Do you watch wrestling to sagely nod at a solid performance, stroke your chin, and say "That was a really tidy performance worked between two professionals who know how to preserve their body"?
Yes in the case of Bret Hart, obviously, but with Randy Orton, not so much.
You don't watch professional wrestling to detachedly analyse a Baron Corbin performance and award it praise because he successfully bores the audience. Well, you do if you're a mutant. You watch professional wrestling for the exhilaration. For the sh*t that makes you pump that fist. For the motherf*cking dopamine rush.
Hiroshi Tanahashi is a genius because he works in a slow rhythm before gradually cranking the pace and unleashing his amazing, perfectly-timed high spots. The awesome surge of a Tanahashi classic means so much more because the graduating intensity feels more like the will to win than the need to pop a crowd. Not that there's anything wrong with that, inherently. Awesome athletic specimens doing cool sh*t is cool. Agreeing with Bruce Prichard isn't.
Slow can be good, if it informs the electricity to come. Randy Orton, not so much.