Shooters

by Jonathan Snowden

  Ali almost backing out changed the tone of the event in the final days leading into the match. What had been a laid-back affair took on a different demeanor entirely. The press covering the bout seemed to note the change. In the New York Times on the day of the fight, reporter Andrew Malcolm quoted no less than four people talking about how serious the bout had become. Interest in Tokyo was fierce. Ringside seats were going for $1,000. Tickets just to see Ali work out were $175. Sparring partner Jimmy Ellis crystallized what most were thinking. “Ali’s been in combat so many times and they’ve been for real,” Ellis said. “A lot of Inoki’s have been fake.”

  INOKI’S FEARSOME KNEEDROP, PAUNCHED FROM THE TOP TURNBUCKLE ON STAN HANSEN

  © BOB LEONARD

  What followed was an amazing 15-round affair. Inoki devised an extraordinary strategy, dropping immediately to the ground in a crab-like position and spending 45 minutes pot-shotting the boxer’s legs. Ali landed only five punches the whole fight. By contrast, Inoki scored with 64 kicks to the leg, some of them hard and stinging, even knocking the boxer down on several occasions. Although no one outside the kickboxing community really understood the power of leg kicks in 1976, the effects on Ali were obvious. He was limping by the end of the bout and had no idea how to defend against the technique.

  Fans in 37 countries wished they could have joined the crowd at Budokan in booing the display. The boos started as early as the second round and by the end of the night the crowd was furious. Sports Illustrated, on the scene for the bout, noted it wasn’t phony. But that was the only nice thing they had to say:

  It was more like a tea ceremony, or watching a man getting a haircut, than a fight.

  Inoki turned out to be a fraud of the first rank — not even a good illusionist, as some are in his trade. He was just an ordinary wrestler with a good pair of legs and a lot of money with which to accommodate his strange whims, one of which was to challenge Ali. For 15 rounds he moved around the ring on his back — like a crab with his belly up. For his part, Ali clowned, sticking his tongue out and gesturing to Inoki to stand up and punch with him, meanwhile staying close to the safety of the ropes. The rules said Ali could stop the action — action? — by grabbing the ropes. The scene left one to meditate on his own sanity and the Japanese word wakarimasen, which means “I can’t understand.”

  Throughout the match Ali taunted Inoki to no avail. “Inoki sissy . . . Inoki fight like a girl,” the champ roared. But over and over again Inoki flopped to the mat and made mincemeat of Ali’s legs. Ali’s legs were so bruised and battered that his personal doctor Ferdie Pacheco was concerned the bruises could easily become blood clots. His match with Inoki, supposed to be a farce of an evening and the easiest $6 million a man had ever made, had lasting effects on his career.

  “I wouldn’t have done this fight,” Ali told reporters in his dressing room after the fight, “if I’d known he was going to do that. Nobody knew this was going to happen. So we had a dead show. It all proved boxers are so superior to wrestlers. He didn’t stand up and fight like a man. If he’d gotten in range, I’d have burned him but good.”

  The match had immediate effects on both men’s careers. Ali was more injured from Inoki’s assault than anyone knew at the time. He left Tokyo to go on a USO tour entertaining troops in South Korea. It was a mistake. When he returned to Santa Monica, California, he was forced to check into St. John’s Hospital with blood clots in his legs. His boxing career, already on a downhill slide, was never the same.

  For Inoki, the effects of the match were more financial than physical. He had wanted to ride the wave of the bout to worldwide fame and fortune. Instead, he was a laughingstock. Although in the immediate aftermath he announced he was satisfied with his performance, after several months of weak box office gates for his New Japan Pro-Wrestling promotion he began to have second thoughts.

  “I think perhaps last summer I was too serious,” Inoki said. “I was doing my best to win. It wasn’t a fake fight or it would have been more interesting. I think I should have stood up more and taken a beating from Ali even if it led to my defeat. Then, at least, that way the audience would have enjoyed it more.”

  In 1977 Inoki went public, blaming the ridiculous rules for the dull match and suing Ali in Tokyo District court, seeking $743,333 for financial losses. Inoki proposed an out- of-court settlement: one more match. But despite offering to meet any wrestler in the world in the immediate aftermath of the Inoki fight, Ali had moved on. Inoki, it seems, wasn’t the only one who suffered financially from the whole debacle. Ali, who had been promised $6 million, only ended up collecting $2.1 million due to a strange contract that paid in tiers. Ali was guaranteed $3 million by New Japan Pro-Wrestling and their Lincoln National Productions partners. Some of that money, the Japanese contingent explained, was paid in the form of a tax credit. Ali was also promised the first $3 million Top Rank collected for the closed circuit broadcast in America. With a net of just $1 million, that wasn’t going to be easy. It was a mess, one that Ali’s manager Herbert Muhammad said had an easy solution going forward: “It confirms my principle of getting all the money in the bank ahead of time. I didn’t do it this time.”

  While the match wasn’t a financial boon for anyone, despite drawing $2.5 million at the gate and an amazing 46.0 rating on Japanese television, it did receive worldwide attention. Even royalty knew about the bout, as witnesssed by Ali’s trip to England later in the year. According to Time magazine, Queen Elizabeth herself was familiar with the details of the contest: “After a dinner . . . at the British Embassy that night, the Queen displayed a rather thorough knowledge of the sporting world during a reception for 1,400 guests. ‘How are you feeling?’ she asked boxer Muhammad Ali, who was still limping from Japanese Wrestler Antonio Inoki’s bruising kicks in their recent bout. ‘Which leg was hurt the worst?’ It was his left, and it was getting better.”

  For Inoki, time healed all wounds. What was once a legendary debacle became a legendary triumph. He had faced the best boxer in the world with his hands essentially tied behind his back — and survived. With his manager Shinma’s help he rebuilt his tough guy reputation with a series of mixed matches with other martial arts stars like “Monster Man” Everett Eddy, Willie Williams, boxer Chuck Wepner, “Bad News” Allen Coage and a host of others. Eventually Inoki was as popular as ever and he even came full circle with Ali, who made the long journey to Japan for Inoki’s wrestling retirement in 1998. Just as importantly, he influenced a new generation of wrestlers, one that would take Inoki’s desire for legitimacy to a whole new level. Back in America the real wrestlers were almost entirely absent from the scene. But at least one remained — and unlike most of his amateur peers, Jack Brisco had dreamed his whole life of being a pro wrestling champion.

  17

  BRISCO: The Last of His Kind

  Young men grow up with a lot of different dreams: to be a cowboy, an astronaut, even president of the United States. For Jack Brisco, the dream was always to be the world heavyweight champion.

  “I wanted to be a pro wrestler since I was in high school. I followed Danny Hodge very closely of course, having grown up in Oklahoma and I wanted to be just like Danny,” Brisco said. “A lot of amateurs didn’t like it, but I was a huge wrestling fan. We used to go to the corner drug store every Saturday to look at the wrestling magazines. My favorite was Lou Thesz. I always liked reading about Lou and his travels around the world. It made it seem like an exciting business to be in. I owe my career to those two guys.”

  Brisco went to Oklahoma State where his career got off to a bang — and then fell completely off the tracks. After winning the freshman title, he had gotten married and had a child. He took two years off to find work and save money, eventually returning as a junior. He lost only once in two years of amateur wrestling competition, falling short in the 1964 NCAA Finals against Harry Houska at 191 pounds. In 1965, he went unde
feated and scored three consecutive pinfalls to win the NCAA title.

  After that, there was another title on Brisco’s mind. He had idolized Thesz, and despite wrestling at just 191 pounds in college, it was the heavyweight gold he had on his mind, not the junior title. Like most Oklahomans, Brisco got his start in the wrestling business in what would later be called the Mid-South territory.

  “Within just a few months of being broken into the business by Leroy McGuirk, I was wrestling my hero Danny Hodge all over the Oklahoma territory,” Brisco said. “Danny treated me like I was a veteran professional and everything went real good. We even made some money even though I didn’t know much about that yet. McGuirk’s was a great territory to start in because it was all old timers, guys Leroy remembered from before he lost his vision. It helped me learn a lot real quickly.”

  Early in his career Brisco felt untouchable. He was cocky around the other boys according to some, because he knew no one could touch him. Danny Hodge quickly showed him otherwise, pulling him out of the car they were traveling in together and walloping him, teaching the young wrestling star that as tough as you are, there’s always someone tougher. For Brisco, that man was Hodge and years later Bill Watts says the world champion was still wary of the junior heavyweight star:

  “Bill,” he said, “if he hurts me, I’m walking out of the ring.”

  I said, “Jack, you’ve been telling people for years that you can beat him.”

  “Yeah,” he said, “but you know that’s bullshit.”

  Before 1965 was over he was already a champion, winning the NWA Missouri junior heavyweight title from Don Kent that October. Brisco was another wrestling natural and his flowing black hair, good looks, and amateur background made for a perfect babyface.

  JACK BRISCO, NWA WORLD HEAVYWEIGHT CHAMPION

  © BOB LEONARD

  Despite his rapid climb, Brisco wasn’t an overnight success on the national level. He struggled in Tennessee for Nick Gulas and only had mixed success in Texas for Fritz Von Erich. Despite his amateur credentials he was a glorified job guy for Dory Funk Sr. in Amarillo, the beginning of bad blood between Brisco and the Funks that broiled for years.

  “I thought about quitting, I really did,” Brisco said. “Old man Funk just had it out for me. They spent weeks building me up, talking about my credentials. Then he had Junior beat me all over the territory in about two minutes. Then I went around the circuit with Terry and it was the same results. Then it got worse. I was NCAA champion and he wanted me to be a referee instead of a wrestler. He just didn’t care for me I guess. He didn’t think he owed me any explanation.”

  Even after being taken under the wing of former world champion Lou Thesz, it wasn’t until he went to Florida for Eddie Graham that things really fell into place for Brisco. Graham was one of the most respected promoters in wrestling and took a liking to Brisco immediately.

  “Eddie was great. Eddie was probably more instrumental in helping my career than anybody. Eddie taught me the figure-four leglock,” Brisco said in an interview with the Wrestling Perspective newsletter. “That’s the hold Eddie used for his finish. Before TV one day, Eddie got me down on the floor in the dressing room and taught me how to do the figure-four. . . . I used it in that TV match. It was onwards and upwards from there.”

  With Graham behind him, the future was suddenly awfully bright for Brisco. Terry Funk wrote that Brisco owes much to his powerful benefactor: “While Jack was a great worker, it was Eddie Graham who made him what he was. Eddie, Jack’s biggest supporter, was the great manipulator, and he groomed Jack to where Jack had to be a star. Eddie was the right mind to get behind Jack’s push. Eddie was capable of seeing Jack’s potential and knowing how to get the most out of him.”

  Bill Watts agreed: “Brisco was a middle-of-the-road guy at best on the cards he wrestled before meeting Eddie. His talent hadn’t been developed, and he was very limited in exposure when Eddie found him, brought him into Florida, and started grooming him. Eddie was the one who saw his talent.”

  Family Feud: Funks vs. Briscos

  The Funks were also a huge part of Brisco’s rise to prominence. In Florida, Brisco challenged Dory Funk Jr. for his world title for the first time in 1969. The two would become Florida’s hottest attraction, soon taking their act all over the country. As Dave Meltzer explained, being a part of wrestling families (Jack’s brother Gerry joined the business that year) made booking compelling programs a snap:

  The advantage of Funk Jr. being world champion and being part of a wrestling family was established at this point. After Brisco followed it up with his first win over Funk Jr., in a non-title match, as well as pinning Jr. in a tag team match, and being on the verge of beating him in another 60:00 draw, both his father, Dory Sr., billed as the undefeated king of the Texas death matches, and his younger brother, Terry, came into Florida numerous times. The storyline was that Sr. put up a $10,000 bounty for anyone who could cleanly defeat Brisco in a match, and thus knock him out of the No. 1 contender spot. Sr. himself came in, for Texas death matches, and Brisco got over as not only being a great technical wrestler, but as a tough brawler to the local fans, by beating the king of the Texas death matches at his own game.

  Terry really established himself as a big-time player during this run, as he was the key opponent during a period where Brisco headlined 13 straight weeks of selling out the 5,500-seat Armory in Tampa. Terry would continually try, without success, to get the win that would enable Dory Jr. to avoid Brisco in a rematch. Or Brisco would beat other top stars with the same goal in mind, pinning Brisco to knocking him off the No. 1 contender perch, or injuring him, to collect Sr.’s bounty. The matches also frequently sold out the rest of the territory. It was the most successful run in the history of the territory up to that point in time.

  While the two Funk brothers were both world champion-level stars, Jack was the clear standout in his wrestling family. “My brother was a tremendous influence on my career and my life,” Gerald Brisco said. “Jack was sort of my father figure and my brother figure at the same time. He got into amateur wrestling then I got involved in amateur wrestling. He got into professional wrestling and then I came along in professional wrestling. . . . Of course the feud with the Funk brothers was a natural tie-in. Them being from Texas and us being from Oklahoma — there was always that natural rivalry.”

  The wrestling world took notice of this compelling program and soon it was being repeated all over the Southeast. It was also Brisco’s ticket to the next level, making him a national star.

  “I was starting to get name recognition all over the country, [especially] up the southeastern coast,” Jack Brisco remembered. “The Florida Championship Wrestling tape was real popular. It went through the Carolinas, Florida, up and down the coast. I was getting quite a name for myself without really realizing it. Sometimes the tapes were going further up north. They were also going into St. Louis. I ended up going to St. Louis to work for a month. After working a couple of matches there, I began selling out the Kiel Auditorium.”

  Brisco spent years chasing Dory Funk Jr. for the title. The two wrestled hundreds of times, often to 60-minute time limit draws. Finally, in 1973 it was Brisco’s turn to pin Funk’s shoulders to the mat. But suddenly, according to wrestling historian Ed “Phantom of the Ring” Garea, the Funks were having second thoughts about putting Jack over. The NWA board chose Brisco over Harley Race to be the next world champion. The match was scheduled for March 2, 1973, in Houston, where promoter Paul Boesch spent weeks pushing Brisco strong on television. But Dory Jr. no-showed the match at the last minute, claiming an injured shoulder suffered at his ranch in Texas. When Funk returned to action, he dropped the belt to Race instead of Brisco and all hell broke loose behind the scenes.

  Funk Sr. had been one of two promoters who voted against Brisco being given the strap. In Brisco’s mind, this was Senior’s way of sending a message to the
National Wrestling Alliance. Brisco might end up with the title, but he wouldn’t be winning it from a Funk. Senior was very protective of his sons and didn’t want Dory losing to a fellow technician like Brisco. That would be tantamount to admitting someone else was the better wrestler — something the Funks didn’t intend to do, no matter how long Jack had chased Dory for the title. When he lost, it would be to a heel and there would be chicanery involved.

  Brisco eventually beat Race that July to claim a brand new world title belt to replace the tattered classic, but he still held a grudge over the four months he spent without the title. To prepare for his reign, he had traveled to all the major territories and lost matches to their big stars. That, the NWA felt, would provide hot matches for his first swing through each territory. When he didn’t win the belt, those carefully laid out plans went to waste.

  Many in the business were skeptical of the Funks, and in St. Louis they remembered Dory Sr. using a car accident at the ranch as an excuse for missing an important match in 1965. But in his autobiography, Terry Funk makes clear there was an accident, while not shying away from the fact that there was a lot going on behind the scenes as well:

  First, there was a wreck. I saw the truck. The hood ornament was slightly twisted, and there was a little dent in the right front bumper. Junior even had to comb his hair, because it had gotten mussed!

  No, I’m just being silly, but that’s what the Briscos seemed to assume. The truth is, the truck was totally torn up, and Junior was hurt. . . .