Slamboree 1999: WCW Finds Nine Different Ways to Interrupt Itself

Slamboree opens with the one match that feels as if it wandered in from a better pay-per-view. Kidman and Rey Mysterio Jr. bring the speed, Benoit and Malenko bring structure, and Raven and Saturn give the chaos somewhere useful to land. The match is busy without becoming hopelessly muddy, and the constant traffic creates genuine urgency instead of the empty commotion that will swallow much of the rest of the card. For seventeen minutes, WCW remembers that a crowded ring can still produce clarity when the wrestlers know exactly what each sequence is trying to accomplish.

The finish is complicated but effective. Kanyon, disguised behind a Sting mask, knocks Kidman from the top rope, Raven capitalizes with the Evenflow DDT, and Saturn survives Malenko's Cloverleaf long enough for the referee to count the decisive pin. Raven and Saturn leave with the tag titles, and the result feels earned because the match has spent its time making all three teams credible. It is not a classic, but it is lively, athletic, purposeful, and comfortably the best wrestling on the show.

Konnan and Stevie Ray produce six minutes that somehow feel longer than the seventeen-minute opener. Their timing is off almost immediately, simple exchanges look uncertain, and neither wrestler finds a pace that hides the mismatch. Stevie is much better when his size and power can be framed by a partner or a stronger singles opponent, while Konnan needs rhythm and cooperation to make his offense look sharp. Here, those needs collide rather than complement each other. The result is loose, awkward wrestling with very little tension.

The interference does not rescue it. Horace Hogan and Vincent hover around ringside, Rey Mysterio Jr. arrives to neutralize them, and Rey's involvement helps Konnan steal the pin. That gives the segment a storyline function, but it also ensures the match never has a clean identity of its own. By the time the bell rings, the best thing that can be said is that it ends quickly. On a card that will repeatedly use outside involvement as a substitute for conclusions, this is the first warning flare.

Bigelow and Knobbs treat the TWA Dome like a warehouse that forgot to lock the supply closet. Garbage cans, signs, chairs, ladders, tables, and whatever else can be lifted become part of a long brawl that has effort but almost no escalation. The match keeps moving through the building, yet the violence rarely develops a rhythm because every new object resets the scene instead of raising the stakes. Bigelow is mobile enough to give the fight some life, while Knobbs is willing to absorb ugly punishment, but willingness is not the same thing as shape.

The biggest moment comes when Knobbs dives from an elevated area toward Bigelow and misses, crashing hard before Bigelow eventually suplexes him through a table for the pin. It is memorable in the least comfortable way. WCW had already leaned heavily on this flavor of hardcore wrestling, and Slamboree makes the formula feel tired rather than dangerous. The two men work, they take risks, and the crowd gets a few reactions, but the match is eleven minutes of debris looking for a reason to exist.

Booker T and Rick Steiner are capable of a sturdier match than the card around them, and for stretches they almost find it. Rick wrestles with blunt force, Booker supplies the cleaner movement, and the television title gives their exchanges a straightforward purpose. There is nothing especially imaginative about the work, but it resembles an actual wrestling match with a beginning, a middle, and a champion trying to survive. On this night, that qualifies as a small luxury. The problem is that the crowd never fully invests and the match lacks the urgency its title change should carry.

Then Scott Steiner arrives, because Slamboree cannot leave a competent match alone. Booker knocks Scott down once, but Scott recovers and trips him from the floor, creating the opening for Rick's top-rope bulldog and the championship victory. The interference makes sense within the brothers' story, yet it also cheapens another finish and steals the clean punctuation the bout needs. Rick winning his first WCW singles championship matters. The route there feels less important than it should because the show has already trained the audience to expect somebody outside the ring to decide things.

A manager wrestling a referee for more than ten minutes should be an obvious warning sign, yet Gorgeous George and Charles Robinson somehow create one of the more alive segments on the card. Robinson commits completely to his miniature-Ric-Flair act, George has the crowd behind her, and Randy Savage's reinstatement gives the silliness an understandable destination. Nobody should mistake the execution for polished professional wrestling, but the people in the building care. That matters, especially on a show where several accomplished wrestlers will struggle to generate anything close to the same response.

The match is still much too long. Its comedy, interference, and character beats would be more effective at half the duration, and every additional exchange exposes the obvious limitations of the participants. George eventually wins, which restores Savage and advances one of WCW's central television stories. It is ridiculous, but at least it knows it is an attraction rather than a sporting contest. Slamboree's stranger truth is that this works better than several serious matches because the crowd understands exactly whom to cheer, what is at stake, and what the finish accomplishes.

Scott Steiner and Buff Bagwell have history, star presence, and a crowd that is willing to meet them halfway. Bagwell attacks quickly, Steiner answers with cheap power and nastiness, and the match benefits from being compact enough that neither man has to manufacture a long middle section. The work is not particularly deep, but it feels heated in a way much of Slamboree does not. Steiner is already discovering the exaggerated bully persona that will define his next phase, while Bagwell is over enough to make the audience believe a comeback could matter.

Naturally, Rick Steiner comes to ringside and turns what looks like potential help for Bagwell into another betrayal. Rick attacks Buff with a chair, Scott takes advantage, and the brothers leave aligned again. The angle is more significant than the match, but at least the match gives the angle energy instead of merely waiting for it. The repeated interference across the card still damages the finish, and the wrestling never rises much above television quality. Even so, this is one of the few undercard bouts where the personalities, crowd response, and booking are pushing in the same direction.

Piper and Flair can still command a building through personality, but Slamboree asks their reputations to carry twelve minutes that their bodies no longer can. The match is mostly punches, shortcuts, stalling, and familiar character work, with Arn Anderson and Asya providing extra obstacles around Flair. Piper sells the unfairness effectively and Flair remains a master at making chaos look intentional, yet the wrestling feels like an echo of something that would have been combustible years earlier. In 1999, the pace is slow and the physical exchanges rarely justify the importance of controlling the company.

The finish turns the entire thing into administrative theater. Flair appears to win after using an object, only for Eric Bischoff to come out and reverse the decision, awarding Piper the victory by disqualification. Piper then fires Flair. That is a lot of corporate power changing hands for a finish that happens after the apparent finish, and the audience is asked to process rules that seem to exist only when somebody walks out to reinterpret them. The legends can still talk and emote. The match surrounding the talking is exhausted.

Sting against Goldberg should feel enormous. Both men are franchise-level stars, the matchup is fresh enough to command attention, and Sting's return gives the crowd another reason to care. For a few minutes, the match survives on that promise. Goldberg's explosiveness and Sting's ability to match power with athleticism create flashes of the pay-per-view attraction WCW advertised. The problem is that the bout never develops beyond flashes. It feels like an angle wearing wrestling gear, and the audience slowly realizes there will be no satisfying competitive destination.

Bret Hart returns and attacks Goldberg, then Rick and Scott Steiner arrive and assault both Sting and Goldberg, producing a no contest after a little more than eight minutes. Bret's appearance is historically interesting because WCW badly needed to find a meaningful direction for him, but the segment sacrifices the match people paid to see in order to set up several future possibilities at once. That trade is especially frustrating on a show already overflowing with non-finishes and interference. Sting versus Goldberg should be the attraction. Instead, it becomes another traffic circle.

Diamond Dallas Page and Kevin Nash are handed more than eighteen minutes to make the world title feel important, but the main event spends too much time moving at Nash's preferred crawl. Page works the champion role with more urgency and tries to keep the match physical, while Nash sells and waits for the next opening. There are decent individual moments, including Page using the exposed turnbuckle and Nash's late comeback, but very little sustained tension. The match is not a disaster in isolation. It is simply too long, too slow, and far too dependent on the booking machinery surrounding it.

Randy Savage interferes and attacks Nash with the championship, producing an apparent disqualification. Then Eric Bischoff comes out, has Savage removed, and orders the match restarted so the interference cannot decide the title. Nash eventually lands the Jackknife Powerbomb and wins the WCW World Heavyweight Championship. The restart gives the audience a definitive champion, but it also asks everyone to accept a fresh rule interpretation after another finish has already been thrown away. Nash's victory is historically notable. As a main-event payoff, it feels like WCW changing the answer after the test has been graded.