rock returned the favour, throwing Austin’s beloved Smoking Skull championship into the Detroit river.
In both cases, excellence lay not just in execution but in the emotion behind the act. These two genuinely despised each other. Whether life imitated art or vice versa, the vitriol transcended the split screen. In earlier examples of the trope, stealing the title was an act of disrespect. Here, it was weaponised. The dunking of the gold embodied ultimate disdain. As with so much in the Attitude Era, Austin and The Rock elevated the trope by making personal hatred outweigh championship desire. Their feud remains the gold standard (pun intended) for turning a cliché into a moment of fire.
The Brodie Lee Exceptions:
Of course, not everyone can be Austin and The Rock, nor should they try. Fast forward to an era many would rather forget: the COVID pandemic. And consider a man none of us will forget: the late Brodie Lee.
Lee featured in two title theft stories across different companies, each executed very differently. In March 2015, before WrestleMania 31, Luke Harper was part of a revolving door of belt snatchers. Wade Barrett’s Intercontinental Championship was constantly stolen in the weeks leading to the event, passed around by R-Truth, Dolph Ziggler and even Stardust (a nightmare-less Cody Rhodes). This chaos culminated in a stellar ladder match featuring numerous stars, ultimately won by Daniel Bryan. Though Lee did not win, the playful, almost farcical sequence of thefts refreshed the trope. It mocked it just enough to make it fun again.
Jump to the pandemic years and the newly christened Brodie Lee’s feud with Jon Moxley. Here, Lee’s malevolent brilliance shone. Week after week, he appeared with the AEW Championship, demanding to be recognised as the rightful titleholder. Though he eventually lost the battle for the belt, Lee’s cunning dominance made him a credible threat. This proves even tired tropes can thrive when handled by the right performer.
The Switchblade Slip-Up:
AEW is not without blemishes in this department. Enter Switchblade Jay White in 2023. Having stolen MJF’s beloved Triple B, White strutted into their Full Gear build-up wearing the company’s richest prize. Despite his villainous role, many fans felt he looked the part of champion. This was especially true as MJF’s injury woes signalled his reign’s end.
However, when the match arrived, poor booking turned promise into parody. White and his Bang Bang Gang were soundly defeated. Instead of elevating future stars, the feud flattened them. The setup had been near perfect, but convoluted execution destroyed its payoff.
This serves as a stark reminder: great storytelling depends not on the theft itself, but on what comes after the bell rings.
Lessons from the Winged Eagle:
The final example is perhaps the most useful model for the current feud involving Cody and co. It happened in WWE, and Cody was central to it. Enter Kevin Owens and the Winged Eagle Championship.
When WWE announced the retro belt’s one-night-only return, fans were both thrilled and nostalgic. For many, it was the first championship they saw as children: the spark for a lifelong passion. After Cody’s victory at Saturday Night’s Main Event, Owens stole the championship, refusing to accept defeat.
Owens eventually lost the follow-up ladder match, with Cody raising both belts high. But the feud worked for several key reasons. First, fans wanted to see the gold, and many wanted to see Owens with it. Stealing a title is not the same as winning it, but visuals matter. It is why AEW’s Death Rider briefcase angle fell flat. Fans crave gold, both literally and metaphorically.
Second, Owens was the right man. His refusal to back down gave weight to the match. Say what you will about heel turns or endings: Owens made it feel important.
Righting the SmackDown Ship:
So how can WWE salvage this latest belt theft storyline?
It is not beyond saving. The talent involved are capable, and even McAfee’s detractors admit his value as a personality.
First, get the championship as far away from Pat as possible. Randy has made it clear this is something he needs, not merely wants. This justifies his earlier attack on Cody. Despite both being heels, Orton should not be comfortable with anyone else holding his gold. This subtle shift will help avoid unfortunate comparisons with David Arquette’s infamous WCW moment.
Keep Pat as Randy’s mouthpiece, certainly. But stop the pair from playing for laughs. Randy must mean business. Fans still remember 2009 Randy fondly because he was ruthless. Bringing even a hint of that intensity back would sell this feud completely.
Next, make sure the championship matters. Orton and Rhodes should be fighting for something that feels truly significant. Neither should be indifferent about the belt’s symbolism. Let the duo use that championship to stack the deck against Rhodes, while forcing him to battle back from disadvantage.
And ultimately, the match must deliver. WWE can stumble all the way to WrestleMania, but if they stick the landing, fans will forgive the missteps.
This trope may be tried and tested, but not all that is old is gold. Recycling successful angles of the past will not automatically make fans care. However, a flat gimmick can always be revived with the right mix of timing, patience and creativity. Even a bland stolen belt storyline can produce a genuinely memorable feud when handled with care and conviction.
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