WrestleMania XX (2004): A Great Ending Has to Carry a Very Uneven Anniversary

John Cena’s first WrestleMania match works better as a launch point than as a standalone classic. Big Show controls the early minutes with simple power offense, while Cena’s comebacks are built around personality, timing and the audience’s readiness to embrace a new star. The brass-knuckles shortcut before the second FU keeps the finish firmly in character and gives Cena his first WWE title without pretending he could simply overpower the champion. The action is basic and the pace rarely rises above functional, but the opener has clarity, heat and a result that mattered immediately. Its historical value does not inflate the wrestling grade, yet the match succeeds at the job it was booked to do.

The first four-team tag title match is one of the clearest examples of WrestleMania XX trying to fit too many wrestlers onto the card. There is enough athletic movement to keep the seven-plus minutes from becoming dull, and Rob Van Dam’s finishing burst gives the champions a lively closing sequence. Still, the structure is crowded, individual pairings receive little time to develop, and most teams function as traffic rather than as distinct threats. Booker T and Van Dam retaining makes sense, but the match feels more like a roster-placement exercise than a title match with escalating drama. It is competent television-style action on a stage that asks for more.

Christian and Chris Jericho deliver the first genuinely strong wrestling match of the night, combining a personal storyline with a smart, escalating singles match. The pace is measured without becoming slow, both men counter familiar offense naturally, and the audience understands that the emotional hook involving Trish Stratus matters as much as the next nearfall. The finish, with Stratus accidentally striking Jericho before Christian steals the pin, turns into the post-match heel reveal and gives the entire rivalry a memorable next chapter. The interference prevents the match from feeling completely self-contained, but it also belongs to the story rather than replacing it. As a complete WrestleMania segment, it is sharp and rewarding.

The Rock and Mick Foley returning together could have been empty nostalgia, but Evolution turns the handicap match into one of the card’s best complete attractions. Ric Flair and The Rock understand exactly how to stretch a crowd reaction, Batista supplies the physical force, and Randy Orton is positioned as the young star who can survive the legends and claim the decisive pin. Foley’s exchanges become increasingly desperate, which makes Orton’s RKO finish feel like an actual generational handoff rather than a cameo ending. The match is long enough to build distinct phases without exhausting the premise, and Madison Square Garden responds to every major personality. It is not a technical masterpiece, but as WrestleMania ensemble wrestling it lands beautifully.

The Playboy Evening Gown match is a relic of an era in which the women on WWE television were often booked as spectacle before they were treated as wrestlers. At barely more than two minutes, there is almost no opportunity for the performers to construct a meaningful match, and the stipulation is designed around stripping and presentation rather than competition. The crowd reacts to the personalities, but that does not create wrestling substance where little was intended. In a modern rewatch it is one of the easiest portions of the show to skip, and its placement reinforces how uneven WrestleMania XX can feel between serious featured programs. Historical context explains why it existed; it does not improve the grade.

The Cruiserweight Open contains enough talent to suggest a much better match than the format allows. Último Dragón, Jamie Noble, Billy Kidman, Rey Mysterio, Tajiri and the rest cycle through rapid eliminations, producing flashes of technique and creativity without giving most exchanges time to breathe. The audience gets several attractive sequences, especially once Kidman and Mysterio become central, but the constant entrances and exits make the contest feel like a sampler instead of a championship showcase. Chavo Guerrero retaining with help from Chavo Classic fits his character, yet the ending arrives before the match can develop a sustained peak. The result is entertaining in pieces and frustrating as a use of the division.

Goldberg versus Brock Lesnar is fascinating television and poor wrestling, and those are not contradictory judgments. The Madison Square Garden crowd knows both men are leaving, rejects the match almost immediately, and turns the long opening stare-down into a hostile referendum on the performers. Once the wrestling starts, the bout remains sparse and tentative, built around a few signature power moves without the urgency expected from two destructive heavyweights. Stone Cold Steve Austin’s presence and the post-match Stunners give the audience the catharsis it wants, but they cannot rescue the match that preceded them. The hostile atmosphere makes the segment historically unforgettable while also exposing how completely the advertised dream match failed on its own terms.

The second four-team tag title match repeats the same structural problem as the first with even less time to solve it. Too Cool, The APA, the Bashams and World's Greatest Tag Team rush through tags and short bursts without establishing a convincing hierarchy, and the six-minute runtime reduces potentially interesting pairings to quick cameos. Shelton Benjamin and Charlie Haas provide the cleanest athletic moments, while Rikishi’s Banzai Drop gives the champions an uncomplicated finish. Nothing is disastrously executed, but very little feels important enough for WrestleMania. On a card already struggling with length, this is paradoxically both too short to become good and too disposable to justify its place.

Victoria and Molly Holly receive fewer than five minutes, which limits the wrestling far more than either performer’s ability does. The match has a clear stipulation and a motivated challenger, and the backslide finish gives Victoria a clean retention before the hair-shaving payoff takes over the segment. Molly’s attempt to escape and Victoria dragging her back provides the memorable image, but the actual title match is over before a deeper competitive story can form. Compared with the evening-gown match, this at least presents the women as wrestlers with a championship at stake. Compared with what both were capable of doing, it feels disappointingly abbreviated.

Eddie Guerrero versus Kurt Angle is the first elite match on the card and an ideal expression of both characters. Angle wrestles with escalating aggression, attacking the ankle and trying to impose technical control, while Guerrero survives by mixing resilience with the opportunistic intelligence that defines his championship persona. The loose-boot escape is especially clever because it turns Angle’s own ankle-lock obsession into the mechanism of defeat without making the challenger look foolish. Their mat work, counters and late-match urgency are strong enough to stand on their own before the finish adds character logic. Guerrero’s successful defense also gives the enormous show a second world-title story with real emotional weight.

The Undertaker’s return to the Deadman presentation is far more memorable than the match that follows it. Paul Bearer, the druids, the lighting and Kane’s disbelief create one of WrestleMania XX’s strongest entrances, giving Madison Square Garden a genuine spectacle before the bell. Once the fight begins, the brothers work a short, familiar power match built around Chokeslams, Kane’s brief control and Undertaker sitting up before the Tombstone finish. The audience is invested because of the return and the streak, not because the seven-plus minutes produce unusual wrestling. That distinction matters: the segment succeeds as presentation, while the match itself remains ordinary.

The World Heavyweight Championship triple threat is the reason WrestleMania XX can survive such an uneven middle and still finish at a high level. Triple H, Shawn Michaels and Chris Benoit structure nearly twenty-five minutes around constant threat management: every submission can be interrupted, every nearfall creates another opening, and alliances last only as long as convenience allows. The table spot, Michaels’ bleeding, repeated Crossface teases and desperate saves keep the match escalating without losing clarity. Most importantly, Triple H submits directly in the center to give the Royal Rumble winner the decisive ending the story promised. Later events have permanently changed how the celebration is viewed, but the bell-to-bell match remains extraordinary.