John Cena’s Retirement Is the Final Chapter of a Superhero Story

Since 2002, John Cena embodied a mythos usually reserved for comic book characters. Now his wrestling retirement run has felt less like a farewell and more like the final act of a saga that has spanned across different timelines. It’s a significant event that challenges everyone who has been on this journey with him to appreciate everything he’s done and who he was for the business of professional wrestling as WWE continues to reinvent itself.

What makes the timing interesting is the irony of Cena closing the door on his run as WWE’s enduring superhero, while having begun a new start as another one in an entirely new universe. When James Gunn cast the wrestler as Chris Smith a.k.a. Peacemaker in The Suicide Squad, he placed Cena in a role that he was already prepared for. That’s because his career mirrored the very person that he was tasked to portray. He embodied the same duality and complexity in the WWE that Peacemaker carries in the DC Universe. 

Cena’s on-screen evolution in Hollywood became a reinforcement of what wrestling was already writing about him out in the open. In WWE’s case, it was him holding up the company on his back when legacy fans were turning away from the product. For DC, it’s Christopher Smith’s pursuit of justice by any means that led him to reach absolution. And like WWE, James Gunn saw something in Cena’s ability to be a main character as he sought to rewrite the perception of DC, helping turn Cena into the kind of critically-acclaimed actor that had been just out of reach as he pursued Hollywood.

Peacemaker’s contradictions, his earnestness and sincerity that collides with violence and absurdity is the very paradox that defined Cena’s in-ring career. His retirement run and Peacemaker trajectory aren’t separate stories. They are the same legend told in different mediums. He was the WWE’s misunderstood hero and is now the DC Universe’s misunderstood hero too. Both have an origin story. Cena’s began a few short years after the world entered into the year 2000 in a squared-circle. 

The New Millenium’s Superhero

The wrestling industry is as fickle as the careers inside of it. Stars can rise or vanish almost overnight. Cena’s debut in June 2002 against Kurt Angle could have been pulled directly from the splash page of a graphic novel. Fans watched a confident rookie shout “ruthless aggression” before putting on a now-legendary match with one of the company’s most decorated performers. It was a dynamic introduction, but nobody could have predicted that Cena would become the company’s most notable standard-bearer for the next two decades, even if this moment all but signaled their belief in him.

What made his arrival more poignant was its timing. That debut came less than a year after the September 11 attacks, a moment when wrestling, like much of the United States, was searching for optimism and a renewed sense of national spirit. WWE leaned heavily on patriotic storytelling throughout 2001 and 2002 and is famously known as the first public gathering broadcast after the attacks. However, with tragedy looming over the country as a whole, the search for a new and fresh face that could transform into their vessel of American resilience. 

Cena fit that mold and his cleancut look would be paired with a military salute, the mantra of “Hustle, Loyalty, Respect” that reflected the core values of America, and was presented as an underdog who would, “Never Give Up.” He also frequently started wearing camouflage gear and was booked in roles that cast him as the face of American perseverance. In many ways, he was looked to as WWE’s soldier for the company. He was a direct contrast of the dying Attitude Era when the company wanted to tone down their edge in the midst of crisis and rebrand into a company that was centered around stability and hope through a main character.

To this day, Cena is still the gravitational center of WWE. He survived shifts in leadership, cultural changes, and fan rebellions, carrying the company on his back during its most fragile transitions. He was always their lightning rod, their anchor, and much more than a reliable hand. He was the hand.

Cena’s retirement arc supersedes nostalgia. It is a resolution. It reads like the last issue of a long-running comic book, where every single moment suddenly connects as one. This completes the superhero story wrestling had been writing about him in plain sight since the beginning.

Hero of The PG Era

In 2008, when WWE fully embraced PG programming, the company needed more than a figurehead. They needed someone who could withstand scrutiny and embody stability. Cena became that figure, wholesome and endlessly promotable, the brand’s most visible face.

That shift was monumental. The Attitude Era took liberties with raunchiness, blood, swearing, and antiheroes like Stone Cold Steve Austin and now, that excess was gone. In its place came a more family-friendly storytelling, partnership-focused vision from the top of the company. This brought in collaborations with entities like Mattel and Post Consumer Brands. Sponsorships and a sudden uptick in mainstream appeal triggered one of the loudest fan rebellions in wrestling history. Die-hards rejected the tamer product typified by Cena, and crowds responded in person. They threw his shirts back at him, brought signs with them that said things like, “If Cena Wins, We Riot.” They cheered the bad guys, hijacked his promos, and filled arenas with chants like, “You can’t wrestle.” Fans directed their frustration at the man they believed was the herald of this new direction. 

Anti-Cena sentiment wasn’t fringe. It was common and he took the brunt of every grievance that had been building between the audience and the business. The people wanted rebellion and they got respectability instead. Below the surface, this was a chaotic time, but Cena was still there, standing as a constant through it all. 

Very few people in modern entertainment can say they worked seven days a week. Cena did. For more than a decade, he lived a punishing schedule that saw him wrestle more than 250 nights a year, travel internationally, appear at live events, headline television and pay-per-views, and still manage early morning talk shows and late-night interviews. On top of that, he became the most requested celebrity for Make-A-Wish, granting more than 650 wishes and setting a record no one has come close to. His life was relentless, structured almost entirely around WWE’s demands, and yet he carried that responsibility without faltering. He never once complained. He always showed up. He worked through injuries and gave his best day in and day out.

His presence was not only cultural, but financial. In 2018, Cena was working part-time and only second to Roman Reigns in sales. He headlined more pay-per-views than anyone else in company history and was a ratings stabilizer when Monday Night Raw was averaging around 3.5 million weekly viewers. During that run, WWE’s annual revenue climbed from roughly $485 million in 2007 to $729 million in 2016, with live event gates and merchandise sales strongly tied to Cena’s drawing power.

Streaming numbers proved his drawing power too. Cena’s 2021 return to face Roman Reigns in the main event of SummerSlam drove the occasion to become the most-watched SummerSlam in WWE history on Peacock at the time. His 2023 SmackDown comeback in September led to one of the brand’s largest viewership surges of that year. Cena’s presence produced measurable business lifts.

Fans, however, didn’t appreciate how those numbers translated into their experience and often did not care to see the superhero either. What was happening on camera wasn’t the shock and awe or the edge that they demanded. At that very moment, antiheroes were dominating pop culture and Cena’s squeaky-clean persona was unwelcome. Events rang with chants of “Cena sucks.” He faced continuous criticism of his wrestling ability and his infamous “Five Moves of Doom” and promos that sounded almost too good. He never bent. He walked into the fire every night, in the midst of a brutal and grueling schedule that preceded his appearances and waited for him afterwards. He became Superman made flesh onscreen and off of it too, when the world thought they wanted him to change and be something different.

His rivalry with Randy Orton became the backbone of the PG Era, a battle of morality against rebellion that proved WWE could endure when anchored by one man who refused to compromise. He was a part of the brand that was necessary. He took up a mantle, one that presented itself as desirable, but was paired with an incredible cost. This is why his retirement isn’t normal. It’s the end of one of the greatest stories ever told in a professional sport. Very few have ever walked in shoes like these and got their chance to leave gracefully.

John Cena’s Comic Book Saga

Cena’s career has been full of larger-than-life matchups. His rivalry with Edge was chaos against order. His feud with CM Punk was establishment against revolution. His battles with The Rock were staged like crossover summer blockbusters. Each pairing carried meaningful stakes with them and they all contributed to his larger mythology.

The nickname “Super Cena” was not wrong. Fans were correctly identifying the archetype Cena portrayed even as they resisted it. They wanted him, but only on their terms. Still, Cena’s presence kept the company intact. He was a total performer who was shouldering complex burdens: headlining pay-per-views, filming charity spots, handling endless media, and wrestling night after night with the same effort. He was important not just because of championships, but because of his endurance too. And he never became nasty and resentful after fulfilling his duties time and time again. He just kept going. That is the essence of a hero and someone who deserves their endless flowers.

For years, Cena was defined by rejection. Now, arenas thunder in gratitude. The same fans who once booed him for being too perfect now recognize that he was a special talent the likes of which they may never see again.

Cena’s final appearances have electrified crowds because of the weight of finality. The sight of him saluting at the top of the ramp has regained its luster. They are the last frames of a story that has been building for as long as some can even remember. Every word he has spoken has landed differently, laced with subtle hints of his legacy and of his goodbye.

Wrestlepalooza, WWE’s first under the TKO banner, highlights Cena’s place in the company and the need to have someone ready to be their franchise player who provides continuity while Cena provides closure. The speculation over his final opponent now feels less like booking chatter and more like mythology being written in real time. If Orton is the rival who defines his arc, if Roman Reigns is the franchise who succeeded him, or if a younger talent is chosen to stand across from him, the choice will symbolize more than a match. It will represent the final page and hopefully the passing of the torch to the new standard bearer and generational talent for the next 20 years.

Cena’s last appearance on the Friday Night Smackdown brand is on the same show and in the same building where he made his debut against Kurt Angle in 2002: Chicago’s Allstate Arena. The setting is the final metamorphosis of a hero’s journey that’s been unfolding throughout the years. The return there more than two decades later, at the close of his career, transforms September 5, 2025 into something larger than nostalgia. It becomes sacred ground where Cena and his audience can share in closure together.

As this chapter closes, Cena doesn’t just leave behind championships or catchphrases. With his retirement ends the last great story of the PG Era, an entire era of professional wrestling that he carried through sheer stamina, consistency, and sacrifice. And for once, in both WWE and Hollywood, the world seems ready to admit they had been watching a superhero all along.

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