For years, WWE’s Saudi Arabia events have sparked debate that goes well beyond match quality. Fans argue over presentation, excess, and whether the company’s biggest international shows feel more like sporting events or state-sponsored spectacles. The 2026 Royal Rumble only poured gasoline on that discussion, not because of what happened in the ring, but because of what happened after the bell.
As the Men’s Royal Rumble wrapped up, the broadcast cut to what can only be described as a city-wide fireworks and drone display over Riyadh. On The Jim Cornette Experience, Jim Cornette and co-host Brian Last didn’t question whether it looked impressive. They questioned whether it made any sense at all.
Cornette admitted he didn’t even stick around for the post-show visuals, but once he heard the details, the scale stopped being amusing and started feeling absurd. He compared it to America’s largest fireworks traditions, then escalated the comparison to underline how extreme the display was. “What if you combine the Fourth of July fireworks and Thunder Over Louisville, and then light up the Saudi Arabia night sky for about ten minutes straight?” he asked, emphasizing that the explosions weren’t centralized. “They were shooting them off the tops of the buildings like it was all over the entire city.”
The timing was what truly bothered Cornette. This wasn’t a primetime celebration. According to the commentary team, the fireworks began around 2 a.m. local time. For Cornette, that detail reframed the spectacle entirely. “That can’t be a comforting thing in any part of the world, to be woken up in a major city with explosions in the air at two in the morning,” he remarked, wondering how many residents might have believed something far more serious was unfolding.
Brian Last reinforced the point by grounding the conversation in scale rather than exaggeration. Riyadh’s population, now approaching that of New York City, means millions of people were potentially affected. Cornette leaned into the comparison. “What would happen if suddenly at two in the morning in New York City the world’s largest fireworks display just went off?” he asked. His answer was blunt. Complaints would be instant. If it happened again, it would unite the entire city against whoever approved it.
The excess itself became part of the criticism. Cornette joked that the display felt endless, likening it to a modern wrestling match filled with false finishes. “You keep thinking, ‘Okay, that’s the end.’ And then it’s not the end. It just kept going,” he said, half-laughing at the idea that maybe the show would never stop. The addition of drones forming WWE logos only heightened the surreal nature of the moment, with Cornette noting that the fireworks were so bright you could barely see them.
Beyond the humor, there was an underlying discomfort. Cornette questioned how such a production could even be approved, pointing to safety standards, permits, and the reality that launching fireworks from rooftops across a city would be nearly impossible elsewhere. “You’d have to get every building owner on your side,” he said, suggesting that the ease with which it happened highlighted how different the rules are when WWE operates in that environment.
At its core, Cornette’s critique wasn’t about fireworks or pageantry. It was about balance. Professional wrestling has always thrived on spectacle, but there is a point where spectacle overwhelms context. When a wrestling event ends with a display that could plausibly be mistaken for a crisis by people miles away, the show stops being about wrestling and starts being about power and excess.
That tension reflects a broader shift in WWE’s global strategy. As the company leans harder into massive international showcases, presentation increasingly becomes part of the story fans debate. Cornette’s reaction taps into a growing discomfort among viewers who wonder whether bigger always means better, or whether scale itself has become the selling point.
The Royal Rumble will be remembered for its winner and its booking decisions, but the post-show visuals may linger just as long. Not because they were beautiful, but because they raised a simple question that wrestling continues to wrestle with. At what point does spectacle stop serving the show and start distracting from it?
