Authors: Mick Foley
DX left the ring, and several fans started to leave, thinking the show was over. In an attempt to keep them in their seats, Howard Finkel’s voice cut through the Albany, New York, air. “Ladies and gentlemen, remember, coming up soon will be … Stone Cold Steve Austin.” The place went wild and started chanting his name. “Austin, Austin, Austin,” came the noise as I slowly got to my feet. I looked at Terry and the very real pain that was etched on his face. I thought of myself, and the years of painful mornings I’d had to endure. Two of the hardest-working SOBs in the history of the business, and all we were to Albany was sprigs of parsley on a plate. Well, I may have been a sprig, but I was a sprig with feelings, and they’d just been hurt. That was definitely a negative. There was also a positive. I had a reason, and it was a good one.
The next night in Syracuse, New York, I walked out to the ring with a neck brace and a heavy heart. I spoke to the fans, and made my feelings clear:
“I have always taken a lot of chances in the ring, and some very bad things have happened to me over the years. What I’ve always had is the comfort of knowing that when I looked at my career, my dreams, the things I’d accomplished and the things I’d set my heart on, that it was always worth the pain. So people ask, ‘Cactus, how’s your neck?’ I’d say that I’ll be damned if I’m gonna let a group of scum like DX put Cactus Jack away.
“Oh, I guess you see that Terry Funk’s not here, and I haven’t talked to Terry, but I left a message on his answering machine, and I’m not saying this to sound tough, but Cactus Jack and Terry Funk do not miss wrestling matches. So I have to guess if the Funker was hurt enough to fly home, than it’s probably pretty bad.
“I really wish that people could know Terry a little bit more than just what they see in the ring, because people will always debate on who the greatest wrestler of all time is, but I guarantee you, you ask every damn last bunch of people in the dressing room, they’ll say that Terry Funk is the gutsiest old bastard they’ve ever seen in their lives. Now, I guess you’ve probably seen Terry’s back and I hope you saw WrestleMania, because it was a tremendous match, and I’m very proud of it. And Terry was lying there on the bed with his belt and he said, ‘Cactus, it’s all been worth it. But we don’t have those belts now, do we?’
“And I’m not gonna get into the reason why, but I will say that when Cactus Jack was lying there, and I was conscious, and I could barely move, it was very hard to move, and I was not very far from being unconscious. And when I looked at Terry Funk, I heard something in my ears and, to tell you the truth, it kind of made me sick.
“That’s … there was an announcement being made thanking the fans for coming to the World Wrestling Federation, and they said something about Stone Cold Steve Austin, and people started chanting his name. And it’s funny, because when I came here two years ago I was Mankind, and there were always people saying, ‘Why don’t you just be Cactus Jack?’ Then I came out in tie-dye and some white boots and they said, ‘Why don’t you just be Cactus Jack?’
“Well, I gave you Cactus Jack. I gave you every goddamn bit of energy I had, and when I was lying there helpless, you chanted someone else’s name. This is not a knock on Stone Cold Steve Austin; hey, I’m happy he’s the champion, and he may not admit it, but we’ve known each other a long time and he’s been my friend; but what you did to me and Terry Funk laying there in the middle of the ring was not only distasteful and disrespectful, it was disgusting.
“Well, I can finally say for the first time after thirteen years of blood, sweat, and tears that it’s not worth it anymore. It’s gonna be a long time before you see Cactus Jack in the ring again.”
The next week’s Raw was remarkable for two reasons-it ended WCW’s year and a half run on top of the ratings, and it ushered in the return of Dude Love.
Actually, the show was classic Federation storytelling, with Austin challenging Vince to a match and Vince training for the big showdown throughout the two-hour show. The program was both captivating and entertaining and was a good example of why Raw is the hottest television show in the country. One of my favorite segments was when Pat Patterson and Gerald Brisco, known collectively as the Stooges, were giving Vince wrestling pointers in the dressing room. “Now, Vince, you know that Austin always sets up the stunner with a boot to the stomach,” advised Brisco, a former collegiate and professional star wrestling from Oklahoma. “When he does that, you hook him here [under the knee]. Once you do that, Vince, you own him. You OWN him.”
Vince nodded his head knowingly while Patterson chimed in, “Boy, is he in for a surprise.”
Patterson and Briscoe are a shining example of the difference between the Federation and WCW. WCW was not able to make Brett Hart a star-a guy who’d already been one for over a dozen years. Vince, on the other hand, was able to take two out-of-shape retired wrestlers and make them bigger names than they’d been in their heyday. Vince’s son Shane, who is now a top performer with the company, once asked me what I would like to do when I was finished wrestling. “I would like to be one of the Stooges,” I said.
“I don’t know,” Shane retorted. “The Stooges get beat up a lot.”
“Sure,” I shot back, “I’m good at that!”
The show was primed for a crescendo until Dude’s music played and the tie-dyed hippie throwback proceeded to ruin the festivities.
“The Dude wants to know, can’t we all just get along? I got to level with ya, Philadelphia. The Dude does not feel a whole lot of love out here tonight.
“But, Steve-O, as you know, there’s only one cat who can bring peace to the Warzone, and that’s Dude Love. Now, Stone Cold, I know you got your heart set on putting some heavy-duty booty to Uncle Vinny, but the Dude has got to put the veto on this one. Oh, we are tight, Steve-O, about as tight as two cats can be. But you got to understand, Steve-O, Vince McMahon writes the checks that let the Dude live the kind of life that the Dude likes to live. So I guess you could say, Uncle Vinny, you are my main man.
“And I want you to remember one thing and remember it good. When you look at Stone Cold Steve Austin, you’ve got your eyes set on the world’s toughest SOB, and he can put you down on your A double S just like … “
A furious Vince shoved Dude on his ample butt, and Dude started to stalk the pumped-up owner of the company. Somehow, in all of this, Dude turned on a frustrated Austin, and the show went off the air with Austin feeling the Loved One’s wrath. The numbers on the show were phenomenal, even if the Dude’s performance did serve to piss off the same people we had just entertained so well. The next week, WCW countered by premiering Hollywood Hogan vs. Bill Goldberg, and once again pulled ahead in the ratings. By doing so, WCW had actually shot itself in the foot. Hogan and Goldberg would have been a surefire Pay-Per-View main event. By throwing the match away for free, WCW had actually lost millions in potential revenue.
For the next several months, the ratings would teeter back and forth. For the next few weeks, a conspiracy theory played out and it was obvious that the Dude was in McMahon’s pocket. Dude was even given his own “Love Shack” interview segment, which featured a pink shag rug, love beads, lava lamps, and new Dudettes. The Dudettes seemed to be a different breed now. Gone was the innocence of old-replaced by the skimpiest of thong bikinis. Under those guidelines, my wife gracefully declined the company’s invitation to resume her role from the previous summer.
The Pay-Per-View match was a tremendous success, both artistically and financially. I actually had a great deal of doubt leading up to this match as I wasn’t quite sure how to keep the Dude in character while at the same time making him seem like a threat to the Federation champion. I even dyed my hair a little to try to alter the Dude’s persona. I later found out that even the office had reservations about this matchup.
As it turned out, all our fears were quickly relieved, and Austin and I tore the house down. Vince was simply hilarious in his role as the crooked boss who was looking for any opportunity to screw the “Rattlesnake” out of the gold. His facial expressions, with the exception of the bobbing Adam’s apple during time of fear, are the best in the business.
At the end of the match, Dude was down and out, as the concerned McMahon tried in vain to lift his 300 pounds off the ground. Austin wielded a chair, which was supposedly meant for Dude, but strayed by about two feet and caught the evil Vince square in the head. Vince went down, to the delight of the fans, but the bell was rung immediately, signaling the disqualification of the champion. Dude had won! Dude had won! In the words of Owen Hart, “I did it! Yes! I am a winner! Woo!” Unfortunately, the belt cannot change hands on a DQ, so Austin remained the champ.
“Hardcore” is a word that’s thrown around often, but its definition is kind of vague. I hope you know by now that I use the term “Hardcore Legend” as a joke, simply because I like the way it sounds and because I get a kick out of referring to myself as a “legend.” A legend is an honor that others can bestow upon me, if they so desire. If they mean it, I’m flattered, but the continual Hardcore Legend reference is simply something I do to amuse myself. No less an authority than Terry Funk described who he believed to be truly hardcore. “Vince McMahon is hardcore; you know why, Cactus?” asked the grizzled Funker. “Because he’s a millionaire who doesn’t need to be getting hit in the head with chairs, but he does it anyway because he loves it.” So, as the ECW fans might say, “He’s hardcore. He’s hardcore.”
The next two Raws were big ones, as WCW was preempted for two weeks for the NBA playoffs. This, we felt, would be a chance to expose our superior product to the fans who were getting fed up with the staleness of Turner’s product. The first week witnessed Vince giving a title shot to Goldust, a fact that did not sit well with the Dude. Dude came out of character, lamenting the fact that he had worn the tie-dye like Vince wanted; he’d beaten Austin like Vince wanted, and now he was giving my shot to a freak with a bustier like Goldust. This set the stage for the next week’s show in Richmond, Virginia.
The show in Richmond may have been one of my finest hours. I came out onstage to start the show and immediately apologized for all my corporate misdeeds of the preceding few weeks. Before I left, I vowed that there were three things that I would never again do” suck up to a lowlife like Vince McMahon, have my children watch their dad bump and grind with a couple of second-rate strippers, and above all else, I will never, ever let you make me wear this tie-dyed crap again.” The crowd roared its approval at Mick Foley’s new attitude, until Vince came down and cut one of his all-time best promos. Even though I’d just vowed my independence, it seemed that I couldn’t quite shake Vince’s hold over me, as I stood mesmerized by Vince’s tales of loyalty and sacrifice.
“You want a title shot, Mick?” he yelled into my nodding face. “Then you go out and earn it. Tonight you’re going to have a match with Terry Funk, and I don’t want you to just beat him. I want you to destroy him. I want you to tear his heart out, so that the blood drips down your arm. Then you’ll get your title shot.” I was completely under Vince’s spell, until the sound of glass breaking and the roar of 18,000 fans signaled the arrival of Stone Cold, who proceeded to tear down the “Love Shack.” It was like a strange battle for Mick Foley’s soul, with Vince as the Devil and Austin as something of a beerswilling, foulmouthed Angel. Who would win out in this modern-day morality tale? We would soon find out.
Terry and I had a classic no-holds-barred contest. Before the match, we spoke very little, but we both had the clear understanding that this was a very important match. “Cactus, let’s go out there and give it to them,” I remember Terry saying before leaving me alone for the next hour to prepare for the contest.
Many who saw it considered my match with Terry to be the best Raw match of the year. I felt that it was on a par with my match with Austin, if not slightly better. For the record, it was the only match I have ever wrestled as “Mick Foley.” These days, it seems that hardcore matches have become an excuse to go all over the building and hit each other with cool stuff. That may be entertaining, and I’m not saying it’s not painful, but in my mind, it takes away from what these things should really be about-intensity. Terry and I wrestled with intensity that night. Lots of it.
I came out the winner and then challenged Austin, who’d been doing color commentary, to step into the ring. He threw his ever-present beer in my face, and the temporary loss of vision caused me to mistakenly clamp the mandible claw onto corporate stooge Pat Patterson. As my vision cleared, I saw Austin flipping me off, but rolled out of the ring to avoid further incident. Suddenly, Vince appeared with the two second-rate strippers and my tie-dyed Dude outfit in his arms. As my music kicked in, I walked up the ramp, and to the strains of “Dude Love, Dude Love Baby,” I proceeded to do everything I swore I never would. I sucked up to Vince by giving him a big, sloppy hug. I not only took back the Dude outfit but cradled the tie-dyed ensemble with a tenderness usually reserved for old, scratchy Leonard Cohen albums. And yes, the Dude certainly did bump and grind with the strippers for my children and the whole world to see. Not only that, but I did it with a hell of a lot of gusto for a guy who had just been through a war and had a head wound that would require twenty-seven stitches to close. Vince even joined in and in a classic Raw moment, the four of us gleefully boogied our way off the air, as Austin shook his head with disgust. Stone Cold had lost out, and the wicked Vince had my soul.
Afterward, I did what I always do after suffering an injury-I looked for a camera. “Vince, let’s do an interview,” I yelled, and we prepared to capture this touching moment on film. The Dudettes were nice enough to return to their state of near undress, and the cameras rolled. “Hey, Vince, you want a little bit of this action?” I laughed in my Dude way, as I pointed to my two Love chicks.
“Ho, ho, Dude, I’m a married man.” Vince laughed with all the conviction of a sleazy used car salesman. “Besides, I think you’re going to need all the love you can get. Looks like you’ve got a little scratch up there,” he continued as the camera zoomed in on a three-inch gulley high on the left side of my skull. “We’ll probably need a little Band-Aid to patch that up.”