Clash of the Champions XXXV — The Last Clash Leaves a Vulture on the Rope

Jeff Jarrett spends most of the opener doing exactly what a veteran should do with Steve McMichael: keep the movement simple, control the pace, and let personality carry the spaces between moves. The story has genuine heat because Debra has sided with Jarrett, and Eddie Guerrero’s attempted interference gives Mongo the title change the angle had been promising. The problem is the wrestling never rises above the machinery. McMichael remains awkward, Jarrett’s control section feels longer than eight minutes, and the finish makes the new champion look fortunate rather than formidable. It advances a feud cleanly enough, but as the opening match of the final Clash it is more obligation than celebration.

Raven and Stevie Richards bring a completely different texture to WCW television, which is both the match’s strength and its problem. The chair spots, floor brawling, drop toehold into the steel, and Raven’s detached body language instantly establish a character that does not look like anyone else on the card. Yet the audience has been given only fragments of their ECW history, so much of the emotional meaning arrives without a dictionary. Richards shows enough resistance to keep it from being a pure squash, but five minutes is not enough for the grudge to breathe. Raven’s DDT gives the right winner a decisive introduction and points directly toward the Flock era.

This is the match that most resembles what Clash of the Champions was once built to provide: a championship bout given enough time to become its own story. Ultimo Dragon supplies the precision, kicks, counters and spectacular recovery work, while Alex Wright finally looks comfortable leaning into the arrogance that had always fit him better than forced babyface enthusiasm. The middle stretches in places, but the final run is sharp, with Dragon’s counters forcing Wright to win through timing rather than brute control. Wright’s bridging German suplex delivers a clean title change and validates his heel turn. It is not a classic, but it is the strongest complete wrestling match on the final Clash.

Chris Jericho and Eddie Guerrero have enough ideas for fifteen minutes and are given fewer than seven, so the match feels like someone hit fast-forward on something better. Guerrero’s new heel edge is immediate, Jericho answers with strength and athletic counters, and the super-rana, giant swing, German suplex and rapid near-falls create real momentum. Jericho’s ugly springboard spill also gives the bout a moment of danger that was probably not planned. The roll-up finish arrives just as the match seems ready to move into another gear, but Guerrero’s post-match attack gives the feud a useful continuation. Their Fall Brawl rematch would show what this pairing could do with more room.

The eight-man lucha match is WCW’s cruiserweight abundance compressed into less than five minutes. There is almost no traditional structure, but there is a useful sense of escalation: quick exchanges give way to bodies spilling outside, and then the dives arrive in a chain until the ring looks briefly abandoned. Mike Tenay’s explanation of lucha substitution rules helps the chaos make sense instead of presenting it as random motion. The short running time prevents the match from developing personality, and Sonny Onoo’s interference gives Psychosis a functional rather than memorable finish. Still, the athletic burst is fun, distinctive, and representative of one thing WCW could offer better than almost anyone in American wrestling.

The match exists mainly to keep Curt Hennig’s loyalties unresolved, and the wrestling never escapes that assignment. Flair can wake up Nashville with a chop, Syxx supplies movement, Konnan gives Hennig someone sturdy to trade holds with, and the Hennigplex is a clean enough finish. Five minutes, however, is barely enough for four established wrestlers to introduce themselves before the bell rings again. The more important material comes afterward, when Hennig refuses to call himself a Horseman while Flair keeps recruiting him. In hindsight that ambiguity is ominous because the story is heading toward Hennig’s betrayal at Fall Brawl. As a match, it is acceptable television; as an angle delivery system, it is considerably more useful.

The final match in Clash history is not a masterpiece, but at least it behaves like a main event. Kevin Nash invokes the Freebird rule so Randy Savage can defend with Scott Hall, Nick Patrick ejects Nash to prove he is supposedly neutral again, and the nWo works over Diamond Dallas Page’s injured ribs until Lex Luger gets the crowd’s biggest wrestling-match release of the night. The finish is clever enough: Hall shoves Luger into DDP, Page reacts instinctively with the Diamond Cutter, and Hall pins the fallen Luger. It gives the champions a decisive win without another mass run-in and leaves WCW’s heroes divided. The Sting-and-vulture tableau after the match supplies the image history remembers.