The Road Warriors: Danger, Death, and the Rush of Wrestling (33 page)

For the next few months, things between Hawk and me were going really great, and I’ll tell you what, I was definitely having fun again. On January 19 we competed in our first ever Royal Rumble in Florida at Miami Arena. Out of the thirty entrants, I think Hawk was like the sixteenth and I was the eighteenth to enter the ring.

One of the highlights was Hawk and I eliminating the Undertaker with a double clothesline that flipped him perfectly over the top rope and onto his feet on the floor below.
Whoom!
After that, Hawk was eliminated by Hercules Hernandez and Paul Roma, known as Power & Glory, while I was dumped over the top when Earthquake ducked one of my running charges.

None other than Sgt. Slaughter, who was now playing the role of a Saudi Arabian sympathizer in the wake of Desert Storm, ended Warrior’s WWF World title run and became the champ. It was weird because the Sarge had always been a hero to the public for the last fifteen years, even being a popular character in the G.I. Joe toy line. Now the once-hailed American patriot had become a traitorous heel in a turn so convincing that he even started receiving death threats.

Nine days after the Rumble, we went to Macon, Georgia, for another
Saturday Night’s Main Event
TV taping, which aired on February 1, 1991. We faced the team of Pat Tanaka and Kato, The Orient Express. Tanaka and Kato were absolutely phenomenal together and, now that Demolition was disbanded, they were even managed by Mr. Fuji. Working with those guys was a dream. They knew their roles so well against a team like us that Hawk and I barely ever said a word in the ring; it was all Tanaka and Kato.

I’m telling you, those two would constantly suggest the best spots to put us over and throw themselves into every move in the LOD handbook. Press slams, powerslams, flying tackles, clotheslines, and finally the Doomsday—they gladly did them all and looked like a million bucks doing it.

I particularly remember a spot when we gave Tanaka a double back drop and he told us to throw him up as hard and high as we could. I think Pat got more than he bargained for, though, because we’d launch his ass about 15 feet in the air before he came crashing down.
Boom!
Hands down, Tanaka and Kato were one of the best heel teams I ever worked with.

One funny fact about Kato was that under the mask was actually a Croation-born former professional soccer player I knew as Paul Diamond. Kato the Japanese wrestler was actually no more Japanese than I was. Along with Tanaka and Diamond, I thought Mr. Fuji was phenomenal, too. With his perfect timing and intuition as a venomous heel, Fuji was definitely one of the greatest meddling managers of all time.

No doubt about it, going on the road with the three of them for the next month and a half was an absolute pleasure, and if I could’ve wrestled them for another ten years straight and then retired, I would’ve.

It was a good thing Hawk and I were polishing up our skills with guys as solid as The Orient Express. As it turned out, the coming month of March brought three of the biggest moments of our entire WWF career. It all started at the TV tapings on March 12.

We were in Biloxi, Mississippi, at the Coast Coliseum, booked to win a nontitle, babyface versus babyface match against WWF World Tag Team champions, the Hart Foundation. What’s interesting about the whole thing was that the top two teams in the WWF were meeting for the first time, but it was like a weird little secret.

There was no previous announcement for it. There was absolutely no story line or angle for it. And overall, there was no reason for it. But then it hit me: it was Vince testing us out against his top guys. He wanted to see how the audience would react to the Legion of Doom, grooming them for our climb to the top.

When we first came in, Vince used to love to mess with me and claim the WWF fans didn’t know who the Road Warriors were, and one of the reasons he paired us with Warrior in our first tour against Demolition was to make sure we’d get over.

Hawk and I would just roll our eyes.

“Oh, brother. Come on, Vince,” I’d say. “You put us in there with anybody, anywhere, anytime and you’ll see what happens.”

It looked as if he was finally ready to take me up on my offer.

As our music hit and we came out, we were greeted with a Road Warrior pop that probably knocked McMahon off his feet.

Well, Vince,
I remember thinking,
that pop’s for you.
I also noticed little kids and teenagers everywhere wearing pairs of our WWF toy shoulder pads, which was pretty damn cool. Three years earlier when I’d made the first real set out of Ryder football pads, I’d never imagined they’d be mass produced for children’s toys.

The match was a classic scenario of Bret and Neidhart assuming a somewhat heel role, but only in the sense that they kept the pace and the heat slowly building by keeping Hawk away from my outstretched hand. When it was time to bring it all home, Hawk finally got away from Neidhart and made the hot tag. I came smashing in, knocking Anvil to the floor and acknowledged the audience with two big thumbs raised high, signaling that it was time for the Doomsday. As I had Bret up on my shoulders, Neidhart interfered by pushing Hawk down to the floor, leaving me at the mercy of the Hart Foundation. Or was it the other way around?

Just as they had me down, Neidhart ran over to rocket launch Bret from the top turnbuckle with an assisted press and throw, but I was ready. I leapt to my feet, caught Bret in the air, and power-slammed him.
Bam!
While Hawk tripped Neidhart from the outside, I covered Bret for the three count. In a true gesture of baby-face sportsmanship, we tried to help Bret to his feet and offered our hands in friendship. It was an awesome moment, and it was exactly as I’d expected: the Biloxi crowd was ours.

Could there have been any question that Vince, who undoubtedly saw every second from the back, was impressed with our performance? Hell, no.

That match, in every element, was one of the key steps in our path toward an eventual shot at the tag titles. Though it wasn’t taped for the purpose of a TV airing, it was packaged as part of the
WWF Wrestle Fest ’91
home video.

As amazing as Biloxi was that night, it still didn’t compare to what was still to come twelve days later: WrestleMania VII. After hearing all of the stories about how spectacular and over-the-top “The Super Bowl of Professional Wrestling” was, we were about to find out for ourselves.

The seventh WrestleMania was conducted in Los Angeles, of all places, so I expected to see famous people everywhere I turned. I wasn’t disappointed. When we were walking around the back of the LA Memorial Sports Arena, I remember seeing Willie Nelson, Lou Ferrigno, Henry Winkler (Fonzie from
Happy Days
), Alex Trebek, and Donald Trump, just to name a few of the stars who showed up to be part of ’Mania. I even saw little Macaulay Culkin, the star of
Home Alone
, walking around meeting the wrestlers.

There was also extra security in full force that evening, as it was rumored that Sgt. Slaughter’s life had been threatened due to his continued anti-American gimmick. It looked like kayfabe wasn’t dead and buried just yet!

Hawk and I were going to be booked into a title run feud with the Nasty Boys, Brian Knobbs and Jerry Sags, who were slated to win the WWF tag titles that very night against the Harts. We were given Power & Glory as opponents. Hercules and Paul Roma were a fantastic, recently formed heel team, but they wouldn’t get a chance to shine just yet.

You see, Vince had a WrestleMania agenda to showcase the Legion of Doom in front of the world as his team of the future. Unfortunately for Power & Glory, this was translated best in Hawk’s prematch interview: “Power & Glory? When we get through with you, you’ll be Sour & Gory.”

In vintage Road Warriors fashion, Hawk and I proceeded to smash through Herc and Roma in a fifty-nine-second squash match from hell. When Hawk clotheslined Roma for the Doomsday, Roma flipped and crashed hard with a bit of a corkscrew landing.
Crack!
Roma sold it like a true pro, lying there like a slug and holding his stomach. With his hands on his hips, Herc stared at us while the 16,000 LA faithful gave us a standing ovation.

As I stared around the arena, I thought,
Wow! WrestleMania. This is what it’s all about.
And it really was. After having wrestled in every company in the world, there was simply no comparison to the WWF.

The airtight cohesion between Vince’s dream and his team of employees was evident. Everything about the production and execution of the WWF’s product screamed “big time.” To be in the company at that point in time and to have Vince’s respect for our gimmick on display at ’Mania made everything feel perfect. A mere six days later, I’d get even further proof of how over the Legion of Doom was in Vince’s eyes.

Back in October of 1990, Vince signed a promotional deal with a new Japanese wrestling company called Super World of Sports (SWS). The deal called for the WWF and SWS to copromote huge super cards in Japan featuring many of their top stars, such as Tenryu, Great Kabuki, and Yoskiaki Yatsu, in matches against our roster. When it was announced that we were doing a WWF/SWS super card at the Tokyo dome, we figured we’d be natural main players in the show, but I was floored when I found out what our match would be: the LOD against Genichiro Tenryu and Hulk Hogan.

The prospect of working against Hogan at the first ever WWF show in Japan felt like a crowning achievement if ever there was one. Hulk was the biggest thing in wrestling and had recently won the WWF World title from the Sarge at ’Mania VII. Getting a crack at Hogan in his prime before almost 65,000 Japanese fans was a dream come true.

As I thought about what was about to go down, it was a real “top of the world” feeling for me. We had Tenryu, long established as one of Japan’s premier superstars; Hogan, who’d had famous battles with Antonio Inoki and Andre the Giant in Japan during the early 1980s; and then there was Hawk and I, former NWA/AJPW International Tag Team champions whom the Japanese had more or less adopted as two of their own. The Japanese knew they were getting their yen’s worth on March 30.

But it didn’t go down with at least a little controversy in the locker room before the match. I’ll never forget when WWF road agent Jack Lanza came to us right before the match with Hogan and Tenryu and said, “Okay, guys, here’s the way Vince wants the finish.”

I was listening very casually, wholeheartedly thinking it was going to be a double count-out or a double DQ of some variety.

“Hogan’s going to put Hawk up on his shoulders, and Tenryu’s going to clothesline him from the top turnbuckle.”

I almost fell over when he said it. Beat us in Japan with our own Doomsday Device?

I spoke right up. “What? Abso-fucking-lutely not.” It would’ve totally wrecked our hard-earned Japanese credibility and then some. I looked at Hogan, whom I still didn’t really know from a hole in the wall, and Tenryu.

“No offense to you guys, but this is my one safe haven. Letting you guys humiliate us like that would be career suicide for us.”

The truth of the matter was that our contract with Vince was only for the United States. His joint venture with SWS to copromote wrestling events in Japan was a completely separate deal for us with its own payday. I mean, sure, I understood it was smart business for the WWF to expand into the Japanese market, but it wasn’t going to be at our reputation’s expense.

We were even originally told we didn’t have to work the show if we didn’t want to, but Hawk and I thought it was a smart move, being right in the middle of our big push toward the titles and all. Now I knew why we weren’t told the finish before we got on the plane. Underneath it all, I didn’t like being ambushed like that and found myself struggling to wrap my mind around the whole situation.

In a rare show of unselfish diplomacy, Hawk thought about compromising and taking the Doomsday.

“Mike, don’t do it, man. I’m telling you, it’s a bad move.”

“Well, what are we gonna do?” he said.

I had no idea.

All of a sudden, Tenryu put his arms on my shoulders. “Animalsan, you beat me. Get win. Better?”

Man, Tenryu should’ve been a politician, because he amicably resolved what could’ve been a serious international conflict. I humbly and respectfully accepted his offer, and Jack Lanza reported back to Vince. It was a go. We’d get the win by count-out.

One of the most interesting details about the match, aside from the finish, was that because Hawk and I weren’t familiar to the Japanese as the Legion of Doom, we were billed once again as the Road Warriors. SWS even recognized the value of having our original theme song and actually paid the necessary $10,000 licensing fee (the reason we’d stopped using it around 1988 for all WCW programming) so that we could once again make our way to the ring while “Iron Man” blasted throughout the Tokyo Dome.

While we stood on the giant stage platform waiting for our entrance, the Black Sabbath bass drum started kicking. I said to Hawk, “Just like old times, huh?”

He nodded and smacked me on the shoulder.

During one great moment during the match, I finally got a chance to press slam Hogan. From the time we were asked to be in the match with him, I knew I was going to get my hands on him first thing and put him up. Because Tenryu was in the match, we decided to go for the double press slam spot we always did with him and Jumbo Tsuruta.

When the bell rang, it was Tenryu and I in the ring, and he quickly placed me into a side headlock. I picked him straight up and threw him over to Hogan, who tagged himself in by reaching down and slapping Tenryu’s chest. You should’ve heard the impact of the crowd cheer for Hogan as he stepped into the ring.
Whoom!
It was like the concussion of a sonic boom you could feel right in your chest. So there he was, Hulk Hogan, all six feet five and 302 pounds of him, staring right at me. I was having an
Oh, shit!
moment if ever there was one.

We locked up, and Hogan pulled me toward him before launching me back into the corner with a big push. I was surprised how tall he was when we locked up for the second time, and I felt myself getting on my tippy toes to get a good tie-up with him. Again, he pushed me back. This time I jumped right at him with a big boot to the stomach and started throwing wild punches while Hawk jumped in and joined me.