To print this page, select "Print" from the File menu of your browser salon.com > Arts & Entertainment April 25, 2000 URL: http://www.salon.com/ent/feature/2000/04/25/wcw Grudge match After a severe WWF smackdown, Ted Turner's WCW wants to win back wrestling fans. But will more raunch and less paunch be enough to put the league on top? - - - - - - - - - - - - By Eric Boehlert Ted Turner's once-profitable World Championship Wrestling has suffered many indignities over its two-year decline, but the lowest point may have arrived during the April 3 "Monday Nitro" telecast. Hyping a new WCW era that was set to debut on April 10, ring announcers Tony Schiavone and Mark Madden broadcast from an empty arena, walking TV viewers through a greatest-hits show, airing old clips and documenting the rise of WCW on the shoulders of Hulk Hogan in the mid-'90s. It was a run worth remembering: For a time, the WCW ultimately bested its hated rival, Vince McMahon's WWF. The battle set the stage for professional wrestling's unprecedented popularity today. But that was long ago, and as viewers watched they were ineluctably reminded of how the WCW's wheels fell off. With a burnt-out creative team, aging stars and a hesitant Turner bureaucracy that never could decide how far down-market to chase its more vulgar WWF opponent, WCW collapsed. On April 3, viewers watched the WCW's own announcers essentially look back on national television and ask, "What went wrong with this company?" It was a strange moment in the strange world of TV sports-entertainment -- but not unusual. WCW in recent months has taken on a morbid fascination among wrestling fans, who now watch to see just how bad it can get and how low its ratings could sink. April 3's "Monday Nitro" answered both questions. The Nielsens showed that the two-hour show logged a tiny 1.8 rating, "Nitro's" lowest rating ever. (The second hour actually sagged to 1.3.) Just two years ago "Nitro" flirted with ratings in the 5's. Overall, WCW's television ratings are off 40 percent from a year ago, live show attendance has fallen 76 percent and its take at the gate is down 74 percent for March, according to the Wrestling Observer. (Some WCW arena shows today barely draw 1,000 people.) The most telling figures, though, come from pro wrestling's real cash cow, pay-per-view events. Both WCW and WWF sponsor one every month. In March, 47,000 people shelled out $29.95 to buy WCW's "Uncensored" PPV, generating less than $1 million in revenue. Compare that to WWF's early April "Wrestlemania," the biggest draw of the year. Nearly 900,000 fans forked over at least $34.95 (dedicated followers had the option of an all-day "Wrestlemania" PPV package for $49.95), for a total of more than $30 million. Not bad for a single day's revenue. Today, WWF's head-to-head competitor, Monday night's "Raw Is War," routinely doubles and sometimes even triples WCW's paltry viewership. And for the year, WCW's ratings on TNT, as well as the shows on its sister station, TBS, are off 40 percent from 1999, a costly blow to the Turner bottom line. WCW is bleeding money and on track to lose $25 million this year, according to Wrestling Observer publisher Dave Meltzer. Compare that with WWF's money machine. In 1999, the Vince McMahon-led company pocketed $56 million, and could earn nearly $90 million this year off revenues approaching $400 million. In the meantime, WWF bio books by mainstays the Rock and Mankind have shipped over 1 million copies to stores. Ratings for NBC's "Saturday Night Live" jumped 30 percent when the Rock was asked to host. CBS and USA are busy battling in court over WWF broadcast rights, WWF toys fly out of stores and editors continue to line up at WWF's door hoping wrestlers will appear on their magazine covers to produce lucrative newsstand sales jumps. In contrast, the WCW recently attempted to broaden the brand with the David Arquette wrestling flick "Ready to Rumble," starring WCW grapplers. Dubbed "moronic and insulting" by Entertainment Weekly, it got pinned at the box office. In other words, WWF, as a cultural entity, is on fire. How can WCW be so cold? After all, just a couple of years ago WWF and WCW were locked in a competitive, Avis vs. Hertz battle. Suddenly, the contest has morphed into Avis vs. Rent-A-Wreck. To the casual observer, WCW and WWF weekly telecasts seem to be mirrors of one another as look-alike, beefed-up wrestlers with pounding rock themes parade around arena rings. If only the business were that simple. Instead, today's sports entertainment is a curious blend of buzz, luck and brains, all wrapped in testosterone. Wrestling fans know what they like: larger-than-life stars, plausible plot lines that maintain some semblance of continuity from week to week and a touch of the outlaw. But they can also smell a loser and will flee it in a heartbeat. "Brand loyalty in wrestling doesn't last," says Meltzer. "It changes every Monday night depending on whoever's got the hot product." Turner and WCW have languished on the bottom before. But that was a decade ago. And once the WCW overtook the WWF, few in the business imagined its return to the basement would ever be so swift. The Atlanta-based media mogul entered the wrestling ring in 1989 when he bought the struggling WCW (then the National Wrestling Alliance) from promoter Jim Crockett for $10 million. Getting badly beaten by McMahon's WWF, Turner considered giving up in 1993. But things soon began to fall into place. As McMahon battled public charges of steroid distribution among WWF wrestlers in 1994, Turner used his deep pockets to lure WWF superstar Hulk Hogan to the WCW, where he became Hollywood Hogan. Still trailing in the ratings, though, WCW decided to launch "Monday Nitro," pitting its wrestlers right up against WWF's showcase program, which also aired on Monday nights. Insiders called the move a mistake. But with its live telecast (compared to WWF's then-taped shows), backstage intrigue and running story lines, "Monday Nitro" changed the look and feel of professional wresting. WCW was suddenly cool and its wrestlers were being invited down to do cameos on MTV's "Spring Break." By 1998, with established stars like Diamond Dallas Page, Bret Hart, Kevin Nash and newcomer sensation Goldberg riding high, the WCW, enjoying sold-out shows, top ratings and strong PPV buys, cranked out $48 million in profits. But McMahon had an answer: the mad-as-hell, hard-as-nails Stone Cold Steve Austin. (Insult to injury -- he was a WCW castoff.) And when McMahon inserted himself into the ring as an overbearing corporate boss forever screwing with Austin, he unleashed perhaps the most successful promotion in pro wrestling history. (Of course, an unprecedented amount of profanity and T&A didn't hurt WWF's surge either.) At the same time, the WCW began to fall apart. Injuries to Bret Hart and, later, Goldberg dimmed WCW's star power. Meanwhile, complacent WCW veterans like Ric Flair and Randy "Macho Man" Savage, who hadn't bothered to learn new moves in years, refused to step aside and let new talent shine. The company began spending wildly on cameos from outside stars, like Dennis Rodman, Kiss and rapper Master P. But their ringside presence only confused fans. The real trouble though, was that WCW was created by its mercurial owner in a simpler time. While McMahon had the luxury of turning his own company on a dime and answering to nobody (if McMahon wanted to show a wrestler getting simulated head backstage on TV, he did), the corporate-owned WCW was boxed in. Telling the show on the one hand to compete with the increasingly obscene WWF and on the other not to broadcast anything that would embarrass Turner or his Time Warner overlords was a recipe for disaster. Even before 1998 was over, WWF's "Raw Is War" had squeaked past WCW's "Nitro" to become wrestling's top-rated show. By the spring of '99 it was besting "Nitro" by two whole rating points. And by February of this year the lead had ballooned to four points. It was even uglier on Thursday night, where WWF debuted "SmackDown!" on UPN last year. So badly was the WCW getting beat that it surrendered the night and moved its TBS "Thunder" show to Wednesday. On the eve of the recent "Wrestlemania," UPN's "SmackDown!" drew a monstrous 8.2 rating. Turner execs would be thrilled to consistently land just one-half of those viewers. But they've got a long way to go. WCW has brought in two wrestling pros who may just restore the company's glory days. The good news is that Eric Bischoff is the man who took WCW to the top a few years back, while Vince Russo is often credited with helping turn WWF into a powerhouse. The bad news? Bischoff was also the free-spending captain of the WCW when it struck a ratings iceberg last year. (He's also the guy who let Austin walk.) And Russo was hired once last fall to save the WCW, but couldn't pull off a turnaround before impatient Turner execs showed him the door after just three months. Turner's camp hopes that what's-cool-now mindset will work to its favor. WCW's new Bischoff/Russo look was unveiled on April 10 and won enthusiastic support from online wrestling fans, who cheered the makeover and applauded the brewing rivalry between young "New Blood" wrestlers and the established "Millionaires Club" stars. Early returns show ratings have rebounded toward respectability, too. But they're still not within shouting distance of the WWF's offerings. The seeds for the new WCW were planted last September 10, when Bischoff left the crumbling company and retreated to his home in Wyoming. A former ring announcer turned ringmaster, Bischoff had become besieged and burnt out as the Smyrna, Ga., based company was getting lapped by WWF. At the same time, Russo was a WWF stalwart -- a league magazine editor who'd become one of McMahon's trusted lieutenants. He shocked the wrestling world when he moved to rival WCW, along with WWF scriptwriting partner Ed Ferrera. How could fans tell in-your-face WWF alums had entered their midst? WCW's cheerleaders, the Nitro Girls, were soon featured in hair-pulling cat fights, and "Monday Nitro" suddenly came with a TV-14 rating. But simply unloading raunch didn't work for WCW, since it still lacked compelling stars and strong story lines. Besides, WCW fans skew older, with an average age of 34. So the mere chance of seeing a busty blond prance around the ring probably wasn't reason enough for grown men to commit to watch TV for hours on end, compared to WWF, which draws far more teens. In January, with the ratings still drifting south, WCW executive vice president Bill Busch moved in and demoted Russo. That touched off a backstage revolt among up-and-coming wrestlers like Chris Benoit, who worry that the company is heading backwards. Less than 24 hours after winning the WCW heavyweight belt, Benoit threatened to bolt to the WWF. His title was stripped soon after, and he quickly jumped ship. Still, the WCW's revolving door, and back-stabbing, continued. In March, Turner announced Bischoff was back as V.P. of operations, with Russo at his side as chief of creative, and suddenly Busch was the odd man out. Rather than work again with the flamboyant Bischoff, he resigned. Now Turner Entertainment president Brad Siegel is vowing that he, Bischoff and Russo will restore order, and big ratings, to the WCW. They're going to need some luck on their side. Case in point: During a March WCW telecast, as announcers tried desperately to manufacture some excitement, a crowd of fans gathered into the ringside camera shot, with one wiseguy holding up a sign for all TV viewers to see. It read: "I Wish I Was at Raw." salon.com | April 25, 2000   - - - - - - - - - - - -