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WWF SmackDown premiered as a weekly wrestling program on August 26, 1999. Twenty-seven years and more than 1,400 episodes later, the blue brand remains a weekly fixture of WWE programming, making it the second-longest-running weekly episodic show in cable television history.
Since its debut, SmackDown has aired on numerous television networks and on various nights of the week. At times, particularly during periods without a brand split, the program served as an essential supplement to WWE’s flagship program, Raw. More frequently, however, SmackDown has operated as its own distinct show, separate from but still connected to Raw. During those periods, SmackDown featured its own exclusive feuds, stars, and championships.
It would be damn near impossible to produce a consistently great television show 52 weeks a year for 27 years. Naturally, SmackDown has experienced its highs and lows. During its weaker periods, the show lived up to a label it has never been able to fully escape: “The B Show.”
At its best, however, SmackDown offered a compelling alternative to Raw. It could feel fresher, hipper, and more energetic, while providing newer talent with the platform to spread their wings and establish themselves as stars. SmackDown was home to the fondly remembered “SmackDown Six,” whose work together played an essential role in elevating Chris Benoit, Edge, Rey Mysterio, and Eddie Guerrero. It hosted Brock Lesnar’s initial run as WWE Champion and provided the stage for many of John Cena’s earliest breakout moments.
In this week’s article, we’ll look back through SmackDown’s vast video archives at three memorable matches that took place on the blue brand.
Then: Triple H vs. The Rock (Smackdown August 26, 1999)
The Attitude Era was in full effect in 1999, and as an avid WWF fan, I could not get enough WWF programming. I was ecstatic when the WWF fed my appetite with a brand-new two-hour block of first-run WWF television.
As with the premiere of any new show, the first episode must establish a tone that entices the audience to return the following week and every week thereafter. On its network television debut, SmackDown started off on the right foot. Most notably, the aesthetic was different. The color scheme, logo, entrance stage, opening music, and video package all had a unique and fresh feel. Just as important was the presentation through the booking.
The premiere featured a championship match as its main event, with Triple H, who had won the title just days earlier, defending against the biggest babyface in the company, The Rock. To add even more intrigue, Shawn Michaels, the on-again, off-again WWF Commissioner, appointed himself special guest referee. From the look of the show to the way it was booked, it was immediately evident to me as a fan that SmackDown was important.
As for the match itself, it is a typical Attitude Era main event. There are back-and-forth striking exchanges, plenty of walking and brawling, and an interference-laden, swerved finish. On the surface, that description may sound negative or boring, but decades removed from the era, I appreciate the nuance of this style much more. In modern wrestling, back-and-forth strike exchanges most often follow the “I hit you, then wait for you to hit me back” cadence.
While that can be effective, I believe this style of exchange has become a cliché that often lacks intensity. The Attitude Era exchange on display here feels much more aggressive. Triple H and The Rock fire off punches, trying to beat the other man to the punch before The Rock either wins the exchange or Triple H, as the heel, cuts him off. The result is a more frantic and believable sense of aggression.
I also appreciate the straightforward simplicity of the action. Unlike much of modern wrestling, there are no elaborate sequences built around counters, ducks, catches, blocks, and reversals strung together into increasingly complex spots. In today’s product across virtually every major company, the complexity of matches often requires extensive planning, memorization, and rehearsal.
That can create situations where performers are focused on executing the next sequence rather than allowing the crowd’s reaction to dictate what happens in the ring. In this contest, the two major planned moments appear to be Shawn Michaels ejecting Chyna from ringside, creating a moment where The Rock attempts a pinfall while Michaels is absent from the count, and the finishing sequence in which Michaels superkicks The Rock during the People’s Elbow attempt.
Those two planned moments are also the key moments in the match’s story. The first creates tension between Michaels and The Rock and subtly foreshadows the eventual turn. The second delivers that turn. Everything in between is relatively simple, allowing the two wrestlers to build and release tension based on the crowd’s reaction. And on this night, the crowd reacted to virtually every beat. There may not have been a parade of high spots, but there was constant engagement, which is perhaps the best evidence that the match was working.
Most importantly, the simplicity of the match allows the finish to matter. The action never becomes so elaborate that the audience loses sight of what the match is ultimately building toward. Shawn Michaels’ superkick is not simply another big move in a sequence of increasingly spectacular moves. It is the payoff to the tension established earlier in the match, and it changes the meaning of everything that came before it.
The audience is not left discussing which sequence was the most impressive; they are left reacting to the fact that Shawn Michaels just betrayed The Rock and helped Triple H retain the WWF Championship. The finish is the moment that matters, and the match gives it room to breathe.
That is something I think modern wrestling can occasionally lose sight of. Great action does not necessarily make a great match if the audience becomes more invested in the execution of the next spectacular sequence than in the story being told. The action should serve the finish, not distract from it. In this match, the relatively basic wrestling actually makes the ending more effective because nothing overshadows it. The finish is the culmination of the match rather than simply the final spot.
The main event of the SmackDown premiere is therefore an important match for several reasons. At the time, it established SmackDown as essential viewing for WWF fans. Viewed today, it also provides a great example of how straightforward action, performed with an awareness of the crowd and built around a meaningful story, can still work.
More importantly, it demonstrates that a match does not need to constantly escalate in complexity to keep an audience engaged. Sometimes, the best thing a match can do is make the audience care about the finish—and then make sure nothing gets in the way of it.
WATCH HERE
ARTICLE CONTINUED BELOW…
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Now: AJ Styles vs. Daniel Bryan (Smackdown June 12, 2020)
The most awkward era in SmackDown—and professional wrestling in general—was undoubtedly the pandemic era. I realize that many fans have little interest in revisiting empty arenas or the screens of the ThunderDome, but for me, the pandemic era provided valuable lessons about professional wrestling at its core.
COVID forced WWE into a reset that ultimately yielded significant benefits in the years that followed. I question whether The Bloodline would have been as successful as it became without the patience and television-focused presentation that the pandemic era required. WWE was able to build the foundations of its characters and allow week-to-week storytelling to develop without constantly having to cater to a live audience or manufacture consistent moments of excitement.
I also believe the in-ring quality of the pandemic era is often overlooked. Wrestlers were allowed to simply wrestle. They could be patient, take their time, and focus on storytelling in the ring without feeling the need to rush toward the next big spot to satisfy a hungry live audience. The result was a slower, more deliberate style of storytelling.
The best example—and perhaps my favorite match of the entire empty-arena era—was Daniel Bryan vs. AJ Styles in the finals of the Intercontinental Championship tournament on SmackDown in June 2020. In the empty-arena setting, we received something close to a dream match for longtime wrestling fans: a Ring of Honor-era Bryan Danielson against a New Japan-era AJ Styles. Bryan and Styles had previously feuded from late 2018 into early 2019, but I would argue that this match was far superior.
The mechanical mastery displayed throughout the match is nearly flawless. The holds, reversals, strikes, and pin exchanges all portray a genuine athletic contest. As the match progresses, the aggression builds naturally. Even while working as a babyface, Bryan gives us glimpses of the vicious, almost sadistic competitor first showcased during his Ring of Honor run as the American Dragon. He methodically works over Styles’ shoulder and arm with technical precision.
After a missed running dropkick in the corner, Styles begins targeting Bryan’s leg and matches the intensityBryan displayed earlier. Nothing in this match feels choreographed. The sequences are not overly complicated, yet everything is nearly perfect in its execution and placement.
Television matches can sometimes lose momentum during commercial breaks, but here the breaks divide the match into distinct chapters that fit together to tell the story of a highly competitive athletic contest built on technical proficiency. The match lasts nearly 30 minutes, and none of that time feels wasted.
Few WWE matches have felt as close to a legitimate sporting competition as this one. I also appreciated the finish. There are no excessive finishers or kickouts designed to artificially extend the drama. Instead, the finishing sequence follows the most important reversal of the match: Styles catches Bryan’s flying knee attempt and counters it into a Styles Clash, followed by the Phenomenal Forearm for an undisputed and definitive three-count.
It’s simple, but it’s perfect.
I often wonder whether the same match, performed in front of a live audience, would have resonated in quite the same way. Without a crowd, the viewer’s focus was entirely on the action in the ring. And when the action is this good, sometimes that is all a great match needs.
WATCH HERE
Forever: Eddie Guerrero vs. Edge (Smackdown: September 26, 2002)
Perhaps the most fondly remembered era of SmackDown was the era of the SmackDown Six in 2002. During this period, SmackDown established itself as a distinct alternative to Monday Night Raw, showcasing what stars like Eddie Guerrero, Chris Benoit, Edge, Rey Mysterio, and Kurt Angle could bring to WWE.
A great example was Edge vs. Eddie Guerrero in a No Disqualification match on an episode of SmackDown in September. The two had already wrestled on the previous two pay-per-views, SummerSlam and Unforgiven, but those matches were largely lost among the star-studded, multi-brand cards. Here, they were given the main-event slot, the time, and the platform to take center stage—and they took full advantage of it.
The match is a great example of Guerrero’s development into a credible undersized main-event wrestler. His offense had a great cadence: aggressive bursts followed by deliberate pauses that allowed the audience to absorb the punishment before Guerrero reveled in it. He had a mean streak and a confidence that made his size almost irrelevant. Benoit had developed a similar credibility, and years later we would see it again with AJ Styles.
It is also an interesting snapshot of Edge’s career. He had the look, the moves, and the timing, but he was still developing the defining character traits that would eventually allow him to connect with the audience on a much larger level. He was getting there—but he wasn’t there yet.
What stands out most to me, however, is the match’s use of big spots. I firmly believe that if you are going to use an impactful or potentially dangerous move, it needs to matter. This match does that exceptionally well. The sunset-flip powerbomb off the ladder, the backdrop into the ladder, and the final Implant DDT off the top of the ladder are memorable because they are spaced throughout the match and given time to breathe.
Unlike many modern No Disqualification matches, where major spots can become almost interchangeable, nothing here feels reckless or excessive. The action is aggressive and impactful, but the execution is controlled and purposeful.
That is ultimately why the SmackDown Six era remains so fondly remembered. It gave talented wrestlers the platform, time, and freedom to develop and connect with the audience. This Edge-Guerrero main event is a perfect example: great action, meaningful storytelling, and big moments that mattered because the match took the time to make them matter.
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