There are moments in history when popular culture intersects with collective emotional need in a way that becomes impossible to forget. Many of us found ourselves grasping for stability during the early days of the COVID pandemic, not only in our daily routines but in any form of narrative that offered consistency or a sense of control. The world outside felt unpredictable. The news changed by the hour. The air itself seemed dangerous. In the midst of that uncertainty, I found an unexpected source of comfort in a character who was never meant to be comforting at all, the villainous Roman Reigns of WWE.
For readers who are not wrestling fans, it helps to understand that professional wrestling exists in a space known as kayfabe. Kayfabe refers to the fictional storyline world the performers inhabit. The characters they play, the rivalries they act out, the alliances they form, all exist within this narrative framework. It is similar to a television drama, except the actors perform live in a ring and often draw upon real aspects of their heritage or identity to enrich the story. During the pandemic, WWE continued operating under strict safety measures, which meant that the stories continued even when much of the world had paused. Roman Reigns returned to WWE during that time and adopted a character who was very different from the heroic persona audiences had known for years. He became the Tribal Chief, a manipulative, arrogant, selfish villain who demanded obedience from his family and punished them harshly when they disappointed him.
Yet the more he embraced this role, the more I found myself moved by it. Roman became a villain I understood on a level that surprised me. His cruelty never felt empty. His arrogance concealed a deeper vulnerability. He treated his family as if he owned them and expected absolute loyalty, but he also protected them with an intensity that suggested something far more complex than self-interest. He acted not only like a tyrant, but also like a guardian who believed that his dominance was the only thing keeping the family united.
One of the most powerful examples of this dynamic occurred during a storyline between Roman and his cousin Jey Uso. Jey is part of the Anoa’i wrestling dynasty, which Roman belongs to in real life, and the story was rooted in their shared heritage. In the fall of 2020, Roman demanded that Jey acknowledge him as the leader of the family. Jey refused, insisting that Roman had changed into someone unrecognizable. This led to a series of matches that blurred the line between performance and personal conflict. During their Hell in a Cell match, Roman dominated Jey in a way that looked brutal even to seasoned fans. Yet throughout the match he spoke to him in a tone filled with anguish and frustration. He told Jey he did not want to hurt him but had to because Jey was threatening the structure of the family. Near the end, Roman broke down crying. In kayfabe the tears were part of the story, but the emotion behind them felt genuine. It was the kind of moment that revealed the depth of the character he was portraying. He was not punishing Jey out of cruelty. He believed the family would fall apart unless he took control.
The story continued when Jey Uso eventually joined Roman. This took place after Jey had spent a year under Roman’s strict leadership. Jimmy had returned from injury and could no longer ignore how Roman treated his twin brother. In the scene, Jimmy tells Roman that he does not care about championships or the symbols of success. What he cares about is family. He accuses Roman of manipulating them since childhood and says that watching Roman break Jey for an entire year “hurt me to my soul.” He even tells Roman that although he will one day be honored in the Hall of Fame, he will enter it as someone who was treated like a “spoiled” member of the family, not as a noble leader. The anger in Jimmy’s voice feels genuine, and non-fans can see immediately that this is not a simple hero versus villain argument. It is a family conflict that feels grounded in real emotion.
Roman does not explode in anger. Instead, he speaks to Jimmy with a tone that resembles someone who feels both frustrated and heartbroken. He tells Jimmy that their work is a family business, that their choices affect all of them, and that as the older twin Jimmy should be guiding Jey, not creating chaos that forces Jey into the middle. Roman insists that everything he does is for the survival and unity of the family. Whether viewers agree with him or not, the sincerity in his voice is undeniable. He believes his harsh leadership is necessary. He believes he is protecting them. Even in kayfabe, it becomes clear that Roman’s cruelty is intertwined with a distorted form of love. This scene captures why Roman became such a compelling villain. His actions were harsh, yet his motivations felt complex and recognizably human. He was wrong, but he believed he was right. He was ruthless, but he acted out of a sense of responsibility.
Another moment that reveals the heart of Roman’s character comes from a match on the May 20, 2022 episode of SmackDown; The Usos were fighting to unify the Raw and SmackDown Tag Team Championships. They were already champions on one brand because Roman demanded them be champions, but unification would make them the most dominant tag team of their era. The stakes were enormous, both in the story and in the symbolism of the Bloodline’s rise. The match was slipping out of their hands. Their opponents, "RK-Bro", had momentum. Riddle had one of the twins in danger and looked close to finishing the match. Then Roman appeared. He pulled Riddle from the ropes at a critical second, and The Usos struck with their finishing maneuver. They won not only the match, but the legacy that came with it. They became the Undisputed Tag Team Champions, and that victory marked the beginning of a historic reign as the longest-reigning tag team champions in WWE history.
This moment demonstrates why Roman’s villainy was so complicated. In the story, he demanded their obedience and controlled every part of their lives. Yet when they needed him, he arrived without hesitation. His help was decisive. His intervention was delivered with a fierce loyalty that is rarely given to villain characters. He wanted them to succeed, not because he cared about titles, but because he believed success kept the family strong. He pushed them, disciplined them, scolded them, and at times punished them, but it all came from his belief that the family must rise together.
That combination of cruelty and protectiveness created a kind of villain that felt incredibly human. Many great villains in literature and film are compelling not because of their evil, but because we recognize their motivations. We understand what drives them. Roman’s portrayal captured that same quality. He was ruthless, but his ruthlessness served a purpose he believed in. He disciplined his family harshly, sometimes with shocking violence, yet he did it because he saw himself as the only one capable of leading them. When they needed him, he showed up without hesitation. He did not protect them with gentle words or soft gestures. He protected them with force because he believed strength was the only language that kept them safe.
This blend of villainy and humanity is what made him so fascinating to watch, especially during COVID. When the world felt unstable, Roman projected unwavering control. His stoic demeanor, his calm intensity, his confidence, and the absolute certainty he brought to every performance created a strange sense of comfort. There was nothing uncertain about him. He spoke with clarity. He made decisions without hesitation. He stood firm when everything around him trembled. At a time when real leaders often faltered, Roman’s fictional leadership felt oddly reassuring. He promised stability, even though he did it as a tyrant. That stability mattered.
I relied on that feeling more than I expected. Every week, Roman appeared on screen as if the world outside had not fallen apart. He gave me something constant to hold onto, a narrative rhythm that anchored my emotions. He stood in the center of the chaos, unshaken, unafraid, and entirely certain of his purpose. That certainty became a kind of emotional refuge. He carried the weight of the Bloodline story, and in doing so, he carried me through some very heavy days. Now that the Bloodline storyline has ended and Roman only appears occasionally, I find myself missing him with a sentiment that lingers long after the episodes end. Wrestling feels emptier without the Tribal Chief at its center. His presence was more than entertainment. It was a steady heartbeat during a time when everything else felt off rhythm. Each appearance he makes now feels like a fleeting reminder of that stability. I watch him with a mix of admiration and nostalgia, aware that these moments are rare and precious.
Roman Reigns created a character who was complex, flawed, dangerous, and strangely comforting. He offered a form of storytelling that resonated on a primal level, touching on themes of family, loyalty, power, and protection. In a period of global instability, he became a symbol of certainty. He gave us someone to look at and think, I understand this. I feel this. I needed this. I needed the strength he projected, even if it was wrapped in villainy. This is why Roman remains my favorite. Not because he was heroic, but because he was human in his cruelty and human in his love. He helped me survive a difficult chapter, and I will always hold that close. I miss him because he mattered. I miss him because his story meant something. And I miss him because every time he walked to the ring, I felt a little less alone in a world that was falling apart.
There is something important to reflect on when we talk about Roman Reigns as a villain who became the most popular wrestler of the modern era. He should never have been cheered. He was the antagonist in the story. He manipulated his family, exploited his power, and controlled every environment he walked into. Yet audiences applauded him with a force that shook arenas. Even viewers who claimed to despise him still tuned in every week. Something deeper was happening. Roman was performing the role of a heel, yet he became a cultural figure people rallied behind. The question is why. Part of the answer lies in the humanity he showed in the midst of his cruelty. Audiences could sense that something real was being tapped into, even if they were not fully aware of it. His motivations felt honest within the logic of the story. His protectiveness of his cousins, his belief that the family’s strength relied on his control, and the emotional weight he carried when disciplining them all felt grounded in recognizable human behavior. In storytelling, the most beloved villains are the ones whose internal logic we understand. Roman belonged to that category, and he portrayed that emotional complexity with remarkable restraint.
The other part of the answer is tied to something more structural and political within professional wrestling itself. WWE has always presented a very neoliberal vision of success. Wrestlers are shown as individuals who rise through merit, hard work, and perseverance. They are expected to overcome adversity through personal grit. Roman as a villain completely rejected that framework. When he became the Tribal Chief, he did not follow any of the established steps that had defined WWE’s heroic stories for decades. He did not climb the ladder in the traditional narrative sense. He did not earn the audience’s approval. He did not go on a redemption arc or struggle for acceptance. Instead, he took control through dominance, charisma, heritage, and a level of authority that felt almost monarchical.
This was a radical departure from the typical pro wrestling hero’s journey. Roman created his own pathway. He declared himself the leader. He restructured the entire system around his presence. In the storyline, no one gave him permission to do any of this. He seized the position and reshaped the world of the show in his image. For American audiences who often face real obstacles in the form of economic limitations, lack of mobility, corporate hierarchies, and social constraints, Roman’s ruthless dismantling of the fictional system became cathartic. He was the character who threw away the old rulebook. He rejected the idea that the path to success must be slow, quiet, polite, or merit based, and instead created a world where he decided the rules. That kind of story resonates with a culture struggling under modern socioeconomic pressures. It resonates with people who feel trapped in systems that rarely reward them. Roman became a symbolic figure of rebellion in a way that was both uncomfortable and enticing. He became a villain who represented the fantasy of breaking barriers that feel immovable in everyday life. His dominance was not only a plot point. It was a form of liberation for viewers who felt powerless in a world that demanded constant concession.
It is difficult to separate that cultural layer from the emotional impact he had during the pandemic. When COVID shut down life as we knew it, many of the systems we were told to trust suddenly revealed their fragility. Institutions failed. Leadership faltered. Society became disorganized. Roman, in kayfabe, stood in stark contrast to that instability. He possessed clarity when the world felt confusing. He projected confidence at a time when many people felt lost. He took charge when the notion of authority felt unreliable in reality. Watching him throw away the established norms within the wrestling story and rebuild everything according to his will mirrored the sort of upheaval we all were experiencing. Yet he enacted that upheaval with strength and purpose.
People cheered for Roman because he made chaos feel manageable. He refused to participate in the system that once constrained him and instead created something new. That became a metaphor for survival. If Roman could tear down the structure and build a new one that protected his family, then perhaps we could find ways to build something stable in our own lives when stability felt unlikely. His transformation into the Tribal Chief felt like a declaration that even in the face of uncertainty, there are ways to adapt, assert authority over one’s circumstances, and claim a sense of control. During COVID, everything in life felt unpredictable. Roman Reigns provided a kind of ritualistic certainty. Each appearance was a moment where the world made sense in its own distinct way. He walked to the ring with slow, deliberate intention. He spoke with a steady cadence. He portrayed a character who believed he could protect his family from anything. That sense of unwavering belief seeped into the minds of viewers looking for a place to anchor their emotions.
Roman felt safe to watch, even though his character was dangerous. The safety came from his consistency. He gave the impression that nothing could shake him. In a time defined by vulnerability, that steadiness offered an unexpected comfort. This comfort did not come from the idea that he was a hero. It came from the idea that he was immovable. Roman Reigns felt like the kind of figure who could stand in a storm and not shift an inch. Some viewers needed that image. I certainly did. The calm he showed, the slow precision of his speech, the unwavering eye contact, and the quiet pressure of his authority all created a sense of grounding in the viewer. He did not collapse under the weight of expectation, and that made him a symbolic form of strength during a time when real life felt fragile.
Now that Roman appears only rarely, there is a sense of longing attached to every one of his entrances. Each time he steps onto the stage now, I feel a small ache, knowing that the period when he was a weekly source of reassurance has passed. Yet I also feel gratitude. Roman offered something emotionally meaningful during a time when emotional meaning was difficult to find. He was the villain who helped me, and many others, survive a moment when survival felt uncertain. His character embodied strength, rebellion, and devotion in a way that transcended the wrestling ring. He created a story that spoke to the anxieties of the world, while also giving us something steady to hold on to. That is a rare gift for any character to give, and it is one I will always cherish.
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