The Road Warriors: Danger, Death, and the Rush of Wrestling (22 page)

We only wrestled a couple of times during that short trip, but it was more about showing off our American triumphs. Each time we launched down the aisle, Paul was right behind us holding the Crockett Cup high as a symbol of what the Road Warriors were all about: winning.

During this particular trip in Japan, on June 7, we faced Jumbo and Tenryu for the last time in 1986, and the match ended with a bang. The mounting tension between Jumbo and Hawk finally hit the fan. As I mentioned, Hawk was convinced Jumbo was botching crucial high spots whenever he had the chance. After about the third or fourth time we faced them, Hawk made it abundantly clear that he’d knock “that motherfucker” out if he did it one more time. Well, this was one more time.

I don’t even remember exactly what happened, but I think Jumbo may have forgotten Hawk was going to give him a running clothesline off the ropes followed by a jumping horizontal punch, and it looked like a mess.

When the match was over, Hawk breezed right past me, muttering, “That’s fucking it. I’ve had it. I’ll show that motherfucker not to botch my moves.”

I thought,
Oh, shit. Animal, you better get your ass back there before someone gets killed.
I had to haul ass to catch up to Hawk, who was charging like a bull past the fans to get to the back.

Once we were in the locker room, Hawk went straight for the room Jumbo was in, which had its own glass door. I could see the unsuspecting Tsuruta taking a seat on a bench when Hawk raised his right foot and kicked the whole fucking door in.
Crash!
Flying glass went everywhere as Hawk continued right in and started screaming at the top of his lungs at Jumbo. “All right, motherfucker. Get up. You think you’re gonna fuck with my matches?
No fucking way
.”

Though shocked, Tsuruta jumped up and started yelling back in Japanese.

By that time, I already had my arms around Hawk. Our AJPW rep, Wally Yamguchi, wedged himself between the two. I remember he looked like a baby sapling in the middle of two great oaks.

I managed to pull Hawk out of there and get him into our room, where he was able to calm down. Giant Baba came down to see what had happened and was rightfully upset about the door. I apologized for Hawk and told him it would never happen again and even offered to pay for the door.

In the end, Tsuruta denied any wrongdoing and claimed there was never any problem to begin with. From that point forward, the two of them never raised another issue with each other and the whole thing wasn’t brought up again.

We got back to the United States just in time for the Great American Bash, which only a year before had been the event responsible for catapulting the Road Warriors into the spotlight in the NWA as monster babyfaces. This year’s Bash wasn’t going to be a one-night event but a fourteen-city tour starting on July 1, hitting the biggest and best cities in the NWA’s fold. Even greater news came our way when Hawk and I were told we’d each get a shot at wrestling Ric Flair for the World Heavyweight Championship. I was floored.

Apparently Flair would be wrestling with his title on the line every date of the tour, and Dusty thought it would be interesting to give him a diverse cavalcade of opponents, like Ricky Morton, Robert Gibson, Nikita Koloff, Ronnie Garvin, Magnum T.A., Hawk, and me. I thought having Flair booked against guys he normally wouldn’t face in singles matches was a stroke of genius. It not only gave the fans many dream matches they never thought they’d see, but it really mixed things up creatively, especially for Flair, to help make the Bash one of the hottest tickets the business ever saw.

We had a great buildup for our matches with Flair each week on
World Championship Wrestling
. I think it all started off during one of our interviews when at the end Hawk mentioned the fact that he’d be facing Flair in a few weeks on July 1 in Philadelphia at Veterans Stadium for the kickoff of the Bash. He suggested to the champ that he’d better get in the gym because it sure didn’t look like he had been lately.

Then the following week, Flair came out and addressed Hawk’s comments and said that if he had the guts he’d come out and get his face slapped on national television by the world champion. I’ll give you a few guesses as to what happened when Flair went to the ring for a rare TV match against jobber Tony Zane.

No sooner did the bell ring for the match to begin than “Iron Man” started playing. The fans got up and started screaming as Hawk suddenly entered on camera and headed toward the ring. The second he got up onto the apron, Flair ran and landed a flying knee and pulled him inside.

Flair attempted a couple of chops, but Hawk no-sold them and shoved Ric so hard that he flipped all the way into the opposite corner. From there, it was a murder scene. After nailing Flair with a flying shoulder block, Hawk pressed him high over his head and walked to the edge of the ring and threw him over the ropes into the awaiting arms of Arn Anderson and Tully Blanchard, who had come out to interfere. While Hawk stood in the ring surveying his work, I guess he got sick of referee Randy Anderson and quickly tossed him to the outside floor.

None other than Ole Anderson came sliding into the ring from behind and started pummeling Hawk with knees into the corner. Then all of the Four Horsemen, as they were known, swarmed Hawk and were totally leveling him.

Of course, I came running out for the save, but instead of helping out and stomping some Horsemen tail, I was knocked to the floor by Flair and Blanchard. From there, Hawk and I received the worst professional wrestling beating of our careers. I was given a piledriver on the concrete floor, Paul was knocked out by manager J.J. Dillon’s shoe, and Hawk was flattened by an Arn Anderson gourdbuster. Nobody had ever manhandled the Road Warriors like that, and it made a big statement, even if we were outnumbered. But if anyone could’ve been booked into a believable position to smash us like that, it was the Horsemen.

For my money (as well as the fans’), the Horsemen, named by Arn Anderson in reference to the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse from the Bible, was the most legitimate clique in the business. Not only were they four of the most reputable workers in the ring, but the Horsemen were masters of the interview promo.

Flair and Blanchard especially always bragged about their Rolex watches, four-star hotels, custom suits, and high-class ladies, all of which were the creed. Tons of fans caught on, and at the shows you’d see college guys dressed up in suits and sunglasses putting up the four-finger sign of the Horsemen and yelling out Ric’s trademark, “Whoooooooo!” The Four Horsemen were crass, vilified, totally over with the fans, and among our personal favorite rivals of all time, no question about it.

Needless to say, Hawk and I were chomping at the bit to wrestle Flair one-on-one. We knew we’d learn so much from Ric in the ring and that he’d give us the rub, making us look like a million bucks. That’s the way Flair operated. The better he made you look, the better it made him look as a resilient champion who could take all you had for up to sixty minutes and then still pull it out in the end. Hawk and I were both honored with the opportunity to step into the ring with The Man.

When July 1 rolled around, it was time for the kickoff of the Great American Bash, and everyone on the entire roster was pumped up for the big show. Even Hawk was so pumped up for his match with Flair that his vomit reflex from the nervous early days came back hard. “Joe,” he said, “I’m wrestling Flair, man. This is fucking intense.” Then he turned and ran for the garbage can.

As much as I was at Hawk’s side for support, I was also a little nervous for my own match with Dusty against Ole and Arn in a cage. Between Hawk and me, we were clashing with three of the Four Horsemen, and we had serious axes to grind for what they’d done to us on TV. Dusty and I brutalized the Andersons and came away with a dominating win in front of an almost sold-out crowd at Veterans Stadium.

Hawk’s match against Flair was an instant classic that came off perfectly. Ric bumped and sold as if Hawk were superhuman. He also must’ve press slammed Flair ten times in the match, which will tire out a person quicker than you’d think.

The end of the match, which was a formula used for almost every one of Flair’s Bash title defenses, saw Hawk getting in some offense with a flying shoulder block. However, as Hawk launched at Flair, he ducked out of the way, resulting in referee Tommy Young getting knocked out of the ring instead. Then Hawk grabbed Flair and gave him a giant standing backbreaker, knocking Ric cold.

When Hawk went for the cover, Tommy rolled back in, made a three count, and called for the bell. Hawk won the title!

Or did he? Tommy grabbed the belt and gave it to Flair, citing a DQ against Hawk for hitting him with the shoulder tackle. You should have heard that crowd and seen the shit they were throwing into the ring. They were so passionate for Hawk; it was incredible to see.

I remember Hawk coming up to me after the match huffing and puffing, saying, “That motherfucker wanted me to press slam him all night. I couldn’t take it.” His chest was also beet red from all of Flair’s chops, with bruising already taking nasty shape. I wondered if I’d be in for the same treatment when it was my turn.

My little date with Flair came eight days later, on July 9, in Cincinnati at Riverfront Stadium. We worked a match almost identical to the one Ric had wrestled against Hawk, and I absolutely loved every second of it. I press slammed Ric until I think he’d finally had enough. I knew my arms and shoulders had. Man, they were burning.

The crowd was so hot that night that it seemed to be my time to take the World Heavyweight Championship, but of course I didn’t. The end was like Hawk’s match: I threw Flair into the ropes and accidentally knocked Tommy Young out of the ring, getting myself a nice DQ. It didn’t matter, though. Having that exclusive experience with Flair was as good as winning the title as far as I was concerned. Ric is a class act and, in my mind, will always be the one and only World Heavyweight champion in professional wrestling.

The rest of the Great American Bash tour saw Hawk and me involved in random matches against various combinations of the Four Horsemen as well as several matches against the Koloffs and Krusher (Barry), who had recently returned after successfully rehabilitating his injured knee. One of the more memorable meetings with Ivan and Nikita during the Bash was a Russian Chain match in Charlotte at Memorial Stadium, the exact venue of Hawk’s and my face turn against Ivan and Krusher a year before at the Bash ’85.

I don’t mind gimmick matches like the Double Russian Chain match, but I don’t prefer them by a long shot. Gimmick matches were always limiting when it came to what spots you could perform. I liked to make sure I got in my press slam and powerslam during each match for the fans, but with my wrist linked to a ten-foot chain, which was attached to an opponent’s wrist, I didn’t have the luxury of doing much more than punches, kicks, clotheslines, and chokes.

Within the first few minutes of the match, Ivan was busted wide open. In general, the contest was chaotic and all over the place. We beat the Koloffs that night with help from Paul, who pushed Ivan off of the top rope, allowing me to get the pin. As different as the Russian Chain match may have been, I couldn’t help but feel the crowd deserved more.

Gimmick matches are a part of the business that at one time or another most workers will be booked into. All you can do is put your best foot forward, try not to get hurt, and put on one hell of a show. Little did I know that over the course of the next year Hawk and I would be involved in two of the most historic gimmick matches in wrestling history.

For the rest of the summer and into September, Hawk and I ran around the country wrestling the Koloffs and Krusher. I was having an amazing time working with my great friends Nikita, Barry, and Hawk. We had a ton of laughs thinking about how far we’d come since our punk days in Minnesota, when we never would’ve imagined we’d all be professional wrestlers in the same company.

It was funny, man. I looked at Nikita, especially, and thought about how random his entrance into the business was. Even though I’d certainly helped him out, it was ultimately his look and his desire that broke him into a prime spot. I was glad to have been able to assist Scott Simpson along his journey into the persona of Nikita Koloff, but not everyone shared my enthusiasm.

Believe it or not, Hawk actually didn’t care much for Nikita at all, and each of them never considered the other a real friend. They never came to blows or had words or anything, but they had an obvious indifference toward each other. In some ways, I think it was a simple case of Hawk feeling slightly threatened by my closer friendship with Nikita.

There’s no question Hawk and I were inseparable brothers as the Road Warriors, but Nikita and I also had a special bond that had taken root back in my football days at Golden Valley Lutheran. Nikita took me under his wing back then, and I never forgot it. Now that Nikita was injected into the wrestling business and we were all working for the NWA at the same time, Hawk might’ve felt slighted by my divided attention.

But also, Hawk and I led very different lifestyles by that point. I definitely liked to have my share of partying after a show, but everything had its limits. With Hawk, there were no limits and there was no sunrise. He’d party all day and all night, burning the candle at both ends. Eventually, as I’ve mentioned, it started spilling over into serious matters, like being late or absent for flights and shows and sometimes showing up to wrestle in a less-than-capable mind-set.

But, no matter how much of a brotherly role I’d try to assume with Hawk, I still had to tiptoe around addressing how serious his behavior was becoming. I put it off to a later time.

In the meantime, I spent more time with Nikita, who was a little more reserved when it came to the after-hours scene like me. I’m sure there are a lot of you reading this right now who think of the long time Hawk and I worked with Nikita as teammates and would’ve assumed we were all great friends behind the scenes. It simply wasn’t the case.