I simply told Vince that I’d made up with Bret and explained that I thought maybe he could be an asset to us, instead of an enemy. I reminded him he was still hot as a firecracker in Europe (and he still is to this day).
“Patrick, I don’t want to dig up all that stuff again, not today.”
“Still, it’s something to think about.”
The next thing I knew, big surprise, Kevin Dunn and Vince had set up a meeting with Bret. They wanted me to come. I said, “No, you guys take care of your business; mine is done.” When they came back, they had a deal for Bret to return.
Why did I bother? Because I care. I see them so miserable over a match and I can’t help myself. You should only be allowed to be angry for six months over a goddamn match, right? But after that, get over it. There is no point in staying mad for years, don’t you think?
* * *
That Montréal fiasco was very strange, even for this business, and in this case Bret had good reason to be angry — just not forever. I’m glad it’s behind us, but what were the odds of it happening in Montréal of all places, my hometown? Crazy.
The first Royal Rumble was on January 24, 1988, in Hamilton, Ontario. The difference between WWE’s Royal Rumble and a traditional over-the-top rope battle royal is that the participants come into the match at two-minute intervals — not all at the same time at the beginning of the match. I wanted to create something special, something just like we had in San Francisco where it had been such a hot event.
The more I kept running the idea over in my mind, the more it took shape and I was sure I was on to something. I felt it: every instinct in my body told me it would work.
So I finally brought the idea to Vince. He laughed at the concept at first, saying that an hour was way too long to keep fans interested. I didn’t get upset; I knew sometimes he needed time for ideas to sink in. But I made sure to say, “All right, but keep it in mind, will you? Because I know this can work.”
Sometime later, we had a meeting with the USA Network about doing a special. We worked on the special with Dick Ebersol, who did the Saturday Night Main Event shows with us for NBC. It was going to be a three-hour live show, but it needed something to take it to the level of a WrestleMania or Survivor Series. In desperation, Vince threw my idea out there. “Pat, tell Dick about your stupid idea for that battle royal.”
“First, it’s not stupid. I think it’s a good idea. Goddamn it, I think it’s a great idea.”
Ebersol loved the concept right away. He immediately imagined the drama of the clock ticking down onscreen and the audience’s anxious anticipation of who was going enter the ring next being played out every two minutes.
“Vince, it’s great TV,” he said.
Vince told me to start putting it together, and I programmed the first Rumble all by myself. The final touches were completed at the arena on the morning of the show because I kept expecting Vince to give me some direction on where he wanted things to go. But he never did.
“It’s your match,” he told me when we got to the building.
We didn’t want to simply call it a battle royal. We had people at the office who came up with names and they submitted something like fifty of them to us. As soon as we read “Royal Rumble,” we knew we had the name. Personally, though, I didn’t care what it was called: I just wanted to see my idea to come to life.
The talent was freaking out on the morning of the show because of all of my detailed instructions. None of them had ever done a match quite like this before. When it was all said and done, I think they loved it. I was happy, too.
The first Royal Rumble was a success, but until it was over, we didn’t really know if it would work. I knew it was a unique idea, but until a crowd responds, it’s hard to know for sure.
That first Rumble had only twenty participants; I feel that thirty is the ideal number. At times, the match has expanded to forty participants and it’s been too many. You need to have main-event wrestlers in there, to really drive home the importance of the match, but people have to feel that just about anyone can win — just as was the case in 1992 when Ric Flair won the match and the vacant WWE Championship. That show took place in Albany, New York. When I came back to the locker room, Flair was crying like a little kid. He was so happy. “Thank you so much, you guys. Oh my God, I can’t believe this is happening.” Imagine a man that celebrated and decorated freaking out. It was one hell of a night.
I’m repeating myself here, but I don’t care. People can say what they want about the business, but to us, the performers, it’s as real as real can be. Ric had done everything that could be done in wrestling twice, but winning the WWE Championship in the Royal Rumble was real for him. Moments like that validate what we do. That’s the passion I try to share with our Superstars today. You need to think about and believe in what you are going to do out there to make it special.
Some friends of mine tell me that their kids, who are into WWE Superstars today, love watching classic Royal Rumble matches on WWE Network and that they don’t care if they don’t know all the characters. They still find the match interesting and surprising. In a way, most of the Royal Rumble matches have, in this manner, passed the test of time. They are like a good movie you can watch over and over again. It has now become WWE’s second biggest event of the year, and I believe it’s going to remain there forever.
Now, if I could just get a few more of my ideas in before I go . . .
You know what I would like to see done every year? I’d love to be introduced as the creator of the match and give a cup to the winner at ringside. It would be just like the Stanley Cup in hockey. You would have all the past winners’ names on it and people could look for the names of their favorite Superstars on there. The winner could celebrate by drinking champagne from it. (We would need to go back in time and have the winner of every edition of the match engraved on it.) People could get their picture taken with the Cup when we do Fan Axxess at WrestleMania. You could sell replicas as well.
Maybe for the thirtieth anniversary in 2018? The Patterson Cup? What do you think?
FROM THE STOOGES TO THE ROCK
“To say the things he truly feels;
And not the words of one who kneels.”
When my in-ring career was over, I accepted it. When I was called upon to perform as one of “the stooges” with Gerald Brisco during the Attitude Era, I wasn’t too crazy about the idea of coming out of retirement. I’ve only recently realized how popular that bullshit we did was. We even made a cameo appearance at WrestleMania 31 reprising our roles. People loved it, I guess — they talk to me about it all the time.
At the time, all I could see was how far I was from what I used to be. I was a main-event wrestler and I used to draw thousands of people; I was never comic relief. It was a hard pill to swallow — that this was all I could do to contribute. But it’s remembered fondly, and a lot of people were watching. And the truth is, we were funny. And Brisco and I had great chemistry. Still, I hated it back then. That wasn’t the real performer in me out there. It was OK, I guess, but it was cartoonish. I could not imagine Lou Thesz or Buddy Rogers doing what we were doing, and that’s how I wanted to be remembered. I did make a few bucks out of it, however. Today, I see it a bit differently. People appreciate and respect the performance while understanding the limitations of our age.
Gerald Briscoe and I had great chemistry as Vince’s Stooges.
We did draw an 8.1 rating for our match against the Mean Street Posse on Raw in 1999, not bad when you think about it. I did the best I could with it, but I still wish I could have been young enough to play with those main-event performers on WWE’s stage. I would have loved to work with Hogan, Macho Man, Stone Cold, Shawn, Bret, Triple H, and The Rock. We would have played to sold-out arenas in my prime. The fact that I won the Hardcore Championship in the midst of that run meant very little to me. (Even if I was the oldest champion of any kind in
WWE history.) I just don’t think that way.
The stooges was . . . what it was. Gerald was always checking how our segment did in the ratings, or on who we would be working with on a show. He brings up our record rating all the time — ask him about it. First and foremost, I was afraid of being hurt. Being in the ring with all those young kids eager to make an impression was not always easy, and I was no spring chicken. It was fun to go up against Shane and Vince, however, and it was something people wanted to see. But let’s be serious for a minute — the whole thing is crazy to even think about. I was in a match with Stone Cold Steve Austin. It was not the main event, but not too bad for an older gentleman like me.
I especially loved to do backstage vignettes with The Rock, because it was both fun and good television.
But I just don’t see things like a lot of people. I never thought, “Oh my God, I’m working with the biggest star in the business.” I didn’t even think Damn, he’s the son of my good friend.
Business came first. And sometimes, in our business, little things just happened on camera and those moments are magical. I didn’t care about the stooges while doing it, and I always blame Vince for the idea . . . So I will also give him the credit for anything about the whole thing that was good, including the ratings we achieved.
I am so fortunate to have seen so many countries while being paid to travel. I’ve always resolved to live my life to the fullest, so I took time to enjoy and experience those visits. I didn’t spend all of my time at the hotel or at the arena. We went to Paris, and I was in charge of the show, which seems impossible to me when I travel back in time to watch myself lacing up my first pair of boots. That was special in a way that’s hard to explain: making it in France has always meant something unique to a French Canadian because that’s where all of us Quebecers originally came from.
One night, we were in a great little town in the north of France. We were staying in a wonderful hotel and had an afternoon show. After some sightseeing, I asked if they had a karaoke bar in town. I went back to the hotel, ate something, had a couple of drinks at the bar, and told some of the guys I was going to the karaoke bar to sing. A few guys joined me. The place was small and didn’t look promising. Then suddenly, the whole crew appeared and we took over the place, having a blast, singing until closing time. Everybody sang — even Titus O’Neil. He was great. And a much better dancer than me.
The following day, we were headed to Amsterdam, but only for a night. I’d never been there before, and we were staying at a hotel forty minutes from downtown. I told myself to go out; I might never come back. It was cool — everyone was mellow in that country. I went to the Red Light District and everything, and that brought back memories. Back in the days when I was out on the road full-time, we once ran a show in Marseille. They had a famous Red Light District and many of the guys wanted to see it after the show. I was in charge and I said no. “No one goes out tonight. We have an early plane in the morning.”
I’d gone in the afternoon with Miss Elizabeth and some of the other women because they wanted to see it, too. On one side of the street there were girls; on the other side there were guys available. When the girls told the boys about that, everybody wanted to go. And that’s why I said no. Because I knew I’d be missing three or four wrestlers in the morning, and there were no mobile phones back then to track someone quickly.
Another time, on a tour of Ireland, two stars who shall remain nameless were arrested. We were in one of the nicest hotels we’ve ever booked. They had a bar in the lobby just for the people staying there, which was perfect for us to unwind in and not be bothered by anyone. There was also a nightclub in the basement that was open to everyone. People staying in the hotel could go in without having to wait in line. The line outside to get in was a few blocks long. After two hours, the booze started to talk and some people began testing the wrestlers. One of the top stars . . . told them off. I tried to calm him and another wrestler down and bring everyone upstairs to the other bar, so that no one would bother us. Sadly I had no success.
I told the two men not to get in trouble and I left.
I guess what had to happen happened. They got into a fight; they went to jail. I was in charge of the tour so the police called me in the morning to ask if I wanted to come and get my friends.
“No, let them take care of their own business.”
It was always a pain in the ass on European tours — getting guys up and on time for the bus so we could make the next town or take the next plane sometimes seemed impossible. I had to pinch myself on many mornings; it was as if I was working with Ray Stevens all over again. Incredibly, I’ve had to help guys pack their bags and, occasionally, even help them get dressed. The worst case of all happened in Belgium.
I was napping on the second floor of the hotel. Everyone in the hallways around me was politely speaking French when suddenly I heard someone screaming, in English, “You motherfucker, you piece of shit.” It had to be one of my guys. I went downstairs in my bare feet.
One of our most popular tag-team wrestlers, who shall also remain nameless, was cursing the front-desk clerk, holding him by his tie, because they couldn’t dial home. Steve Lombardi had come down as well, and he was able to calm the guys after telling them that he would go to their room and show them how to telephone home from Europe. The poor clerk could not understand what they were saying because he didn’t speak any English. As I was going back to my room, guess who came out of the elevator covered in blood? Another wrestler, of course.
“What happened to you?”
“Nothing.”
Nothing, my ass. He had gotten into a fight with someone who worked for WWE behind the scenes. Everything that could go wrong in that hotel went wrong. A few people even had to be let go when we came back from that tour in the late 1980s.
Being the boss on those trips was never fun.
Of course, not everything was tragic on tour. One night in France, we were in a town called Clermont, ironically. It was our last night in Europe and it was far from a full house. So I told the talent to keep the show moving, since we had an early flight in the morning. “Let’s get out of here healthy and quickly,” I said.
Before the main event, Bret Hart didn’t want to go out because they had played Macho Man’s music instead of his. I insisted he had to go to the ring anyway. He wound up being a good sport about it, even impersonating Macho Man in the ring to make light of the situation. Now that was funny.
Today, the guys are a bunch of angels compared to when I was in charge of the tours. They all say “yes, sir” and they listen.
But the truth is we didn’t need to be outside of North America for a situation to take a turn for the worse.
I guess some of you will want me to give you my take on the British Bulldogs’ fight with the Rougeau brothers in the dressing room. Dynamite Kid had slapped Jacques Rougeau in the dressing room a few weeks earlier, accusing him of being about to stooge him off to the office. Back in those days, the wrestlers always found a way to get even when they felt disrespected in front of their peers. Yes, I was there for the receipt. And let me tell you, it frustrates me that I got mixed up in all of that shit. Jacques and Raymond chose that moment to retaliate. Many of the wrestlers had already made up their minds and believed that all Quebecers were “Pat Patterson guys,” and this incident didn’t help matters. The fact was, as I’ve said, Vince wanted to control the Montréal market so the company brought in the biggest stars from Québec it could sign. We did the same thing everywhere.
I had heard rumors that there were issues between the two sides, but nothing to prepare me for what happened. When they pulled everyone apart after the fight, some people said I was in on it. I had to go to the Bulldogs and tell them I had no idea it was coming. It made me look very bad, and it was a complete coincidence that the Rougeaus and I started talking at that very moment. According to some of the stories out there, they u
sed our spur-of-the-moment conversation as a diversion. Raymond Rougeau made sure I could not move in to break things up by holding me against the wall. Vince understood and he knew that if I had been involved, I would have told him. I will give Jacques credit for one thing: he threw one hell of a punch at Dynamite. There was blood everywhere. He almost broke Dynamite’s jaw, and the Bulldog had to see a dentist afterwards. For a few seconds, it was hell on earth. That story became famous as one of the first backstage fights to be discussed publicly. I sure wish I had not been in the middle of it, just like I wish that story was something only insiders talked about.
No matter what, I’ve always known that being a wrestler is the greatest job in the world. I knew it for the first time on July 18, 1956, when wrestling brought 23,227 people to the Delorimier Stadium in Montreal. You see, I was there when Édouard Carpentier battled Antonino Rocca in the main event with Yvon Robert as the referee. It was a very good match, but in the end Carpentier got himself disqualified and people were booing. I was young and I was supposed to be selling soft drinks at that show . . . I didn’t sell much soda, but I sure saw the match. From that moment on, I wanted to do what the wrestlers did: make people happy. That’s probably why my favorite people to work with behind the scenes are those who share that kind of experience or feel the same way — even if they make fun of me about it unmercifully.
Mick Foley and The Rock always teased me because I would say nut instead of nuts, banana instead of bananas. I get excited sometimes, and I speak too fast. I’ll never forget the night I gave Rock a suggestion for a match and finished by saying, “If you do that, they’re going to go banana.”
Dwayne started laughing.
“What’s the matter?”
“Pat, there are ten thousand people. They’re going to go bananas.”
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