Slamboree '93: A Legends' Reunion: WCW Honors the Past and Trips Over the Present

The first match immediately feels younger than much of what follows. Bobby Eaton gives the heel side its rhythm, Chris Benoit works with the snap and precision that already separate him from the pack, and 2 Cold Scorpio brings the explosive offense that had made him one of WCW's most interesting new wrestlers. Marcus Bagwell is the least polished of the four, but he does not drag the match down.

Nine minutes is the right length. Scorpio's athletic bursts create genuine momentum without turning the opener into an exhibition, while Eaton and Benoit keep enough control to make the babyface comeback matter. The finish is clean and energetic, and it gives Slamboree an early jolt before the nostalgia portion begins consuming the card. It is not essential viewing, but it is an effective reminder that WCW had a compelling younger core available in 1993.

Sid Vicious returns with Colonel Robert Parker and receives the kind of reaction that explains why promoters kept coming back to him. The size, stare, and powerbomb presentation require almost no setup. Van Hammer charges, Sid crushes him, and the crowd immediately understands that a major heavyweight has returned to WCW after his WWF run.

As a moment, it works. As a match, there is barely anything to grade. Thirty-five seconds cannot create competition, escalation, or meaningful suspense. The segment exists to reintroduce Sid and establish Parker's new client, which would have been perfectly functional television. On pay-per-view, it feels like an angle occupying a numbered match slot. The historical value is larger than the wrestling value by a wide margin.

The six-man legends match is more mobile than its lineup suggests, mostly because Dick Murdoch seems determined to prove he can still surprise people. His headscissors and bumping give the match its most memorable bursts, while Wahoo McDaniel's chops and Jim Brunzell's cleaner movement help the action avoid becoming completely static. The crowd responds to the names more than to the structure.

That would be enough for a harmless nostalgia attraction if the finish delivered anything. Instead, the teams brawl, the referee throws the match out, and nine minutes of deliberate work end without resolution. The no-contest is especially frustrating on a show already asking the audience to accept exhibition logic. There is charm here, but very little competitive urgency. Murdoch is the one legend who noticeably raises the ceiling.

Brad Armstrong replaces his injured father Bob and instantly becomes responsible for most of the movement in the match. He bumps for Ivan Koloff and Baron von Raschke, accelerates the tags, and gives Thunderbolt Patterson a hot tag that the Atlanta crowd genuinely wants to see. Patterson's personality still connects even when his mobility does not.

The match is mercifully short, which keeps it from becoming unpleasant. It also never escapes the feeling of a ceremonial attraction. The veterans are there to be recognized, not to build a competitive story, and the finish arrives before the action can develop beyond basic heel isolation and the Patterson comeback. In the context of a Legends Reunion, it is understandable. As pay-per-view wrestling, there simply is not enough substance.

Dory Funk Jr. and Nick Bockwinkel do not attempt to imitate 1993 wrestling. That is the entire point. They trade holds, counters, leverage, and positioning with the patience of men who spent careers making small technical advantages feel meaningful. Gene Kiniski and Verne Gagne in the corners deepen the NWA-versus-AWA symbolism, giving the bout a historical frame the crowd clearly understands.

The pace will test viewers who need constant escalation, but the work is coherent from beginning to end. The fifteen-minute draw is predictable and therefore limits the drama, yet the respectful ovation afterward validates the experiment. This is the legends concept functioning as intended: not pretending the wrestlers are still in their primes, but giving them enough space to demonstrate why they mattered. It is more fascinating than thrilling.

Rick Rude and Paul Orndorff provide veteran heel structure, while Dustin Rhodes and Kensuke Sasaki supply the physical resistance. Sasaki's power gives the match a useful contrast, especially when he refuses to be bullied by Rude. Dustin's familiarity with both opponents also keeps the transitions logical, and the crowd has more investment here than in the preceding nostalgia matches.

The match is competent almost to a fault. Nothing is especially sloppy, yet nothing develops into a must-see sequence either. The finish gives Rude and Orndorff the victory without changing the larger stories in a memorable way. On a tighter card this would be a perfectly acceptable supporting match. At Slamboree, coming after a long run of legends material, it feels like another stretch where the event is waiting for its final act.

Scott Norton was supposed to face Sting, but the replacement is The Prisoner, the former Nailz, and the downgrade is immediate. Sting tries to inject pace with basic offense and crowd interaction, but his opponent provides almost no movement, timing, or credible threat. The match feels improvised because it effectively is, and the audience quickly understands that nothing meaningful is going to happen.

Five minutes is not long, yet it feels longer because there is no competitive shape. Sting wins and moves on, which is the only sensible choice. The bout has historical curiosity because it is The Prisoner's lone WCW appearance under the gimmick, but curiosity is not quality. Cagematch currently rates it below 2 out of 10, and the reputation is deserved. It is the clearest wrestling failure on the card.

The setup is pure WCW confusion. Shane Douglas has left the company, Tom Zenk is under the Dos Hombres mask, and commentary continues pretending the second masked man is Douglas. Once the cage door closes, however, the wrestlers largely rescue the premise. Steve Austin and Brian Pillman bump with abandon, Ricky Steamboat supplies the emotional center, and Zenk works hard enough to keep the substitution from wrecking the match.

The timekeeper mistakenly rings the bell after Steamboat's dramatic dive from the top of the cage, which creates another unnecessary layer of chaos. The match recovers, and Austin eventually wins with the stun gun. Despite the surrounding nonsense, the physical work is strong and the rivalry has enough heat to carry sixteen minutes. It is the clearest example of talented wrestlers saving WCW from its own presentation.

Barry Windham and Arn Anderson have enough shared history that they do not need a long feeling-out process. Anderson attacks like a challenger who understands Windham's habits, while Windham works with the confidence of a champion who knows he can survive a rough fight. The exchanges are physical without becoming sloppy, and every near fall carries more weight than the match's eleven-minute runtime would suggest.

The bout could have used another five minutes, but it never feels unfinished. Windham retains, then the larger Ric Flair story continues around the NWA championship. That context matters because this title is nearing the end of its WCW chapter. The match is not an all-time classic, yet it is focused, credible, and significantly better than most of the card before it. It rewards viewers who stayed through the legends-heavy middle.

Big Van Vader and Davey Boy Smith are perfectly matched for spectacle because both men can do power wrestling that should not be possible at their size. Smith's strength spots feel extraordinary when he is lifting Vader, while Vader's offense has the violent weight needed to make Bulldog's comebacks meaningful. The crowd responds because the match looks like two elite heavyweights testing the limits of each other's bodies.

The disqualification finish is the obvious flaw. Smith appears capable of winning, Harley Race becomes involved, and the match ends without delivering the decisive championship conclusion the work has earned. That frustration is common across Slamboree's stronger matches. Still, the sixteen minutes before the finish are excellent heavyweight wrestling. Meltzer gave it three and three-quarter stars, and decades later it remains one of the strongest reasons to revisit the show.