TNA Wrestling’s AMC Debut (Thursday Night iMPACT!, Jan. 15, 2026) — In-Depth Review & Analysis

I want to be clear up front: this review comes from a place of respect and long-term affection for TNA Wrestling.

TNA has survived more resets, rebrands, and near-death experiences than almost any modern wrestling company. The move to AMC matters. It is real opportunity, real visibility, and real stakes.

That’s why this debut episode was so disappointing.

Not because it was “bad” in the catastrophic sense—but because it didn’t understand what a debut should prioritize, and because it leaned heavily on familiar outside names and authority-figure storytelling while leaving TNA’s own identity blurry.

Opening segment: AJ Styles returns — the right exception, the right tone (briefly)

The show opens with AJ Styles, and this is the one ex-WWE presence that feels entirely justified.

AJ is not just a former WWE star—he is inseparable from TNA’s legacy. If you’re debuting on AMC, opening with the man most casual fans still associate with the company is absolutely correct.

AJ’s promo was warm, confident, and framed the moment as historic. He spoke about TNA’s past, present, and future, positioning the AMC era as a continuation rather than a reboot.

The issue: the segment had no teeth. No challenge. No confrontation. No clear reason to tune in next week.

AJ was used as symbolism rather than as a story engine. As a tone-setter, it worked. As a hook, it didn’t.

Still, this was the one ex-WWE appearance that felt earned and respectful of TNA’s identity.

Match 1: The Hardys & Elijah vs. Order 4 (Jason Hotch, John Skyler & Mustafa Ali) (w/Special Agent 0 & Tasha Steelz)

The TNA Tag Team Champions Hardys are next, teaming with Elijah against Order 4.

Chronologically, this made sense: recognizable names early to hold casual viewers. But creatively, it reinforced one of the night’s biggest issues—ex-WWE gravity overshadowing TNA development.

There were 4 wrestlers in this 6 person match that made their names in WWE.

The match itself was serviceable but rushed, functioning more as a delivery system for angles than as a showcase of wrestling. The post-match attack by The Righteous felt more significant than anything that happened bell-to-bell.

The Hardys still get reactions. That’s undeniable.

But in 2026, they should be supporting pillars, not focal points—especially on a debut where you need to tell viewers who the future is.

Early show pattern emerges: too many segments, not enough wrestling

By this point—still early in hour one—a concerning pattern had already emerged:

• Long promos

• Authority-figure exposition

• Angle-heavy pacing

• Minimal in-ring action

For a two-hour wrestling show debuting on a new network, this structure was baffling. There was just over 30 minutes of in ring action.

30 MINUTES OVER 2 HOURS!

New viewers don’t tune in hoping to decipher internal power struggles. They tune in to see wrestling, stars in motion, and reasons to emotionally invest.

Instead, the show felt like it was written for existing fans, while also assuming those fans would tolerate less wrestling than usual.

Knockouts Tag Team Championship: Elegance Brand vs. The IInspiration

The Knockouts Tag Title match came next, and while it was a championship bout, it exemplified several creative problems at once.

The introduction and presentation of Mr. Elegance—a brand-new character—on the AMC debut felt wildly misplaced. This wasn’t the night for quirky experimentation or “let’s see if this works” gimmicks. It actively undercut the seriousness of the titles and the division.

A title change happened, but it didn’t feel meaningful—it felt overproduced, underwrestled, and tonally off.

This was a moment where TNA could have shown:

“Our women’s division is a strength.”

Instead, it communicated:

“Our women’s division is a sketch.”

That’s not fair to the talent involved, and it’s not the impression a debut should leave.

Mid-show authority shakeup: new faces, new power, too fast

Midway through the show, the focus shifted heavily toward administration and control.

Daria Rae (FKA Sonya Deville in WWE) was introduced as a new authority figure, with Elayna Black (FKA Cora Jade in WWE) aligned with her. On paper, these are solid signings. Both are talented, credible performers.

The problem wasn’t who was introduced—it was how many, how quickly, and how central they became on night one.

This debut episode introduced:

• A new authority figure

• A new enforcer

• New management dynamics

• New power struggles

All while the audience still didn’t have a clear sense of:

• Who the homegrown stars are

• What TNA stands for in 2026

• Why these changes should matter emotionally

The show felt overloaded with new pieces before the board itself was defined.

Main event build: finally, focus returns to wrestling

Late in the show, attention finally shifted where it should have been all along—the TNA World Championship.

Frankie Kazarian vs. Mike Santana was framed as a major moment, and rightfully so.

This was the first time all night the show truly felt like it was saying:

“This is our company. This is what matters.”

Dixie Carter’s inclusion: nostalgia without purpose

Then came the most baffling moment of the night: the appearance of Dixie Carter.

There’s no denying Dixie Carter is historically important to TNA. Her era defined an entire chapter of the company—for better and worse. But this appearance landed with a thud, and worse, it felt completely disconnected from the story TNA was supposedly trying to tell on AMC.

There was:

• No meaningful payoff

• No storyline consequence

• No clear reason for new viewers to care

For longtime fans, it stirred complicated emotions.

For new viewers, it was an unexplained detour into history.

On a debut night that already struggled with focus, this segment felt like indulgent nostalgia in a moment that demanded clarity and forward momentum. If you’re going to invoke the past, it needs to serve the future. This didn’t.

Main event: Mike Santana wins the TNA World Championship

The main event was the best match on the show by a wide margin.

It wasn’t perfect—commercial breaks hurt its rhythm—but it felt important. Santana winning the championship was the right call, the right visual, and the right way to close the night.

Santana felt like:

• A present-day star

• A believable champion

• A potential face of the AMC era

This one decision alone is why the overall rating isn’t lower.

Surprise arrivals, awkward nostalgia, and the absences you could feel

As the show moved deeper into its runtime, another recurring issue became impossible to ignore: who the company chose to spotlight—and who wasn’t there at all.

Zaruca’s arrival: intriguing, but badly timed

The debut included the arrival of Zaruca (Sol Ruca and ZARIA from NXT), framed as another new face for the AMC era. On its own, that’s not a problem—fresh talent is essential.

The issue was context.

By this point in the show, viewers had already been introduced to:

• A new authority figure (Daria Rae)

• A new enforcer (Elayna Black)

• A new character concept (Mr. Elegance)

• Multiple returning or ex-WWE names

Zaruca’s arrival didn’t feel like an exciting surprise—it felt like another addition to an already overcrowded narrative board. There was no time spent explaining who Zaruca is, why they matter, or where they fit. On a debut episode, that lack of grounding turns intrigue into confusion.

This wasn’t a bad signing or a bad idea—it was bad pacing and worse prioritization.

The core problem: identity drift on a night that demanded clarity

Chronologically, the show told a clear story—but not the right one.

The debut prioritized:

• Ex-WWE familiarity

• Authority figures

• New signings

• Segments and promos

Over:

• Wrestling volume

• TNA-grown talent focus

• Clear audience onboarding

AJ Styles worked because he is TNA incarnate.Santana worked because he represents the future.

Everything else felt like noise layered on top of uncertainty.

A critical note on ex-WWE reliance

There’s nothing inherently wrong with former WWE talent. Wrestling history is fluid, and experience matters.

But on this show:

• Too many ex-WWE names were foregrounded

• Too many new-to-TNA signings were introduced at once

• Too few long-term TNA wrestlers were framed as essential

The result was a debut that felt like it was borrowing credibility, rather than confidently projecting its own.

The ghosts in the room: who wasn’t there mattered more than who was

Perhaps the most damaging aspect of the show wasn’t any one segment—but the collective absence of key talent, many of whom represent what modern TNA should be built around.

Leon Slater and the missing X-Division

The most glaring omission was Leon Slater, the reigning X-Division Champion.

The X-Division has historically been TNA’s calling card—the division that separated it from every other promotion. To debut on AMC without featuring or even strongly contextualizing your X-Division champion sends a terrible message about priorities.

To a new audience, it silently said:

“This part of our identity doesn’t matter right now.”

That’s alarming.

The Rascalz, Dani Luna, and the feeling of talent drain

Also missing were acts like The Rascalz and Dani Luna, among others who have either quietly exited or simply weren’t present.

Now, The Rascalz leaving TNA could not come at a worse possible time. They could've been focused building blocks for the new era.

Dani Luna meanwhile seemed to have issues with visas or arriving to the event. That happens in the world of wrestling and is a shame.

No company can feature everyone—but on a debut night, absence communicates as loudly as presence.

The cumulative effect was the uncomfortable realization that:

• Several wrestlers who felt like the future of TNA were gone

• Others who remain weren’t treated as essential

• The show leaned instead on authority figures, imports, and nostalgia

For longtime fans, this creates emotional whiplash. You invest in talent, watch them grow, and then—on the biggest night in years—they’re nowhere to be found.

What this says about TNA’s current mindset

Taken together—Zaruca’s rushed introduction, Dixie Carter’s purposeless cameo, and the absence of core talent—the message was muddled at best:

• The past was referenced, but not meaningfully honored

• The future was teased, but not clearly defined

• The present roster wasn’t framed as special

That’s not a fatal flaw—but it is a dangerous one, especially when you’re trying to convince a broader audience that this company knows who it is.

Why this still comes from love

This criticism isn’t about gatekeeping or resisting change. It’s about wanting TNA to stop undermining itself.

TNA has always been at its best when:

• The X-Division felt vital

• Homegrown talent was prioritized

• New signings enhanced the core instead of replacing it

The AMC debut should have been a declaration of confidence. Instead, it often felt like a company second-guessing itself—adding more pieces instead of trusting the ones it already had.

Final Verdict: 4/10, with genuine hope

This was not a disaster. It was a missed opportunity.

The building blocks are there:

• Santana as champion

• AJ Styles as an ambassador

• A deep roster with upside

But TNA must course-correct quickly:

• More matches

• Fewer authority promos

• Clearer focus on TNA stars first

• New talent introduced gradually, not dumped all at once

I want TNA to succeed.

Wrestling is better when TNA is strong.

This debut didn’t earn AMC’s audience—but it can, if it remembers who it is and trusts wrestling to do the talking.