More Than Just Hardcore

by Terry Funk

  Some of the ECW characters were just nuts. I remember a show where Bill Alfonso, the manager of Sabu and Rob Van Dam, broke his arm. He went to a grocery store across the street, pulled a bunch of cans down on himself, fell on the floor and said he’d broken his arm there. On second thought, I might not be remembering that right. If that were true (and I’m not saying it is), he could possibly get into some trouble. If it were true.

  But there weren’t many options for the guys. ECW didn’t exactly have a hospitalization plan.

  All through this period, whether I was working in ECW and FMW, or doing shows for WCW, or taking acting jobs, I never subjected myself to the kind of travel schedule Id had in much of the 1980s. I stayed busy, but I always made sure I was striking more of a balance, allowing myself to be with the family more.

  My last stretch for ECW was in late 1998, after I left the WWF for a second time (relax, we’ll get to it). They put me in a short program with Tommy Dreamer. For the first time in a long time, I was a heel there.

  Paul E. had just wanted me to come in for a short pop. We worked a deal where I went nuts and attacked Tommy over and over, but he didn’t want to fight back because I was his hardcore wrestling hero. Of course, he ultimately kicked my ass as he became ECW’s big babyface.

  It was a shame ECW couldn’t make it, because Paul E. had a little school going, run by one of the best guys you could have training wrestlers—Peter Serneca, a.k.a. Taz. He taught those young guys a tremendous amount of respect for the business and for the guys who came before. Taz understood that you have to appreciate the heritage of our business, and that the past was important. His methods of taking things very seriously, instilling a sense of history and respect for the toughness of the other guys working a physical style were very similar to the way the Japanese trained their young wrestlers. And it wasn’t just him playing some character; that was how he really felt. He was also an excellent evalua-tor of talent. He knew what made a good wrestler, and he believed in wrestling hard. He would have it no other way.

  When I was around the young guys in ECW, I used to get tired of them calling me “Sir,” but Taz would make them do it. It really kind of pissed me off! And he had them calling me “Mr. Funk.” Well, I don’t like being called “mister,” and especially not after I reached the age of 50. But that was the respect Taz demanded of his students.

  Between the original generation of ECW stars and the Taz students, Paul E. had groomed some new names and faces to be the top stars of ECW. One of them was Rob Van Dam, who worked a lot as a heel in 1996 and 1997 but became too popular with the people to keep him that way. Rob was, and still is, an incredibly talented individual. He really is one of the most creative wrestlers I’ve seen. He also shared with Sabu an understanding that you have to sell the high-impact stuff in the ring for it to mean anything. Watch him on Smackdown! even today. When he hits that frog splash off the top rope, he rolls around for a second, to show you that spectacular move hurts him, too! Who else does that?

  Sabu and Van Dam were both trained by The Sheik, and you can tell they learned together, because they both have a lot of the same wonderful characteristics in that ring. The only problem I see is, some of the younger guys watch Sabu and Van Dam, but they just watch the maneuvers. They don’t watch their selling capabilities.

  That last time I worked for ECW, in late 1998 against Tommy, I saw ECW was trying to branch out into new areas, and within a year, they’d be on the cable network TNN (now called Spike TV).

  For them, it was a “do or die” situation. They had to take the chance. I think if ECW could have moved to an area like San Antonio and the surrounding towns in Texas, it might have made it. The company’s base wouldn’t have been in the East Coast, an area saturated with wrestling. There was a good base of fans in Philadelphia, but I think they would have been better off running in the old Southwest territory.

  Truthfully, I’m surprised no one ever made a serious run based out of Texas. The isolation of the area is perfect for growth of a wrestling company. There are some tremendous population bases, close enough that travel expenses would be less, especially with Southwest Airlines and the $50 hops they offer from place to place. One of the most extreme things about ECW’s latter days was the amount of money they were paying to go from Philadelphia to a show in Florida. Expanding into Florida and New Orleans sounded great, but the travel expenses made it not very cost efficient.

  There’s enough population here in Texas to build a base, and there are plenty of towns that can handle having a wrestling TV show. It’s untapped potential in my mind. And Texans would make great fans for a regional promotion like that, with the right market penetration, because all Texans are just naturally proud of our state.

  Can’t you just see it? “This is Texas RASSLIN’, by God!”

  I know a lot of guys want to be tied to the big population center up there, but that big center is pretty saturated with independents, and it’s in the big boys’ back yard. There’s also more expense flying in talent from all over, all to the Northeast than there would be in a more central location.

  But Tod Gordon and Paul E., they were tied to that area, because that was where they were from. They were attached to it, the same way Jim Comette was attached to the Smoky Mountain area, the same way I’m tied to Amarillo.

  And so ECW ceased to be in January of 2001. But it left a huge impression in the wrestling business, in terms of its style that the big two companies borrowed, and in terms of its talent. Vince McMahon has gotten a lot of use out of ECW wrestlers. It was, in a way, the Ohio Valley Wrestling of its time, but for most of its existence, ECW continued to manufacture talent. ECW turned out to be the greatest proving ground for talent the WWF ever had.

  CHAPTER 26

  Beyond

  Beyond the Mat

  I was at an independent show in Las Vegas in 1997, working for a guy named T.C. Martin, when I met Barry Blaustein.

  Martin’s little independent group was actually doing pretty well and getting an ever-improving following among the Las Vegas locals. Unfortunately, T.C. decided he should be the star of the show despite the fact that he wasn’t a trained wrestler. Pretty soon he became the play-by-play announcer. Then he became the ring announcer. Then he became the guy walking to and from the ring and managing the guys. Pretty soon he was all over the place, and it didn’t take long for people to get sick of him and stop going to his shows.

  Realists are few and far between in this business, and T.C. was not one of those rare ones. Of course, if everyone in the business was a realist, there would be no business.

  Barry and I had actually originally met in 1978, when we were both guests on The Merv Griffin Show. I was on the show with Sly Stallone, plugging the movie. Richard Simmons was on the show, too, as filler, almost, coming in for the last two minutes of the show. This was before Richard made it big, and I remember looking at him and thinking, “Who is this little jerk? He’ll never amount to anything!”

  And now, he’s the richest little jerk in the country!

  Anyway, Merv asked me to demonstrate the sleeper hold on one of his writers.

  Merv looked offstage and said, “OK, come on out here.” And here came Barry Blaustein.

  I said, so everyone could hear me, “All right, just pinch my leg when you start to feel yourself going under.”

  So of course I put him all the way out. And he pinched the hell out of my leg, too! Several times!

  Barry never forgot that initial meeting and reminded me of it when he ran into me at the show in Las Vegas. He was with a mutual friend of ours, another Barry—Hollywood agent Barry Bloom. Barry Bloom had been a friend of Arthur Chobanion’s, and was around when I was first talking about going on the Wildside show in 1984. Barry Bloom just kind of stepped in and handled all the contract stuff for me, without an agent’s fee or anything. He just did it to help me because he liked me.

  Blaustein told me he was working on a documentary about wrestling, and he asked me if Id appe
ar in it. I told him I would. I knew it was a documentary and never expected a penny out of it. I just agreed to help.

  Blaustein ended up filming the events leading up to my latest retirement match, at a show called 50 Years of Funk, celebrating the anniversary of my father’s 1947 debut in the city. It was set for September 11, 1997, and was to be my last match in Amarillo. In my mind, I needed another reason besides the “50 years” to make the show a special one, one worth promoting, so I announced it would be my last match in Amarillo. I never intended to retire altogether, even then. I just wanted one last reason to do big business in Amarillo.

  That show had some incredible talent, from Japan, ECW and even the WWF. They were guys I knew or had worked with, like the Hart family in Calgary. I asked Bret Hart to come in, and he OKed it with Vince. Vince also OKed my good friend Mick Foley working the show as Mankind, his WWF persona.

  One of the more memorable scenes in the movie is one where I’m talking with Dennis Stamp, a former wrestler in the area who I’ve known since the mid-1960s. Dennis was telling me he had wanted a match on the show, and was refusing my request for him to referee my main event against Bret Hart, although he finally agreed to do it. I’ve had questions about it from people who think Dennis was working for the camera’s benefit, so let me set things straight. That whole conversation was 100 percent real.

  Once I realized his feelings had been hurt, I really did regret not having him on the show, because he was exactly the kind of guy I was doing that show for. I was doing it for my friends, for the guys who had wrestled around there, the guys I liked. I really did want Dennis to be a part of it, and I was glad when he finally said, “OK.”

  Dennis was actually one of my first tag-team partners, when I wrestled for Verne Gagne’s AWA in Minnesota. He came down to Amarillo in the mid-1970s and has been here ever since. These days he has a pretty successful bug-spraying business. Dennis was actually a good wrestler, with some amateur wrestling background. He was a solid worker and did not rely on gimmicks, or anything. He believed that straight wrestling was the way to go. To this day, he’s very involved with amateur wrestling in the youth leagues. He referees matches and just loves working with kids. He’s a very good legitimate, amateur wrestling referee. He takes a great deal of pride in it, and he should.

  Dennis was also an excellent referee for my match with Bret. He was in perfect position for everything.

  I worked hard promoting this show. I went to one of the TV stations in town and got ECW on the air, for about six weeks before our show. That wasn’t a lot of lead time, but it helped to establish who those guys were, so people would know them a little when they came here.

  I had well over $35,000 invested in the show, and we ended up grossing about $45,000 on it. As you can see, even under the best of circumstances, an independent promotion is not an easy row to hoe. I think a lot of people who try to become independent promoters have no idea about the expenses involved. As time goes by it gets more expensive. The expenses are unbelievable, especially when you’re running spot shows, as opposed to a regular territory, because of the costs of transportation for the talent.

  Thirty years ago or more, a promoter would never want to drive a nice car up to a newspaper building. He wanted to drive an old, beat-up car and go in and beg for what he could get for free.

  You have to think about your venue. Nowadays, you look at these independent guys running spot shows. It seems like they all want to run Philadelphia. How are you going to buy advertising in the newspaper for your show? It’ll cost an arm and a leg!

  On the other hand, there are plenty of good-sized markets that aren’t the biggest cities in the country, but they’re places where WWE hasn’t run too much and where you can go and beg to the newspaper, because you can afford their ads. You can afford the radio spots. Amarillo was a pretty good-sized market that fit that description at that time.

  And I was very pleased with the 50 Years of Funk show. One of the things I was most pleased with was that I got to work with Bret Hart.

  Bret Hart was my first choice for an opponent at the show, because of his in-ring talent and because of his status in the business. I also wanted him as an opponent to make him a part of it because I loved that family.

  When I asked Bret to do the show, he said, “OK. Just send me an airplane ticket.”

  It was just that simple. Bret was another second-generation wrestler, and he was a very good businessman and a very sharp wrestler. Sometimes younger guys forget that having knowledge of the business and working smart means more than all the tanned muscles in the world. In order to be someone who consistently puts people in seats, you have to be sharp.

  And I should stop again here and respond to something from Ric Flair’s book, where he called Bret a mediocre wrestling talent.

  I think Bret Hart was an excellent worker. He had a great feel for the crowds and had as much athletic ability as anyone, and he had a good mind for the business. Bret was a creator of moves and a real innovator. I think his and Jim Neidhart’s matches against Dynamite Kid and Davey Boy Smith were some of the best tag-team matches I’ve ever seen in the States. Again, I’m totally at odds with Ric in his assessment of Bret Hart.

  For 50 Years of Funk, Bret, the WWF champion, was open to anything— including me beating him! That right there should tell you what kind of a guy Bret Hart is. However, I thought it would be ridiculous for an old fart like me to beat the champion.

  I said, “Let’s do something no one is expecting.”

  And I think the match was accepted better with Bret beating me in the middle of the ring than it would have been if I’d beaten him, because it was “50 Years of Funk.” It was known that I was promoting it. It was known that this would be my last match in Amarillo. So what are you going to think as a fan?

  You’ll think, “Oh, it’s his show, so you know he’s going to win the thing.”

  Our match was actually the first time I had ever worked with Bret. His dad, Stu Hart, and much of the Hart family came down for the match, too, and I really enjoyed seeing them again.

  We had a moment of silence on the show for Fritz Von Erich, who had passed away the day before. Fritz had brain cancer, and so we all knew it was coming. It was a still a sad moment on the show, though, especially for me, remembering that Fritz was the guy who put himself in the hot seat by picking me to be world’s champion, after it was a tie among all the other members.

  Just about two months after the show, Bret’s tenure with the WWF came to an ugly end in Montreal. Vince had told Bret he couldn’t afford his contract and freed Bret up to go to WCW The only problem was, Bret was still Vince’s champion. Bret was willing to lose the belt before he left, but the two of them couldn’t agree on a scenario, so Vince finally came up with a deal where Bret would go on TV and just give up the belt, say his farewells and go to WCW.

  Of course that’s not what happened. Vince had Bret and Shawn Michaels (his real-life enemy, not just a foe in the ring) in a match in Montreal, as part of the WWF’s 1997 pay per view “Survivor Series.” At about what was supposed to be the halfway point of the match, Shawn clamped Bret’s own sharpshooter hold on him, and before Bret could react, referee Earl Hebner called for the bell, as if he’d given up. Shawn got the belt and ran off, and Bret was furious.

  I thought it was a lousy deal, the way it came down, but it was nothing that I didn’t expect. Vince was looking at WCW getting one of his top guys, regardless of how that came about, and Vince wanted to protect his company.

  It just goes to show, you’d better be leery in this business. Anyone in as strong a situation as that one was has got to be ready for the worst, and not put himself in harm’s way. Bret trusted the wrong people, and he probably should have known better. He gave them his trust, and he expected them to keep it, because he had always kept their trust. But they didn’t keep his, and that was wrong.

  But you have to understand, Vince and his crew were also going to do everything they could to protect
their livelihood. When all that comes together, trust is sometimes lost, but it’s lost out of a perceived business necessity. Trust, honor and integrity all go down the tubes when you’re talking about the lifeblood of your organization.

  As close as Vince and Bret had been, I think something should have been worked out ahead of time. Maybe it just couldn’t have been.

  But you have to look at it through two sets of eyes—the wrestler’s and the promoter’s. From Vince’s point of view, there was a fear that if he didn’t do something drastic he could end up in worse trouble than he already was in. I guess he figured that protecting his company was worth breaking his word to Bret.

  In the end, businesswise, it might not have been a bad decision on Vince’s part, but I think Vince was totally wrong in what he did to Bret. Shawn Michaels was also wrong for his part in it. Bret might not have been 100 percent in the right, but I have to go with Bret on that one, and not just because he is my friend. Bret got done wrong because he tried to do right. He could have just walked out on the company as soon as he signed with WCW, but he wanted to work through his notice, because he felt like that was his obligation.

  That’s the thing about giving notice. You’re leaving yourself wide open for someone to take a shot or do something to damage your credibility.

  But if I was in Shawn Michaels’s shoes, it would have been a tough decision to make. Hopefully I would have made a different decision, and I think I would have, but I can see where Shawn made the decision he did, because not going along with the plan might have meant the end of his career, at least in the WWF. At least 10 other guys on the card that night probably would have done the same thing Michaels did. I guess I’m just from a different era.