By the time Karl Anderson walked into the Tokyo Dome for Wrestle Kingdom 17 as the first WWE-contracted wrestler to defend a NJPW title, it was already too late—his soul had long been claimed by the ghost of the tag team division.
There’s a moment in every wrestler’s life when they realize they’ll never main event WrestleMania. For Chad Allegra—better known as Karl Anderson—it came sometime between his 11th IWGP Tag Team Championship defense with Giant Bernard and his third Impact Tag Title run with Doc Gallows. He didn’t rage against the realization. He accepted it with the serene nihilism of a man who’s been suplexed in four continents and still had to do the podcast circuit afterward.
Born in Asheville, North Carolina, and raised in the kind of small-town Midwest crucible that seems to produce either failed athletes or lifelong bouncers, Allegra chose Door #3: pro wrestling. After a stint at Mars Hill College where he played baseball, he dropped out to pursue the noble art of simulated violence. From Les Thatcher’s Main Event Pro Wrestling Camp to the LA Dojo of New Japan, Anderson went from concussed rookie to seasoned journeyman with the kind of grind-it-out résumé that screams “future Bullet Club spokesman.”
The Patron Saint of ‘Pretty Good’
Anderson’s greatest gift, arguably, is making everyone else look slightly better by comparison. That’s not a dig—it’s a skill. He can sell like a mortgage broker in a recession and bump like his paycheck depends on it (because, well, it does). He was the utility man of NJPW, the Barry Horowitz of gaijin with a better win percentage and a decent tan.
While Kenny Omega was busy making match-of-the-year candidates and Prince Devitt was redefining what a junior heavyweight could be, Anderson was busy doing what he does best: holding down the midcard like it owed him money and quietly becoming one of the best tag workers on the planet.
With Giant Bernard, he formed Bad Intentions, a name so perfectly 2010s that it could’ve been a Tapout cologne. They won the IWGP Tag Team Titles and held them for a record 564 days—a reign so long that it almost made people forget Bernard was also the guy who once portrayed Lord Tensai in WWE. Almost.
Bullet Club: Where White Guys Go to Feel Relevant
Anderson was there at Bullet Club’s birth in 2013, alongside Prince Devitt, Tama Tonga, and Bad Luck Fale. It was a crew that looked less like a wrestling stable and more like a villainous DJ collective from Reykjavik. Anderson’s job? Talk. Hype. And occasionally hit a spinebuster that made you wonder, “Wait, is he actually related to Arn?”
He wasn’t. But that didn’t stop fans from squinting and seeing a loose spiritual resemblance. And if you asked Karl, he’d wink, point to the crowd, and say, “I’m the only Anderson whose kids will never be allowed near a barbed-wire match.”
His transition to singles wasn’t so much a career move as it was a layover until Gallows got back from whatever TNA catastrophe he was embroiled in. Anderson made it to the finals of the G1 Climax in 2012, lost to Okada, and went right back to doing what he does best: collecting tag straps and mildly popping crowds in Korakuen Hall.
WWE: Midcard Madness & The O.C. of Eternal Return
When Anderson and Gallows arrived in WWE in 2016, it was with the kind of hype that suggests someone in creative actually watched Wrestle Kingdom 10 and not just the GIFs. But soon enough, Anderson found himself doing the Lord’s work: losing to The Usos in 7 minutes on a pre-show and making awkward jokes with AJ Styles about being “too sweet.”
They won the Raw Tag Team Championships twice, mostly by accident, and were released in 2020—just in time to record a podcast and bash their booking in three different time zones.
They resurfaced in Impact Wrestling, won the tag titles again, and then—because Anderson is a creature of habit—slithered back to New Japan to win the NEVER Openweight Title, making him the first man to collect a belt in Japan while under WWE contract.
This led to a saga that would’ve made Kafka wince: Anderson no-showing a scheduled NJPW defense to work a Saudi Arabia gig for WWE. NJPW threatened to strip him. Anderson responded by cutting a promo from his hotel bathtub. The match eventually happened. He lost. It was art.
The Indie Return (Again) and a Barrel of Beers Later
In 2025, after another WWE run ended as quietly as it began, Anderson and Gallows returned to NJPW, the indies, and Maple Leaf Pro Wrestling—a promotion that sounds fictional but isn’t (we checked). They immediately feuded with Bullet Club War Dogs, which is either a stable or a Canadian ska band. It’s hard to tell.
The Good Brothers, as they’re still known, were once again in their natural element: vaguely tipsy, massively overpaid, and halfway through another “Talk’n Shop” pay-per-view nobody asked for.
Domestic Life & Hot Asian Wife Energy
If there’s one running gag Anderson leaned into more than his own tag team mediocrity, it’s his “Hot Asian Wife” mantra. It was a punchline, a gimmick, a cry for help. But it worked. He has five kids and a home in Florida, so something went right.
He’s also best friends with Shinsuke Nakamura, AJ Styles, and Finn Bálor—men with whom he’s shared locker rooms, life lessons, and possibly several regrettable tattoos.
Legacy of the Machine Gun
In a world where everyone wants to be the top guy, Karl Anderson became the king of the B+ story arc. He never headlined WrestleMania. He never won the big one. But he carved out a legacy by simply showing up, doing the job, and making tag team wrestling cool again—if only for brief flashes between RAW commercial breaks and G1 exits.
So here’s to Karl Anderson: the Machine Gun who never needed to fire blanks—just enough rounds to stay relevant.
And if he ends up back in WWE again next year, don’t act surprised.
Just Too Sweet him and move along.