Clash of the Champions XXXIII — Rey and Dean Find the Future While the nWo Swallows the Room

The only match on the card that gets enough room to become something more than an angle, Rey Misterio Jr. and Dean Malenko immediately make the rest of the show look old. Malenko grounds Rey, throws him with real force and counters the champion's speed without turning the bout into a waiting game. Rey's dives and springboard offense feel explosive because they are earned against Dean's control. The disputed three-count after Malenko's top-rope gutbuster is a fussy finish, but Rey's quick victory roll keeps the rematch moving and preserves another chapter for later. This is the clear match of the night and the best argument for what WCW television is becoming.

V.K. Wallstreet and Jim Duggan are not asked to do much, and the match still feels stranded on a different wrestling program. Duggan's charisma gets a reaction, but the work is mostly punches, a short control segment and the familiar taped-fist business. The finish at least turns Duggan's cheating habit against him: the referee stops the tape routine and Wallstreet steals a roll-up with the trunks. In isolation that is harmless television. On a Clash already fighting for relevance, it is three minutes that underline how wide the stylistic gap has become between WCW's fastest new acts and some of its older midcard habits.

Konnan and Ultimate Dragon have enough ideas for a promising television match and barely enough time to introduce them. Dragon's movement and Sonny Onoo's ringside involvement give the bout some texture, while Konnan's heavier offense fits the more aggressive direction his character is taking. Then, before a rhythm develops, Dragon hits a German suplex and Konnan rolls through with a handful of tights for the pin. Coming immediately after another cheap roll-up, the finish feels less like crafty heel work and more like production-line booking. The talent is obvious, the three-minute allotment is not. What could have been a useful styles showcase becomes a trailer without the feature.

Madusa and Bull Nakano bring a real rivalry and far more physical credibility than the two-minute runtime suggests. Nakano's hair throws and power offense immediately give the match a different silhouette, while Madusa bumps and fires back with urgency. The trouble is that WCW treats the women as a quick television obligation rather than a division worth investing in. Sonny Onoo's attempted interference backfires, Madusa gets the roll-up, and the match ends just as it has established a pulse. There is enough here to remind viewers that these two can work, but not enough to let them prove it. The repeated interference-and-cradle pattern is becoming exhausting.

Eddie Guerrero and Diamond Dallas Page squeeze an encouraging little match into 4:20. Page is visibly improving: the gutbuster, side slam and sit-out powerbomb all give Eddie something substantial to fight through, while Guerrero's headscissors, slingshot senton and frog splash make the comeback feel faster than the clock. Eddie winning clean is useful, but the real point arrives afterward when Page fakes sportsmanship, drops him with repeated Diamond Cutters and swats Chavo Guerrero aside. That attack advances Page more than the match itself. With another five minutes, these two might have produced one of the night's better bouts; instead, the wrestling functions as an efficient prelude to the angle.

Twenty-three seconds can be effective when a squash creates a new monster. The problem is that The Giant is already established, while Chris Benoit has spent months being presented as one of WCW's hardest wrestlers. Benoit is still tangled in his entrance gear when Giant dropkicks him and ends the match with a chokeslam. The visual is decisive, but it comes at the expense of someone the company is simultaneously asking viewers to take seriously as a Horseman. There is storyline cover in the distraction, yet not enough to erase the impression that a valuable performer has been sacrificed for a point that required far less damage.

The triangle match has the night's best crowd energy after the opener, largely because every team gives Denver someone familiar to choose. The odd tag-anyone rules create confusion, but they also let Sting, Luger and the Steiners collide while Harlem Heat occasionally watch rivals damage each other. Once the pace rises, the match finally resembles a Clash feature. Then Scott Hall and Kevin Nash appear, Scott Steiner hits the Frankensteiner, and Nick Patrick abandons the count to call the match because of outside interference. As a wrestling finish it is maddening. As a chapter in the crooked-referee story, it is productive ambiguity. The angle wins; the match loses.

Hogan and Flair are more interesting here as a sociological experiment than as a wrestling match. Hogan is freshly evil, yet the new act is so magnetic that portions of Denver still cheer the old Hulk-up sequence. Flair, suddenly a defender of WCW, works the familiar chops, bumps and figure-four from the opposite moral position. The action never builds much momentum, and an awkward miscue reinforces how far removed this is from the energy their 1994 rivalry carried. Once Flair has the figure-four, Hogan disposes of the referee and the Outsiders arrive for the predictable disqualification. The ensuing WCW save matters more than the eight minutes before it.