Clash of the Champions XVIII — WCW Finally Looks Like It Knows What 1992 Is Supposed to Be

The opener announces that 1992 WCW intends to move faster than 1991. Scott Steiner throws Mr. Hughes around like the size difference is imaginary, Vader answers by treating Rick Steiner like luggage, and the crowd reacts to every heavyweight collision as if somebody has violated basic physics. There is almost no dead time. Even the communication glitches become part of the violence because everybody keeps moving forward. Vader eventually wipes out Hughes by mistake, giving Rick the opening for a top-rope bulldog. Nine minutes of enormous men suplexing one another is an excellent way to tell viewers that the reset is real.

This is the kind of midcard tag WCW suddenly has the depth to produce without making a big announcement about it. Pillman brings speed, Taylor and Smothers provide veteran heel structure, and Bagwell is used intelligently as the inexperienced babyface who can explode on the hot tag without being asked to lead the match. The stereo dives get a huge reaction, Pillman's floor bumps create real danger and the closing sunset-flip sequence feels earned rather than rushed. The match is only eight minutes, but it has heat, escalation and a finish. That is an enormous improvement over the abbreviated chaos of the previous year.

Johnny B. Badd and Richard Morton are asked to bridge the show's hot opening into the next round of interviews, and the match never becomes more important than the assignment. Morton stalls, cheap-shots and tries to turn three minutes into a heel clinic, while Badd's athleticism provides the only bursts of pace. The finish arrives when Badd rolls through Morton's crossbody, and even that gets tangled awkwardly near the ropes. The post-match Pillman interview is more consequential than anything inside the ring. As a wrestling match, this is short enough to avoid damage and ordinary enough to vanish immediately.

Diamond Dallas Page is still learning how to wrestle and P. N. News is not exactly the opponent you would choose to hide that fact. Page attacks the entrance, moves with more confidence than he did months earlier and even gets a few stretches of offense before physics reasserts itself. News absorbs the smaller man's offense, hits the belly-to-belly and finishes with the Rapmaster Splash. The match is over before either man can get badly exposed, which is the correct decision. DDP's future is obvious in the personality. His present remains a work in progress that should not be asked for ten minutes.

Cactus Jack turns a Van Hammer feud into a tour of the building. They start on the ramp, hit the concrete, disappear backstage and eventually wind up in a rodeo area where bull skulls, a lasso and Abdullah the Butcher become legal equipment by implication. The transitions are crude because live television has not perfected this kind of wandering brawl yet, but Foley understands that every new location needs a new visual. Hammer works harder than his reputation suggests and takes enough punishment to keep the fight credible. Abdullah accidentally nails him with a shovel, giving Cactus the win and another chapter of escalating chaos.

The 'new' Freebirds receive new clothes and new music, but the wrestling remains the same familiar mixture of shortcuts and double-team finishes. Brad Armstrong is again the best worker in the segment, snapping off dropkicks and creating movement whenever the pace threatens to flatten. Big Josh supplies the power comedy, rolling both Freebirds across the mat before the heels isolate Armstrong. Three minutes is not enough to build a real tag match, and the double DDT finish arrives almost as soon as the structure takes shape. The crowd still likes Hayes and Garvin. The reinvention does not make them feel especially new.

Oz is dead and Kevin Nash is now Vinnie Vegas, which is already an improvement because the new gimmick requires a suit instead of a wizard. Thomas Rich gets attacked before the bell, Nash throws a few confident power shots and Snake Eyes ends the match in fifty-six seconds. There is almost nothing to evaluate competitively, but the character fit matters historically. Nash finally looks like somebody who could talk, posture and inhabit a television persona without being buried beneath production. The wrestling is still strictly developmental. The presentation has taken one important step toward the performer he will eventually become.

The six-man works because every pairing carries history. Windham wants Larry Zbyszko after the hand injury, Dustin Rhodes can trade smooth television wrestling with Bobby Eaton, and Ron Simmons treats Arn Anderson like a man who has made a serious tactical error. The match keeps rotating without losing its central grievance. Paul E.'s phone shot gives the Alliance their heat segment, Dustin sells it beautifully and Windham's damaged hand becomes the finish when desperation finally convinces him to use it. Nine minutes feel like fifteen because the match contains that much story. This is the Dangerous Alliance formula beginning to look fully operational.

The main event has four wrestlers who can make almost any tag structure work, and the crowd is ready before the bell. Steamboat and Austin trade counters, Sting and Rude turn every lockup into a grudge and the babyfaces openly bend the rules just enough to irritate the new color commentator. The Alliance isolates both men in turn, giving Sting and Steamboat separate comeback arcs before the finish breaks down. Sting's flying bodypress lands on a Steamboat-assisted pileup for the pin. The post-match whipping gives Rude's side the final visual. It is not the best version of this matchup, but it is excellent television architecture.