Armageddon 2004: Two Good Matches Bookend a Pay-Per-View Full of Filler

Van Dam and Mysterio spend seventeen minutes demonstrating how much energy an elite babyface team can create even against uneven opposition. The champions' quick tags, aerial combinations, and improvised double-team sequences give the opening stretch movement, while Duprée and Suzuki slow the pace by isolating Mysterio. That control section runs longer than ideal and several transitions look rough, especially whenever Suzuki has to match the champions' speed. The match improves sharply once Van Dam gets the hot tag. Mysterio's 619 setup and Van Dam's Five-Star Frog Splash provide a clean, satisfying finish, and the crowd responds to the acceleration. It is not a hidden classic, but it is competent, energetic pay-per-view wrestling and easily the strongest thing on the show before the main event.

Angle's open challenge against Santa Claus lasts roughly twenty-five seconds and should be judged as a comedy segment rather than meaningful wrestling. Angle immediately overwhelms the holiday character, hits the Angle Slam, applies the Ankle Lock, and gets the submission with no attempt at competitive structure. The joke is simple: the intensely serious Olympic gold medalist despises Santa enough to attack him on a December pay-per-view. It may earn a brief reaction, but there is no escalation, suspense, athletic exchange, or payoff beyond the gag itself. The problem is not that comedy exists on the card; it is that a premium event uses an official match slot for material that would have functioned identically as a television skit. As wrestling, there is almost nothing to grade.

Puder and Mizanin are asked to box for three one-minute rounds at a stage when neither man has the experience to make the experiment look polished. The headgear, gloves, and short rounds create a legitimate-sport presentation, but the action quickly becomes wild punching, clinching, and awkward footwork. Puder lands the cleaner shots, Mizanin shows toughness, and the crowd becomes increasingly impatient rather than invested. Because the contest is not professional wrestling, it cannot build around the usual rhythm of control, comeback, near fall, or finish. The audience decision also produces little emotional closure. In hindsight, the segment is notable because Mizanin eventually becomes The Miz, but historical curiosity does not improve the actual viewing experience. As an in-ring attraction, it is clumsy and badly suited to pay-per-view.

This unadvertised tag match feels exactly like emergency undercard filler. Haas supplies the cleanest technical work and Holly brings his usual physical strikes, but the Bashams spend much of the match controlling Haas without building enough heat for the eventual tag. The audience becomes visibly restless, and the match never develops a central competitive hook beyond waiting for Holly to enter. When the comeback arrives, attention shifts almost immediately to Dawn Marie and Miss Jackie arguing at ringside. That distraction allows the Bashams to use a switch and steal the pin, tying the finish to a relationship story that already feels more important than the wrestling. Nothing is disastrously executed, but six-plus minutes pass without creating a memorable sequence, meaningful advancement for the teams, or any reason to seek the match out later.

Cena's revenge match is booked as an extended punishment rather than a competitive Street Fight, which makes emotional sense but limits the wrestling. He attacks Jesús with a kendo stick, trash-can lid, sign, and other ringside objects while repeatedly chasing Carlito away from meaningful interference. Jesús bleeds and takes the beating, yet rarely creates a believable stretch in which the championship might change hands. The crowd likes Cena and responds to the weapons, so the segment has more life than much of the middle card. Still, the structure is almost entirely one-directional and the brawl through the audience produces little escalation. Cena wins with the FU and then punches Carlito with the chain, giving the feud its revenge image. It works as character business, but offers very little suspense or technical value.

Dawn Marie and Miss Jackie receive less than two minutes, and almost every second is built around the triangle involving special referee Charlie Haas. They trade slaps, stumble through a few basic exchanges, collide with Haas, and reach the finish before anything resembling a match can develop. Dawn wins by rolling through a pin attempt while holding the tights, but the result exists mainly to move everyone into the post-match speech. Haas then rejects both women in a segment that lasts longer and receives more audience attention than the contest itself. There is no meaningful athletic story, no escalation, and no opportunity for either performer to establish momentum. The brevity prevents it from becoming exhausting, but that is the only real positive. As pay-per-view wrestling, it is essentially empty.

The handicap concept gives Big Show obvious odds to overcome, but the match never turns those numbers into compelling danger. Angle, Reigns, and Jindrak rotate through short attacks and spend much of the middle working Show down with simple strikes and holds. Show's size means the eventual comeback is always waiting in plain sight, and the crowd never fully buys the idea that the three heels are building toward a decisive finish. Angle hits an Angle Slam and tries the Ankle Lock, providing the one stretch with recognizable stakes, before Show powers through the supporting wrestlers. The finish has Show use an F-5 on Jindrak, an eye-catching move but not enough to redeem the preceding pace. It protects Angle and advances Show, yet feels like a routine television main event occupying a pay-per-view slot.

Funaki and Spike work in front of a quiet crowd, but they gradually assemble a respectable cruiserweight title match through counters and increasingly ambitious near falls. Spike controls portions with compact offense and a gutbuster, while Funaki keeps finding ways to turn attempted slams and holds into pinning combinations. A double-foot stomp from the turnbuckles and Funaki's late crossbody finally wake up parts of the audience, giving the closing minutes more urgency than the opening stretch. The finish is appropriately simple: Funaki counters Spike's final attempt into a bridging pin and wins the championship. The match lacks a meaningful story going in and never becomes especially fast for the division, but the title change supplies a genuine payoff. Funaki's celebration gives the undercard one of its few uncomplicated happy endings.

The main event finally gives Armageddon the scale missing from most of the card. JBL spends early stretches trying to avoid three challengers with legitimate claims against him, while Guerrero and Booker temporarily cooperate before the one-fall format forces everyone to protect his own opportunity. The match improves substantially when weapons and announce tables enter the story. Undertaker's Last Ride through a table, Guerrero's escalating Frog Splashes, and JBL pulling the referee away from a potential Guerrero victory create the night's strongest near falls. Undertaker then overwhelms the field with chokeslams until Heidenreich attacks him, preserving their feud and removing the dominant challenger. JBL eventually catches Booker with the Clothesline from Hell and escapes with the title. The interference is familiar, but the preceding twenty-five minutes are energetic enough to justify the main-event slot.