Slamboree 2000: WCW Had Better Wrestling Than Booking and Still Couldn’t Leave It Alone

Candido and The Artist try to wrestle at cruiserweight speed, but the match never becomes clean enough to establish a rhythm. Several transitions look loose, a diving DDT attempt falls apart and both men spend too much time recovering from awkward exchanges instead of building toward a decisive finish. The division deserves a sharper opener.

The ending makes everything worse. Tammy Sytch distracts the referee, hits The Artist with a chair and Candido appears to score the pin before the music stops because the match is apparently still going. Candido then hits the piledriver and diving headbutt for the official fall. The confusion leaves the opener feeling less like a championship match than a production mistake that accidentally continued.

The hardcore match works as comedy because Terry Funk and Norman Smiley understand exactly how ridiculous the environment is. They fight through backstage areas, use fire extinguishers, trash cans and equipment cases, and keep moving often enough that the plunder never becomes completely static. Ralphus adds another layer of absurdity without pretending to be a serious threat.

Funk eventually drags Ralphus into the ring, humiliates him and survives Smiley’s chair attacks before catching Norman in a rollup. The match is not technically strong, but it has energy and a clear comedic tone. For ten minutes of WCW hardcore chaos, that is enough to make it one of the more watchable lower-card segments.

The Kansas City crowd is surprisingly invested in Curt Hennig, which gives the match more life than the feud itself deserves. Hennig keeps the structure simple with basic counters and a comeback, while Stasiak works from familiar heel control without trying to force a style he cannot sustain. The atmosphere does much of the heavy lifting.

The finish is built around Stasiak knowing Hennig’s signature vulnerabilities. He uses the corner catapult and then finishes with a Perfectplex, essentially beating Hennig with his own historical language. The idea is clever enough, but the match never rises beyond television-level work. Seven minutes of competence earns a modest passing score and little reason to revisit it.

Captain Rection works harder than the name suggests. He uses leg lariats, corner splashes and a reversed tombstone to keep Scott Steiner from turning the match into a complete squash, while Steiner’s suplexes and physicality give the championship match a legitimate heavyweight feel. The challenger makes the most of the opportunity.

The biggest problem is pacing. Steiner repeatedly stops to jaw with the crowd and the match loses momentum between major spots. Rection misses the moonsault, catches Steiner awkwardly with a leg on the way down and is immediately finished with the Steiner Recliner. There is a good physical match inside these nine minutes, but it keeps stopping so the champion can perform his character instead of wrestling.

Awesome and Kanyon produce the night’s best match because they wrestle like the result matters. Kanyon uses creative counters and takes enormous bumps, while Awesome combines powerbomb variations, dives and heavy strikes with the urgency of someone trying to establish himself immediately. The physical escalation feels natural rather than decorative.

The finish is a complete waste. Just as the match reaches its strongest stretch, Kevin Nash walks in and attacks Awesome, triggering a no contest. The angle advances Nash’s story and simultaneously punishes the two wrestlers who have created the first genuinely compelling match on the card. The score remains high because the work is excellent; the ceiling disappears because WCW refuses to let the match finish.

Luger and Bagwell spend too much of the match posing, stalling and sitting in chinlocks for a pairing that already lacks novelty. Luger still gets a strong reaction and can create a comeback through power offense, but Bagwell’s control work does little to make the audience believe he is building toward a meaningful victory. The match feels recycled before the finish arrives.

Elizabeth eventually arrives with Vince Russo’s baseball bat and hits Bagwell, allowing Luger to win with the Torture Rack. Chuck Palumbo then attacks Luger and adopts his Total Package presentation. The match is less important than the surrounding character changes, and the wrestling reflects that. Nine minutes feel like connective tissue between angles rather than a contest with independent value.

Flair and Douglas bring enough real history that the opening exchanges feel naturally tense. Douglas attacks the back and leg, Flair responds with chops and low blows, and both men keep the match grounded in recognizable wrestling rather than immediately reaching for a stunt. The crowd responds because the rivalry does not need much explanation.

Then the show remembers what year it is. Buff Bagwell appears with a fake Sting, the disguised attacker hits Flair with a bat and Douglas gets the pin. The masked man is revealed as David Flair, which turns a good match into another family swerve. The wrestling is strong enough for a C+; the finish prevents the bout from becoming the definitive Flair-Douglas confrontation their history suggested.

Sting and Vampiro keep the match short and direct. They brawl on the ramp, trade offense around ringside and move quickly once they return to the ring. Vampiro’s lead-pipe attack gives Sting something to overcome without turning the bout into another fifteen-minute overbooked maze. The pace protects both men.

The finish is the rare relief. Sting counters, hits the powerbomb and follows with two Scorpion Death Drops for the clean pin. No fake official, mystery attacker or immediate title reversal is required. The match is only six minutes and never becomes great, but its clarity makes it stand out on a card where most finishes need a flowchart.

Kidman bumps with enormous commitment and gives Hogan enough movement to make the physical mismatch entertaining. Hogan works from underneath against a hostile referee, while Kidman uses chairs, the weight belt and quick counters to create the sense that the veteran may actually be in danger. The crowd stays involved through the escalating chaos.

The final stretch goes too far. Bischoff refuses counts, Hogan attacks him, multiple chairs and tables enter, Horace becomes involved and Kidman eventually misses a splash through the table before Hogan gets the forced count. There is a decent match underneath the spectacle, but the younger wrestler still leaves without the decisive breakthrough the feud needs. The effort is better than the long-term booking.

The Triple Cage is a fascinating visual and an awkward wrestling environment. Page and Jarrett do most of the work while Arquette stays away from the dangerous exchanges, which is the correct choice. The climb through the ladder-filled first level and weapon-heavy second level creates a sense of progression even when the unstable floors force everyone to move cautiously.

The final level produces the expected swerve. Arquette reaches the top, waits beside the championship and then hits Page with a guitar, allowing Jarrett to retrieve the belt. The title returns to a regular wrestler, but the betrayal makes the structure feel secondary to another plot twist.

The post-match angle defines the event as much as the title change. Mike Awesome throws Kanyon from the cage onto the entrance structure below, creating a spectacular image in the same building where Owen Hart died less than a year earlier. The match is memorable, occasionally exciting and impossible to separate from the excess surrounding it.