Clash of the Champions XVI: Fall Brawl '91 — WCW Lost Flair and Found a Box

The opening battle royal is WCW 1991 condensed into nine minutes: too many bodies, not enough stakes and El Gigante standing in the center like a landmark everyone is required to visit. Steve Austin, Barry Windham, Dustin Rhodes and Bobby Eaton try to create pockets of actual wrestling while Oz and One Man Gang mostly provide size. Eliminations happen off-camera, nobody seems especially desperate to win and the final sequence asks Gigante to outsmart two giants who repeatedly run into each other. The crowd reacts to the finish, but there is no prize substantial enough to make the chaos feel consequential.

Brian Pillman and Brad Armstrong finally give the show a pulse. Badstreet drops the Freebird camouflage long enough to wrestle like Armstrong, which means crisp counters, fast ropes and a pace that feels almost imported from a later decade. Pillman takes a brutal shoulder-first crash into the post, keeps attacking anyway and turns the injury into part of the comeback instead of a pause button. The top-rope crossbody ends a match that is only seven minutes but feels complete. The new Light Heavyweight division suddenly makes sense because these two wrestle like the rest of the card has been placed on half speed.

Sting and Johnny B. Badd begin with enough energy to suggest a perfectly fine television title defense. Badd bumps, Sting fires back and the crowd is ready to treat the champion like the biggest star on the show. Then a giant package containing Cactus Jack starts moving down the ramp and the wrestling becomes background noise. Sting wins with a sunset flip, Cactus attacks and the segment finally becomes the thing WCW actually wants to promote. The feud is interesting. The match is not. It exists mainly so Cactus can arrive from inside a box and make Sting's evening considerably worse.

Mike Graham and Richard Morton work a technically competent match in front of a crowd that treats the entire thing like a municipal hearing. Graham attacks the arm and leg, Morton uses Alexandra York's presence to justify increasingly obvious shortcuts and both men keep the pace respectable for nearly eight minutes. The trouble is emotional investment. Morton as a heel still feels like somebody wearing the wrong jacket, while Graham is presented as a serious wrestler without a compelling reason to support him. A tights-assisted roll-up sends Morton to the tournament final. The mechanics are fine. The atmosphere never catches up.

The strangest part of the match is that television continuity has already made the result obsolete. The Patriots had beaten the Freebirds for the United States Tag Team titles weeks earlier, but the title change had not aired, so Michael Hayes and Jimmy Garvin are still announced as champions while wrestling a non-title match against the men who technically own the belts. Once the bell rings, the veterans keep things moving and the Patriots show enough fire to avoid embarrassment. Hayes steals the pin with help from the ropes. The wrestling is harmless; the chronology requires a flowchart.

Ron Simmons is being prepared for Lex Luger, so the Diamond Studd receives the useful assignment of making him look like a future World champion without disappearing instantly. Scott Hall attacks before the bell, lands a chokeslam and shows several pieces of the swagger that will become much more valuable elsewhere. Simmons answers with explosive tackles and the spinebuster before finishing with the shoulder block. At two and a half minutes, the match is barely a match, but the segment succeeds because Simmons looks serious and Hall looks interesting even in defeat. WCW accidentally accomplishes two developmental goals at once.

Van Hammer's debut receives more production than wrestling. The guitar, smoke and rock-star presentation announce that WCW desperately wants a new attraction, then the bell rings and Terrance Taylor has to manufacture one minute of credibility around a rookie who looks understandably nervous. Hammer throws a few power shots, lands the slingshot suplex and wins before anything complicated can happen. That brevity is mercy, not evidence of readiness. Taylor's job is to make the newcomer look like an instant star. The presentation almost gets there. The wrestling makes clear how much distance still remains.

Steve Austin and Tom Zenk spend too much of the first half proving they know how to apply headlocks and too much of the second proving the match should have started there. Once the pace increases, Austin's aggression becomes more interesting, Zenk's athletic counters look sharper and the closing stretch finally gives the Television title some urgency. Lady Blossom creates just enough distraction to keep Austin's heel edge present without hijacking the match. The champion eventually catches Zenk with the Stun Gun and retains. Nine minutes are reasonable. The structure makes the first six feel longer than the final three deserve.

The main event is really an injury angle cashing its receipt. Earlier in the night, Arn Anderson and Larry Zbyszko smash a weight plate into Bill Kazmaier's ribs, which gives three minutes of tournament final a clear story: Rick Steiner has to do almost everything while Kazmaier waits for one desperate chance. The Enforcers attack intelligently, Rick fights like a man trying to cover two positions and Kazmaier finally tags himself in. He attempts the gorilla press, Arn clips the injured ribs and Zbyszko falls on top for the titles. It is too short for a satisfying final, but the psychology is clean and the right team wins.