Week Four: WWF In Your House – September 24, 1995
Welcome back to Monday Night Rewind, a Pops & Botches-flavored look back at the Monday Night Wars, through the lens of someone who didn’t really live through them. Previously on Raw, no storylines progressed because it was a preempted go home show for the new B-tier pay-per-view! Also, Gorilla Monsoon made promises for the main event that will surely be kept!
This week, it’s time for In Your House, Season 1, Episode 3! Gosh, I sure hope I didn’t miss anything important in the first two episodes.
POP: Themed Theme Songs
I need everyone reading this to understand how absolutely infuriated I am that I couldn’t find a way to bring you a longer clip of the absolutely wonderfully awful theme song to this pay-per-view. A woman soulfully serenades us about the woes of the blue collar working life and how we’re all about to party to make up for it in, you guessed it, your house!
The best part of it (besides the woman’s opening “ooh, yeah” scaring the living bejeezus out of Sycho Sid) is the line “In your house/It’s gonna rewrite some laws.” That’s a hell of a hype job for what essentially amounts to a cool down show between SummerSlam and Survivor Series. Give me Jim Johnston penned ballads any day over the licensed flavor of the month songs or generic butt rock (sometimes both at once!) of the modern era. Even if they’re bad, they’re fun, which is so, so, so much more than I can say about the opening match.
BOTCH: Lord, Have Mercy
First out of the gate is this clash of titans, Savio Vega versus Waylon Mercy. Vega has made…questionable choices in his hair-based artistic expression (which it takes Jerry Lawler a good eight minutes to identify as the shaka hand sign that Vega throws up MULTIPLE times).
Mercy’s entrance is accompanied by a video promo in which he promises to smush like a worm (his words) anyone who touches him, which he then demonstrates with an actual worm crawling up his arm. It came off like if you took swamp cult leader Bray Wyatt and removed everything terrifying, so now he’s just weird and Southern. The most unsettling part of the clip is the live, on-air worm murder.
Early in the match, Lawler informs us that Mercy is “a notorious slow starter.” Sorry, King, but I could tell from the jump that this absolute snail pace was going to last way longer than just the start. Mercy stumbles around the ring the entire time, barely connecting moves (if at all), and Vega is completely incapable of picking up any of the slack. It all comes to a fuck up climax when Vega goes for what looks like an attempted Russian leg sweep, but Mercy just slowly teeters forward (pictured above) into one of the most awkward pin attempts I’ve ever seen.
As if that wasn’t enough, the match still doesn’t end until Vega hits a transition-ass back heel kick a full minute later, which is an eternity in a match this bad. Then, to follow, comes the beginning of the only fuck up bigger than this match.
BOTCH: Shenanigans!
One of the first things mentioned on the show was that Owen Hart wasn’t at the show. Every single alarm bell and red flag went off in my head at that, and I just knew that we were headed to the restaurant with all the goofy shit on the walls and the mozzarella sticks.
Sure enough, Jim Cornette is unable to present Owen when required and has to find a replacement or send Yokozuna out to defend the tag belts against Shawn Michaels and Diesel alone. Throughout the night, matches cut to split screen to showcase Corny approaching everyone from Sid to King Mabel with the opportunity. The eventual reveal is a double letdown, as not only do they blow it on a backstage vignette, Cornette goes with Sir Already-Appearing-In-This-Film, the British Bulldog.
Now don’t get me wrong, this is no knock against Davey Boy. I’m grateful for every opportunity to finally see the man in his prime, but there were so many angles they could have played here, ninety-nine percent of which wouldn’t have involved putting even more wear and tear on one of your star performers. Hell, Ted DiBiase was right down the hall. I’m sure he would have been happy to sell you the services of…oh, right.
POP: Dirty Deeds
Sid and Henry Godwin face off after the first “Where is Owen?” vignette, in a match that genuinely surprised me with how much I enjoyed it, and leaving the Million Dollar Man unavailable for business dealings later in the night. Based entirely upon Godwin tossing hog slop in the faces of DiBiase and Sid, which Sid has decided is worthy of retaliatory murder, it’s simple and fun. Matter of fact, I think we need more animal food-based feuds. Someone go throw a bucket of chum on Brock Lesnar for me.
Godwin comes out swinging, but once the momentum swings in Sid’s favor, it pretty much stays there, for a combination of reasons. First, Sid does everything Waylon Mercy was trying to do as the slow-moving monster, but so much better. His movements are more akin to a horror movie monster like Michael Myers or Jason Voorhees than Mercy’s meandering. He doesn’t need to run to chase you down; your fate is inevitable.
Combined with that ever-encroaching specter of his own demise is Godwin still selling Sid’s powerbomb from the night before. Modern WWE features wrestlers that sometimes stop selling an injury in the same match they received it, much less from an entirely different show, so this is nigh miraculous to me. Almost any offense that involves Godwin lifting Sid is off the table, and his fate is pretty much written.
An attempt at the heroic comeback is thwarted by the dastardly DiBiase at ringside, first pulling Godwin off a pin attempt, then tripping him up as he comes off the ropes. Godwin eats another vicious powerbomb and the loss. Heels gonna heel, though, and DiBiase and Sid are so caught up in arguing over who gets to slop Godwin that they get caught by surprise when Bam Bam Bigelow runs in to stop them.
Everything breaks down further when Kama rescues Sid from Bam Bam’s rescue, and this gives Godwin enough time to recover, yank the slop bucket from DiBiase’s hands, and dump it over the Million Dollar Man’s head one last time. I appreciated that there was a logical moment for Godwin to get back on his feet and regain his bearings, instead of the “lol, time to get my heat back!” pop up that plagues modern promotions across the board.
Probably could have lived without seeing this sign, though.
BOTCH: Damn Damn
I don’t know if they agreed to take it slow since the Bulldog was pulling double duty, but this match between him and Bam Bam Bigelow never really gets out of first gear, despite going for twelve minutes. Bulldog spends most of it targeting Bam Bam’s left knee with holds, only to win by bouncing him off the turnbuckle into the powerslam finisher. It also features one of my biggest pet peeves in pro wrestling: the sleeper hold two-count. I’m sorry, I just can’t help the way I feel about that.
I came into this wanting to like Bam Bam, believe me. I’d heard so many great things from so many people. Unfortunately for those of us who didn’t see his career as it happened, this is the opposite of my last couple of comparisons with modern wrestling. Today’s rosters have multiple guys that are Bam Bam’s size but also have Bam Bam’s agility. It’s a great thing, for sure, but it does retroactively take some of the glamor off of the old school guys like him.
I’ll keep my fingers crossed that this was just an off night for Bam Bam. If anyone has any recommendations for a marquee match of his, please let me know. I definitely still want to like a man who is willing to tattoo his actual head for the sake of the sport.
POP: Unexpected Payoffs
With the exception of…whatever Bob Backlund did before the match, this was another happy surprise. The build to Dean Douglas and Razor Ramon facing off was lackluster, to put it nicely; it didn’t deserve the fantastic blow off this match gave it.
Granted, I came into it late by starting at the official opening of the Monday Night War, but all I saw before this very show’s recap of the feud was the exact same run in from Douglas, two weeks in a row. On top of that is the fact that it almost seemed to be more about Razor and the 1-2-3 Kid at times than the man Razor was supposed to fight.
The bout kicks off hot, with Razor charging the ring instead of making a regular entrance, and never really lets off the gas. Even the holds are applied with an agency that prevents them from looking like rest spots. One of my favorite moments is when Douglas executes a middle rope feint. It doesn’t really work out for him, as he’s unable to pull Razor through the ensuing diving slam attempt, but the spot was clever as hell.
Another highlight is the fact that Douglas plays it largely clean throughout. There’s some heeling when he throws Razor into the steps, or drives the Bad Guy’s spine into the ring post, but it isn’t until the very end that he resorts to outright cheating. Seeing the writing on the wall chalkboard, Douglas throws Razor directly into the ref, surely knowing full well how fragile those poor men are. As Backlund keeps the slowly recovering official distracted, Razor manages to regain some steam, and then in comes THIS DUMB MOTHER FUCKER.
IRONIC POP: THIS DUMB MOTHER FUCKER
In what can only be described as the most bone-headed fucking move I have ever seen, the 1-2-3 Kid decides that he should run in and make the three count. Razor, understandably, thinks the match is over, and releases the pin. He, also very understandably, is not pleased to discover that the Kid was the one slapping the mat. In perhaps the most understandable move of the night, Razor absolutely YEETS the Kid out of the ring for his insolence.
I actually said, “Oh, what the FUCK?” out loud and started laughing when I saw the Kid slide into the ring and start counting. Sean Waltman, the performer, has established the 1-2-3 Kid, the character, as enough of a dipshit in only two episodes that I absolutely believe he’s stupid enough to think that was a good idea. It’s honestly an impressive job on Waltman’s part, and I kind of feel bad for hoping he gets his shit absolutely rocked on Raw the next night.
Not to forget the original reason we’re here, Dean Douglas takes advantage of the chaos to roll up Razor for the win (with a handful of tights, just to remind everyone he’s the actual bad guy). A boring build, a good to great match, and an absolutely comical ending made this feud a real roller coaster, so the match that follows is only fitting.
POP: Pirates of the Canadian
We’ll get to the so-good-I-need-a-cigarette ending pictured there in a moment, but I have to take a moment to laugh at the promo Bret Hart cuts on Jean-Pierre LaFitte right before their match. He says it’s “Captain Crook against Captain Crunch,” and he’s Captain Crunch. All due respect, Hitman, I’m going to go with Captain Planet before I go with the cartoon mascot of a sugary breakfast cereal (tigers excluded). Your implications that “Crunch” insinuates “punch” mean nothing to me.
The fight itself was, in tonight’s recurring theme, a very happy surprise. I’m a little ashamed to admit that I’m not very well-versed in Bret Hart. I’ve seen the Screwjob portion of the Montreal match and the first couple of months of his run in WCW. Needless to say, these are far from the pinnacle of his career. Calling my mindset “apprehensive” going into this would have been an understatement. I’d like to go on record in saying that I was a fool.
This match is the textbook definition of a spectacular slow burn build. Now, Bret DOES nearly kill himself in the literal opening moments, but after that it settles into a steadily paced technical match. LaFitte maintains the upper hand for most of it, thoroughly working Bret over. At a couple of points, he launches Bret chest first into the turnbuckle so hard the thing clangs. All my respect to the Hitman for that level of dedication…and this, too. Sweet Christmas.
The crowd is going absolutely nuts as Bret is eventually able to cut LaFitte’s momentum with a number of well executed reversals. The Hitman ducks a clothesline, comes off the ropes, and collides with LaFitte, leaving both men laying. Just when we think we’re in another rest spot, Bret starts sliding on his back until he’s next to LaFitte’s legs, then puts on the Sharpshooter. Notice I didn’t say he stood up to do that. No, this man wraps his opponent’s legs up, and then rolls him over and stands up into the full hold. Glorious.
LaFitte taps and Bret Hart has won his jacket back. That’s right, these two just put on an absolute clinic over stolen clothes. I cannot wait to experience Bret Hart’s main event feuds with Steve Austin and Shawn Michaels (y’know…minus that one thing at the end).
BOTCH: Speaking of Unfortunate Endings
“Wait, wait,” you might say. “Is that not Owen Hart over whom Diesel and Shawn Michaels are celebrating? Was he not replaced by the British Bulldog in this match? What manner of tomfoolery is this?”
And to you, I would reply, “…fucking shenanigans.”
Rewinding about fifteen minutes, our main event takes place largely as previously renegotiated. I think I may have guessed correctly on why his first match was so lackluster, because Davey Boy Smith performs well, despite the circumstances. Shawn Michaels is at peak Shawn Michaels, so it’s no question that he’ll put on a good to great show.
Then there’s Yokozuna and Diesel. Yokozuna was unfortunately already far out of the shape that he’d been in at the height of his WWF Championship reigns, and his performance clearly suffered for it. Diesel, on the other hand…I had thought maybe his complete lack of drive in the nWo was due to his guaranteed contract, but either he stopped caring way before then, or this is just how he is. Like, it’s not as bad as it’ll get at the end of the decade, but come on, dude. You’re in the ring with HBK and Davey Boy; step your damn game up.
Anyway, Bulldog and Michaels put on as good of a match as they can, all the way until we get to the fuck finish we all knew was coming, despite what we told ourselves in the days beforehand (or was I the only one living a lie there?). As the match breaks down for the kajillionth time, Owen Hart finally comes sprinting down to the ring. The split second I realized who he was, I knew what was coming. He tries to interfere, gets caught in Diesel’s Jack Knife powerbomb, and takes the pin.
Yes, indeed, the man who was officially replaced by the WWF President, the man who is technically not a Tag Team Champion at the moment, the man not in this match whatsoever, is pinned and counted. The other side of this Dusty Finish coming on Raw couldn’t be clearer if it was a T-Rex in Jeff Goldblum’s rear-view mirror. I just…fucking hell, man. I knew we were getting some fuckery, but this is something else. Davey Boy deserved better.
All that said, I still have to admit that it does at least end on a pretty bad ass shot.
That’s In Your House 3 in the bag, everyone, and boy howdy, what a mixed bag it was.
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