Shotgun Saturday Night (01/11/97)

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Lee Maughan: And we’ve got bad news right from the off this week as the Sisters of Love were arrested for soliciting outside the Disney store earlier today, so they’re already history after debuting just last week. Bang goes that dream Flying Nuns vs. Flying Elvises match then.

 

Diesel vs. Marc Mero
Just to reiterate for those not paying close enough attention, this would be the second incarnation of Diesel, with Glenn Jacobs under the leather. Before the action even gets underway the differences between last week and this are obvious, as the Café, a sports bar, comes across like a somewhat more upmarket venue (as in, it’s actually lit), but since the walls are curved and there’s a big structural plinth in the middle of the room, the ring is very awkwardly positioned off to one side with a floating camera on a jib. Diesel goes after Sable on the outside so she shoves a cake in his face for a lame “he really takes the cake!” joke, like they basically blew their wad with last week’s high calibre gag quotient. Razor Ramon soon shows up and goes after Mero, but Rocky Maivia arrives to make the save.

Back from a break, Diesel goes to work with a vertical suplex and a top rope flying clothesline. Far be it from me to underline yet again the reasons for the failure of the revived Diesel and Razor Ramon personas, but when did Kevin Nash ever vertical suplex anyone, or fly off the top rope? Obviously there were much greater problems with the gimmick than the move set, but sometimes it’s the little things that need the most attention. The Nash-originated spinning sidewalk slam does however make an appearance before Mero makes a comeback with a flying head scissors and a leaping lariat. Which would be fine if not for the fact he showed absolutely no fire whatsoever before that and just took his ass-kicking. Again, it’s the little things. Mero hits a tasty moonsault press but gets distracted when he spots the Honky Tonk Man of all people pursuing Sable on the outside. Diesel wallops Mero from behind with a double axehandle, and the Jackknife gives him something of a surprise win. Although, he would also go on to place highly in next week’s Royal Rumble, so the WWF clearly had some kind of plan for the guy.
Final Rating:

Post match, Mero berates Sable for the loss and bails out, leaving her crying in the ring. Honky of course figures now is the best time to hit on her, so Rocky returns for his second save of the day, but that brings out Mero for a heated shoving match. “Let them go!” demand the New York crowd. I concur.

Faarooq vs. Savio Vega
Hinting at problems to come, we get the entire rap introduction of the Nation of Domination from JC Ice and Wolfie D here, but join the match in progress after commercials. Faarooq dominates (har har) in the early going until he decides to work in his electric chair bump that he always loved taking. That’s pretty business-exposing if you think about it, since nobody in the promotion was doing that move unless they were specifically against Faarooq, and how dumb do you have to be to allow yourself to wind up in a position where that keeps happening to you, time and time again? I suppose the same could be said of Ric Flair’s big slam off the top, but I always put that down to his own arrogance and determination to actually hit the damn thing, psychologically speaking.

Savio runs through some of his more exciting offense (back body drop, side-Russian legsweep, spinning heel kick) that would vanish following his impending heel turn (throughout the local New York feed of these shows, promos were airing for an upcoming card at Madison Square Garden that would see Savio turn on his partner that night, Ahmed Johnson, and actually side with the Nation, although there’s no hint of Savio’s dark side here). PG-13 soon get involved on this night of outside interference, and Faarooq takes over with a snap suplex for two. Savio comes back with a chinbreaker but misses a charge into the corner and eats a spinebuster for the three. Pretty good back-and-forth stuff actually.
Final Rating: **½

– And now, in response to her disgruntlement with Marlena’s breasts last week, it’s the world premiere of Sunny’s home sex tape! And if you’ve ever wondered about the coitus techniques of Chris Candido, Shawn Michaels or Davey Boy Smith, well, you won’t find your answer here I’m afraid. No, her secret lover is none other than… Fondle Me Elmo, which is basically some guy dressed like the hottest pre-schooler’s toy of 1996, Tickle Me Elmo, complete with a thong and an irritating laugh. Because what’s funnier than sexualizing a Sesame Street Muppet aimed at infants?

– Meanwhile, Todd Pettengill is up on the stage to belt another one out in week two of his apparently ongoing series of karaoke klassics. At least it isn’t another parody effort this time as he instead has the Honky Tonk Man with him for a very lengthy run-through of ‘Honky Tonk Man’, a brand new song that Honky has trouble keeping pace with. They should have done ‘Hunka Hunka Hunka Honky Love’ and just made do. You know, I never thought I’d say this, but where are the Bushwhackers when you actually need ‘em? Thankfully, Rocky Maivia arrives to end the misery.

Rocky Maivia vs. Razor Ramon
And another thing; why would you knowingly book your Diesel and Razor imposters in front of an intimate, smart-ass New York crowd anyway? I mean, I say smart, they again start chanting “bWo! bWo!” just like last week, for reasons I remain unable to fathom. Back from a quick commercial, Razor dominates with some rest holds (come on man, you’re doing a six minute TV match in a rowdy nightclub, ramp it up!) but Rocky fires up with dropkicks and a crossbody. Out on the floor, Honky Tonk gets a few licks in as payback for Rocky’s earlier intervention on Honky’s apparent attempts to make a sex tape of his own with Sable (and if you’ve ever been subjected to Honky’s shoot interview alongside New Jack and the Iron Sheik in which all three drop their pants, bend over and pull their arse cheeks wide apart, you’ll know that is something that should never ever see the light of day), and Razor goes for the Razor’s Edge, escaped by Rocky and countered with a match-winning shoulderbreaker.
Final Rating: *

– Out on Times Square, Pettengill cracks a few jokes at the expense of a poor homeless man who’s fallen on such hard times that he’s taken to living in a cardboard box. “Look at that hobo!” he may as well have shouted. “Come on! Let’s kick him to death!” Okay, Toad’s lines might not have been quite as mean-spirited as that, drifting as they did more along the lines of “Hey, he’s even got a box room for when the mother-in-law comes to stay!” And then out from the pile emerges Nikolai Volkoff! Ha! I believe Virgil moved into a plush beer crate/tarpaulin combo crib next door to Nikolai not long after this.

– Back in the club, Vince produces a copy of Vanity Fair and announces that Goldust is pregnant and scheduled to give birth on next week’s show. Why yes, this is the Attitude Era we’re in.

Doug Furnas & Phil LaFon vs. The Headbangers
Time is running short now (thank goodness for all those silly skits, eh?) so this is joined in progress with a jawbreaker to Mosh from LaFon, and Thrasher crashing into Doug Furnas with a flying clothesline, but it’s already time for a commercial break so you can kiss goodbye to what little flow this match has going for it. Things pick up with a snap suplex and a standing senton from LaFon to Thrasher, then all four guys get in the ring for a brawl as things completely break down… and that’s it. TV time is up, and Vince promises the conclusion next week. Impossible to rate under the circumstances.

THE SHOTGUN RECAP:

 

Most Entertaining: Marc Mero. His psychology was as spotty as the moves he delivered, but at least those moves were exciting, and his proto-’Marvellous’ face/face showdown with Rocky Maivia showed a lot of potential. A shame he blew his knee out a few weeks later, only to return a shell of his former self.

Least Entertaining: Fondle Me Elmo. An atrocious skit that just felt like it would never end.

Quote of the Night: I did consider giving it to Sunny for bamboozling Vince McMahon with her recounting of Doug Furnas’ and Phil LaFon’s multiple All-Asia tag team title reigns in All Japan Pro Wrestling, but I’ve instead gone for: “Honky Tonk man was looking at Razor Ramon… I don’t think he’s going to be looking at him after this match…” – Vince’s apparent shoot admission that he’d finally cottoned on to what everybody else already knew – that Rick Bognar was a terrible pro wrestler.

Match of the Night: Faarooq vs. Savio Vega.

Summary: Another largely rotten episode that still managed to fly past and leave you wanting more. The wrestling overall was pretty bad but it was short enough to never outstay its welcome, and the skits were brutally bad, albeit like a car crash you can’t tear yourself away from. Yes, the New York crowd was its typically irritating self, but the different look and feel to these shows offers such a different vibe from anything else going on in wrestling in early 1997, except perhaps for ECW at the Arena, that no matter how bad the shows are, they’re still masochistically entertaining.
Verdict: 33

Shotgun Saturday Night (01/04/97)

WWE.com

Lee Maughan: 1996 has morphed into 1997 and WCW are winning the war with Monday Nitro, a New World Order-powered juggernaut on wrestling’s televisual landscape. ECW are continuing to make a big noise in bingo halls across the east coast, punching above their weight with a provocative product aimed squarely at an adult audience. And the WWF? They’re in deep trouble. Attendance has dropped, numbers have plummeted and things are about to get edgy.

Welcome to the Attitude Era.

Reminiscent of the first RAW back in January 1993, the show kicks off on the streets of New York City. Back then, an edgy New York vibe meant gentile corporate shill Sean Mooney exposing Bobby Heenan’s Les Dawson ‘Cissie and Ada’ tribute act. Times have changed. Here, Mary Whitehouse… sorry, I mean Bob Backlund, is protesting the perceived vulgarity on offer tonight – “There’s decadence going on in there, ladies and gentlemen! There’s sexual activities going on in there! There’s violence! There’s crime! What is this?! What is this television?! Shotgun Saturday Night, who’s that good for?! That’s a disgrace! Shotgun Saturday Night, should be banned! It should be banned! New York City should be banned! Matter of fact, Saturday night should be banned!” If they did ban Saturday night, Gary Lineker would cease to exist as a worthwhile entity, left to float aimlessly through the ethers of time with nothing but a replica FA Cup and a gigantic bag of Walkers crisps.

The Flying Nuns vs. The Godwinns
Quite the auspicious way to kick-start the new show, no? The Nuns are Sister Angelica and Mother Smucker, better known to you and I as Mosh and Thrasher, the Headbangers. The gimmick was all part of an elaborate angle to introduce the ‘Bangers to WWF audiences, but it was dropped after this initial outing, largely owing to how touchy some Christians have a tendency to be about these things. Not that it was any great loss to professional wrestling, mind you.

Instantly the show has the feel of a underground Indy group, albeit one with million dollar production. The small but rowdy crowd are packed onto the nightclub stage, checking out the action in what looks to be about a 14×14 ring, if that, with police tape-yellow ropes, much like those that would adorn NXT rings in years to come. Now, you might be wondering why a show as edgy and as northern as one set in a New York nightclub would book a couple of hillbilly pig farmers as babyfaces here, but Todd Pettengill (yes, he’s still here) rears his ugly mug to accuse them, and by association everyone from Kentucky, as inbred. And as if this show wasn’t already subversive enough, who should show up at ringside but Brother Love, in his first appearance since late 1995. And wouldn’t you just know it? The fans start chanting “ECW! ECW! ECW!” at all of this, which just makes no sense whatsoever.

Vince McMahon (doing commentary with Sunny) calls this match “gruelling”, which it certainly is, though perhaps not quite in the way he meant it. Sister Angelica misses a legdrop off the top and Phineas begins his comeback to a resounding chorus of boos. Ah, New York. The big gag revolves around Phineas refusing to grab the Nuns’ crotches on bodyslam attempts, and then Brother Love smashes him in the face with a Bible, giving Angelica the pin. Post match, Love cuts a promo full of masturbatory references and redubs the Nuns ‘The Sisters of Love’. I can see why the Christians would complain about this. And not for religious reasons, either.
Final Rating: *

 

– Over in the VIP lounge, Backlund rails against Marlena’s tits, while Vince makes sure to stress the fact that Backlund used the word “cleavage.” Edgy!

 

Goldust vs. The Sultan
Neither guy gets an entrance in the traditional sense here, but they do get to stand around while a laser light show breaks out to the pulsating beat of some techno tripe. And after the transsexual tag team in the opening act, Vince now makes sure that everyone remembers Goldust’s coming “in” the closet after Jerry Lawler previously demanded to know if he was a “queer”. Remember when the WWF was a delightfully mom ‘n’ pop, family-friendly pro ‘rasslin promotion full of strongmen and superheroes? Vince wonders aloud if Backlund is a “pervert” and Backlund claims he can’t hear anything because he doesn’t have his glasses on. The Sultan slaps on a chinlock and the crowd decides to amuse itself by chanting for the “bWo”. Oddly enough, they’d get them just a few weeks later. They then decide to prove how “smart” they all are by chanting “Fatu sucks!” and “We want Raven!” The Fatu chants I get, but what does ECW have to do with any of this? The referee takes a steel chair off the Sultan (edgy!) then Marlena jumps up on the ring apron mid-Camel Clutch, and whips out a couple of handfuls. For some reason, that’s enough to give Goldust the win. Not that I’m complaining, but did Lou Thesz ever suffer those sort of consequences? “How did you lose, Lou? DQ? Count-out? Honkers?”
Final Rating: *

 

Ahmed Johnson vs. Crush
As a white supremacist biker throws up his right fist in a salute of black power, I suddenly consider if the WWF could have possibly booked a worse singles match at this point and how I wish Backlund had gotten his way at the start of the show. The tag match earlier in the night may have contained twelve of the longest minutes you’ll ever see, and the previous bout suffered from a despicably long rest hold that killed any flow it may have had, but they were at least competent. This is strictly amateur hour stuff, and to make matters worse, they top it off with a lousy disqualification finish when an unnamed member of the Nation of Domination (who you’d most likely recognise as D’Lo Brown) jumps in for a beat-down of Ahmed. Crush finishes the job with a disturbingly stiff chair shot to the head before Goldust and the Godwinns make the save, which allows Ahmed to stop selling, chase the Nation out of the arena, and give D’Lo a Pearl River Plunge on the hood of a car.
Final Rating: ½*

 

– To the Port Authority bus terminal next, where Jim Cornette collects an already-dressed Mini Vader, fresh from Mexico City and in serious need of a piss. The big gag was supposed to be that the urinals were too high for him with Cornette lifting him by the armpits, but the porcelain was already so low to the floor that the visual didn’t work in the slightest, ruining the joke. The solution? They cut away from the shot just after they’d gone into the bathroom, and just had Vince explain the joke instead!

– And now things take a turn for the worse (that’s right), as Todd Pettengill jumps in the ring to belt out that karaoke classic, ‘The Macarena’, complete with his own set of parody lyrics. ‘Weird Al’ Yankovic he ain’t.

Mascarita Sagrada vs. Mini Vader
Or “Mascarada Sagrita” as Vince calls him. This would be the shortest match of the night (oh, har har) which is a shame, because it’s the one with the most action. For anyone who’s seen more than two matches with the luchador minis, you’ll know that action is mostly made up of dives, huracanranas and head scissor takeovers. One of those takeovers comes from a leap off the top rope, which gets a big reaction from the crowd (who for some reason don’t chant Rey Misterio, Jr.’s name, despite how wacky and “inside” they fancy themselves as tonight), and Mini Vader breaks out a brutal powerbomb just to mix things up. There’s not much story going on though, just a natty exhibition of moves, and then Sagrada finishes it with a missile dropkick off the top.
Final Rating: **

 

Post-match, Cornette challenges Sagrada to a fist fight and berates Mini Vader for being such a “knucklehead”, so Vader and Sagrada trip him up and strip him down to his boxers. That was so corny. In more ways than one.

 

THE SHOTGUN RECAP:

 

Most Entertaining: Mascarita Sagrada. He may have travelled all the way from Mexico, but he was just about the only guy on this show who actually brought his working boots.

Least Entertaining: Amazingly, despite this sub-60 minute show only “boasting” four matches and a crew of guys that included Phineas Godwinn, Ahmed Johnson and Crush, none of that unholy trinity scoop the award! No, the dubious honour instead goes to the Sultan for his interminably tedious chinlock on Goldust. Edgy? That hold wasn’t even edgy in the 70s, never mind the 90s!

 

Quote of the Night: “They’re virginal! Their bodies have never been touched by human hands… other than their own, of course!” – Brother Love on the Flying Nuns.

Match of the Night: Mascarita Sagrada vs. Mini Vader.

Summary: It is terrible. The WWF’s misguided “we just can’t help being a complete cartoon show” version of down n’ dirty, cutting-edge wrestling for the 18-30 crowd of the 90s. But damn, did it ever feel fresh. It was grimey, it was dingy, it was small… and it was so refreshingly different to anything the promotion had done before, or indeed, has done since. Especially when you think about WWE in the John Cena years where every single show looks the same, the same set-up, the same arenas, the same camera angles. Here was something unlike anything else you could find on TV, all wrapped up in an easily digestible hour, no matter how crappy the matches may have been.
Verdict: 24

Armageddon ’99

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Arnold Furious: 1999 had been a rocky year for in-ring and the December PPV has always been a bit of a downer. The WWF often struggled to think of things to fill the dead space with between the twisty Survivor Series (this year headlined by a surprise Big Show title win) and the inevitable Road to WrestleMania beginning in January. 1999 was no exception and this PPV was headlined by Triple H and Vince McMahon, doing battle over the future of Stephanie. Almost a battle for control of her soul. The rest of the card contains little of historical value.

 

Tangent: the main event of Sunday Night Heat was Al Snow beating Test. If the WWF had any belief in Test he’d have main evented the PPV, as he was most obviously wronged by Triple H stealing his fiancé and pre-marrying her before their RAW marriage. Vince would have been better served to corner Test here and gain another main eventer rather than once again having a McMahon headline. I think the fans began to turn on McMahon presence on TV around this time and quite rightly so. It was becoming too much.

 

We’re in Fort Lauderdale, Florida. Hosts are Jim Ross and Jerry Lawler.

King Of The Ring ’99

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Arnold Furious: When all the tapes had been claimed for this book I sat down to plan out my reviewing schedule and discovered, to my horror, that King of the Ring ’99 was on my list. Attempts to trade the tape, for literally anything else, proved futile. So here we are with King of the Ring ‘99. The WWF’s worst PPV of the year and indeed the whole Attitude era  (unless In Your House: DeGeneration X counts). It was bested in year end awards by the sensationally awful Heroes of Wrestling PPV (the one where Jake the Snake was hammered during the main event and every match sucked), so history only remembers this as the worst WWF show of 1999 rather than the worst PPV of the year. Although to be fair to the WWF, WCW probably rattled off two or three PPVs as bad or worse than this show in 1999.

 

We’re in Greensboro, North Carolina. This is the 7th annual King of the Ring PPV. The show was booked around Steve Austin battling the McMahons for control of the WWF. The event even has bad music. Hosts are Jim Ross and Jerry Lawler. JR updates us on Heat and how Shane McMahon was “injured”. Ken Shamrock is the focus though; Steve Blackman’s attack on him has resulted in internal bleeding. Shammy liked his internal bleeding.

St. Valentine’s Day Massacre

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Arnold Furious: The WWF isn’t known for its class. There have been several dubious decisions by them over the years (including but not limited to; necrophilia, coffin surfing, miscarriages and faked death), but nobody ever seems to flag up their decision to name a 1999 PPV after the real-life murder of seven men. The actual St. Valentine’s Day Massacre took place some 70 years earlier so perhaps the WWF could be guilty of either ignorance, not knowing what happened, or considering enough time had passed to make light of those events. Given that one of the S’s in “Massacre” is backwards on the edge of the video cassette; I’m going with the former. However, what better gangster for the WWF to name something after than Al Capone? As American as Vince and company, and often in trouble with the government, Capone was a figurehead for his respective career choice. Al Capone is The Gangster. Much like Vince McMahon is The Wrestling Promoter. Vince’s own Valentine’s Day Massacre was buying out his rivals and firing them live on TV. Perhaps the title is more appropriate than at first glance.

 

We’re in Memphis, Tennessee. Hosts are Michael Cole (unfortunately) and Jerry Lawler. The latter is over HUGE, thus proving he was Memphis wrestling to many people.

Royal Rumble ’99

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Arnold Furious: I’m going to level with you right now; 1999 is a terrible year for wrestling. Dreadful matches, silly angles and not a decent in-ring performer in sight until the arrival of ‘The Saviour’ Kurt Angle toward the end of the year. My dislike of the year is intensified by this damn video tape, which has degraded worse than any other tape I own. I have tapes 15-years older that are almost immaculate. This one is all scratchy and has horrible audio.

 

Backstage: Video Control gives us footage of Rumble participants. They discuss the $100,000 bounty on Steve Austin and Chyna coming in at #30, but nobody cuts a shouty promo. They’re almost shoots, like Jeff Jarrett casually talking about the Rumble being a special match in a neutral manner. They’re more like the kind of interviews you see on superstar DVD releases nowadays.

 

We’re in Anaheim, California. Hosts are Michael Cole (urgh) and Jerry Lawler. Jim Ross recently had a relapse of his Bell’s Palsy, giving us my least favourite commentator pairing outside of Mark Madden and Stevie Ray.

King of the Ring 2000

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Lee Maughan: Hosts are Jim Ross and Jerry Lawler.

 

King of the Ring Tournament, Quarter-Final
Rikishi vs. Chris Benoit
Chris Benoit has made it to the quarter-finals thanks to a pinfall victory over the Road Dogg and a submission win against X-Pac, while Rikishi is here after a disqualification win over Shane McMahon and a pinfall victory against occasional partner Scotty 2 Hotty. Rikishi has also just beaten Benoit three nights previous on SmackDown! with a banzai drop to win the Intercontinental title, and Benoit is out for revenge. So much so that he just wallops Rikishi in the face with a steel chair after 3:25 of time-filling action, administering a beat-down post-match for good measure. What a lousy start to the show.
Final Rating: *

Judgment Day 2000

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James Dixon: We start, like every good paid event should, with a backstage segment featuring the McMahon clan. Vince sends Jerry Brisco to go and get everyone coffee, while running down tonight’s card with his DX buddies and Shane McMahon. Unfortunately for Brisco he is the current Hardcore Champion, and thus he doesn’t manage the journey for coffee because the Headbangers attack him. We then see Shawn Michaels, the referee for the main event Iron Man Match tonight, walking down the corridor clad in incredibly tight fitting shorts. This should all have happened later on, or on Heat.

WrestleMania 2000

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Arnold Furious: Coming off two stellar PPVs (both headlined by epic Hunter-Cactus matches) the WWF was revved up and ready for WrestleMania. I was too and I think my level of expectation for this show was completely unmatched and unparalleled by any other show, ever, in the history of wrestling. That might be overselling it a bit but I was ridiculously excited for it at the time, hoping for an amazing event, packed with great wrestling. It didn’t quite pan out that way and of the three shows that start 2000 this is the weakest, which it shouldn’t be as WrestleMania should always be in the running for the best PPV of the year, yet in 2000 it wasn’t even close.

 

We’re in Anaheim, California at the Arrowhead Pond, home of WrestleMania XII. Hosts are Jim Ross and Jerry Lawler. The crowd’s muted reaction at the beginning of the show is a bad sign, and WrestleMania has actually suffered quite a few dead crowds over the years. Lillian Garcia sings the American national anthem. I still don’t agree with the American bollocks that permeates the WWF at times. As a global company it should behave like one.

Survivor Series ’97

James Dixon: This show is memorable for something, but I can’t for the life of me think what… Maybe it will come to me during the show.

 

The Headbangers & The New Blackjacks vs. The Godwinns & The New Age Outlaws

I am generally very tolerant of Survivor Series elimination matches, but this one does not look promising on paper. Goddamn, Barry Windham looks a complete mess, but he can still go to a degree and tosses PIG around for my pleasure. Phineas gets more joy with Bradshaw, but the Outlaws refuse the tag so Hank has to come in instead. I have just noticed that the Blackjacks have the letters “BJ” on their tights, which has gotta be a rib. Out of no-where Bradshaw throws an abdominal stretch on Henry and pins him with it to eliminate him. The crowd politely applauds. Windham comes back in with Phineas and again manages to get something watchable out of him, but this has just been a straight up tag between the Blackjacks and the Godwinns so far, which is horrible structure for the opener. Windham gets dumped out by Phineas bringing the Headbangers in for the first time as Lawler blames “too many Marilyn Manson videos” for Mosh’s appearance and demeanour. Billy Gunn comes in as the Montreal crowd viciously chant “FAGGOT!” at him. Playing it to the hilt, Gunn takes off his shirt and encourages it further, like a good worker. Mosh goes for a bulldog on him but Billy puts the brakes on and face plants him, which is enough for the pin. Thrasher comes in and works a lazy wristlock on Phineas for an unacceptable amount of time, as they do some attempts at chain wrestling that are as ugly as sin. Unbelievably, they then go to a fucking LOCK-UP and hold it like Lesnar and Goldberg for an age, as Montreal quickly turns on things. They try and get them back with some fast sequences, but the crowd is gone and goes back to questioning Billy Gunn’s sexuality. Thrasher eliminates Phineas with his Whoopie Cushion variant off the top, and then Bradshaw comes in and rips Road Dog apart, before getting caught with a pinfall that never was a pinfall, just like last year only less obvious, and this time intended. Insider joke? Probably. This leaves Thrasher on his own and he gets picked apart quickly by the Outlaws (though I should probably point out that they are not officially called that yet and don’t even have music either). Gunn hits a legdrop off the top onto Thrasher’s head that misses by a clear two foot, but that is still enough to put him away and win the match. This was all over the place as far as psychology and structure; it was just a generic tag match with extra bodies and executed horribly. The exchanges between Thrasher and Phineas in particular were bush-league stuff.

Final Rating: ¼*