WrestleMania XXVI (2010): One Legendary Farewell Carries an Uneven Supercard

WrestleMania opens with a championship match that feels more like an abbreviated television segment than the first bout of the year's biggest show. Morrison supplies the athleticism and Miz has enough history with him to give their exchanges some texture, but three minutes is nowhere near enough time to build a meaningful tag match. Big Show's knockout punch provides a clean finish and protects the champions, yet the result arrives before the crowd can settle into the card. The brevity becomes the defining feature. Nothing is actively disastrous, and everyone executes the limited material professionally. Still, a unified tag title defense at WrestleMania should feel more important than a quick transition into the next entrance.

The Legacy breakup gives Randy Orton, Cody Rhodes and Ted DiBiase Jr. a clear story, but the match never reaches the intensity that months of faction tension should produce. Rhodes and DiBiase begin by working together, then fracture when both want the pin, which is the obvious and effective structure. Orton's comeback is timed well, and the punt to Rhodes followed by the RKO on DiBiase gives him a decisive victory. The problem is scale. WrestleMania needed this to feel like the violent end of a stable, not simply the next chapter of a television feud. Nine minutes keeps the action moving, but it also limits emotional escalation and leaves the breakup feeling tidier than it should.

The final Money in the Bank ladder match held at WrestleMania is overloaded with ten wrestlers, yet it still finds enough inventive violence to feel like a featured attraction. Evan Bourne's Air Bourne from a ladder and the constant race toward the briefcase supply the expected spectacle. Christian again looks like the natural centerpiece of this format, which makes Jack Swagger's eventual victory feel surprising rather than inevitable. The size of the field is both the strength and the weakness. There is always something happening, but individual stories struggle to breathe because another wrestler is waiting to enter the frame. Swagger's awkward struggle with the hook slightly undercuts the finish, though the result becomes historically important when he cashes in days later.

Triple H and Sheamus work a straightforward veteran-versus-rising-star match that is stronger in execution than in outcome. Sheamus controls long stretches with power offense and carries himself like someone who belongs opposite an established WrestleMania name. Triple H sells enough to give the younger wrestler credibility, then rallies with familiar offense before the Pedigree ends it. The match is physical, well paced and easy to follow. It also feels like a missed opportunity because Sheamus entered the program needing the signature victory more than Triple H did. The loss does not destroy him, especially because the feud continues, but WrestleMania could have accelerated his elevation immediately. As wrestling, the bout is solid. As a booking choice, it is conservative.

Rey Mysterio and CM Punk bring one of the card's best personal rivalries into a match that is frustratingly short but consistently sharp. Punk's Straight Edge Society harassment of Mysterio's family gives every exchange more hostility than a normal midcard singles bout. Mysterio's speed contrasts naturally with Punk's control, and the attempted interference from Luke Gallows and Serena keeps the faction threat present without swallowing the match. The 619 and splash finish gives Mysterio a clean, satisfying win that avoids the stipulation forcing him into the Society. Six and a half minutes is the obvious limitation. These two had enough chemistry and story to deserve double that time. What remains is a strong miniature rather than the great WrestleMania match the feud could support.

Bret Hart finally getting physical revenge on Mr. McMahon carries enormous symbolic weight, but the match turns catharsis into repetition. The Hart family surrounding the ring removes any mystery about the outcome, which is appropriate for the story, and the audience clearly understands that this is punishment rather than competition. The problem is duration. Once McMahon's attempted family betrayal is exposed, Bret beats him with a crowbar, a chair and more punishment for far too long before applying the Sharpshooter. The spectacle delivers the image people waited more than a decade to see, but it does not need eleven minutes to do it. Hart's physical limitations were unavoidable. The layout should have embraced those limits and made the revenge shorter, sharper and more emotionally satisfying.

Chris Jericho and Edge deliver the kind of polished world-title match expected from two wrestlers who know exactly how to structure a major pay-per-view bout. Their former tag-team partnership gives the counters and verbal aggression useful history, while Jericho's control work gives Edge room to build toward the spear. The Codebreaker near-fall is especially effective because it attacks the crowd's assumption that Edge's comeback will lead directly to the championship. Jericho using the title belt and then landing another Codebreaker protects the champion's opportunistic character without making the wrestling feel irrelevant. Edge's post-match spear through the barricade gives him the final visual, perhaps too obviously signaling continuation. The match is very good, even if it never reaches the emotional level of the night's true main event.

The ten-Diva tag is treated as an obligation rather than a meaningful WrestleMania match, and the presentation makes that impossible to ignore. With ten performers and barely three and a half minutes, nobody has enough time to establish rhythm, rivalry or even a coherent sequence. The match exists largely to set up Vickie Guerrero's frog splash and pin, a comedy payoff that the crowd can recognize immediately. That moment may work as a character beat, but it cannot rescue the surrounding chaos. Several talented wrestlers are reduced to brief cameos, and the division receives none of the seriousness afforded to the men's championship stories. The result is not merely short; it is structured so that wrestling quality is almost beside the point.

John Cena and Batista finally get a WrestleMania singles match after years of being presented as parallel franchise stars, and the bout understands the scale of that confrontation. Batista controls the first half with convincing power offense, forcing Cena to fight from underneath rather than sprint into a finishing sequence. The late exchanges are built around major moves and escapes, including the Batista Bomb and Attitude Adjustment near-falls. Cena reversing another Batista Bomb into the STF provides a clean championship change and a decisive ending to the first stage of their feud. The match is not technically elaborate, but it does not need to be. Two established main-eventers work a clear heavyweight structure, the crowd stays invested, and the title change feels appropriately important.

The Undertaker and Shawn Michaels follow one of WrestleMania's most celebrated matches by making the sequel more personal instead of simply more dangerous. Michaels attacks Undertaker's injured leg, survives the Tombstone on the stadium floor, and keeps finding ways to drag the match past its apparent ending. The moonsault through the announce table and repeated Sweet Chin Music near-falls build toward a final stretch driven as much by character as by moves. Undertaker hesitates before finishing Michaels, telling him to stay down. Michaels answers by completing Undertaker's throat-cut gesture and slapping him, choosing defiance over mercy. The final jumping Tombstone ends the career stipulation with clarity. Their handshake and Michaels's farewell turn an excellent match into an enduring WrestleMania ending.