House Show Results from Los Angeles, CA, 01/30/99

By Mel

Hey, kids. For those of you unfamiliar with my exploits in the wide world of e-mark wrestling, I am a frequent DDT Digest fanboy and avid reader. I begged Bill to get the inside track on writing a little lowly stadium report from our local show at the Great Western Forum.

The last time WCW was in town was last July, at Meleé in LA, a RealAudio exclusive and the last house show that Hollywood Hogan peformed at before his 'retirement'. It was actually a lot of damn fun, though WCW has had some major changes in their ratings, angles, and roster since. How this would stack up was anyone's guess.

A funny thing about WCW and Los Angeles, coincidentally. The original cards that the company slings at us through internet advertising and local radio spots usually overshadow the lineup that occurs when we show UP for the event. For example; when I bought the tickets some month and a half ago, WCW was using Buff Bagwell's return to ring action as a sales point. Being a huge Bagaholic, I took the bait among other reasons, to go. Scott Hall was supposed to be taking on Horace, Goldberg was having his day in court against Ric Flair. No complaints about what happened tonight, but the originally intended product would have, for all intents and purposes, kicked some heavy-duty ass.

So, onto better things. Roni Zamboni, Schwahsylum valet and resident hootch was along for this one, since the rest of our little clique has either gone off to school, or was incapacitated. We arrived at about ten to seven, amidst general confusion about the starting time of the show -- Ticketmaster had printed everyone's stubs with "8:00" on it, while the marquee read "7:30". A stadium attendant explained that they'd shoot for 7:45, "Just to make things fair".

We had decent seats, colonade-level. They pack 'em in like sardines at the Forum, so any seat is basically as good as another when it comes to the chance that someone will have their arm on yours, or a beer will spill down the back of your shirt. With high hopes, we set up camp, and waited for Penzer to show up.

Penzer came out as hinted, 7:45. He did his rundown, schmoozing the Los Angeles crowd about how happy WCW was to be returning to the Forum. Rules had undergone a slight change, since last time. No laser lights, throwing things in the ring, standing on chairs, obstructing aisles, no recording devices. Penzer actually drew little heat during the segment, considering he was nearly lynched by the overzealous crowd at Meleé. Penzer promised a surprise, and then introduced Big Tad from KROQ, our local alternative rock station. Tad's role in our everyday routine is to basically take crap from Kevin and Bean, the hosts of the morning show. Last time out, he showed up in a pointless turn with the Wolfpac as they met up with Bret Hart and the Giant -- Penzer handed the mike over, and he did some spiel about how the nWo had wronged Konnan. Whoopidy, Tad will be in K-Dawg's corner tonight!

Sad thing is, this garners about as much interest from the crowd as it probably does from you out-of-state DDT Digest fans.

Penzer introduces his surprise.

It's the Nitro Girls! Well, some of them, at least.
Chae, Spice, and Storm come out to jiggle for the crowd in their Nitro gold lamé outfits.
They'll be accompanied by Offspring's "Pretty Fly (For a white guy)" tonight.
I think of Wade, and try fruitlessly to explain the "Mmmm...Spice" thing over the crowd noise to Roni.
The girls are about as coordinated in person as they are on TV.
For whatever reason, the dance ends about 1/15th into the song, and the ladies vacate.
That was somewhat strange. Decent pop, died quick.
Penzer says that they 'might agree to dance some more' if the crowd is really, really good.

The bell tolls. For whom? I hear generic Asian music, and figure it's gotta be Kaz.

Programs are seven dollars at the damn souvenier counter. As if. I like the surprise better.
I'm right, and Kaz, for whatever reasons, is absolutely nuked with heat from the crowd the moment he steps out from behind the curtain.
I do dig Hayashi's form, though. Go Shiryu!

Whoops, spoke too soon. Out comes Chavo Jr., sans Pepé.

Huge pop for the delinquent one.
Chavo grabs a "We miss Pepé!" sign from the crowd en route to the ring.
Billy Silverman pats down Guererro, who returns the favor.
High tempo match. Armdrags, hiptosses. Kaz puts on quite a damn fine show.
I can't figure out what Kaz's finisher is. He hits a perfect moonsault, two-count. TKO-style DDT, two-count. A DDT from the top rope, another two. Kaz plants Chavo with a tilt-a-whirl piledriver for another two.
Chavo battles back after Kaz misses a guillotine legdrop from the top.
Kaz goes for the Super Dragonrana, but Chavo hangs on and Hayashi eats mat.
Chavo follows up with the Tornado DDT, which absolutely PLANTS Kaz.
As Aldo once put it, "he sold that for $1,000,000.00"
Kaz looks legitimately sore afterward, but shakes it off and leaves to more insane heat.
Nice three-star match, out of five. Kaz actually was the better worker, that time around.

We go quick to our next bout..

Generic music tells me that it's time for our resident entertainment interlude, a six-man lucha circus.
Guess, and thou shalt recieve. Out trots Villano V, some stocky guy who can't possibly be a wrestler due to the size of his physique, and the Chairman of the WCW himself. (Sans chair.)
I marka for La Parka. Hehheh.
At this point, we have been joined in our section by the Jury of Four Drunken Jackasses, seated directly behind us.
The rudos pose. They'll be taking on the team of Super Calo, Hector Garza, and.. what's this? Norman Smiley?
The crowd goes absolutely ballistic for the Master of the Big Wiggle, which makes my night.
Seriously, though, Smiley pulled down some Wolfpac-like heat. He was in interesting form, an SMBU-ing good guy. Ah, we, the few, the proud, the fickle.
Typical lucha sideshow, insane spots, high-flying manuevers, and some solid work from Norman.
The highlight of the match has Norman in a dance contest with La Parka. I mark out all over again.
Norman completes the chickenwing boogie portion of the SMBU, but tells us that it isn't time for the Big Wiggle yet.
Parka does a headbanging polka, but Norman just slaps him down like a bitch.
The token file-out over the top rope to the floor sees Smiley scaling the top rope, teasing a high-risk manuever, then dropping to the apron to smack his bitch up. He then drops a NICE Lou Thesz-style press on Silver King.
Team Stocky succumbs to the faces, with Smiley botching La Mihistral on La Parka for the win. Parka tapped anyways, with the rest of the competitors lying around in ring-around-the-roses style. Odd, but strangely engaging.
Another huge pop for Norman at the conclusion of the bout. I got a kick out of seeing him in the Four Horseman t-shirt last week on Nitro's climax. Welcome to the Twilight Zone.

No brakes, we go straight to Match #3, with generic rock music bringing out..

Damien (No longer 666) and Ciclope.
Someone told me that Halloween was going to be in this match, or had wrestled it in San Diego the night before. I didn't think he had a WCW contract.
Ah.. well, forget about all this, it's time for an in-house execution.
Wolfpac music brings out Scotty Steiner and Scott Hall.
Steiner has some full-bodied young lady on his arm. Yow-how.
Steiner lays on the catchphrases first.
"Blahblah Los Angeles, freaks, redneck boyfriends"
Roni informs me that he's...talking about me?
I am a "gas-pumping, fat, out-of-shape redneck".
I ponder the term redneck, and its relevance to Southern California.. hunh?
Roni hollers for Big Pumpalicious on cue.
Hall's turn. "Hey, yo".
Hall wants a survey. Who thinks that that these two luchadores can beat the Wolfpac?
Doesn't sound good.
Hall says something about the good guy, or what-have-you.
Match underway, Ciclope gets his ass handed to him.
Damien tags in, Steiner kills him.
Ciclope gets obliterated via double-underhook powerbomb, and the Steiner Recliner.
For good measure, Hall kills Damien with the Edge Formerly Known As Outsiders.
The nWoers pile the luchadore carcasses up, and take their leave.
The Los Angeles crowd is bizarre. Steiner got the best ovation I've ever seen for him upon entering and leaving.

Penzer hawks the merchandise stands, and crap, before leading into the next bout.

New Kidman-esque music brings out headbanging Juvi.

The Jury of Four Drunken Jackasses are waiting for Chris Jericho. I don't have the heart to tell them that he's, oh, about twenty million miles away.

Good pop for Rey.

Kidman makes it all worth while upon entering. This will be a three-way match for the cruiserweight title.

The JoFDJ makes this intolerable watching by trying to imitate Jericho's "Come on, baby!" for the duration of the match.

Typical show for these three, but a little slow-paced in comparison to past bouts.

Juvi whines on the mike about the match being unfair, but says he'll go along with it, anyways. He shoves Rey, shoves Kidman, and then gets the crap kicked out of him by both men.

High spots include a stepladder superplex by all three men, a three-way pin that confused the referee, and Juvi's excellent comic timing while Rey and Kidman slugged the tar out of each other.

The match peak has Rey taking a nasty spill over the top rope, via a Kidman cross-body. He lands on the announcer's table, which kinda splinters, but doesn't really break.

Kidman hits the Shooting Star Itch on Juvi for the win.

Rey looks legitimately hurt about the elbow. He makes a quick exit, following some goodwill high-fives with Kidman.

Fifteen-minute break between matches.

To make the night complete, the JoFDJ return with more beer.
I take the bathroom route, and witness four cholitos smoking some very stanky weed out in the middle of the men's room. They're doing play-by-play of passerby. I take a WIDE berth.
Roni vanishes as the Nitro Girls return to jiggle some more.
They're dancing to some generic techno garbage. The stadium is still half-full from the break.
Thankfully, it stops, and Penzer comes out to introduce the second portion of the show.
Generic rap crap takes control of the airwaves, and I groan..

Out comes the Pretty Fly White Guy himself, K-Dawg.

That brings me to an interesting peeve, that being the insane popularity of this guy in Inglewood. Considering at least a third of the crowd normally dresses in duds like Konnan's stupid thug life outfit, it isn't surprising.
Out comes the Dawg, Big Tad, and three absolutely HUGE black guys.
Schtick. Konnan shows his Latino credibility by talking crap about the border patrol and their mamas.
More garbage, with K-Dawg introducing the three giant nubians as "Three Former Mr. Universes".
K-Dawg now shows his street cred by actually remembering their names.
Tad gets on the mike and talks trash. Why a scrub at an alternative station is doing clean-up for a rap character is beyond me. I guess there's certain things even Big Boy won't do.
Konnan screws up the 'bout it, 'bout it thing. HAHAHA.
Konnan's scary entourage departs, so I guess it's safe for Luger to come out.
Flexy Lexy makes his presence felt, acting the heel.
Luger gets the microphone, and talks a bunch of garbage about how K-Dawg couldn't make the cut for the Wolfpac, but since they have history, he gets five seconds to leave the ring.
Luger's now skimming from Earnest Miller? At least the Cat amuses me with that stupid facial expression, but.. this..
Luger attacks K-Dawg with his SHIRT OF DOOM.
Kick, stomp, punch, forearm, chinlock.
Luger's used his whole arsenal, so Konnan comes firing back.
K-Dawg hits the lamest carpetmuncher I've ever seen. This new thing where he lands on his knees instead of split-legged style makes a bad move look even worse.
Thumb in the eye, signal for The Rack.
Luger's sloppy, K-Dawg sunset flips out, pin for the three.
Konnan vacates the ring like a pint-size bitch after winning, which makes me snicker. Tough guy!
Luger hangs around almost agonizingly long afterward, poses, and then FINALLY leaves.

Onto the next. More french vanilla rock from the hands of Jimmy Hart brings out Barry Windham.

I mark for the Widowmaker. He doesn't get much reaction from the crowd, but..
Flair tears the roof off of the Forum.
Nature Boy comes out in grand style, loses the robe of a thousand sequins, and goes to work on Barry.
Interesting question--why is it so painful when Hogan mails in a performance, but when Flair does the same, it's still more enjoyable than half of the matches prior?
Eye rake, kneedrop, WHOO!
Strut, strut, kick, low blow, punches in the corner.
Things slow down, and this causes the.. appearance of a giant beach ball across from us, in Loge 14.
The crowd marks out for the beach ball. Flair and Windham keep going at it, but they're no longer the main attaction.
Flair gets pantsed, and the beach ball continues its reign of terror.
Something like a dozen ushers come in to try and regain order, but the crowd holds them at bay as the beach ball floats high, agonizingly out of reach.
The ushers finally tackle some poor kid and rip the ball from his hands, ending the revelrie.
Oh, in the match, Windham controls.
Barry sets up and executes the Widowmaker Superplex, and I go crazy.
Uh-oh. Flair kicks out.
Chop, chop, chop, kick, kneedrop, WHOO!
Flair slaps on the Figure Four!
And Windham taps!

Windham continues to sell the knee inflammation as Penzer announces that this match had a special stipulation: If Flair won, he got five minutes in the ring with Eazy-E.

It didn't happen in San Diego, but it sure as hell is happening tonight! Doug Dillenger and Big Tad drag the Bisch out of the back!
I'm stunned. Bischoff at a house show? That's really weird, at least to me.
Flair beats the living *shit* out of the nWo impresario.
Flair with low blows, eye gouges, biting, slapping, chopping.
Flair slaps on the Figure Four.
Flair gets a mike, and asks the magic question that brings the house down:
"Say it.. I quit, Nature Boy!"
The Bisch refuses, and Flair rides his legs some more.
Bisch grunts out something alike to the magic phrase, and Flair releases him.
That ruled. Flair leaves to a standing ovation.

Penzer does some more plugs, for the Bruise Cruise. He goes on to say that everyone wants to know where Sting is.

From what I've read, wasting his time doing house shows while WCW tags close in the ratings.
Bret Hart appears at the mention of said Sting.
Bret talks trash about the fans, and wants some respect.
Bret says that he's come to wrestle, even with his groin injury, but won't put the title up.
Bret says he knows Sting is hiding in back, and tells him to come out and fight.
People argue that Bret makes a better hero than heel, but I absolutely dig his whole pouty-faced Canadian diatribe about how he needs more respect.
Sting comes out to his old music, and makes a beeline for The Hitman.
Sting FLOORS Hart with a big punch.
The match gets underway, and spills outside. Hardcore undertones as a table gets involved, but the Forum Curse continues, and no matter how much Bret is thrown into it, it won't break.
Same outcome as prior playings of this match, Billy Silverman is knocked out, Bret brings out the wad of tape, and plugs Sting, but can't complete the cover.
Sting hits the Scorpion Death Drop for the win.
Clean match, professionally executed. Okay, no surprises, but I love watching both guys work.

We go to our main event, and Penzer asks us if we're rrrrrrrrrrrrreeeeeeeady.

That answer would be yes, and Kevin Nash comes out to a heavily mixed explosion of heat.
I'd have to say, that, given the usual televised workrate for Goldberg and Nash, they sure do a hell of a show at these house shindigs.
The Forum blows up for the Wolfpac, and Nash does his shtick. Big Sexy is, in case you were wondering, in the hiz-ouse.
Goldberg comes out to deafening reaction.
In a hilariously adlibbed moment, Nash takes the mike from Penzer and proceeds to ask Goldberg if it says "Parts Unknown" on his driver's license. Goldberg doesn't answer, and Nash mocks his attempts at mystique. Nash says that the Goldberg phenomenon ends tonight, with the Power Bomb.
Bell rings, and we're underway.
As mentioned above, an absolutely great show by both men. Goldberg uses more than four moves, shows his agility, and thrills the crowd by just flinging Nash around.
As the match commences, some idiot in the front row of the colonade stands up, blocking Roni's way, as well as two members of the JoFDJ behind us. He seems deaf to the screaming to "Sit the hell down", and gives an occasional dirty look upward.
Two thuggish-looking cholos and a huge African-American gentleman use some choice language in eloquating their desire to see the match. I smell a riot for a moment, but then the dolt up front has a seat. All is well.
In the ring, Goldberg reverses Nash's corner boot choke into his rolling anklelock. Cool.
Nash controls, though, and plants Goldberg with the big boot.
Nash thinks he has it won, and strips off the tank top while Goldberg pulls his Undertaker act and rises from the dead.
Spear, ow, and a really *crummy* Jackhammer to finish it.
The replay shows that Goldberg lost his footing while hoisting Nash, and thusly, the crappy execution of the finisher. Though...Nash is lucky he wasn't hurt.
Nash lays dead in the ring for about ten minutes, while the crowd filters out.
Wait...I'm telling Roni that he has a microphone...which he does.

At about the ten minute mark, Nash declares (While still laying in the middle of the ring) that, due to the close nature of the contest, the celebrity judges will have to decide the outcome.

Ahhh. According to Big Sexy, Rita Rudner gives him a 6.5.
Nicholas Cage gives Goldberg a 6.5.
For the tiebreaker, it's the attending 10-10-220 JOB Squad Member, Dennis Miller, with a 7.4 for Nash.
Nash apes Scott Hall and Elvis in declaring himself the winner, then thanks us, thanks us ver' mush.
Big Sexy is up, and outta there, and so are we.

Altogether, a decent performance. Certain spots looked tired, even for such a fresh crowd, but Nash and Goldberg didn't disappoint.

The Good: La Parka, Norman Smiley, Kaz Hayashi. Crisp performances. Goldberg sweated it out for his victory, and Nash did an admirable job in a losing effort. Bischoff showed up, and was publically thrashed on a non-broadcasted format. No one was shot in the parking lot this time, and the crowd, for the most part, seemed to be concentrating on the show, rather than each other. Which is a problem, in Inglewood...

The Bad: The Jury of Four Drunken Jackasses. Screaming "Sting's queer!" while, in the same breath, offering for said Sting to "Suck my b***s!" is bad form, especially when its in the ear of the people in front of you. No Raven, no Buff Bagwell, no Kanyon, no Saturn, no Chris Jericho, no Eddy Guererro. Thankfully, no Hogan or nWo Jobrone Brigade, either.

The Ugly: Ric Flair, upstaged by a beach ball. That's just wrong.

Best signs of the night: "The Royal Rumble was sold out--so here I am" "This sign sucks" "Beer 4 Life" "I steal Pay Per View" "K-Dawg Sold Me Crack"

Biggest pops: Goldberg, Flair, Nash, Smiley, Big Poppa Pump.

Biggest heat: Nash, Luger, Bret Hart, Juvi, Eric Bischoff.

House Show Results from Los Angeles, CA, 01/30/99

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