JIMBO'S QUARTERLY RASSLIN ROUNDUP (Q3 2018 EDITION!)

Are you ready for a whirlwind recap of the best, the worst and the most random pro wrestling matches of the last three months? Hold on to your Hulkamania t-shirts, folks — it's time to rumble.

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Revisiting WCW Halloween Havoc 1990!

We've got the Steiners and the Nastys beating the shit out of each other, Arn Anderson and Ric Flair trying to start a race war and STAN HANSEN YELLING AT A PUMPKIN ... could you ask for anything more in a Halloween special?

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Revisiting WCW Spring Stampede 1994!

Taking a look back at one of the greatest pro wrestling pay-per-views of all-time - from Cactus Jack getting concussed with a snow shovel to Flair and Steamboat putting on an unsung classic to AARON GODDAMN NEVILLE, this show has it all!

By: Jimbo X
JimboXAmerican@gmail.com
@JimboX

Well, it's WrestleMania week, which means Internet Law requires me to publish at least one rasslin' related article. Sure, it would be extremely easy (and lazy as a motherfucker) to just pick a random WM from years gone by and give it the old play-by-play treatment, but that's way too predictable. In fact, we being the supreme outside-the-box-thinkers we are, we here at The Internet Is In America has decided to celebrate the biggest WWE spectacle of the year by turning our attention to their old arch-rival ... and what may very well be the single greatest pay-per-view event they ever produced.

Mid-1993 to mid-1994 WCW has always been "peak WCW" in my eyes. Indeed, the run from Beach Blast '93 to Bash at the Beach '94 might just be the best one year run any North American rasslin' promotion had in the 1990s, if we're talking about sheer in-ring product. From the time Ric Flair returned to the company to the moment Hulk Hogan entered the fray, just about every WCW PPV was AAA material, and for my money, no WCW PPV represents the greatness of the epoch more than Spring Stampede '94.

Simply put, this shindig from the Rosemont Horizon in Chicago-Town has it goddamn all. We've got Brian Pillman and Steve Regal putting on an awesome-as-usual TV title technical showcase. We've got Dustin Rhodes and some dude who looks like a child molester making each other bleed buckets in a Bunkhouse Brawl. We've got Cactus Jack, Man Mountain Rock and the fuckin' Nasty Boys putting on one of the single greatest garbage matches in the history of any promotion ever. We've got Big Van Vader and the Big Boss Man just fucking whaling on each other in an outstanding flab-fest. And for the main course? Oh, nothing major ... just Ric Flair taking on mother-fuckin' god-damn RICKY STEAMBOAT in a 30-minute-plus war of attrition for the World Heavyweight Championship.

Yeah ... you don't need me to tell you this thing's going to be great, do you? Well, how about we cut out the jibber-jabber, fire up our old Turner Home Video copy of the show and take a trip down memory lane, why don't we?

We begin the program with Mean Gene Okerlund saying the Chicago crowd is "hanging from the rafters," which is probably untrue because that's almost assuredly a safety code violation. Here to sing the national anthem (of the U.S., duh) is AARON GODDAMN NEVILLE, who is rocking a leopard print vest, a ton of gold, a giant assed birthmark over his right eye and some fucking HUGE beefy biceps, thus looking more like an actual wrestler than 95 percent of the current WWE roster.

Pulling commentary duties tonight is Tony Schiavone and Bobby Heenan. Proving Chicago, once and for all, is a collection of classless assholes, these motherfuckers have the audacity to boo The Brain. Well, fuck them.

Our first match of the evening is Johnny B. Badd (dressed like Cowboy Curtis from Pee Wee's Playhouse, for some reason) taking on Diamond Dallas Page, back when he was more fat than muscle and still couldn't read. You know, Johnny B. Badd has to be the single blackest-looking white dude in the history of melanin. DDP gets clotheslined out of the ring early. DDP hits his foe with a great looking back body suplex and locks in a crossface. Badd counters it into a wristlock. DDP escapes but Badd hits him with a series of arm drags and you can audibily hear Page say "god damn it" on camera. DDP locks in a guillotine, but Badd bridges out of it and hits a fucking BOSS looking modified Ace Crusher, but it's only good for a two count. DDP with elbows in the corner, followed by a belly-to-back suplex. DDP with a gutwrench suplex into a gutbuster. Man, Page had some pretty good looking suplexes back in the day. Page tries to crush Badd's head with a neck wrench.  Man, Kimberly Page sure was flatter than I remember. Badd rolls out of the way and drops DDP with an inverted drop and a clotheslines. There's a back body drop and a pair of flying headscissors. A discus punch sends Page reeling to the outside - where Badd splashes him with, of all things, a fucking' plancha. Badd goes up top and lands a sunset flip on the follow-through for the fairly anticlimactic three-count.  

Well, all in all, that wasn't too bad. Both guys showed off some pretty inventive moves, and the fact that WCW actually had Badd coming out to a ripoff of  The Dukes of Hazzard theme song for a while makes me all kinds of happy. Not great by any stretch, but still a decent enough  [** 1/2] opener. (Oh, and a reminder - unlike that closeted homosexual Dave Meltzer, we here at The Internet Is In America actually has a scientific rubric to explain our star ratings, which you can evaluate anytime you want right here.)

Mean Gene Okerlun is with Jesse "The Body" Ventura, and goddamn, does he look ridiculous with that chrome dome and ponytail. Holy shit, I totally forgot that even back in 1994 WCW had Michael Buffer doing announcement gigs. Anyhoo, up next, we've got Lord Steven Regal (with Sir William) taking on Brian Pillman in a TV Championship match. Fuck, how long DID Regal have the TV title? It seems like everytime I watch a WCW PPV from 1993 to 1995, he's the perma-television-title holder. Anyway, we've got a 15-minute time limit to work with here, so be ready to pace yourself. Pillman goes after Regal early, and Pillman slaps the taste out of the Limey's mouth and we all cheer. Regal reels to the outside following an arm drag. When Pillman pursues him on the outside, Regal Pearl Harbors  ... uh, Boston Massacres him, I guess would be the better historical analogy? Back in the ring and Pillman takes Regal down with an armdrag. Then he starts slamming his arm against the metal ring post a couple of times. Pillman with some NASTY chops in the corner, to which Regal responds with an equally nasty looking European uppercut. Regal wrenches the arm and Pillman keeps slapping him. Pillman goes for a Lou Thesz press and Regal counters it with a NASTY bridging suplex.  Man, Regal is getting all kinds of heat from this Chicago audience. Regal looks like he's going for a powerbomb, of all things, but Pillman uses the ring ropes to counter it into a school boy. Regal kicks out and does a leg whip into a SICK STF variation. Regal with more European uppercuts. Pillman goes for a backslide, but Regal counters it into a muffler/crossbow stretch. Shit, that looks painful. Pillman escapes and breaks out the slaps again. Regal goes for a gutwrench powerbomb, but Pullman counters it with a hurrancanranna (but not before he conks HIMSELF on the top of the head in the process.) Regal does his patented "Regal roll" into an abdominal stretch on the ground. Now Regal's working a modified crossbow submission. Goddamn this stuff is great. Pillman gets out by absolutely CLOBBERING Regal with stiff punches, then Regal says "fuck you" and locks Brian in a single leg crab. And there's the Indian death lock. Shit, Steven Regal fucking rules. Five minutes to go until the bell sounds. Pillman back to his feet, and he drops Regal with a knife-edge chop. Regal uses a half nelson to keep Pillman grounded. More Pillman slaps. Regal fires back with some vicious elbows and a "desperation headbutt." Heenan advises Regal "pull Pillman's hair until it's straight." Pillman lands a dropkick and both men take a while to get back to their feet. Regal looks for a Boston crab but Pillman flips him over. And there's Pillman with the enziguri. Pillman goes for a monkey flip, Regal misses the fist drop and Pillman drop kicks him with a minute left. Pillman with a backbody drop and punches in bunches in the corner. Regal catches Pillman in a bear hug, they tumble over the top rope, Sir William takes a swing at Brian, and both men make it back into the ring right at zero. So yep - that means we've got ourselves a good old fashioned 15-minute draw, kiddos. 

Yeah, the ending was kinda' bullshitty and there were some botches here and there, but for the most part, that shit was entertaining as fuck. You really wouldn't expect the styles of Pillman and Regal to gel so well, but they actually put together a solid little, ground-based technical showcase there, complete with some of the stiffest striking you'll probably see in WCW outside of a Vader match. World-changing, it might not be, but I still had a hoot with this one. Let's give it a very, very solid [*** 1/2] and carry on our merry way, why don't we?

Of course, allowing another dude to smash him in the face for real with a snow shovel isn't even in the top ten list of stupid/dangerous/awesome things Mick Foley has let people do to him for money...

Up next, we've got a falls-count-anywhere "Chicago streetfight" between The Nasty Boys and the team of Cactus Jack and Maxx Payne (a.k.a., fuckin' Man Mountain Rock.) OK, I vividly remember this one from like three or four different compilation DVDs. LOL at Payne hailing "from a State of Euphoria" and Cactus literally wearing a tee-shirt reading "Superdad" to the brawl. Unsurprisingly, the Nastys go after Cactus and Payne before they even make it down the entrance ramp, and the carnage, it is ON. Payne spine busts Jerry Sags while Brian Knobbs goes after Cactus with a sawed-off pool cue. Oh shit, now Cactus has it and its time for Knobbs to chew lumber. Jack sends Knobbs over the top rope with the fattest clothesline you've ever seen in your life. Meanwhile, Sags beats the shit out of Payne with a metal folding chair. Fuck, this feels so comfy. Now Cactus has the chair and he's whaling on Knobbs. Payne hits an elbow drop on Sags. Repeatedly. Knobbs clotheslines Cactus INTO the ring. He's still bonking him with the pool cue. Sags does a one foot plancha off the guardrail onto Payne. Heenan makes a joke about Aaron Neville, which FINALLY makes sense in context now. Cactus and Sags are still going at it. Payne throws Knobbs into a souvenir stand and Knobbs clobbers him with a plastic garbage can and throws a table on top of him. We go split-screen so we can watch Cactus bite Jerry's face in the ring. Cactus goddamn WAFFLES Sags with a chair and Heenan makes ANOTHER joke about Aaron Neville. Payne grabs Knobbs and body slams him through a whole bunch of WCW merchandise. Then he tries to cram a Sting tee-shirt down Knobbs' throats, because goddamn it, back in the '90s the wrestling business knew how to do violence RIGHT. Now Knobbs is using the metal fragments of the table to beat up Payne, as Cactus gets launched over the guardrail like a 300-pound cruise missile that votes Democrat. The merchandise stand is absolutely destroyed at this point. Now Sags is bashing Payne OVER THE HEAD with a table and it makes the most satisfying "PLONK!" sound every time the balsa wood connects with skull. Cactus see-saws a table on top of Sags before setting it up on the ramp way. But LOL, here comes Knobbs with a fucking snow shovel to El Kabong him. Now Payne grabs it and fucking wrecks him with it. Then Cactus tries to piledrive Knobbs on the table but since combined they weigh about 600 pounds physics says "nah, fuck this shit" and the thing disintegrates underneath them. Knobbs back body drops Cactus off the ramp (that's a good six or seven foot fall, by the way) and Knobbs picks up the snow shovel and literally launches it at Cactus' carcass like a lawn dart. And to capstone all this mayhem, Knobbs picks up the snow shovel like the Sword of Damocles and fucking SMASHES Cactus in the face with it one more time before scooping up the 1,2,3. And because this match isn't awesome enough already, Sacks picks up the broken table, gets a running start and El Kabongs Payne ONE more time after the bell, just 'cause.

Shit, that match was INCREDIBLE. That has to be the most insane pre-ECW brawling the Big Two put on in the 1990s, and even now it's one of the greatest PLANNED train wrecks in the history of 'rasslin. The whole thing barely went ten minutes and these four fuckers didn't waste a second cramming as much over-the-top violence in there as the could. This stuff was super-entertaining in 1994, just as awe-inspiring in 2004, every bit as fun in 2014 and I'm pretty sure it's going to STILL hold up come 2024, 2034 and 2044, too. Yeah, it's hardly anything more than a glorified garbage bout, but it's easily one of the greatest garbage bouts ever. Call me crazy, but I think this is - from start to finish, every nanosecond in-between accounted for - one of the best WCW matches of the 1990s. Hell, maybe even top ten, pending I ever get around to rewatching a whole bunch of shit from the early '90s someday. I'd feel VERY comfortable giving that last one a stellar [**** 3/4] rating, and I'm not even being ironic about it, either.

Next up, we've got a bout with the United States title on the line. Out first is the challenger, THE GREAT MUTA, who comes out wearing  gaudy red sequin robe. And his adversary is the reigning, defending champion, STUNNING STEVE AUSTIN, accompanied to the ring by Col. Rob Parker (get it, because Elvis' manager was named Col. TOM Parker?) Shit, Austin's music was awesome. Of course, he still has hair at this point. LOL at Bobby Heenan talking shit about the Japanese owning Radio City Music Hall and "three quarters" of the rest of the country. Muta does some spin kicks and The Brain is gobsmacked by how big the Japanese grappler is. Muta with a headlock takedown. And there's the clean break. Austin with some hard right hands and a leap frog, but Muta counters with an abdominal stretch. The fans keep chanting for "Muta," which is pretty rare for a WCW crowd in the mid 1990s. I mean, shit, shouldn't they be screaming "U-S-A!" at the top of their lungs by now? Muta with a suplex and another headlock takedown. Austin with a backdrop and Muta counters it into a suplex. Now Bobby is saying Aaron Neville lip-synched the national anthem. Muta still has Austin in a side headlock. Muta with a shoulderblock, Austin leapfrogs and Muta hits him with a dropkick. Austin counters with a headscissors submission - which looks for all the tea in China that he's making Muta suck his dick on live television. Austin breaks the hold and rolls to the outside, where Col. Rob fans him with his slave owner hat. He grabs the tights on a school boy (I didn't know Steve was Catholic!) but Muta counters with a wristlock. Now Aaron Neville is sitting beside Bobby the Brain. Heenan, of course, acts like he's the best singer in history now that he's within earshot. Parker takes a couple of free shots at Muta after Austin dumps him to the outside. It looks like Muta's face is busted up, but since he's wearing red face paint, it's really hard to tell. Austin with a running elbow off the apron, then he makes Muta eat guardrail. LOL at Tony S. bringing up "winning Battle Bowl" as one of Muta's greatest accomplishments. Schiavone says the owner of the Blackhawks is in the house tonight. That's our cue for an extended abdominal stretch sequence. Heenan says the move doesn't look too impressive on TV, but he assures the audience it still hurts like the dickens IRL. Muta finally gets a rope break, but he whiffs on a dropkick. There's Austin with a fist drop off the middle turnbuckle. Then he chokes Muta on the ropes with his boot. Heenan makes a crack about Hillary Clinton as Muta drops Austin with a spin kick. Muta with a suplex and a standing dropkick. He goes up top and, of course, Austin dodges the attack. Austin goes for "The Hollywood and Vine," this really shitty look toe-hold, which Muta easily escapes from. Then Muta STUN GUNS Austin! Steve scrambles to a neutral corner and Muta hits him with his famous cartwheel elbow smash. Muta puts Austin on the top rope and almost breaks his own neck sticking the hurrancanrana. The crowd goes wild after Muta slugs Parker, but OOPS! He accidentally back body drops Austin over the top rope, so Muta gets disqualified. Still, that doesn't stop him from hitting a slingshot plancha on both of 'em just for the hell of it immediately after the DQ verdict is announced.

Well, that was a bit of a letdown. The hot crowd kept it interesting, buy by and large it just felt like both Austin and Muta were going through the motions. Far from being a bad match, I'd just say it was rather unremarkable, all things considered - let's give it [** 1/4] and keep chugging along.

The "International World Title" is on the line as Sting does battle with Rick Rude. Obviously, "The Man Called Sting" gets a huge pop from the crowd. And Rude gets booed, but goddamn, how anybody could boo entrance music THIS tremendous is simply beyond me. Of course, Rude immediately demands his music be cut so he can make fun of the crowd for being fat white trash, but he's interrupted by Harley Race. He says he's here on behalf of Vader and it doesn't matter who wins, his man's gonna' kick his ass regardless. This leads to Sting - rather unheroically - clobbering Race out of the blue and back body dropping Rude over the top rope. Rude begs for mercy and Sting - in these bad ass black and white pants - mercilessly pummels him anyway. Sting gets a two on a suplex. Nick Bockwinkel joins the announce team, even though he literally doesn't say a goddamn word. Sting with a headlock from the north-south position. Sting with a standing scoop slam and an elbow drop on the rebound. Two of them, actually. OK, make it three, just 'cause he's a fuckin' showboat. Sting goes back to the north-south choke. LOL at Heenan saying Sting has a Bart Simpson hairdo, because it's literally fuckin' true. Sting still working the neck crank. Rude crotches Sting on the top rope and clothelines him to the floor before. But it's not a disqualification, because like WCW ever gave a fuck about providing a logically consistent product. Rude slams Sting's head on the ramp and tosses him back into the ring. Fuck, Rude had some great punches. And his hairy, ripped abs are just so manly - not that I'm gay or anything like that. Uh, no homo. Now Rude is shaking is dick at the audience, because that's what real men do, damn it. Rude works a camel clutch. Sting goes for an electric chair drop and Rude counters it into a roll, but then Sting counters THAT into a roll, but he only gets two. Rude back on the offensive. Now he has Sting in a standing sleeper. The ref starts doing the old "I'm going to raise your arm three times" chestnut but Rude actually breaks the hold before the third drop. Apparently, he wants to beat Sting standing. He feeds Sting a couple of forearm shots but then Sting starts to, uh, Sting up? Sting lands an inverted atomic drop, then he botches a regular atomic drop. Clothelines galore. Rude lands really iffy on his leg on a backbody drop, and an errant Stinger Splash wipes out the ref. Still, the official being incapicated doesn't prevent the Stinger from locking Rude in the Scorpion Death Lock. Harley Race tries to interfere but Sting whups his ass. Then Vader comes out and Sting kicks his ass, but it allows Rude to clip Sting's knee like a no-good sonofabitch and then Race comes in with a chair and accidentally El Kabongs Rude, allowing Sting to pick up an easy 1,2,3 to win the International Title. 

Not the best match these two have had, but it was pretty entertaining for what it was ... and wasn't. The screwball finish took forever to come to fruition, though, so I reckon that's worth detracting a quarter star. Still, it's better than average fare - let's give it an admirable [** 3/4] and keep chugging along.

Shit ... with guns like those, Aaron Neville would be one of the most swoll wrestlers in the WWE today.

Now it's time for Dustin Rhodes vs. Bunkhouse Bunk in a Bunkhouse Match - which I suppose makes more sense than having them fight in a "Dustin Rhodes Match." Bunkhouse Buck, by the way, is Jimmy Golden, and to his credit, he literally looks like a dirty scummy chi-mo IRL, so props to him for playing the gimmick to its fullest. Also, because he's managed by Col. Rob Parker, the keep showing this one guy in the audience holding a bucket of KFC chicken and  - surprise - he's actually white. Dustin Rhodes makes a bee line for Bunk, literally flying over the top rope to give that motherfucker a clothesline before the bell even sounds. Now it's time for some heavy duty punches. Both guys are wearing blue jeans and cowboy boots, by the way. Also - I have no goddamn clue what a "bunkhouse" is, so don't even bother asking. Oh, and they also have their fists taped and one coal-miner's glove on the hand of their choosing. LOL at Rhodes wearing a tee-shirt that just says "Texas." Rhodes pokes Bunk in the eyes but he crashes and burns on a flying crossbody. Col. Rob chokes him on the outside, then Bunk clobbers his ass with one-by-two, which is a lot like a two-by-four, except, uh, only half as much. Rhodes does a full 360 rotation on a Buck clothesline. Then he chokes that honky motherfucker like a motherfucker. Rhodes takes a wild swing and falls down, allowing Buck to stomp the dog shit out of Rhodes with his cowboy boots. Oh shit, Rhodes is bleeding buckets. Huh - the more I look at Buck, the more he kinda' reminds me of Kenny Omega. Shit, he COULD be his dad, for all we know. Rhodes kicks Buck in the face a few times and falls back down. He reaches into his britches and pulls out a white piece of paper. Heenan wonders if it's his will. Nope, it's that good old fashioned "white powder," because apparently it's impossible to make "baby powder" sound threatening as a weapon. Buck pulls off his belt and starts lashing Rhodes like a runaway slave and Bobby makes a funny about how if Dusty had beat the shit out of his kid when he was younger, he probably wouldn't be in this mess. And there's Bunk with the old "kick to the cojones" chestnut. Man, this stuff is just grimy as fuck. Buck punts Dustin in the stomach. Repeatedly. Buck gets stuck on the top turnbuckle and that's our cue for Dustin to punt the shit out of that asshole. And there's the elbow smash to the noggin. Rhodes pulls off his belt and he clobbers Buck something wicked. Rhodes takes his cowboy boot off, climbs the top rope and hits Buck right in the middle of the forehead with it. Uh, wouldn't it have been easier ... and more effective ... to just jump on his head like Low-Ki or something? Rhodes rips Buck's shirt off and starts whipping Buck like Kunta Kinte. And there's another clothesline over the top rope. Now Buck is bleeding like a stuck pig. Heenan keeps talking about how much he likes "this brand of wrestling." Buck has a foreign object of some kind. He misses swinging it and Rhodes climbs the turnbuckle and elbows Buck in the head ten times, shakes his dick in his face, clotheslines him in the adjacent corner and bulldogs that fucker right out of his shoes. Parker interferes and Rhodes suplexes him into the ring and starts whipping him. Buck sneaks up behind Dustin for a schoolboy (just like Michael Jackson would!) but he only gets a two. Rhodes and Buck have a GREAT brawl in the middle of the ring and Dustin puts Buck down with another elbow smash. Parker gives Dustin a pair of brass knuckles, and of course, he clocks Rhodes right on the kisser to score the easy pinfall.

Well, that was some glorious sleaze right there, wasn't it? There are better all out brawls to be found from WCW - hell, including the Jack/Payne vs. Nastys donnybrook from earlier in the show - but this is still an immensely fun little bloodbath. It's *probably* one of the top 20 matches of Rhodes career and easily the best one of Bunkhouse Buck's career. Hell, come to think of it, I'm not sure I've seen *any* other Bunkhouse Buck match, the more I think about it. Let's call it a solid [****] and soldier forth.

Jesse Ventura is in the locker room with Rick Rude and he still looks goddamn ridiculous with that skullet-ponytail combination. Rude and Vader get into a shoving match and the Nastys have to break it up and we come THIS close to seeing Jerry Sags' testicles on live television. 

Up next, it's THE BOSS vs. VADER. And yes, "The Boss" is indeed THE BIG BOSS MAN. I'm pretty sure this is close to being the last match he wrestled under with that moniker, since the WWF was REALLY anxious to file copyright infringement suits back then. Anyhoo, this is billed as a "Gigantic Grudge Match," because why not? Vader, of course, fucking rules as always, so I've nothing to add to that, I suppose. Harley Race holds up the Boss and Vader goes to splash him on the ramp and, of course, the Boss ducks and Vader creams his own manager. The Boss (in a snazzy all black uniform) clotheslines Vader into the ring and he big  boots Vader back OUT of the ring because this is all about getting as much man meat and flubber flying around as possible. They brawl on the ramp some more and Vader drops the Boss with a hard jab. Then he slams Boss back into the ring. He takes a running start, jumps over the top rope and the Boss gets his knees up on the attempted splash. The Boss lands a couple of elbow drops and he clotheslines Vader to the outside again. Vader takes a WILD bump over the guardrail into the front row of fans. Then the Boss drops Vader on the rail, throat first. Man, WCW NEVER let anybody fuck up Vader this bad. It's hard to believe the company wanted to push the Boss Man THAT much, huh? The Boss with a headbutt, then he slings Vader into the turnbuckle post. Boss goes for a body slam and he gets it. LOL at Tony S. saying Vader weighs 450 pounds. Then they have an AWESOME slug fest. Goddamn, Vader had some brutal looking punches. The Boss takes a fucked up backdrop to the outside. Vader is bleeding heavily from his eye. God damn it, Schiavone is STILL talking about Aaron Neville. Vader suplexes the Boss back into the ring. VADER SPLASH, YOU MOTHER OF FUCKERS. Vader with more clubbing blows in the corner. Good, his jabs were the tits. Boss starts punching back and he connects on a sidewalk slam. The Boss lands a clothesline and Vader gets a boot to the face, followed by a fucking GRISLY lariat. Vader's eye looks like something out of a horror movie at this point. Boss launches Vader off the top rope and goes for a superplex. He botches it into a DDT then he climbs up the top rope hisself. He tries to clothesline him but he hooks it into a weird, shitty looking DDT at the very end. He goes up top again and this time Vader converts it into a power slam. Fuck, this match rules. VADER SPLASH, BUT THE BOSS KICKS OUT. Vader goes to the well again. AND THEN HE HITS A GODDAMN TEN OUT OF TEN MOONSAULT FOR THE 1, 2, 3. God damn it, that thing almost brought a tear to my eye it was so awesome. In the post-fight, the Boss grabs a nightstick and goes Rodney King on Harley Race, resulting in Nick Bockwinkel chastising him for excessive force. Meanwhile, Vader's bloody, flabby ass celebrates in the ring with all of his fat rolls jiggling and it's still freakin' awesome. In the locker room, Bockwinkel chews out the Boss for being a bad sport and LITERALLY takes his name away from him.

Yep. Nothing says "I'm an accomplished adult male" quite like holding up a KFC bucket and flipping off people pretending to hurt each other for a living.

Now that's the kind of wrestling that just don't exist no more. None of this flashy, soyboy, hippity-flippity bullshit, just two big old boys smacking the tar out of each other and bleeding buckets for the LOVE OF THE ART. Vader goddamn rules no matter what and when the Boss was allowed to go, he could flat out GO. A match of the year it may not be, but there's no denying this one was a fun as shit [*** 3/4] caliber match.

Time for the main event. Ricky Steamboat comes out to his awesome WCW music even though he's still wearing that stupid WWF "The Dragon" costume with the lizard wings and the whole fire-breathing shtick. And in the most '90s thing that has ever happened ever, the camera pans to a guy with a disposable camera taking a picture next to a guy holding a sign featuring Beavis and Butt-head calling Ricky Steamboat cool. Another guy has a sign that reads "This steamboat will run over nature," which, uh doesn't make any damn sense. And of course, Flair comes out to the theme song from "2001," or, as it is more commonly called, "fucking Ric Flair's music, motherfucker." Michael Buffer tells the crowd now is the appropriate time to rumble and pre-N.W.O. Nick Patrick is the referee. Buffer brings up Steamboat beating Flair at the Chi-Town Rumble five years earlier. He gets a surprisingly mixed reaction from the audience. Yeah, this is DEFINITELY a Ric Flair crowd here tonight. I love Heenan calling Flair Red Grange, Kareem Abdul-Jabar, Wayne Gretzky and Hugh Hefner rolled into one human being. And to his credit, Tony S. does an admirable job recapping the famous Flair/Steamboat rivalry without coming off as too marky (New Japan announcers, take fucking note.) We get some solid arm drags and pseudo-chain wrestling to begin. Flair with a front face-lock and a quick breather against the ropes. "This people in Chicago would boo the Easter Bunny," Heenan says. "They'd *mug* the Easter Bunny." Another collar and elbow tie-up. Steamboat with a shoulder-block takedown. More good ground grappling, with both men working some great headlocks and scissor takedowns. And holy shit, Steamboat just slapped THE TASTE out of Flair's mouth, and Ric sells the shit out of it the way only he can. A ton of leapfrogs from Ricky and then we get a power slam. He hits Flair with two funky headscissors and two beautiful dropkicks, completing the combo with a flying karate chop off the top rope. You know, I never understood why it was illegal to back bodydrop a motherfucker over the top rope in WCW, but clotheslining a sumbitch over the top rope was perfectly legal. Flair with an armlock and he keeps throwing Steamboat to the mat. And now, it's time for CHOPS. God, this is fuckin' terrific. Flair momentarily exits the ring and re-enters the fray. Steamboat with a side headlock takedown and a ring rope assisted bulldog. Heenan drops a reference to People's Court, for some inexplicable reason. Steamboat with a shoulderblock and another side headlock. Now THIS is a technical showcase, kids. I LOVE how Steamboat slaps Flair's face while he has him in a headlock. Steamboat keeps spamming the headscissors. Shit, Flair used to have some DEADLY sounding chops back in the day. Steamboat still working a neck crank. More shoulder blocks from Steamboat and Ricky skins the cat ... that sick bastard. Ricky only gets a two-count on the attempted schoolboy. You know, this match has been about 50 percent nothing but headlocks but its still better than 95 percent of what the WWF put out in the 1990s. Steamboat STILL has that headlock/neck crank submission locked in. Flair tries for an atomic drop but Steamboat blocks it. Steamboat with a drop toe hold and he goes right back to the headlock. Heenan wonders why Flair's opponents never try to take his legs out, which come to think of it, is a really great kayfabe observation. Flair with shoulder charges in the corner. Ricky whiffs on a dropkick and Flair chops the SHIT out of that motherfucker in the corner. God, this is so comfy. Flair hits a knee drop. "I can smell pineapple juice," Heenan hilariously comments. Flair with chops galore and another knee drop. Just a two count. Flair keeps trying to go for a pinfall, but Steamboat kicks out like 17 times in a row. Flair with a NICE spinning elbow off the ropes. Steamboat retaliates with some HARD knife edge chops, and Steamboat is MORE than willing to return the favor. Flair ducks a chop and sends Steamboat and himself reeling to the outside on a crossbody. Flair goes for a piledriver on the outside and Steamboat flips him over. Ricky goes for a flying clothesline but he (ironically enough) winds up clotheslining himself on the metal guard rail. Flair throws him back into the ring. Flair goes up top, so of course Steamboat pursues him and superplexes that motherfucker. Naturally, it's only good for a two count. Flair does his patented turnbuckle bump and Steamboat chops his ass off the canvas. And there's flying karate chop to the outside for good measure. Flair begs Steamboat for mercy and Ricky punches Ric ten times in the corner, per the wrestling constitution. FLAIR FLOP TIME! But Flair gets his foot on the rope on the pin attempt. Steamboat gets dumped to the outside and Ric goes for a sunset flip - but Ric counters by punching him right in the goddamn face and it is glorious. Ric goes for a knee drop and Steamboat COUNTERS IT INTO A FIGURE FOUR! Flair keeps trying to get a rope break, and when he can't get it, he just pokes Steamboat in the eyes. Flair is hobbling around the ring. He tries to suplex Steamboat back into the ring but Ricky reverses it into a fallaway pin attempt. After that we have about a dozen near-fall counters with reversals, backslides and headlocks galore and it is goddamn amazing. Steamboat with a small package and Flair begs for his life once more. Steamboat backs Flair into a corner and Ric chops him good. Steamboat shoves the ref out of the way and starts throwing a million billion backhand chops. Flair flops his way through the ropes onto the ramp. Steamboat goes for a suplex. Flair counters it, then Steamboat counters the counter and chops Flair back into the ring. Ric takes another wacky turnbuckle bump and Flair gets his foot up on a flying karate chop attempt. This is an OUTSTANDING match. This one black kid in the crowd rubs Stemboat's shoulders and its really, really funny looking. Flair lands some chops, Steamboat fires back with some chops of his own. Steamboat hits a flying crossbody off the top rope but Flair kicks out. Flair chops Steamboat again and lands a snapmare. He goes up top and Steamboat launches his ass halfway across the ring. Ricky goes up top for another splash but Flair rolls out of the way. FIGURE FOUR TIME MOTHERFUCKER! Steamboat tries to block it, but he can't prevent Ric from fully sinking that fucker in. Steamboat, however, eventually makes it to the ropes. Ric immediately starts kicking Ricky's knees and goes for the Figure Four again. Steamboat rolls up Ric, but it is only good for a two count. Steamboat with a backslide - just a two. Steamboat goes for a superplex, but first he's got to punch Ric fifteen times in the face. And he sticks the 'plex. Both men are splayed out on the canvas as the ref administers a ten count. Ricky makes a cover, and Flair KICKS OUT! The ref gets bumped to the outside, but Flair esacpes the pin attempt anyway. Steamboat has an awesome bearhug/chicken wing submission locked in and he falls down, allowing Ricky to chalk up the three count? Except wait a minute, both men's shoulders were down for the count? Here comes Nick Bockwinkel to render an official verdict. LOL, he says Flair won because, technically, he was on top of Steamboat at the time of the pinfall. Some piddly looking fireworks go off and the fans boo the bullshit finish. Bockwinkel tries to explain how Flair won the match, but his explanation makes zero sense whatsoever. Well, even when WCW was awesome, they STILL had to find ways to fuck things up, didn't they?

The goddamn 1990s defined in one picture.

Anyhoo, that was a SUPERB main event, even with the screwy finish. Granted, it wasn't as good as their 1989 trilogy, but there's no denying it was some of the best pure, no-bullshit-need-apply mat wrestling of the decade. I'd EASILY consider this one of the best WCW PPV main events ever, and an easy [**** 3/4] classic that, for some reason, doesn't get anywhere near as much love from the smarks as you'd imagine. BTW, Flair and Steamboat had a follow-up bout on the ensuing week's edition of WCW Saturday Night, which was also pretty fucking great (and with a far more conclusive finish.) If you haven't, definitely go out of your way to check that one out, too - it's one of the best TV 'rasslin bouts you'll ever see, regardless of the decade.

Needless to say, with one of the best all-out brawls of the decade and one of the decade's best scientific clinics ... plus a great man-meat festival with Vader/Boss Man, a scummy Hepatitis-C-spreading blood bath between pre-Goldust and some registered sex offender looking fucker, not to mention a way better than it had any right to be "throwaway" Pillman/Regal time filler ... on the same show, this is EASILY one of the best WCW PPVs of the 1990s, if not the company's absolute best ever. 

WrestleMania 34 might be really, really good, and it might not. Who knows with the product in this day and age. What we know for sure, however, is that this particular PPV is all kinds of awesome, and if you're in dire need of some good, old-fashioned, Southern-style, lights-out, hide-the-women-and-children pro RASSLIN' the way God intended, this is pretty much the most reliable pick-me-up I can think of.

This is a show WELL worth going out of your ways to experience, folks. If for whatever stupid-ass reason you never saw it back in the day, by all means, hit up the Vimeo or the DailyMotions or the Pornhubs or whatever you kids are using nowadays and see if this tape is still making the rounds.

Trust me; you won't regret investing the time to find - and enjoy watching every second of - this all-time mat masterpiece.

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Nine MORE Insanely Violent Pro Wrestling Matches!

A heartfelt celebration of the carnival of cruelty and the pageantry of pain, complete with attempted murder in front of a live audience, Japanese people hitting each other with household goods and enough animal abuse to give Ingrid Newkirk five heart attacks in succession. 

By: Jimbo X

JimboXAmerican@gmail.com

@Jimbo__X

WrestleMania 32 is just a few days away, and on paper at least, it looks to be the weakest WM card in at least a decade. Triple H taking on Roman Reigns? Glorified backyard wrestler John Moxley against former UFC Heavyweight Champion Brock Lesnar? The Undertaker's 80-year-old-looking ass taking on Shane McMahon and his inability to throw authentic looking punches? That's supposed to be your marquee PPV for the entire year? 

Alas, while WWE's biggest show of the year is almost certain to disappoint, if you've got a hankering for some sublime in-ring carnage, all you have to do is point your clicker on over to the YouTubes and the DailyMotions and you'll bear witness to heaps of fundamentally absurd pro 'rasslin goodness. Sure, we've already covered some of the proletariat theatre's more befuddling and stomach-churning moments, but considering the sheer volume of wrestling madness out there (I could fill up an entire site with nothing but the batshit crazy things promotions in Japan are doing), I reckoned it was worth our collective whiles to trudge through the mass media abyss to unearth a few more sports-entertainment incidents that'll make you wonder why the divine being of your choosing hasn't smat the holy shit out of all of humanity by now. 

How inhumanely violent and/or idiotic can wrestling be, you may be pondering? Well, whatever your preconceived notions may be, I assure you - the bottom of the barrel is much, much worse than you'd ever liked to have known. 

So strap on your seat belts and turn off the part of your brain responsible for empathy, folks: it's time to revel in the absolute sickest, strangest and sociopathic recesses of the squared circle...

#09

New Jack exacts revenge on an old ECW adversary by literally trying to murder him in public

You really can't talk about absurd violence in professional wrestling without bringing up one Jerome Young, a "talented" grappler from Atlanta who spent a majority of his career wrestling under the ring name New Jack. Never really a performer too keen on the whole "skill" and "athleticism" stuff, his shtick primarily consisted of mercilessly pummeling the crap out of foes with sundry blunt objects while "Natural Born Killaz" played on a loop for 20 minutes. While New Jack - believe it or not, immortalized in the song "El Scorcho" by Weezer - has no doubt severely injured many an opponent (among other highlights, he legitimately beat a man half to death with a baseball bat, severed an artery on an underage wrestler and was actually arrested for stabbing another man in the middle of the match), probably the closest he has ever gotten to actually murdering another person on camera came at Xtreme Professional Wrestling's 2002 event Freefall. There, he was involved in a scaffold match with Vic Grimes, an old ECW chum who severely injured New Jack during the infamous botched "Danbury Fall" in 2000 (which, it should probably be noted, resulted in New Jack being literally brain damaged and permanently blinded in his right eye.) Sensing now was his time to exact revenge, New Jack proceeded to launch Grimes 30 feet off the scaffold above the ring in their XPW tilt, sending his follically-challenged adversary crashing through several tables, bouncing off the ring rope and nearly being decapitated in the process. Rather than downplay the incident as an accident as would any non-brain-damaged sort, New Jack was far from shy about telling anyone who would listen that he did it on purpose - going as far as to state that he actually was trying to kill Grimes in the 2005 documentary Forever Hardcore. 

#08

CZW ... where weed whackers are the biggest box office draw!

After Extreme Championship Wrestling went under in 2001, there was a big dearth in the North American garbage wrestling scene. Almost immediately, the northeastern indie promotion Combat Zone Wrestling rose to fill the void, complete with annual outdoor "deathmatch tournaments" that looked virtually indistinguishable from your garden-variety backyard 'rasslin set-up. With a cast of wrestlers somehow even less physically talented as ECW stalwarts New Jack and The Sandman, CZW in its early days had to really go for broke with the predetermined mayhem. Sure, we've seen barbed wire and fluorescent light tubes a million times, but say, have you ever seen a wrestler go after an opponent gasoline-powered lawn care equipment before? Such was the catalyst for the grand finale of CZW's first-ever Ultraviolent Tournament of Death in 2002, in which promotion hero Wifebeater (no, seriously, that was his name) broke out a weed whacker to finish off "Madman" Nick Pondo. The disturbing publicity ploy worked, however, as the wild and woolly incident immediately became an Internet hit and more or less put CZW on the map. Indeed, the iconic moment has more or less come to embody CZW as a whole, with the weed-eater finish being implemented time and time and time again ever since. 

#07 

CZW ... where hypodermic needles are fair game!

Of course, you can only watch people have their skin shredded off with lawn maintenance implements so many times before you are desensitized. With the weed whacker fu quickly losing its novelty, Combat Zone Wrestling had to come up with something fresh to freak out the masses - and since this is an industry where the working conditions routinely call for employees to be set on fire to earn a paycheck, I guess you could say the standard for shock had been raised and considerably. At 2009's Tournament of Death 8, grappler Thumbtack Jack (guess what his favorite office supply is?) decided to try something a little different in a contest against CZW owner DJ Hyde. In a "Jack in the Box" death match, Thumbtack brutalized his foe with the usual assortment of plunder - cinder blocks, glass window panes, your typical fare, really. But towards the end of the bout, however, he decided to break out a foreign object rarely seen in professional wrestling matches - a goddamn hypodermic needle, which he proceeded to shove through his opponent's cheek. Needless to say, the gruesome spot definitely made an impact on even CZW's hardened hardcore 'rasslin audience, with the medical instruments being trotted out by Thumbtack Jack in several subsequent matchups - including one bout where he decided to jam a syringe ALL all the way through both of his foe's cheeks and yet another where he stabbed his adversary with a hypodermic needle right on the sole of his foot. 

#06

Big Japan ... home of the ever-popular Crocodile Death Match!

Perhaps due to excess radiation levels, wrestling in the Land of the Rising Sun has always been much, MUCH weirder than 'rasslin in the states. Interestingly, this manifests itself both in more realistic strong-style bouts where the wrestlers more or less beat the dog shit out of each other for real AND absurdist, self-reflexive comedy matches that are essentially satires - if not outright condemnation - of the pro wrestling biz as a whole. And then, there are bouts like this 1998 Big Japan Wrestling contest, which manages to be both irresponsibly violent and hilariously idiotic. For the most part, this bout featuring Shadow WX and Mitsuhiro Matsunaga - the latter kinda' looks like old-school WWF grappler The Ultimate Warrior, if he didn't take steroids and his diet consisted primarily of Hot Pockets - is  your standard death match. We've got people being crushed on barbed-wire wrapped boards, dudes being choked with baseball bats and a real crowd-winner involving a body slam onto a bed of razor-sharp spikes, but it's not until after the final bell sounds that things get really out there. That's when the refs put up a mesh barricade around the ring and the bout's loser, WX, is forced to wrestle a goddamn alligator (yeah, they billed it as crocodile, but we all know better.) Of course, it's an awfully petite alligator, all things considered, and WX - has no problem wrangling his cold-blooded challenger back into his container. The best thing about the match, however, is the palpable embarrassment displayed by WX, who has a look on his face like "this is the stupidest shit I've ever had to do in my entire life" throughout the whole regrettable affair. 

#05

DDT presents the world's first Silent Match!

There is a fine line between idiotic and brilliant, and Japanese indie comedy fed Dramatic Dream Team (DDT) straddles the line better than anybody. It's kind of hard to tell whether the company is just plain offensive and stupid or if it is supposed to be some kind of sly commentary on the general offensiveness and stupidity of pro wrestling as a whole. While DDT has featured countless ideas that could be construed as both unfathomably stupid and subversively clever over the years - among other knee-slappers, one of their top performers for years has been an inflatable sex doll and they have the proud distinction of holding the first ever "gay or straight" match in the history of pro wrestling (which was essentially an "I Quit" match, only you had to make your opponent confess he was a homosexual) - but for my money, no match embodies the dual retardedness and genius of the promotion than the infamous "silence match" between NOSAWA and Muscle Sakai from 2007. What's a "silence match," you may be wondering? Well, it's a match where the competitors start off with three points, and every time they make an audible noise, they lose one. As a result, we get some truly inspired spots in this epic clash, including several moves performed in slow-motion, a mid-bout smoke break, brazen product placement for coconut water galore, a sequence where one of the wrestlers loses a point because he screams after his foe pinches his ass and the clincher - and quite possibly the greatest finish in any wrestling match ever: a grappler being disqualified for illegal flatulence. Forget Rauschenberg and Warhol and the rest of those dweebs; as far as I'm concerned, this is the real zenith of post-modern art. 

#04

Japan ... where inanimate objects wrestle, and sometimes hold championship belts!

Throughout the history of pro wrestling two pieces of hardware - ladders and tables - have played pivotal roles in some of the pseudo-sport's most iconic moments. So, leave it to the ultra obscure Japanese promotion Saitama Pro Wrestling Company (SPWC) to give the oft-utilized instruments the venue to shine without all those sweaty meatheads around to soak up the spotlight that I believe we can all agree is rightly theirs to begin with. It's not a terribly exciting match, by any means (in fact, the whole shebang is over and done with in less than a minute) and one can't help but feel a little underwhelmed by the competitors - a mini-step ladder and not one of those 20-foot metal monstrosities and a table that, if I didn't know any better, was decorated in such a way as to mask the fact there may have been someone underneath it moving it around. Still, the energy from the crowd makes this nonetheless one of the most surreal matches (or condemnations) you'll ever see in the wild and woolly world of pro 'rasslin. Still a little too high brow for you? Well, you can always fire up the Internet and check out some of the DDT Ironman Heavymetalweight contests, which includes a downright indecipherable deathmatch parody in which a half dozen competitors (one of whom is inexplicably dressed like Ryu from Street Fighter II) job to the company's defending strap holder ... a six-foot tall ladder. 

#03

Four words: Apartment Complex Pro Wrestling!

DDT is a company known for its, well, experimental, model. In addition to the kooky publicity stunts we've already drudged up (Home Depot supplies as champions, matches where the loser has to publicly announce he's gay, etc.), the promotion is also renowned for its extremely in-depth, pseudo-storyline-driven "matches" that take place well beyond the confines of the wrestling ring. In simpler terms? A wrestler shows up at a random place with a film crew, he tries to procure a service - like, oh say, visit a campground - only to have a million billion heels attack him in a long, winding single take movie/bout that often exceeds an hour in length. In 2011, DDT decided to embark upon their most ambitious - and perhaps, unintentionally brilliant - anti-match with an hour and a half long opus that saw star grappler Kota Ibusha (who, to those not in the know, truly is one of the best wrestlers on the planet), attempting to purchase a rental space (why he's dressed in his ring regalia while apartment hunting, I can't tell you.) For the next 90 minutes, he floats from floor to floor, encountering - and then beating the living dog shit - out of a whole host of bizarre characters, including, but not limited to, an S&M gimp we meet humping a birdhouse, a kickboxer who has tennis balls scattered all over his floor and probably not-of-age pron posted all over his walls and a guy whose sole possessions consist of inflatable pool toys and half-empty pots of water. It's even funnier once you realize that all of these wackos are actually pro wrestlers on the DDT roster - something tells me that you'd never see John Cena or Triple H agree to pretend to be homosexual lovers or have Roman candles launched at them for the sake of a comedic bit that's really more Jackass than Ring of Honor, which ultimately, makes the entire package all the more satisfying. Oh, and just wait until you get to the part with the impromptu watermelon eating-contest, the two-on-one brawl with the egg-throwing meth-manufacturing twins and the concluding rooftop battle, which may very well consitute the single greatest backyard wrestling match ever recorded on tape.

#02

Big Japan ... home of the Grocery Store Death Match!

Sometimes, the squared circle is just too dang restrictive when it comes to absurd violence possibilities. Sure, you can throw a lot of weaponry into the mix, but at the end of the day, you are still stuck pretending to beat the shit out of each other surrounded by four ring posts and a bunch of rope. To really maximize the creative destruction, you've sometimes got to step outside the confines of the arena and turn the boring, banal real world we all know and love into a smorgasbord of unusual brutality. Hence, the premise of this infamous 1995 Big Japan bout featuring up-and-comer Kendo Nagasaki doing battle against no less than four veteran challengers. Sure, things start off normal (well, normal enough by Japanese standards), with the wrestlers duking it out in makeshift ring outside the entrance of a grocery store. Well, as anyone who has ever watching 'rasslin before can tell you, the shenanigans most certainly will not remain locked to the ring (here, just a rain tarp surrounded by chicken wire.) About three minutes into the contest, the competitors are already brawling in the audience and whacking each other with chairs, and then, the fruit stand fucking gets it. Things only get weirder from there, with Pepsi cans becoming weapons of mass destruction, a wrestler having his face slammed into raw chicken and a segment containing quite possibly the only instance of a figure four leglock being applied in a bakery in recorded history. Oh, and you're going to love the part with the projectile hot dog cart - it's a real crowd-pleaser, to say the least. As asinine as it all is, probably the weirdest thing about the whole affair is the post-editing, which includes the use of this really out-of-place melodramatic moments and a few fourth-wall breaking segments where the action stops and we see wrestlers being treated for their injuries. And after all the mayhem and madness - including a very Platoon-esque sequence where the camera surveys all the broken glass and crates the wrestlers created - all of the competitors drop the violent madmen gimmick and act chummy as can be, even helping one another shave their eyebrows. Maybe it's a super-duper subtle allegory for the relationships between the U.S. and Japan in the wake of Hiroshima or something - 20 years later, I'm still not sure how any of us are supposed to interpret this stuff. 

#01

The first ... and hopefully only ... Alive & Dead Food Death Match!

Linguistically, we all acknowledge the term "death match" is a misnomer. Yes, they are indeed bouts in which performers intentionally mutilate and maim each other, but unless New Jack is one of the participants, I think it's safe to say that attempted homicide is never the core objective of the contests. That's what makes this 2010 tag team hootenanny between Jun Kasai and the Great Sasuke against the Brahman Brothers (the guys who pelted Kota Ibusha with ketchup in the Apartment Complex Death Match discussed above) such a hideously intriguing prospect - it's probably the only match out there that actually DOES involve the mass killing of living creatures as a part of the match stipulations. One part screwball comedy and one part Cannibal Holocaust, the thirty minute or so bout includes the use of several sea creatures as weapons; there's a spot where a snapping turtle bites one of the competitor's noses and a pretty gosh-dang hilarious bit where another performer smacks the shit out of another with a live octopus. Granted, your mileage may vary on the entertainment merits of such madcap mayhem, especially if you are one of those PETA-types that think you can't even sneeze on a kitten without committing a capital offense. That said, by the time the competitors start throwing flaming fish heads at one another and stomping live lobsters and lizards to death in the ring, you really, really have to start questioning the sanity of the Japanese citizenry. Once a fairly accessible bout on the YouTubes, finding the infamous Alive & Dead Food Death Match nowadays is a real chore, and it's pretty much impossible to stream anywhere online (since, in the wake of a bill authorized by Barack Obama in 2010, it's potentially material considered obscene under U.S. law.) Having now taken a near-urban legend status, this bizarre beyond interpretation throwdown remains one of the most talked about - yet rarely seen - "death matches" in the annals (anals?) of professional wrestling. 

And yeah, until we start actually killing people on purpose for our amusement, it's about as sadistic and unsettling as wrestling is going to get, I reckon. 

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Revisiting the 1991 Royal Rumble!

It's a nostalgic look back at the WWF at the height of its early '90s glory ... and holy hell, are there are a lot of dead wrestlers in this one. 

By: Jimbo X
JimboXAmerican@gmail.com
@Jimbo__X

NOTE: This article is dedicated to the late, great Harry Simon, whose retro-tastic recaps of pro wrestling follies remain some of the most entertaining stuff you'll ever find on the Intrawebs. Thanks for the memories, Captain Clusterschmazz. - THX, MGMT. 

Even though I haven't watched a full pro wrestling event since George W. Bush was in office, a little piece of my heart - the same piece that enjoys eating raw cookie dough and furtively playing Flash-based Sega Genesis games at work - still professes a great interest and admiration of the Theatre of the American Proletariat. As I've said many times before, professional wrestling is pretty much the best stupid thing out there; whereas literally everything else in American society tries to reinforce its own self-importance, 'rasslin is pretty much the only cultural institution I can think of that actually revels in its own asininity and incredulity. In a world cluttered with pretentious bullshit, pro wrestling stands out as the complete antithesis, taking excessive pride in being totally ridiculous and utterly needless nonsense. 

While pro wrestling can rightly be considered weird form of performance art - indeed, I'd consider some of the high-end puroresu and lucha libre contests to border on ballet-caliber beauty - sometimes, even the violent grace of a Kawada/Misawa masterpiece is a bit too intellectual. And when even barbed-wire, exploding ring swimming pool death matches fail to get your retard juices flowing, there's only one resource to turn to ... the Royal fuckin' Rumble. 

Oh yes, that beloved annual rite, the Rumble. Forget the unheralded artistry and kinesthetic brilliance of performers like Ric Flair and Ricky Steamboat, this is pro 'rasslin in its purest, rawest essence. The epic showcases have sometimes featured as many as 40 grapplers going at it in a survival-pool battle royale where pinfalls and submissions don't mean shit and the only way to prove your superiority is to pick up your opponents by their ballsacks and throw 'em over the top rope like yesterday's garbage. Although the contests largely comprise of huge, indistinguishable masses of flab and steroids vibrating in the four corners of the ring for an hour and half, it's nonetheless about as exciting and engaging as pro wrestling gets. Nonfans will never grasp the inherent greatness of a Shinsuke Nakamura/Hiroshi Tanahashi battle, but by golly, everybody can enjoy the simple pleasures of watching fat and muscular people trying to throw each other to the floor. 

While modern Rumbles have taken on a new-found storyline significance (from 1993 onward, the victor of the contest is automatically awarded a championship match-up at WrestleMania), the older events were about nothing more than pride and honor, to see which wrestlers had the most stamina and longevity and ability to point at the ring ropes and raise their hands in the air, pantomiming dropping some lard-o on his tuckus (which probably  explains why Hulk Hogan won so many of them back in the day.) 

While wrestling purists (read: virgins) tend to cite the 1992 Rumble as the best of 'em all, I'd probably go with the 1991 iteration as my all-time favorite. Back when video stores still existed, I used to rent the VHS copy at least once every couple of months. To this day, I really have no idea why I liked it so much; none of the matches were really that great and the Rumble itself was fairly uneventful. Still, it had that aura, that sense of time and place being absolutely perfect. It was Hogan, Warrior, Savage, Sgt. Slaughter and The Million Dollar Man in their prime, with soon-to-be legends like Bret Hart, Shawn Michaels and The Undertaker slowly coming into their own. You could get better matches a few years down the road, but as far as general atmosphere, this was about as good as the WWF really got in the 1990s. 

But 25 years later, does the George H.W. Bush Era magic still linger? Only one way to find out, folks: time to fire up that VCR, hit play, and let the good times roll...

Before we get into the main card, we have ourselves a 30-minute long pre-show hard sell for the PPV, featuring Sean Mooney - who looks and sounds just like conservative gas-bag Sean Hannity - on the mic. He explains the Royal Rumble rules and runs down the Warrior vs. Sgt. Slaughter Championship bout. Eh, I guess I need to give you some background, no? The Ultimate Warrior - who was supposed to be the successor to Hulk Hogan - had been champion for about a year. Alas, he was never the draw Hogan was, and the WWF decided to pull the plug on his championship reign. Instead of having him drop the belt directly to Hogan, however, it was decided that Warrior would lose the title to Sgt. Slaughter - who had been recast as a Saddam Hussein sympathizer, right at the height of the first Gulf War - who, of course, would go on to have his ass kicked by the All-American (and black person hatin') Hulkster at that year's WrestleMania. 

Mooney reads a statement from WWF President Jack Tunney, who says Slaughter's views on the Gulf War do not represent the company, or even Arab people in general ... which is immediately followed by previously recorded footage of the Iron Sheik saying a bunch of menacing-sounding Arabic shit on Brother Love's talk show. 

The Ultimate Warrior - canonically, I think he was supposed to be some kind of intergalactic Indian - responds with a completely indecipherable promo, prompting Mooney to respond with the deadpan remark "some very emotional comments from the title holder." 

After some more hard-selling for the PPV WHICH IS STARTING IN JUST 20 MINUTES YA'LL, Mooney recaps the Rhodes family/Ted Dibiase rivalry. Apparently, it stems from the Million Dollar Man trying to buy Dustin Rhodes' ringside seat on an episode of Saturday Night's Main Event, which by proxy cost Dusty Rhodes a countout loss against Randy Savage. More footage reveals Dibiase referring to Texans as the lowest form of life imaginable, except for his man-servant Virgil. Who is black. 

Sean Mooney, ladies and gentleman. THE Sean Mooney. 

From there, we get a nice overview of the Barbarian/Big Bossman feud, which was spurred by Bobby Heenan's nonstop insults directed towards the Big Bossmom. We get five solid minutes of Heenan riffing on Bossman's mom, calling her the stat of "Godzilla Eats Cobb County" and the consumer of 90 percent of the nation's beans, which, yeah, is pretty much the best thing ever. Oh, and there is some shit in there about the Rockers and the Orient Express, but really, who has time for that kind of stuff? 

The next ten minutes, we get a rundown of all 30 participants in the Rumble, with a few extended shit-talking segments from the likes of Hogan, Mr. Perfect, Jake the Snake and Earthquake, who is about as intelligible as Don Vito from Viva La Bam. And now? It's time for the pay-per-view portions of the evening, fellas and, uh, fellarettes? 

Oh, and because we are morbid-ass people, I'm going to keep a running tally of all the people featured on the PPV who, as of January 2016, have since passed on to the great canvas in the sky. Think we can accumulate enough after-the-fact corpses to fill up an all-deceased Royal Rumble? 

The show proper begins with a still shot of a waving American flag. Cue the National Anthem, as an instrumental, accompanied by tons of shots of kids in the arena sporting dumb haircuts. 

We get a quick highlight video name checking this year's Rumble participants, who include such illustrious wrestlers as Hulk Hogan, Bret "Hitman" Hart, The Tugboat and Saba goddamn Simba, which even by pro wrestling's lenient standards, is still racist as fuck.

We are coming to you LIVE from the Miami Arena in southern Florida/northern Cuba, as Roddy Piper (CORPSE COUNT: One) cuts a slobbery promo about the first Gulf War. Calling the action alongside him is Gorilla Monsoon (CORPSE COUNT: Two) in a bright red blazer, which he apparently got on loan from Richard Pryor.  

Howard Finkel introduces the New Orient Express, comprised of Pat Tanaka and Kato (who would later go on to portray the WWF's first wrestler citing the Moon as his hometown) and managed by Mr. Fuji (who unbelievably, is still alive.) Their opponents? The Rockers, Marty Jannetty and Shawn Michaels, sporting puke blue, purple and gold britches with confetti-looking streamers glued all over them. 

Fittingly enough, the Express tries to Pearl Harbor the Rockers, but they shake them off. Jannetty ties up with Kato to begin the bout, and secures a traditional headlock takedown. Roddy tells us that's not a submission move, per se; rather, it is meant to apply pressure to your opponents lungs and wear them out. Kato gets an armdrag, and Marty fires back with a scissors roll and a bridging nearfall. Tanaka gets the tag, and in comes Shawn, who immediately goes to town on his foe's arm. Tanka hits Shawn with a flying forearm smash, and its time for an extended chinlock sequence. Gorilla reminds us the winner of this bout gets a tag team title shot against the Hart Foundation. Shawn bangs the Express' heads together, and he follows it up with another chinlock. Cue a "We Will Rock You Chant" from the crowd, which is weird, but still not as weird as hearing the fans shout "Whoomp! There It Is" over and over again at mid-'90s WCW shows. 

Shawn applies a sleeperhold. While the ref's back is turned, Kato sneaks in a cheap shot. Tanaka responds with a nice leg sweep, and Roddy reminds us about the WWF's policy on open-handed punches only. Shawn hits a moonsault - remember, this was back when NOBODY did any twisty-looking shit - and it is time for a good old fashioned, four-man donnybrook. In a great sequence, the Rockers hit stereo dropkicks and follow them up with dual suicide slides to the outside. For early 1990s WWF, this is actually some fairly intense stuff. 

So Kato crawls back in and Michaels almost gets a near-fall. Jannetty gets the tag, and we default to a lengthy headlock sequence. Shawn goes back in, hits a high suplex, and the Orient double teams him. Shawn is dropped throat first on the top rope, and Mr. Fuji uses the downtime to whack 'em once with his cane. And remember, that's one of those Japanese canes, and God only knows what kind of super-hard wood they make their shit out of. 

Tanaka with more throat chops. USA chant. More chopping from Tanka, and one of of those weird leapfrog jumping attack thingies on Shawn's kidneys. Jannetty breaks up the pin attempt. Tanaka still working the throat. There is an extended nerve pinch sequence, which prompts Piper to ironically state "there's no gas shortage here." 

Kato gets the tag. Gorilla talks about how well the Express is cutting the ring in half (proverbially, not physically.) Tanaka crescent kicks Michaels. Double clothesline nets a two-count for Tanaka. It's a classic "Memphis-style" tag bout now, with one of the good guys getting the dogshit beat out of him be them evil foreigners, desperately in need of the hot, redemptive tag from his hyper eager-partner. Of course, Marty gets the tag and cleans house with a million billion scoop slams and dropkicks, but he only gets a two-count on a Kato power slam. 

Michaels and Tanaka brawl on the outside. Jannetty gets a backslide pin, but Kato reverses, but who gives a fuck, because he only gets a two-count. Michaels trips up Kato, Jannetty gets another near-fall. Double kick from the Rockers. Michaels goes up top but Tanaka kicks him off. A slingshot from Kato allows Tanaka to brain chop Marty. But Shawn comes in at the last second, allowing Jannetty to secure a sunset flip pin out of nowhere. It's pretty rudimentary stuff by today's standards, but for the time, that was actually some pretty hot shit, especially considering the slow as molasses stuff that comprised 85 percent of most WWF matches. 

Mooney is in the back with the Macho Man (CORPSE COUNT: Three), who said Sgt. Slaughter will give him a title shot if he wins the championship tonight. As insurance, he's hired the Sensational Sherri (CORPSE COUNT: Four) to go out and "bait" the Ultimate Warrior (CORPSE COUNT: Five) into giving him the same guarantee. 

So Sherri is on an interviewing platform with Mean Gene, with a picture-in-picture in the bottom corner of the screen showing Savage watching intensely. She challenges the Ultimate Warrior to give the Macho Man a title shot, labeling him "yellow" from the top of his head to the bottom of his toes. Sure enough, this prompts the champion to come out, rocking some super patriotic regalia - including  red white and blue tighty-whities and a Chuck Norris-caliber red and black leather jacket. 

Ahh ... were would the wrestling world be without pandering to the lowest common denominator?

All right, I guess I should've mentioned the historical context of this way earlier. You see, this PPV aired right before Operation: Desert Shield kicked off in Saudi Arabia, which was the predicate for Operation: Desert Storm (aka, that time George H.W. kicked the dogshit out of Saddam Hussein, but for some reason, never finished him off.) As such, the hyper-patriotic pro-wrestling fan base was stirred up into a militaristic tizzy, and the WWF was totally stoked to keep the pro-USA/killing brown foreigners sentiments a-raging. As anyone who recalls my recap of WCW's "Dixie Dynamite" card would remember, the fake-fighting business was more than eager to keep the jingoism rolling, even though the actual fighting was more or less over and done with by March '91.

So back to Sherri - who looks like Cher, if Cher did a lot of heroin - as she attempts to seduce the Warrior by touching his chest, rubbing his "big, wide back" and complimenting his "wonderful hair." After he rebuffs a smooch, she gets down on her knees and begs him for a title shot ... not at all looking like she's about to give him a BJ or anything. 

So, Warrior hocks a loogie on the floor, starts shaking like Michael J. Fox getting electrocuted and screams "NO!" much to the crowd's delight. After he pounds his chest and leaves, Savage goes BERSERK in the locker room, breaking all kinds of shit and threatening to kick the champion's ass right then and there. 

Up next, we've got the Barbarian - some sort of steroid-addled, time-displaced Viking warrior who wears antlers and a fur pelt - taking on the Big Boss Man (CORPSE COUNT: Six), whose canonical day job is jailing' sum bitches in Cobb County, Georgia. Oh, and the whole reason they are scuffling is because the Barbarian's handler, Bobby Heenan, won't stop saying hilariously mean things about Boss Man's mama. 

A lock-up to begin. Boss Man gets the best of an early exchange. Barbarian takes a tumble to the outside and gets a good eye-rake in, which he follows with an ax handle smash. Boss Man (we will just call him "Boss" to save bandwidth from hereon out) catches him and tosses him over the top rope (which, as we all know, would've gotten him disqualified had he done such in rival company WCW at that point in time.)

Piper says these are among the two best athletes he's ever seen, meaning Piper in his storied career has seen at least two wrestlers before. Barb gets a suplex. Boss is down, but not out. A roundhouse right sends Boss reeling to the outside, and oh snap, he gets his leg tied up in the bottom two ropes, allowing Barb to tee off on him. Barb untangles Boss and slams into a metal ring post, back first. He wails on the canvas, and Heenan gets a few free kicks in while the ref is distracted. 

Boss rolls back in and Barb continues to stomp him. Boss sells a backbreaker like his back really is broken. Cue an extended bear hug sequence, with Boss slowly starting to fight back. And check this dude in the front row with an air-brushed denim Warrior jacket and a sweet mullet (hell, he might even be a young Eddie Guerrero, for all I know.) More elbow drops from Barb, but they only net a two-count. More bear-huggery. Piper says Boss needs to try to leverage out of the hold by doing something to Barb's crotch. He instead headbutts him and takes a chunk out of forehead. Rather dirty tactics for an alleged "face" and law-keeper, eh, Boss Man?

So Boss gets an enziguri and a near fall. Now Boss is totally on the offensive. Barb with a two count on a roll-up attempt. A slingshot, uh, shot, sends Barb to the ropes, with a two-count on the follow through. A double knockdown following a clothesline-thingy. Barb lands a top-rope clothesline, but Boss gets his foot on the bottom rope to interrupt the pinfall. Boss retaliates with a sidewalk slam, and Barb ripostes with an eye poke and weird piledriver-looking thing. He goes up top again, but Boss reverse the cross body on the mat and picks up a three count out of nowhere. 

We go to the back, where Sean Mooney is interviewing that dastardly turncoat Sgt. Slaughter and the Iron Shiek, who cuts a promo in what I assume to be Farsi. (Which, as it turns out, is the language of Iran and NOT Saddam's Iraq, but hey, who's counting?) Slaughter calls his adversary the "Ultimate Puke" and promises that his winning the title will cause "turmoil like you've never seen before," and that Warrior's weeks, days and hours have ceased being numbered. This leads to a Mean Gene interview with the Warrior, he says he only takes orders and doesn't give them. Then he says something about a grain of sat and a foxhole leading to defeat and that only demented people would follow Slaughter. 

So, Slaughter saunters to the ring with Sheik waving the Iraqi flag. Piper uses the time to discuss the merits of the First Amendment and that while he doesn't like Slaughter's politics, he certainly believes he has the right to express his unpopular opinion. A kid holds a sign that reads "Gomer is a traitor," which makes me ponder how the hell a six-year-old circa 1991 knew who Gomer Pyle was. Dudebros pump fists for the Warrior when he comes out, with kids throwing their little wrestling buddy dolls in the air like they just don't care. 

As expected, Warrior comes out swinging, clotheslining everybody for AMERICA, dammit. He breaks the Iraqi flag pole over his knees and rips the flag itself in half, much to the crowd's jubilant, jingoistic, delight. 

Warrior beats Sgt. with the flag remnants, choking him with the fabric and shoving the cloth in his mouth. The match begins proper, with Warrior whupping that ass with clotheslines every which-a-way. Out comes Sherri, whom Warrior chases to the back, only to get Pearl Harbored by Macho Man, who pummels him with a guard rail and sneaks off back to the locker room. 

Warrior stumbles towards the ring, as the fans chant "USA." Sgt keeps breaking up the count-out so he can win the belt (titles can't change hands, per wrestling convention, unless its by pin fall or submission.) Warrior starts to slowly "Warrior Up" - you know, all that shaking the ropes and "raising the roof" retarded shit he does. It's a short comeback though, as Sgt. goes back to working the back with elbow drops and stomps. WHICH MEANS IT IS CAMEL CLUTCH TIME, MOTHERFUCKERS. But Warrior's feet are dangling outside the mat, so the ref waves it off. Warrior starts dancing around like a possessed Injun and clotheslines Sgt. a million billion times before finishing him off with a flying shoulder tackle. But dabnabit, here comes that wicked Sherri, whom Warrior gorilla press slams to the outside onto Macho Man. 

That allows Sgt. to attack Warrior from behind. Macho whacks Warrior with a scepter, which allows Sgt. to pick up the easy three count. A loud "bullshit" chant ensues once Sgt. is announced as the new World Champ. Warrior storms back to the locker room to chase down Maho Man, while Sgt. celebrates his title win with the Iron Sheik. Without hyperbole, this is a greater travesty than the Holocaust. 

Presumably, Gorilla's shades give him the same enlightening worldview Piper experienced in They Live. 

Up next, we've got a throwaway bout between Koko B. Ware and The Mountie (accompanied by Jimmy Hart, of course.) Piper throws a shoutout to Michael Nelson for "kicking butt" in the Middle East, and promises to buy the returning troops a big glass of "skim milk, and maybe something else." 

Monsoon said the Mountie uses "mounted police submission tactics," which apparently includes the art of holding the back of one's head and pressing down on their nose like a ketchup dispenser. He slams Koko's head into the ring post and starts goose-steeping. Piper says "damn it," but quickly amends himself to "dog gone it." Yeah, not much more to say about this one - The Mountie wins, in case you were wondering. And you don't.

Sean Mooney is backstage with Macho Man, with Warrior trying to break the door down. At the announce desk, Piper and Gorilla recap the Warrior/Savage feud, and what the ultimate outcome of Slaughter's victory means for the WWF. 

Mean Gene is in the back with Slaughter and Sheik, the latter of whom is probably high on cocaine. Unlike other military leaders, Sgt. says he has no boundaries, and that as maggots, we are all summarily dismissed from the interview. This is followed by a lengthy pre-taped segment, featuring fans outside the arena talking about how much they support the troops.

Now it's time for a million-trillion Royal Rumble promos. Hogan said he is going to military bases all over the U.S. to encourage the troops, because the D.O.D. shot down his proposal to tour the Middle East so he could presumably Atomic Leg Drop the Republican Guard.  To recap the hype videos: Jake the Snake hates Rick Martel, Earthquake is all jumpy and hates Hogan, Greg Valentine want to use his "hammer" to crash down on 29 other people and Jim Duggan is literally retarded. 

More hard-selling from Piper and Monsoon. Piper talks about having dinner with Virgil, which once again involves discussion of "skim milk." Backstage, Mooney interviews "The Million Dollar Man" Ted Dibiase and his tag team partner, Virgil, who is literally his slave. And yes, Virgil just so happens to be an African-American. In the year 1991. 

Anyway, they are taking on the father and son combo of Dusty (CORPSE COUNT:Seven) and Dustin Rhodes, who would find greater success in the ring portraying a homosexual, anthropomorphic awards statue.  There's a lot of animosity between Virgil and Dibiase, with the abusive Dibiase perhaps pushing his man-servant a bit too hard as of late. Regardless, they begin the contest by attacking the Rhodes' from behind, with Dustin landing a sweet drop kick on Virgil, who is immediately chided by his "master." Ted gets the tag and proceeds to beat the dog shit out of Dustin, until Dusty gets the tag and locks the Million Dollar Man in a sleeperhold - which is promptly broken up by Virgil. 

Dustin gets back in and a dropkick finds its mark on Ted. Virgil breaks it up, and Piper - in defense of the American prole - said he enjoys riding a jet ski more than he does a yacht. Dibiase slams Dustins' leg against the ring post, and Virgil unintentionally strikes Ted. Dibiase responds be beating the holy hell out of his own partner. Dusty comes in and starts wailing on Dibiase, but Ted is nonetheless able to weather the storm and secure a flash roll-up pin out of nowhere for the victory. 

Post-match, Dibiase criticizes Virgil, telling him to go get his Million Dollar belt - canonically, Dibiase is so rich he had his own damn belt made just for him - and wrap it around his waist like a good pickaninny. Virgil, instead, throws it to the mat. Dibiase tells him to think of his poor ass family and mama. And Virgil smashes him in the face with the strap, as "the capacity crowd" goes wild. 

And we have one last round of hype videos before the Royal Rumble proper kicks off. Hulk dedicates the Rumble to the troops, mispronounces the word "firepower," and can't remember who Saddam Hussein is. Yeah, you need to YouTube this shit. 

Having a black wrestler come out carrying a spear and wearing a loincloth. Yep, nothing insensitive about that whatsoever!

For those of you requiring an overview of how the Royal Rumble works, it's pretty simple. Two men start scuffling in the ring, and every two minutes, another entrant enters the fray. The only way to win is to toss your opponent over the top rope to the mat below, and the last man standing once all 30 men have entered is the winner. 

Entrant number one is Bret Hart. Entrant number two is Dino Bravo (CORPSE COUNT: Eight), so it's basically an all Canadian jamboree to get things rolling. 

Greg "The Hammer Valentine" draws slot three. He eliminated Dino Bravo and beats up Jimmy Hart for good measure. Entrant no. 4 is Paul Roma, a.k.a. the shittiest Horseman ever, alongside his manager Slick, who I totally forgot was still employed by the WWF that late into the 1990s. 

Bret headbutts Valentine's ass for no reason. No. 5 is the Texas Tornado, Kerry Von Erich (CORPSE COUNT: Nine), back when he still had a leg. And, uh, was all alive and stuff. No. 6 is Rick "The Model" Martel, and No. 7 is none other than SABA fucking SIMBA, who is bodybuilder Tony Atlas literally portraying a spear-chucking bushman from the African jungle. 

Tornado puts "The Claw" to Roma. No. 8 is Bushwhacker Butch, and Martel eliminates Simba. 

No. 9 is Jake the Snake, who makes a beeline for Martel. Jake gets a huge ovation when he beats the fuck out of the French Canadian model with short-arm clotheslines. No. 10 is Hercules (CORPSE COUNT: 10), who teams up with Power and Glory partner Roma to pound on the Butch. 

No. 11 is Tito Santana. Roma is eliminated trying to send Jake over the top rope. No. 12 is The Undertaker ... accompanied by Brother Love and not Paul Bearer ... who immediately eliminates Bret. No. 13 is murder suspect Jimmy "Superfly" Snuka. Taker eliminates Butch. 

No. 14 is the British Bulldog (CORPSE COUNT: 11), who allegedly drugged his wife's OJ so he could anally terrorize her. No. 15 is Smash from Demolition. Martel eliminates Jake. 

No. 16 is Hawk (CORPSE COUNT: 12) from the Legion of Doom. Half the ring gangs up on him. No. 17 is Shane Douglas, rocking the Tampa Bay Buccaneers Creamsicle orange underwear. Superfly and the Texas Tornado are eliminated.

No. 18 is ... nobody. Well, that's some shit. No. 9 is Animal from L.O.D., who rescues his tag team partner from the Taker. Monsoon lets us know whoever had the 18th spot has officially forfeit his spot in the Rumble. A double L.O.D. clotheslines eliminates the Taker, but Hawk gets dumped immediately afterwards. 

No. 20 is Crush (CORPSE COUNT: 13) of Demolition. He helps Smash double team the Bulldog. No. 21 is Jim Duggan. Piper tells us the Rumble requires a lot of strategy, and that if he were in that motherfucker, he'd be going after the guys who have been in the match the longest. No. 2 is Earthquake (CORPSE COUNT: 14), who immediately eliminates Animal.

No. 23 is Mr. Perfect (CORPSE COUNT: 14). Brilliantly, he takes his sweet time ambling to the ring. Although he is assailed by Duggan as soon as he steps through the ropes, he manages to eliminate Hacksaw in no time. 

No. 24 is Hulk Hogan, who gets a huge ovation because its a good 25 years before we all knew he was a racist. He eliminates Smash and tangles up with Earthquake, who teams up with Hercules to pound the Hulkster.

No. 25 is Haku, rocking some awesome rainbow britches. Valentine is eliminated after 44 minutes in the bout. Martel chokes Hulk with his tattered shirt.

No. 26 is Jim "The Anvil" Neidhart, who for some reason, never tag-teamed alongside Gred "The Hammer" Valentine. Quake tosses Santana, and Perfect tries to eliminate Hulk. Quake ass smashes Douglas, and I laugh a hearty laugh. 

No. 27 is Bushwhacker Luke, who is instantly eliminated by Earthquake. No. 28 is Nasty Boy Brian Knobbs, who once lost the physical tag team belt while smoking weed with Willie Nelson. Hercules is eliminated. No. 29 is Warlord, who was basically Goldberg before Goldberg was Goldberg. Hulk eliminates Crush, then drops Warlord. 

And the final man in? Tugboat. Apparently, Savage was supposed to be No. 18, but he got scared Warrior would come after him and kick his anus. And with all of our contestants in, it is time for things to get really rocking.

Douglas is eliminated. You know, the whole bout, Monsoon kept putting him over, talking about him being a hot up and comer. I wonder what went wrong there?

Down to the final ten. I think. Quake steps on Perfect, and Piper apologizes for saying "living hell." Hulk eliminates Tugboat and Perfect gets dumped by the Bulldog. 

Martel eliminates Anvil and Bulldog gets rid of Haku. Our final five? Hulk, Quake, Bulldog, Martel and Knobbs. Bulldog eliminates Martel, who was in the contest for 53 minutes. Quake and Knobbs eliminate the Bulldog and double team Hulk.

Following some ass splashes from Quake and a few elbow drops from Knobbs, Hulk HULKS UP and double clothelines both of those motherfuckers. He boots Knobbs clean out of the ring and Hulk starts unloading on Quake ... for the troops. 

Hulk punches out Jimmy Hart and Quake reverses a body slam attempt by the Hulkster. Quake retaliates with another elbow drop onslaught. The fans chant for Hogan, and he HULKS UP again. He no sells Quake's punches and hits the big boot and a body slam. Then he dumps him to officially win the 1991 Royal Rumble.

Cure "Real American," as the Hulkster does his iconic poses and shows off some of the fans' posters, including one that reads "Peace in the Middle East" and another stating that Saddam and Slaughter will both surrender. Piper screams "God Bless America," Hulk waves Old Glory, says his prayers to the man upstairs and this one is all over, folks. 

Relevant then, and relevant now, brother. 

Well, that was some stuff, wasn't it? As little more than a set-up for WrestleMania VII, it wasn't a half-bad PPV, especially considering the timeframe. For those wondering where we went from there, the Hulkster did indeed whoop Slaughter's ass and take back the World Heavyweight Championship, and Warrior exacted his revenge against the Macho Man in a now-classic "loser-most-retire" match (in which Savage stayed retired for all of eight months.) While Virgil didn't win his independence from Dibiase, he did earn himself some new-found self-respect, and with it, the eternal friendship of one Rowdy Roddy Piper. And oh yeah, Jake the Snake and Rick Martel fought each other with burlap sacks over their heads in a match that more or less consisted of them running into the ring posts and stretching their arms out like Frankenstein for ten minutes. All in all, it very well may have been the best $39.99 you could have spent on anything in the year 1991. 

While nothing on this card was Ric Flair/Ricky Steamboat in their prime-quality 'rasslin, overall, it was a pretty entertaining little show, with a way better than average for the company tag team opener and a satisfying, all-star clobber-a-thon featuring all sorts of grappling giants and titans of the squared circle, many of whom have since gone on to that great wrestling ring in the sky. Yes, it is antiquated and outmoded and and corny and cheesy and sometimes groan-inducing, but this Rumble maintains a sense of temporal quaintness, serving as a time capsule for not just early 1990s U.S. pro wrestling, but really, early 1990s American popular culture in general. 

As a cultural relic, I'm not sure what kind of relevancy this two and a half-decade old PPV has, but certainly, it has some sort of vintage value. It's dumb and it's semi-offensive and you can't help but scoff at how lame parts of it are, but as a whole? It's hard to not walk away from this show with a big, dopey grin on your face. And in the end, isn't that the whole point of 'rasslin - and really, the entire entertainment industry - to begin with? 

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