This review was commissioned by Ri Ri over on my Ko-fi account.
This one knocked me right on my ass. I’m sure I must have seen it before as I’ve watched a majority of the WWE pay-per-view main events from around 2004 to 2006, but coming back to it in 2024 was a real shock to the system. I expected a really good bloodbath brawl from these two, certainly, but I wasn’t quite ready for just how much depth these two brought to the match using what are really very simple and classic pro wrestling ideas.
Much of Ric Flair’s run in the WWE in the 2000s is centered around the innate tension of “Can the old man still go?” Perhaps most famously, we can point to the Shawn Michaels “retirement” match where Michaels compares Flair to Old Yeller. That’s really only the final culmination of the emotional arc that Flair was on in the WWE. The man himself has gone on record multiple times that the strife in the final days of WCW left a massive dent in his self-confidence, and it was really only through his association with Triple H, and later Evolution as a stable, that he was able to recapture a sense of self that allowed him to continue working into the latter half of the decade.
That particular connection to Triple H, and the question of Ric Flair’s legacy as a whole, forms the backbone of the conflict with Orton here. Orton, only a few months into his first major babyface run, has put forward the idea that Flair’s legacy will be tainted by being Hunter’s lap dog. While the accusation has rattled Flair in the build to this match, he made his allegiances clear by costing Orton a shot at contending for Hunter’s World Title at this pay-per-view. And so we have this steel cage match (a stipulation voted on by the WWE fans, although it’s not much of a choice, who wouldn’t pick this after all?)
As a structured piece of pro wrestling, Flair and Orton opt for something incredibly concise–only ten minutes for this pay-per-view main event. But my god, they get so goddamn much out of that ten minutes, by necessarily cutting out any potential for drag, fat, or melodrama. What’s left for us here is just the absolute, 100% real fucking shit.
I bring up the build to this bout because the emotion of it informs so much of Ric Flair’s performance. He comes into this with the bitter ferocity of a caged, dying animal, and it’s a wonder to behold. In this match, he’s angry and vicious, but that’s tempered by the reality of his age. He’s no longer the NWA World Champion doing multiple one hour broadways every week, and he’s not going to flummox an opponent by pushing the pace like he used to in the 80s. Stripped of all that natural athletic talent that built up his legend, all that’s left to Ric Flair in 2004 is the wicked mind of one of wrestling’s greatest psychos. Control is seized by Flair only through the most devious and blatant of shenanigans here–twice with a low blow, and some late match tricks such as a big punch with brass knuckles. At no point in the match does Flair ever earn the advantage, he steals and cheats at every single turn, and why wouldn’t he when there’s no disqualifications here?
There’s such malice behind everything Flair throws in this. Outside of the obvious cheating like the low blows, the punches he’s throwing in this are some of his most vicious. His dedication to busting up Orton’s already bleeding face, nailing these real gorgeous haymakers, it can’t help recall that mean streak that characterized his encounters against other handsome fan faves of history. The determination he has to ruin Orton’s pretty face reminds me of his hatred for the Von Erichs, Ricky Steamboat, or Ricky Morton. No titles on the line this time, no facade of sportsmanship, just an old man’s hatred bubbling to the fore now that another uppity punk has dared to question his position in pro wrestling.
And when Flair’s on the defense? So fucking great still. He hits a great bump right into the cage wall to kick off Orton’s first comeback, gigs immediately, and then just howls in absolute pain whenever Orton starts laying in the punishment. I’ve spoken about Flair’s performance in this extensively now, but Randy Orton is no slouch in this whatsoever. He’s just as focused as Flair here, never attempting anything too fancy, really committing to the emotion of the moment. His youthful confidence at the start, sympathetic selling in the heat, then fiery determination in the back half. At one point, he just mounts Flair and unloads with some really great worked punches right to the face. Deep in the match, when he’s keeping Flair from escaping out the door, he hits a vicious forearm to the back of the neck that Flair sells like absolute death too. Flair’s always been a very vocal wrestler, but in this match especially, there’s an additional sense of unhinged energy from the blood and brutality of it all.
And the finish? Perfect. Flair tries one final trick, grabbing at a steel chair and dragging it through the open cage door. He swings and gets caught. Bam, RKO out of nowhere, one, two, three. Flair had every dirty tactic ready, but youth and speed cuts him off. A perfect punishment for this iteration of Ric Flair–one craving the vindication of his legacy, but lashing out against an industry on the path of leaving him behind. Jesus Christ, what a brilliant choice, and how perfectly executed.
Something of a forgotten powerhouse of a match. It packs a punch, both literally and emotionally. An insight into what could have been for a babyface Randy Orton in a WWE that still allowed for blood, heat, and authenticity.
The post-match is stunning as well, if you give it the time. The tension in Orton’s shoulders, fists up, ready to keep fighting off this crazy old bastard. The look in Flair’s eyes as he recognizes truths about himself and his opponent–his time’s running out, and he can tell, and the man that got the best of him tonight might just be the real fucking deal. Not melodrama, just actual emotion caked in sweat and drying blood.
IS IT BETTER THAN 6/3/94? At ten minutes, there’s just no space for problems to set in. And when the performances in this are so focused and visceral, it can’t help but be as powerful as a punch to the gut. No working to be epic, just being it.
Rating: ****1/2
