With the WWF World Tag titles firmly around our waists after SummerSlam, we hit the road for a couple months of obligatory rematches with Sags and Knobbs. In October, we went over to London, England, for a series of shows, one of which was against Power & Glory at the famous Royal Albert Hall near Hyde Park in Westminster.
Before the match, Paul Roma came up to me and said he wanted to have a quick word. “Animal, it’s about the Doomsday Device.” He looked worried. “I don’t mind taking a finish that everyone will be happy with, but I don’t want to go up for that thing again.” Paul continued to explain that when he took the Doomsday back at WrestleMania VII he landed awkwardly and it scared the shit out of him. I perfectly understood.
Many guys were afraid of our finish, and in most of the cases, as with Paul, we came up with an alternative. Nine times out of ten, if you saw us taking a victory in those days without using the Doomsday Device, it was to cater to someone’s fear. When the time came for us to win this match, I simply caught Paul from a dive off the top and flipped him over for a powerslam.
When we got back to the United States, I was happy to see another show scheduled at Madison Square Garden. New York City was the absolute pinnacle of wrestling for the WWF, and whenever you went there it was electricity beyond belief. This time, though, the electricity wasn’t provided by our match, the crowd, or Con Ed.
You see, around the time of SummerSlam, none other than “Nature Boy” Ric Flair joined us in the WWF after finally being fired from WCW by Jim Herd. When Ric came in, it was like a breath of fresh air, and I couldn’t wait to see how he’d shake things up. Well, after the show at MSG, Flair indeed got right into the mix the old-fashioned way.
Anyone who knew Ric knew he was the twenty-four-hour life of the party. Whether in the club, restaurant, hotel room, yacht, or airplane at 30,000 feet, you could rest assured that Flair was dancing with a drink in his hand, sometimes clothed and sometimes completely Nature Boy under one of his $5000 sequined robes. Sometimes when he’d had a few too many cocktails, which was often, Ric would get into fights, too.
After the MSG show was over, a bunch of the boys, including me, went to the China Club on West 47th Street. I was quietly hanging out in a booth with Mike Enos (Blake Beverly from the Beverly Brothers) when, out of nowhere, a big commotion broke out and a crowd formed near the bar. It was Flair and the Nasty Boys.
Ric had slapped Knobbs across the face. When Sags saw what was going on, he ran right over and socked Flair in the eye. All I knew was that I was never one for getting my ass in trouble with the cops, so Enos and I bailed and got a cab. The next day, all the boys were talking about Flair and the Nasties; it was classic pro wrestling bedlam. Man, was it ever good to have the Nature Boy back into the “swing” of things.
In November at Survivor Series ’91 in Detroit, we teamed with our old buddy Big Bossman against I.R.S. (the guy I knew better as the accident-prone Mike Rotunda) and the Natural Disasters, Earthquake and Typhoon. Earthquake was actually a guy named John Tenta, and Hawk and I had actually wrestled him a couple of times in Japan back in the ’80s. Tenta was a legit six feet five, weighed around 450 pounds, and was a Japanese trained sumo wrestler. One look at Earthquake in the locker room and I knew he’d been eating his Wheaties. And everything else, for that matter. He was huge.
Hawk and I scored the pin and the victory of the match by welcoming Rotunda into the WWF with the Doomsday Device, a move he was more than familiar with from our days together in WCW.
The match was actually a setup for our new tag feud with the Natural Disasters, which we’d be involved with for the next few months into 1992. But before all of that, the entire WWF roster converged upon the state of Texas for a series of TV tapings in early December.
After the show we did in San Antonio on the third, I finally got a chance to hang out with none other than Vince McMahon, who decided to check out what we were all up to. We were at a strip club in San Antonio called The Yellow Rose having a bite and unwinding in privacy. Davey Boy Smith, Warlord, and I always ate at strip joints after the shows because they filtered out the majority of crazed autograph seekers, who were mostly under twenty-one. I don’t care who you are, from the president to a janitor, everyone needs their downtime away from the elements of the job. I guess I wasn’t the only one who felt that way that night, because we all had an unexpected visitor share the bar with us.
I remember being midbite into a chunk of prime rib when my eyes caught Vince himself casually walking through the doors. We all stopped to watch as he made his way past all of us to the bar to grab a beer. I’ll tell you what, within about thirty minutes Vince was like one of the boys. He was holding court and telling big stories while all of us, including Hogan himself, listened and laughed.
At one point we were all standing around, and out of nowhere Hulk came up to me and put his thumbs in the air. “Hey, Animal. Why don’t you get Vince up for your finish? Give him the Doomsday.”
Hawk and I looked at each other and smiled. In a flash, Hawk took off across the room over to the dancing platform while I came up behind Vince and proceeded to pick him up onto my shoulders.
He was crying out for help. “Hey, what the hell are you guys doing? Let me down.” He wasn’t up there two seconds before Hawk came running off the platform with a jumping clothesline right between two dancing strippers.
Before Vince knew it, he was gently caught by Hogan, who’d been standing there the whole time. When McMahon got up, he started celebrating. He said to Davey Boy Smith and Warlord, “I did it. I took the Warriors’ finish. What do you think of that?”
Everyone was laughing and cheering for the guy. We all knew what Vince had been going through with the whole investigation, which was far from over, and we were happy to let him have the moment. He deserved a break from the monotony. When someone at the club called the cops on us for rowdiness, everyone, even Vince, dove into Sgt. Slaughter’s camouflage limo for the getaway. As always, thank God for the Sarge.
That was the first time I was able to say to myself, You know what? I really like that guy. Vince had such a mystique about him and was always such a walking gimmick that it was nearly impossible to get a handle on the guy. That’s just the way he had to operate, you know? He had to place a distinct line between him and us in order to run the company. After all, you can’t get too close to the inmates, right? But in San Antonio at The Yellow Rose that night, Vince finally opened himself up in front of me for the first time, and I liked what I saw.
After San Antonio, it was business as usual as we continued our new rivalry with the Disasters, even facing each other in another WWF/SWS show in Japan on December 12. I even got Typhoon up for a modified bear hug so we could hit him with the Doomsday Device. We pretty much duplicated the match for the Royal Rumble with ’Quake and Typhoon on January 19, except they got the count-out win. We still kept the titles but not for long.
A couple of days after our triumphant title defense at the Royal Rumble, I got the call that Hawk failed another drug test and we were forfeiting the belts. At that point, I didn’t have a clue how to even approach my partner about what his latest infraction with the company meant for us, or my family. He was well aware on his own, especially considering that he was suspended without pay for another sixty days.
Hawk was completely defiant about the situation. “Fuck this shit, Joe. I’m not going to let somebody tell me how to live my life.”
Hawk wasn’t as apologetic as he’d been before, and suddenly I realized our career was in more serious jeopardy than I’d thought.
At the January 27 TV taping in Lubbock, Texas, for WWF Wrestling Challenge, which aired March 1, it was announced that we lost the titles to the team of I.R.S. and the Million Dollar Man, Ted Dibiase (known as Money Inc.) in Denver. The truth is, that match never happened. After years of building up to winning the WWF Tag Team Championships, it was all taken away in a matter of seconds without our ever stepping into the ring.
After sitting o
n the sidelines and sulking for the better part of ninety days, we were invited to come to WrestleMania VIII in April at the Indianapolis Hoosier Dome, and we brought a surprise along. During our time off, I had been talking to “Precious” Paul Ellering about working with us again. After having been away from the wrestling business for about two years, Paul was interested in checking out the WWF and cut a deal with Vince to return.
Unfortunately, the angle under which Ellering was repackaged turned out to be a half-baked disaster. During his time off, Paul had taken up the hobby of ventriloquism to entertain his three young children and had made mention of it to Vince and me. Because the LOD was now being heavily marketed toward the ever-blooming children’s fan base, it was decided that Paul would introduce a ventriloquist dummy named Rocco. Before I knew it, we were brought in for WrestleMania to tell the fans we were returning to our roots by reuniting with a very important figure from our past, Paul Ellering.
Slowly but surely over the course of the next couple of months leading into SummerSlam ’92, Paul began bringing out Rocco during interviews, claiming it was Hawk’s and my long lost childhood toy from Chicago. The story line with Rocco implied that we had a sentimental attachment to the doll and that we could draw strength and motivation from him the same way Undertaker did from the urn his manager Paul Bearer tightly clutched.
Maybe in the grand scheme of things Vince saw a possible product line launch of Rocco dolls and Rocco T-shirts, but the whole thing never really left the starting gate. Thankfully.
I’ve got to give it to Vince, though. Even with the couple of drug test suspensions that sidelined us, McMahon never gave up on trying to push us to the top of the WWF. More than likely, we were given additional chances that other guys probably wouldn’t have gotten.
When Hawk finally came back in the spring and we feuded with the Beverly Brothers and Money Inc., I think we were able to earn a little trust back with the office. We got the word from Jack Lanza that we were booked to go over Money Inc. at SummerSlam ’92 in England. I was hoping we’d finally be back on the fast track to the top and retrieve our titles from the Natural Disasters.
When the big day finally came on August 29 at Wembley Stadium in London, I approached my partner with some words of inspiration. “Mike, this is a big one. We really need this match against Dibiase and Rotunda to show Vince and everyone else we’re back to stay.”
Hawk agreed and said not to worry. “We’re gonna knock ’em all dead, Joe.” Little did I know that Hawk had already been drug tested before we’d left for the UK and was anticipating yet another suspension or his outright release at any time.
So with that information swimming around in Hawk’s mind, and my complete ignorance to it, he proceeded to take several sedatives in plain view of pretty much everyone in the Wembley dressing room. By the time we were gearing and painting up, he was lethargic, leaving little doubt in my mind that our appearance was in serious trouble.
I also knew that we had a huge entrance planned in which Hawk, Paul, and I would each be riding down the 500-foot walkway on custom Harley-Davidsons. When it was time to make our entrance for the first match of the night, Paul took off (with Rocco sitting on the handlebars), followed by Hawk and then me. The whole time we were riding down, I was hoping Hawk wouldn’t fall or crash, but I was treated to something much better.
When all three of us began to park our bikes, Hawk accidentally stopped and docked his Harley down too close to me. When I tried to get off my motorcycle, I was so close to Hawk’s exhaust pipe that my right boot and tights melted right onto the metal, frying my skin. As soon as I felt the heat and subsequent pain, I had to contain myself from letting anyone notice something had happened. I’ll tell you what, man, when I got in the ring and heard 80,000 fans chanting, “LOD, LOD,” I forgot all about my leg and felt like a wrestling rookie all over again.
SummerSlam ’92 was the first big WWF PPV to ever come to England, and the people came out in droves. The huge outdoor Wembley Stadium was sold out. It was the biggest audience I’d ever seen, and it was pure pandemonium. We even debuted our brand-new shiny gold shoulder pads and gold-accented tights, which had all been designed to complement our gold WWF Tag Team Championship belts. (Of course, by the time our new gear was ready, we didn’t even have the belts anymore.)
When it came time to wrestle the match, I was relieved to see Hawk manage himself pretty well against Dibiase and Rotunda. I clearly remember his stupor having a negative impact only when we realized it might be a mistake to attempt the Doomsday Device. If Hawk climbed to the top turnbuckle and fell, it would’ve been a total disaster, so I decided to take matters into my own hands and finish off Rotunda with a powerslam.
Funny thing is, when I threw I.R.S. into the ropes, Hawk was standing in my path. “Mike,” I hollered, get out of the way.” He barely made an effort to move, and I had to pull back on how big the slam was so he wasn’t kicked in the head.
As our hands were being raised, I glanced down at the announcer’s table, where Vince was, shaking his head.
I put it all out of my mind and thought, All right, we had an acceptable showing, the fans love us more than ever, and everything’s looking up to another title run. It sure sounded good in theory.
After the show, Heenan came up to me and said Vince had been cursing Mike off camera the entire match.
Great.
The reality of what happened post-SummerSlam was that while Paul and I were on our flight back to the United States (during which I told Paul to permanently “lose” Rocco) for a TV taping in Hershey, Pennsylvania, Hawk was hanging out with the London chapter of the Hells Angels with no intention of joining me. It wasn’t until I was painted up and waiting with Paul at the Hershey Park Arena for him to show up that I knew something was wrong.
Vince came in looking grim and told me Hawk quit.
He what?
“Mike called the office today looking for me but only got my secretary,” Vince said. “He told her to relay the message that he’d had enough and was quitting the company.”
I was hoping it was a joke, but Vince wasn’t even slightly smiling. Hawk had no interest in owning up to his latest drug test failure and figured he’d take off on his own without letting me know. Man, I was pissed beyond belief and probably more confused than anything. I never imagined the end of the Road Warriors/Legion of Doom would go down this way.
Then I started wondering what Hawk’s quitting meant for Paul’s and my future with the WWF.
“Well, Joe,” Vince said, “our deal was for both Road Warriors, not Road Warrior Animal. I’ll have to see what we can come up with.”
Great. It sounded like the kiss of death. In the meantime, I went home without work and Paul quietly semiretired from the business yet again.
Finally, after about two weeks without hearing from Hawk, I got the long-awaited call.
“Hey, Joe, what’s going on?”
It was a little too casual for my liking, and I let him know it. “What the fuck do you think’s going on? I’m sitting at home wondering where my next check’s going to come from to take care of my family.”
Hawk apologized, as he always did, and went on to explain how he was a grown man and wasn’t going to let anyone (Vince) tell him how to live his life. He also said he’d been talking with Masa Saito and Brad Reinghans for some time about having the Road Warriors come and work exclusively for NJPW. “Our money in the WWF never panned out like Vince said it would. We made less and less money each year there than we did with Crockett. That wasn’t the deal.”
Hawk was right about the money part not being what we’d hoped for, but I was still committed to finishing up our scheduled bookings in the WWF. “I can’t go with you, Mike. I’ve got work to finish up for the both of us here first, and then I’ll think about it. But I’m really fucking upset with the way you handled this.”
He said he knew and that he’d make it up to me in the long run, and we hung up.
I wouldn’t ta
lk to him again for almost six months.
Coincidentally, the next day after my phone call with Hawk, I took off for Japan myself to wrestle a couple of singles matches, including a handicap match against both Beverly Brothers on September 15 in Yokohama. Right in the middle of the match I was given a double-suplex and didn’t land right. I knew I was in trouble the second I hit. Pain shot through my lower back, and I quickly told Mike Enos (Blake Beverly) we needed to take the match home.
When I got to the back, all I could do was lie down on a bench and wonder why things were going the way they were. Not only was I dealing with the emotional hurt of Hawk’s desertion, but now to complicate things even more, I had a herniated C5 and C6 vertebrae.
After loading up on pillows, ice packs, and painkillers, I endured the most insufferable series of plane rides in my life to reach Minneapolis. When I finally got home and walked through the door to be attacked with hugs from Joey, James, and Jessica, I knew it was going to be a loooong time before Road Warrior Animal would see the light of day. Now it was time to rest, think things over, and enjoy being Joe the family guy.
After I had been officially diagnosed with my back injury, not only did I immediately schedule the necessary surgery to fix it, but I filed a significant insurance claim with my policy carrier, Lloyd’s of London. Being a professional entertainer in such a high-risk environment like a wrestling ring, I’d known it was a smart move to take out a personal injury policy with Lloyd’s a few years back. Now, my wise decision was literally paying off.
It was during this time, around mid-December of 1992, while being laid up after my successful spinal fusion surgery that I got a call from a wrestling magazine reporter looking for my opinion on the Hell Raisers.
Huh? I had no idea what the guy was talking about. My mood started to plummet from groggy and grouchy to completely livid as I learned that Hawk had formed a new team in NJPW based completely on our Road Warriors gimmick.
The Road Warriors: Danger, Death, and the Rush of Wrestling Page 26