Beach Blast 1993: WCW Blows Up a Boat and Nearly Blows Up Its Own Momentum

Paul Orndorff and Ron Simmons start with enough intensity to suggest a better match than the final result delivers. Simmons brings the power advantage and targets the leg early, while Orndorff is effective whenever he slows the pace and turns the crowd against him. The match never becomes especially fluid, but both men look credible and the Television Championship gives the bout a straightforward purpose.

Then the finish arrives through WCW's over-the-top-rope disqualification rule. Simmons backdrops Orndorff over the top while escaping the piledriver and is immediately disqualified, even though the move feels like a natural defensive counter rather than a reckless act. The rule is consistent with the era, but the payoff is still frustrating. A workable opener ends in a technicality instead of a satisfying wrestling conclusion.

2 Cold Scorpio is the obvious engine of the match. His springboard offense immediately changes the tempo, and the contrast with Tex Slazenger and Shanghai Pierce gives every burst of speed more impact. Marcus Alexander Bagwell is still developing, but he works comfortably beside Scorpio and helps keep the structure simple enough that the size difference becomes a feature rather than a problem.

The bout runs nearly thirteen minutes without feeling excessive, which is an accomplishment on this card. The Texans control long enough to create a comeback, Scorpio gets the decisive closing stretch, and the 450 splash gives the finish a memorable visual. Several retrospectives rate this more generously than its reputation suggests. It is not a classic, but it is energetic, coherent, and considerably better than filler.

Lord Steven Regal is already skilled enough to make small technical exchanges look deliberate, and he spends much of the match trying to give Erik Watts a structure he can follow. Watts has athletic tools and gets a few credible counters, but his timing remains hesitant. The crowd senses the difference in polish and reacts more to Regal's mannerisms than to the competitive possibility of the match.

Sir William's interference supplies the finish after Watts becomes distracted, allowing Regal to steal the pin while using the tights. It is a safe way to protect Watts, but it also prevents the bout from gaining much value. Regal looks like the better wrestler before, during, and after the finish. Seven minutes is not disastrous, yet the match mainly illustrates how far apart the two performers were in 1993.

Johnny B. Badd enters wearing a mask after Maxx Payne blasted him in the face with the Badd Blaster, so the match at least has a simple revenge premise. Badd brings urgency and tries to wrestle around Payne's heavier offense, while Payne leans into the roughness that fits his character. The crowd understands who should win and why, which keeps the segment from feeling completely disposable.

The problem is that the match ends almost as soon as it establishes a rhythm. Payne misses badly on several strikes, Badd catches him with a flying crossbody, and the feud is resolved with a result that feels more accidental than cathartic. The short runtime prevents a collapse, but it also prevents the revenge story from becoming meaningful. It is a serviceable television segment placed on a pay-per-view card.

Steve Austin and Brian Pillman are the most alive act on the show. They stall with purpose, antagonize the crowd, isolate Paul Roma, and constantly create little openings for cheating without making the match feel shapeless. Arn Anderson gives the challengers credibility every time he enters, while Roma's athleticism is used intelligently enough that his limitations do not overwhelm the structure.

At twenty-six minutes, the match runs longer than it needs to, but the traditional tag formula holds together. The closing stretch accelerates, Arn's spinebuster creates a believable near fall, and Pillman's interference helps Austin reverse Roma's rollup for the pin. The finish also swerves viewers who expected the title change because WCW had already taped future television with Anderson and Roma as champions. That production oddity aside, this is the night's best sustained wrestling.

Dustin Rhodes and Rick Rude have enough history to make an Iron Man stipulation sound promising, especially with the vacant United States Championship at stake. The first fall is structured logically: Rude controls, targets the back, and wins with the Rude Awakening. Dustin's eventual comeback also gives the final minutes a clear objective once he ties the score with the bulldog.

The problem is everything between those milestones. Long chinlocks, slow transitions, and repeated attempts to kill time make the match feel like a clock-management exercise rather than an escalating fight. The closing minute finally creates urgency, but the bell expires with the score tied 1-1 and the title still vacant. The finish makes sense mathematically and fails emotionally. On a pay-per-view already struggling for momentum, thirty minutes without resolution is a major drag.

Barry Windham and Ric Flair have a history of outstanding matches, which raises the expectations before they even lock up. There are still flashes of that chemistry: the exchanges are physical, Windham's lariat looks dangerous, Flair attacks the leg with clear purpose, and the crowd understands the stakes once the figure-four becomes central. For most of the eleven minutes, the match is solid professional wrestling.

The ending is the problem. Windham leans back while trapped in the figure-four and is counted down, producing a title change so abrupt that even the crowd takes a moment to understand what happened. Whether the finish was rushed or simply designed that way, it strips Flair's tenth recognized world-title moment of the drama it deserves. Historically important, competitively respectable, and still far below what these two were capable of at their best.

The main event is attached to one of the strangest promotional mini-movies WCW ever produced, but the match itself is refreshingly direct. Sting and Davey Boy Smith have natural babyface energy, Vader provides the violence, and Sid contributes enough size and menace to make the Masters of the Powerbomb look dangerous. The crowd is louder here than it has been for much of the second half of the show.

Vader is the standout. His offense looks devastating, the verbal exchanges with Sting add personality, and the debut of the Vadersault creates the match's most spectacular moment. The decision not to end the bout there is questionable; Sting makes the save, Smith recovers astonishingly quickly, and a crucifix pins Vader moments later. Even with that flaw, the main event is energetic, memorable, and one of the few sections of Beach Blast that feels worthy of pay-per-view status.