The Road Warriors: Danger, Death, and the Rush of Wrestling

by Joe Laurinaitis

  After Hayes was done moonwalking in the ring, we made our way down with a huge throng of security guards surrounding us on all sides. Fans were running to us in droves, trying to see us up close as we made our way down the field. As Hawk and I dove under the ropes and jumped to our feet to run down Hayes and Gordy, they met us head on, beating us to the punch, literally.

  They were all over us with forearms and kicks, but it was short-lived. We quickly reversed the situation and dumped the Freebirds out of the ring, at which point Hayes and Gordy walked back toward the dugout like chickenshits, a classic cowardly heel move. (Ric Flair used to do it all the time, too.) The Chicago crowd really let them have it, sending waves of booing and jeering that echoed from one side of Comiskey to the other.

  While we circled the ring and awaited the Freebirds’ return, Hawk came up and gave me a big double pat on the chest. “Are you ready for this, big man? Listen to those people.” Hawk was in one of his extra pumped-up moods that night and even flexed for the crowd a few times, pushing down on the top rope and sticking out his tongue. That pose became a Hawk trademark.

  Hawk had some fun getting in some moves and then tagged me in for some of the hijinx. Hayes hammed it up by bailing onto the floor to stall things up. I paced back and forth with my hands on my hips waiting for him to come back. Outside I saw a fan right in Hayes’ face screaming, “Get the fuck back in there, you redneck pussy!” Ahhh, it was like music to my ears. You had to love the Chicago fans. There ain’t nothing like ’em anywhere else in the world.

  When Hayes did mount an effort back to the ring he immediately tagged in Gordy, who cautiously stepped through the ropes. Gordy was a fantastic heel, who loved playing everything up and making his opponents look like a million dollars. Hayes was equally entertaining to watch. The two of them were right out of a cartoon or something.

  After I tagged in Hawk and he was getting to work on Gordy and then Hayes, out on the ground I noticed Paul and Buddy Roberts having some words and putting up their fists to fight. I turned and faced the altercation like I might jump down, but they broke it up.

  Back inside the ring, Hawk and Hayes were mixing it up pretty well with Hawk taking the advantage of the exchange. After Hawk nailed him with an uppercut, Hayes came over to our corner like he thought it was his, so I hit him. Hayes then turned back around and let Hawk hit him again, which turned him around one more time so that I could knock him down to the ground. It was like in a Tom and Jerry cartoon or something, when Tom runs into a yard full of gardening tools and steps onto the rake, smashing himself in the face with the handle and then stumbling forward onto a bunch of nails, causing him to step back onto the rake again. It was pure comedy.

  When Gordy and Hayes finally got an offensive opportunity, they took every advantage they could to double-team Hawk. At one point Gordy gave Hawk a big suplex after which he started maniacally barking like a dog in my face. It was just a strategy, though, because when I tried to get into the ring to smack the shit out of him, the referee would start pushing me back, warning that he’d stop the match with a disqualification. While the ref’s back was to the ring, that’s when Hayes and Gordy would pummel Hawk into oblivion. Gordy even caught Hawk with a piledriver that left him clinging onto one of the ropes for dear life.

  For the next minute or two, Hawk kept getting closer and closer to my outstretched hand only to be driven down time after time. I was going crazy on the outside cheering Hawk on the best that I could. Finally after a collision from the ropes that left both Gordy and Hawk laid out, Hawk was able to recuperate and make a diving tag to me just as Terry was about to stop him. Boom! I got the hot tag and it was time to clear house as 21,000 Chicago diehards cheered me on like I was Carlton Fisk after hitting a game-winning home run for the White Sox!

  I must’ve elbowed Gordy five or six times before giving him an atomic drop. Then I picked him up and whipped him into the ropes, catching Terry for my powerslam, whom! I could feel all of the air collapse out of his lungs as I heard a faint grunt come from his mouth. As I went for the cover, in came Hayes with a kick to my head as Hawk ran in to help. All four men were in the ring slugging it out in total chaos.

  While we were wrecking Hayes and Gordy, Roberts jumped onto the side of the ring like he was going to get involved, but Paul grabbed him down and clobbered him. When Paul turned around, Roberts got a folding chair and hit him over the head with it, knocking him down and out. When Hawk saw what Roberts was doing, he jumped out to kick his ass, leaving me alone with Hayes and Gordy.

  They tried to double-team me but I ducked a punch while being held back, and Hayes was the one knocked silly. Then my big moment came as Hayes was on the mat and I grabbed Gordy and proceeded to press him high over my head before dropping him for a slam. Pow! Considering how late in the match it was, I was surprised at how easily I got the big guy up, but I was running on pure adrenaline.

  The fans in the front row were jumping up and down chanting my name. Out of nowhere, Hayes came up on me, but I threw him into the ropes and caught his ass with one of the most fluid powerslams I ever had the privilege of executing.

  It was a great moment to level both Gordy and Hayes with my two strongest displays of power. Then, just as I was celebrating, Gordy came charging back at me and again I threw him into the ropes, this time charging straight at him and jumping up in the air for a flying shoulder tackle.

  Finally, the finish came. Hayes had climbed on the second turnbuckle and jumped down, hitting me in the head with a pair of brass knuckles he’d gotten from Roberts. Gordy had enough wherewithal to roll over on top of me for a cover. One, two, three! The Freebirds beat us and took the titles.

  Or did they? Although they did get the pin and walked away with the belts, did the Fabulous Freebirds do what few teams in the history of the Road Warriors’ career had accomplished?

  Well, in a word, no.

  After careful review of video instant replay, the AWA officials determined that the Freebirds did indeed cheat in order to win. Therefore, the Freebirds were stripped of their win and our belts. Hayes and Gordy threw a tantrum and stormed off, vowing revenge. It was all part of the angle setting up our loss to Garvin and Regal the next night at the Saint Paul Civic Center.

  The match on September 29 wasn’t anything spectacular. Like so many matches we had with the same teams repeatedly, like Larry and Curt Hennig, for example, we developed a basic routine that we’d do twenty or thirty times around the country in a year. Sure, we knew we were going to drop the titles, but we really didn’t care at that point.

  We knew it was a necessary step in moving forward with our dual presence in both the AWA and Crockett Promotions until Crockett would come around and give us contracts, which we knew was only a matter of time. The wrestling wars were really heating up at that point, and we knew Jimmy Crockett would come tapping us on the shoulder for our guarantees at any time. We knew he needed us for his battle with the WWF.

  The match came off without a hitch, with both teams getting in enough offensive action to keep the unsuspecting fans off guard for what was about to happen. Near the end of the match, I was in the ring with Garvin and had given him a flying clothesline when Regal came in to help. Hawk came surging in and, like so many times, we had all four men in the ring, which almost always meant the end was coming. When that many guys were in the ring, there was plenty of opportunity for the ref to get distracted and not see somebody cheat.

  Hawk and I had Garvin and Regal each backed into opposite corners and pulled them both out at the same time, running toward each other, meeting in the middle with an unavoidable double crash. We tried to pin them both at the same time, but they kicked out at the count of two. Then the crowd started going crazy outside of the ring. The Freebirds came down and had started beating Paul down. Hawk scrambled out and started taking care of business while I was still inside with both Garvin and Regal.

  I was in the midst of destroying Garvin first with a devastating powerslam, and the second
he was down I streamrolled right over Regal with a nasty clothesline. The fans were in a complete frenzy as it seemed I was nearing victory. Then as I was going back to get Garvin again, the referee was focusing on the action outside. Michael Hayes got up on the top turnbuckle and jumped down, hitting me in the head with the same brass knuckles from the previous night and rolling the laid-out Garvin over me for the cover. One, two, three!

  That was it. Jimmy Garvin and Steve Regal were the new World Tag Team champions, and the era of the Road Warriors in Verne Gagne’s AWA was winding down. We had bigger (and better-paying) fish to fry.

  JULIE AND I WERE GLOWING IN WHITE FOR OUR WEDDING ON NOVEMBER 1, 1985.

  9

  GETTING HITCHED, BEING CLONED, AND SPIKING OUR IMAGE

  As soon as Hawk and I dropped the AWA titles to Jimmy Garvin and Steve Regal, we hopped on the first flight to Japan to enter the last couple of weeks of the monthlong 1985 AJPW World Champion’s Carnival tour. Leaving right after that loss was definitely a feeling of severance from the AWA.

  I mean, we still planned on working a ton of dates there all the way into 1986, but our concentration for the future had shifted toward the NWA and Jim Crockett Promotions. We knew it was only a matter of time before Crockett would make us a counteroffer and get our contracts, so for the time being we wanted a change of pace and some different scenery. And no place can provide those things like Japan can.

  I’m telling you, having Baba as an ally with his open-door policy to the Road Warriors was an asset we took full advantage of. We were having big fun developing a classic international rivalry with Jumbo and Tenryu. We were set to collide with them yet again on October 21 on a card that featured Ric Flair and Rick Martel in an NWA/AWA battle of world champions.

  But the night before we could get our hands on Jumbo and Tenryu, we had a long overdue first encounter at the Industrial Hall in Shizuoka against another fabled American team, the Funks.

  Dory Funk Jr. and Terry Funk were two of the rowdiest Texan cowboys to enter the professional wrestling business and had been legends in Japan since before we were out of diapers. Billed from The Double Cross Ranch in Texas, Dory and Terry had both been in the business since the mid-’60s and were both former NWA World Heavyweight champions. For years they’d teamed on and off, winning every tag team championship available in the territories.

  The Funks versus the Road Warriors was yet another showdown of the old regime against the new, only this had the additional appeal of being on foreign soil. All of the American wrestling journalists were on the first flight over to make sure they had it covered for magazines like Pro Wrestling Illustrated, The Wrestler, and Inside Wrestling.

  Although we had nothing but respect for Dory and Terry outside of the ring, when we came shooting down the aisle like locomotives on the verge of derailment, we dove under the ropes and treated them as we did everybody else: total blast load. Hawk chopped Terry right out of the ring, while I pushed Dory back into the corner, letting him go in favor of a better idea that popped into my head.

  I bailed out and ran around the other side to where Terry was still getting up from Hawk’s chop over the top. I grabbed him by the head and whispered, “Press,” then shot him straight up over my head. Then I walked him right over to the bottom and second ropes, inserting him neatly inside the ring like he was a quarter for a vending machine. It was the first time I ever did that spot, and it became a permanent go-to from that moment on.

  As soon as he landed on his ass, Hawk was there to greet him. Their whole exchange ended with Hawk’s favorite piledriver spot from Lawler/Idol where Terry picked him upside down, drove him onto his head only to see Hawk bounce one time before no-selling it and standing right back up.

  In hilarious Three Stooges fashion, Hawk started slapping the top of his own head with both hands over and over to show Terry and Dory that it would take more than a mere piledriver to faze him. Dory stared at Hawk in disbelief.

  The end of the match came as I was in the ring with Terry after Dory and Hawk decided to take their brawl outside on the floor. My back was against the ropes, and as Terry came toward me, I dropped down and grabbed both of his legs, pulled them out from underneath him, and cradled myself on top for a quick three count.

  Unfortunately, the referee saw that Paul had reached in from outside and helped hold Terry down from kicking out. The match immediately resumed, and Terry hooked my head and rolled me over for a small package, but I kicked out at two. The next thing I knew, Terry picked me up, threw me into a corner, and then ran me to the side and dumped me out of the ring.

  With all four men out on the floor, it was total bedlam as we swung folding chairs at each other until the ref called a double count-out. The finish was set up so neither team had to lose face in front of the Japanese, but there was no question that the Funks had given the Road Warriors the upper hand for the whole match. The main objective of entertaining the AJPW crowd with nonstop action was achieved, and a decisive winner wasn’t even needed. In a match like that one, everybody came out shining.

  And that night, I was shining particularly brightly. Earlier, before the match that day, I had taken a huge step in my life by asking Julie to marry me.

  During the course of the last year, Julie and I had been gaining momentum in our relationship until we’d finally moved in together in a town house in Maple Grove, Minnesota. Not only was she totally cool with my travel schedule and not only did she know how to pamper me during the short periods we had together, but she was awesome with my son, Joey, too. Whenever I’d bring him over, Julie was the perfect play partner and found all kinds of things for him to do. I’ll tell you, with the three of us together under one roof, we felt like a real family. It felt right.

  So for months, all of this had been building up inside of me until I was about to burst. I finally gave in and called her that afternoon from Japan. As the phone started ringing, my heart was pounding and almost skipped a couple of beats when she picked up. I knew it was now or never, so I didn’t mince words with a big drawn-out buildup. “Hey, this has been a long time coming, sweetheart, so let’s do this. Let’s get married as soon as I get back.”

  There was a deafening silence on the other side for a split second, which made me panic, but then a tiny little “Of course I’ll marry you, sweetheart” came from the other side.

  A wave of relief rushed over me. I told her to arrange a justice of the peace, call our parents, and make sure Joey was there. She said she’d take care of everything and told me she loved me.

  “I love you too, Julie.” I was a happy man.

  Later that night when I told some of the other boys the big news, they unanimously decided to throw me an impromptu bachelor party. So right after the show, Ric Flair, Paul, Hawk, and a Japanese rep from AJPW named Wally Yamaguchi went to a restaurant known as the Hama Steakhouse, one of the most exclusive in Tokyo.

  Usually closed on Sundays, Hama Steakhouse opened up just for us thanks to a phone call from Baba. That night was the first time I ever experienced Kobe beef, which, for those of you who haven’t had the pleasure, is the most tender and juiciest meat in all of Japan. Legend has it that Kobe beef cows are fed a beer per day with their grain and also get daily massages with sake.

  While we stuffed ourselves with every entrée and piece of sushi Hama could offer, we also got hammered off our rockers on mugs of beer and flask after flask of piping hot sake.

  The big kicker of the evening came when we got back to the hotel and Flair wanted to wake up Terry Funk, who was passed out in his room from a long day. Ric started pounding on the door while laughing. “Open up, Terry. We know you’re in there, and we won’t take no for an answer.”

  Terry never answered.

  That wasn’t good enough for Flair, so he kept on pounding. “This won’t do, Animal. This won’t do,” he shouted. “Animal, three point stance.”

  I knew where he was going with this, so I got down in a football position and waited for my orders. Ric ra
ised his arm and then dropped it like a firing squad captain, yelling, “Go,” at which point I launched at the door, smashing right through the flimsy lock mechanism. The door was literally hanging off the hinges.

  When we got inside, there was Funk, naked and passed out with ice bags wrapped around both knees. It was hilarious. What was even funnier was that he was so trashed himself that he never woke up the entire time we were in there. He must’ve had a great time trying to explain what the hell happened to the door to management, let alone remembering for himself.

  The next day when I was arriving at the Ryogoku Kokugikan, our arena in Tokyo, Wally Yamaguchi came strolling in, excitedly shoving an open magazine in my face.

  “What the hell is this?” I asked.

  “Oh, Animal-san, there’s much humor. You and Hawk-san, very funny.”

  When I looked at the page, I saw a crazy-looking Japanese cartoon featuring Hawk and me. Right off the bat I noticed Hawk wearing an apron and standing over a stove, which definitely called for an immediate explanation. Wally said it was an advertisement for a popular instant noodle soup.

  The concept was that this instant soup took only four minutes to cook, which was related to the amount of time we took to defeat our opponents in the ring. So if you put your soup on the stove at the beginning of a Road Warriors match, it was ready by the time we were finished.

  You have to picture Hawk in a kitchen wearing an apron and preparing boiling water, while at the same time I’m in the ring with an opponent. By the time the soup was finished, so was I, and the next panel showed a bowl on the table while Hawk yelled, “Animal, soup’s on!” You know you’ve made it in Japan when you’re being used for instant soup ads.

  That night we wrestled Jumbo and Tenryu in front of 10,900 people to a ten-minute DQ when Hawk and Jumbo started swinging chairs at each other, which was probably fueled by real mounting tensions between the two. According to Hawk, Jumbo kept botching certain spots whenever they were in the ring together, and it was starting to piss off Hawk. He felt Jumbo was intentionally doing it to make him look bad.