WrestleMania 2 (1986): Three Cities, Twelve Matches, One Very Expensive Lesson

WrestleMania 2 begins by immediately creating the sensation that somebody forgot this was supposed to be the biggest show of the year. Paul Orndorff is over enough to give the match energy, and Don Muraco is a credible opponent, but four minutes of basic offense lead to both men fighting outside until the referee counts them out. The finish protects everyone and satisfies no one. Orndorff had spent much of the preceding period tangled in major Hogan-related business, so using him to open WrestleMania with a draw feels especially flat. The match also contains Orndorff's racist gesture toward Mr. Fuji, an ugly moment later removed from many home-video and streaming versions. Between the non-finish and that artifact, the opener has aged badly in every direction that matters.

Randy Savage and George Steele are working two completely different kinds of match, and Savage is talented enough to make the mismatch intermittently entertaining. Steele's obsession with Elizabeth drives the story, while Savage spends much of the bout trying to weaponize Steele's distractions and oddball offense against him. The historical curiosity is Steele kicking out of Savage's top-rope elbow, a result that commentary treats as a major surprise. Savage eventually escapes with a roll-up and both feet on the ropes, preserving Steele's strange resilience while keeping the Intercontinental Championship exactly where it belongs. As character television, the feud makes sense. As a WrestleMania championship match, five minutes of turnbuckle stuffing, Elizabeth fixation and a cheating roll-up never gives Savage enough room to show why he is becoming one of the company's best performers.

This is essentially a television showcase for Jake Roberts placed on WrestleMania. George Wells gets enough early offense to keep Roberts from walking directly to the finish, but the match exists to introduce the larger audience to Jake's rhythm: absorb some punishment, create one opening, hit the DDT, and turn the post-match presentation into the thing people remember. Damien slithering across Wells while Wells foams at the mouth is the actual angle, and it gives Roberts a sinister visual identity that the three-minute match cannot supply on its own. There is value in seeing an important WWF character being established, but WrestleMania 2 already has too many attractions fighting for time. A glorified enhancement match makes the card feel less curated rather than more complete.

The genuine hostility between Roddy Piper and Mr. T gives this worked boxing match more atmosphere than technique, which is another way of saying the entrances are doing heroic work. Piper understands how to project menace and Mr. T remains a legitimate celebrity attraction, but neither fact makes four rounds of staged boxing fluid. The pace slows quickly, T appears exhausted, and much of the action becomes clinching, awkward punches and corners trying to create drama around a format professional wrestling is poorly equipped to imitate. The finish at least admits what everyone wants: Piper abandons boxing, bodyslams T, and gets disqualified. The subsequent brawl is more entertaining than most of the sanctioned contest. As a sequel to WrestleMania I's celebrity feud, it has historical logic. As wrestling entertainment, it lasts far longer than the idea.

Chicago gets barely enough time to establish a new announce team before the Women's Championship match is effectively over. Velvet McIntyre attempts to create motion with a turnbuckle attack, misses, and Fabulous Moolah pins her in roughly ninety seconds. There is no meaningful title-match structure, comeback, escalation or sense that the challenger has been given a WrestleMania opportunity worth taking seriously. Contemporary and retrospective reviews have repeatedly treated the bout as filler, and the brevity makes that assessment hard to challenge. The match is historically useful only as evidence of how little priority WWF placed on women's wrestling during this period. A championship match on the company's largest event receives less time than many entrances on modern WrestleManias.

The flag-match label suggests a stipulation that never really materializes because the match operates as a two-minute Cold War sprint. Nikolai Volkoff attacks, Corporal Kirchner bleeds, Freddie Blassie introduces the cane, and Kirchner catches the weapon before using it himself to secure the pin. The crowd has an easy rooting interest, but the match is almost entirely angle and finish. There is no time for either man to build a competitive story, and the cheating reversal gives the babyface victory a strange aftertaste even within the moral simplicity of 1980s WWF. Like the women's title match before it, this feels less like part of WrestleMania than an aggressively shortened television segment placed between celebrity introductions and the battle royal.

The battle royal is not technically strong, but unlike several matches before it, the attraction understands exactly what it is selling. NFL players mix with WWF wrestlers, William Perry gets the loud Chicago reactions, Dick Butkus and Ed 'Too Tall' Jones reinforce the sports crossover, and Andre the Giant provides the inevitable center of gravity. The best character beat comes after Big John Studd eliminates Perry and accepts a handshake, only for Perry to pull him out in return. The Hart Foundation then helps give the closing minutes some actual wrestling structure before Andre eliminates Jim Neidhart and finally Bret Hart to win. The Ringer's later reporting notes that Bret's runner-up position was quietly significant. Mostly, though, this works because everyone understands the assignment: spectacle first, technique somewhere near the parking lot.

At last, WrestleMania 2 produces a match that feels worthy of the brand the company is trying to create. Dynamite Kid and Greg Valentine give the bout speed, snap and credibility, Davey Boy Smith provides power, and Brutus Beefcake works best when the other three are moving the structure forward around him. The match avoids settling into one repetitive formula, instead using quick tags, counters and increasingly dangerous-looking offense to make the championship feel contested rather than presented. The finish is memorable and chaotic: Smith drives Valentine into Dynamite Kid on the turnbuckles, Dynamite crashes to the floor, and Valentine is pinned. Ozzy Osbourne celebrating with the new champions supplies exactly the kind of celebrity image WrestleMania wants without interrupting the wrestling itself. Multiple retrospectives identify this as the match of the night. They are right, and it is not especially close.

Ricky Steamboat and Hercules quietly open Los Angeles with one of the night's more satisfying conventional matches. Hercules gives Steamboat a strong, physical obstacle without requiring a complicated story, while Steamboat's movement makes every comeback feel faster than most of the card. The finish is especially clean by WrestleMania 2 standards: Hercules misses a flying bodypress and Steamboat answers with one of his own for the pin. No disqualification, no celebrity judge, no cane, no count-out, no new arena required halfway through. Seven minutes is still not enough for a major Steamboat performance, but it is enough for competent escalation and a decisive ending. On this event, those basic virtues are suddenly luxurious.

Adrian Adonis versus Uncle Elmer is three minutes of a mismatch that never develops into useful comedy, meaningful heat or particularly interesting wrestling. Adonis is expressive enough to give almost any segment some personality, but Elmer's limitations leave the match with very few places to go. A missed legdrop creates the opening for Adonis to come off the top with a headbutt and get the pin, which at least gives the heel a decisive WrestleMania victory. The larger problem is card construction. By the time Los Angeles begins, viewers have already watched two short Chicago matches with minimal substance. Adding another bout that exists mostly to advance the running order makes the three-city concept feel even more bloated. This is not offensively long; it is merely three minutes WrestleMania never earns back.

The Los Angeles tag match is the card's second-best piece of wrestling because Terry Funk refuses to let it become background noise. Terry and Hoss Funk bring movement and disorder, Tito Santana is smooth enough to keep pace, and Junkyard Dog supplies the crowd connection and power spots. The match feels less choreographed than much of the show because the Funks are good at making control slip into chaos without losing the basic structure. Jimmy Hart eventually hands Terry the megaphone, allowing Funk to strike JYD and steal the pin. The finish is cheap, but unlike many earlier shortcuts it arrives after nearly twelve minutes of worthwhile wrestling and fits the heel team perfectly. This is the kind of undercard match WrestleMania 2 needed more often: recognizable stars, actual time, escalating action, and a finish connected to character rather than logistics.

The WrestleMania 2 main event has a clean story and a giant visual: Hulk Hogan enters with taped ribs, King Kong Bundy attacks the injury, and the blue steel cage makes the Los Angeles finale look immediately different from everything before it. Bundy tears away the tape and works the ribs, Hogan survives the avalanche and splash, then begins the expected comeback. The body slam, legdrop and cage escape deliver the hero's victory without unnecessary ambiguity, and Hogan returning to punish Bobby Heenan gives the crowd an extra release. What is missing is scale inside the match itself. The action is functional rather than dramatic, and Bundy never feels like the opponent who might end Hulkamania on WrestleMania's biggest stage. Several retrospectives have compared it to a strong television or house-show main event. That is fair. The cage is iconic; the match inside it is merely solid.