Survivor Series 1994: Owen Hart Wins Without Wrestling, and Diesel Becomes the Future

For thirteen minutes, the opener is a perfectly respectable Survivor Series match waiting for somebody to become the story. Then Diesel becomes the story all at once.

He powerbombs Fatu, the 1-2-3 Kid and Sione in rapid succession, knocks Davey Boy Smith to the floor and leaves Razor Ramon alone against five men. It is the first time all night the show feels as if it has discovered a future rather than borrowed one.

Then Shawn Michaels wants the glory. He orders Diesel to hold Razor for the superkick, hits Diesel instead and triggers the breakup that has been simmering since SummerSlam. Diesel chases Michaels backstage, bowling over his own partners, and somehow all five Teamsters are counted out together.

The finish is goofy. The angle is excellent. That distinction matters. As a match, this is good enough. As the moment WWF finally commits to splitting Michaels and Diesel, it is far more important than its score.

Sixteen minutes. That number should be entered into evidence.

Jerry Lawler, Doink and six little-person performers are asked to stretch a one-joke comedy premise across a full Survivor Series match. The rules force Lawler and Doink to wrestle one another while their partners pair off by size. The result is repetition, mugging, pratfalls and commentary working much harder than the wrestling to insist everyone is having fun.

Lawler cheats through the eliminations, berates his own teammates afterward, gets chased away and eventually takes a pie to the face. None of that requires sixteen minutes. Almost nothing requires sixteen minutes less.

Bret Hart and Bob Backlund wrestle a match that is much easier to admire than to enjoy.

The first twenty-five minutes are methodical almost to the point of defiance. Headlocks become arm work, arm work becomes leg work, and the pace resembles the championship style Backlund carried a decade earlier. Bret is technically excellent because Bret is almost always technically excellent. That does not make the clock move faster.

Then Owen Hart turns the match into theater. Davey Boy Smith crashes into the steps. Backlund traps Bret in the crossface chickenwing. Owen begins pleading with Stu and Helen Hart to save their son. Bret stays trapped for nearly ten minutes while Owen performs concern so convincingly that his mother finally grabs the towel from Stu and throws it in.

Backlund wins the WWF Championship. Owen immediately drops the act and celebrates as though he has personally won it.

The wrestling is overlong. The psychology is excellent. The finish is one of Owen Hart's greatest performances, and the match remains historically fascinating precisely because its dramatic payoff is much better than the thirty-five minutes required to reach it.

Twenty-three minutes of midcard inventory is a difficult thing to disguise.

Mabel gets a few bursts of athleticism, Bam Bam Bigelow tries to inject movement, the Smoking Gunns work efficiently enough and Lex Luger eventually becomes the last man standing for his side. None of it creates much suspense. The Million Dollar Corporation is clearly the story WWF wants to continue, and the match trudges toward that conclusion rather than building to it.

Tatanka's elimination briefly gives Luger hope. King Kong Bundy splashes him seven seconds later and ends it. The heels beat Luger down afterward until the eliminated babyfaces return for the save.

Competent bodies occupy the ring. A compelling match rarely joins them.

Chuck Norris is here to prevent interference. Naturally, interference becomes the match's primary extracurricular activity.

Undertaker and Yokozuna work a better version of their Royal Rumble casket match because the purpose is simpler: Undertaker is back, Yokozuna is afraid of the casket, and this is revenge. The actual wrestling is still slow. Yokozuna's size gives the stipulation a useful visual challenge, but long stretches consist of dragging, rolling and waiting for the next attempt at the lid.

King Kong Bundy and Bam Bam Bigelow appear. Norris blocks them. IRS sneaks in from the opposite side and attacks Undertaker anyway. Jeff Jarrett arrives and finally gives Norris his one famous kick. Undertaker survives, boots Yokozuna into the casket and shuts the lid.

The crowd likes the payoff. The match is mostly machinery designed to get there.