Starrcade 1998: WCW Ends the Streak and Refuses the Clean Ending

Kidman, Rey Mysterio Jr., and Juventud Guerrera give Starrcade an immediate pulse. The match moves quickly without becoming shapeless, and the three-way structure creates openings for counters, dives, and sudden near-falls that keep the title in genuine doubt. Kidman feels like a champion rather than a passenger, which is important because the show asks him to wrestle again immediately afterward.

This is also the match that exposes the rest of the card. WCW clearly possessed wrestlers who could make the biggest event of the year feel special, and for fifteen minutes it does. The pace, crowd response, and escalating offense all suggest a promotion with plenty of athletic life left. Once the cruiserweights leave center stage, Starrcade spends most of the night struggling to recover that same energy.

Eddie Guerrero challenging Kidman immediately after the opener gives the first half hour a useful sense of momentum. Guerrero attacks with urgency, Kidman sells the fatigue from the three-way, and the match benefits from a simple premise: the champion has already survived once and now has to do it again. Their chemistry carries the bout even when interference around ringside begins adding the usual WCW clutter.

The finish still lets Kidman look resilient, and the crowd remains invested because the wrestling has a clear objective. It is not as spectacular as the opener, but it is more than good enough for a major pay-per-view. In retrospect, having these two cruiserweight matches back-to-back almost feels cruel, because Starrcade spends the next hour demonstrating how much less focused the rest of the card is.

Norman Smiley and Prince Iaukea do not wrestle a train wreck. Smiley's mat work has personality, and Iaukea can move well enough to keep the exchanges from falling apart. The deeper problem is placement: after two cruiserweight matches that feel important, Starrcade suddenly presents a long singles match with almost no emotional weight and asks the audience to treat it as part of the company's marquee event.

The crowd's indifference becomes part of the performance because there is little story to pull against it. Smiley wins cleanly with the Norman Conquest, which is perfectly reasonable, but nothing about the result changes the shape of the show. On Nitro or Saturday Night this could have been a useful midcard segment. At Starrcade, it becomes the first sign that WCW did not protect the prestige of its own biggest card.

Perry Saturn is capable of creating structure around almost anyone, and he tries to do that here by giving Ernest Miller's kicks and character work a clear target. The match never develops enough tension to reward the effort. Sonny Onoo's involvement gives the finish a little motion, but the story remains closer to a weekly television feud than something that belongs on the company's year-ending flagship.

The seven-minute runtime prevents the match from becoming a major drag, yet that is a low ceiling for Starrcade. Saturn's Death Valley Driver provides a clean finish and the audience gets a recognizable payoff, but the bout disappears almost immediately from memory. It is another example of WCW filling space instead of curating a card that feels worthy of the event name.

There is enough toughness in this match to make individual exchanges believable. Fit Finlay and Scott Norton hit with purpose, Brian Adams can fill the power role, and Jerry Flynn brings a different striking rhythm. What the match never finds is a reason for viewers to care which side wins, and the lack of a meaningful Starrcade-level story turns every solid exchange into isolated activity.

The nWo team wins when Norton puts Flynn away, but the result carries almost no consequence. That makes the match feel longer than its actual runtime because there is no narrative destination pulling it forward. It is not among the worst wrestling on the show, yet it may be the clearest example of how WCW's enormous roster could become a liability when names were placed on pay-per-view without a compelling purpose.

Chris Jericho is one of the few wrestlers in the middle of the card who can create interest before the bell simply through personality. Konnan is over enough to generate a response of his own, so the ingredients are better than the previous few matches. The bout has useful bursts of offense and a clear championship purpose, but it never reaches the level suggested by the talent involved.

Konnan ultimately retains with the Tequila Sunrise, giving the match a clean destination after some belt-related chaos. The problem is not that the match is terrible; it is that Starrcade desperately needs something better than acceptable by this point. Jericho and Konnan deliver a serviceable title match when the card needed a second-half jolt, and the difference between those two standards matters.

Ric Flair against Eric Bischoff should not be evaluated like a normal wrestling match because the attraction is revenge. Flair has the crowd, the history, and the emotional justification to dismantle the executive who spent months antagonizing him and the Horsemen. For stretches the match leans into that correctly, with Flair attacking like a man finally allowed to settle a personal score.

Then WCW cannot resist the screwjob. Curt Hennig interferes, Bischoff gets the victory, and the audience is asked to watch the hero lose at the company's biggest event so the storyline can continue. The result is less offensive because Bischoff lacks wrestling ability than because the booking refuses the obvious catharsis. Starrcade once again chooses continuation over payoff, and Flair's return becomes another missed opportunity.

Diamond Dallas Page understands how to structure a match around The Giant's size. Rather than pretending the power difference does not exist, Page spends much of the bout surviving, creating openings, and searching for the one counter that can change everything. The Giant contributes several impressive power spots, and the contrast gives the match a clearer identity than most of the undercard.

Bret Hart's appearance adds the expected WCW complication, but the finishing sequence still lands because Page counters a top-rope chokeslam attempt into a Diamond Cutter. That is the sort of visual Starrcade should produce: a major star surviving a dangerous opponent with a signature move in a memorable way. The match is not elite, but after the flat middle portion it feels like a genuine recovery.

Goldberg and Kevin Nash have enough presence to make the main event feel large before the interference begins. Nash is credible as a physical opponent, Goldberg's undefeated streak gives every near-fall consequence, and the crowd finally sounds like it is watching the biggest match of the night. For several minutes WCW has a straightforward heavyweight attraction with real stakes and no need for additional machinery.

Then Disco Inferno, Bam Bam Bigelow, and finally Scott Hall become part of the finish. Hall shocks Goldberg with a stun gun, Nash hits the Jackknife, and the 173-match streak ends under a pile of protection. The choice preserves Goldberg's aura in the narrowest possible sense, but it also tells viewers that even the company's hottest story cannot escape nWo interference. Six days later the Fingerpoke of Doom would make the direction even harder to defend.