Finally we’ve reached the end. In retrospect, I went a little crazy with the highlights in this book which I will chalk up to the fact that I read much of it in Canada. Having read this particular book in a Tim Horton’s in Toronto should probably entitle me to a Canadian passport, which I might want should certain people be elected President of the United States. Drive to the finish!
I tucked and rolled on the hard grassy field. The thought crossed my mind that anyone watching would probably get a good laugh. The second my head hit the ground, I’d be sorry for the rest of my life that I ever hit that hole.
In June 2002, Hart had a bicycle accident and he hit his head on the ground. His retirement in 2000 was prompted by the concern of doctors who felt a big blow to his head could lead to a stroke. The Hitman was unable to move and control the left side of his body.
I remembered when Shawn Michaels said he lost his smile. Well, I had lost my smile, my ability to wink, and I was paralyzed on the entire left side of my body.
We’re talking about a man of 44/45 years old recovering from a stroke which is serious business but this actually did make me laugh. A cheap shot? Maybe, but Michaels kind of deserved it for coming up with the “lost my smile” nonsense.
I happened to look up and there was Muhammad Ali standing not ten feet away from me, staring at me with that penetrating gaze, those dumbbell-sized fists playfully challenging me. I stood up and as I struggled to limp my way toward him, a concerned look washed the challenging stare from his face.
Ali always had great respect for wrestling as evidenced by his promo style (learned from watching Gorgeous George) and the fact that he was willing to get involved more than once: the Inoki match, WrestleMania 1, and the Collision in (North) Korea that WCW did in 1995. Ali was suffering the effects of Parkinson’s from about 1985 onward and for him to be very concerned about Bret’s condition says it all.
Just then I saw the midgets coming in the front door. I’m not sure what made me lean into her ear and say, “You know what might be really different? When was the last time you were gang-banged by a bunch of midgets?”
The Hitman was in a strip club in Australia, since he was Down Under for a gig, probably a bit too soon into his recovery as it turned out. A trashy woman had come up to him complaining about men, as she claimed her husband was the one sucking on the neck of a stripper. Bret suggested the midget gangbang as a way of trying to make her go away.
I didn’t find out until the next morning that Stu had caught some guy in the act of trying to steal the car. Most people would have just phoned the police, but Stu’s first instinct was to apply his own form of discipline.
At some point when Stampede Wrestling was still running, a kid tried to steal a car from the driveway of the Hart house and got stuck in the snow. So Stu came out, dragged him into the house, and stretched him for a while because that was how he did things. After he was done, Stu then hired the kid to work as an usher at the matches.
Julie gasped and put her hand over her mouth when we saw that somebody had written PISS OFF MARTHA PATTERSON on the blackboard in his room. I erased it, thinking there should be no hate in this room, only love and prayers.
There seems to be no filter, grace, or manners in the Hart family sometimes. This is with Stu on his deathbed, and someone wanted to settle a score with Owen’s widow. Personally, I think some of them were so wrapped up on the concept of “wrestling” that they forgot how to be functional human beings.
I was never ribbed, except by Owen, and nobody ever shit in my crown.
That is such a wrestling thing, to shit in things as a joke. Guys used to shit in Jerry Lawler’s crown, mainly because they hated him for the low payouts in Memphis. Somebody shit in Sunny’s food during a European tour. It is now my go-to at Bruins games when complaining about the officiating: I say to my friend that someone should shit in the gym bag of Steve Kozari (or other official) when he makes a terrible call. (Steve Kozari sucks, by the way. Awful official.)
In 2005, Hogan made the preposterous comment that I was a wrestler that none of the other wrestlers could trust, that I wasn’t one of the boys.
I really should just buy Hogan’s book and give it this treatment, except that one might be 28 parts to run through all the obvious falsehoods, etc.
To me, Shawn will always be a phony, a liar and a hairless yellow dog.
And yet they made up about three years after this book was released. Never say never in wrestling.
This is the end of the journey. Stay tuned as starting tomorrow, I will be taking a (much briefer) look at J.J. Dillon’s 2005 book “Wrestlers Are Like Seagulls”. Dillon worked the territory system, WCW, WWF and even had a stint in TNA. But we don’t have to talk about that last one.