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

by Joe Laurinaitis

  I remember Hawk coming up to me after the match huffing and puffing, saying, “That motherfucker wanted me to press slam him all night. I couldn’t take it.” His chest was also beet red from all of Flair’s chops, with bruising already taking nasty shape. I wondered if I’d be in for the same treatment when it was my turn.

  My little date with Flair came eight days later, on July 9, in Cincinnati at Riverfront Stadium. We worked a match almost identical to the one Ric had wrestled against Hawk, and I absolutely loved every second of it. I press slammed Ric until I think he’d finally had enough. I knew my arms and shoulders had. Man, they were burning.

  The crowd was so hot that night that it seemed to be my time to take the World Heavyweight Championship, but of course I didn’t. The end was like Hawk’s match: I threw Flair into the ropes and accidentally knocked Tommy Young out of the ring, getting myself a nice DQ. It didn’t matter, though. Having that exclusive experience with Flair was as good as winning the title as far as I was concerned. Ric is a class act and, in my mind, will always be the one and only World Heavyweight champion in professional wrestling.

  The rest of the Great American Bash tour saw Hawk and me involved in random matches against various combinations of the Four Horsemen as well as several matches against the Koloffs and Krusher (Barry), who had recently returned after successfully rehabilitating his injured knee. One of the more memorable meetings with Ivan and Nikita during the Bash was a Russian Chain match in Charlotte at Memorial Stadium, the exact venue of Hawk’s and my face turn against Ivan and Krusher a year before at the Bash ’85.

  I don’t mind gimmick matches like the Double Russian Chain match, but I don’t prefer them by a long shot. Gimmick matches were always limiting when it came to what spots you could perform. I liked to make sure I got in my press slam and powerslam during each match for the fans, but with my wrist linked to a ten-foot chain, which was attached to an opponent’s wrist, I didn’t have the luxury of doing much more than punches, kicks, clotheslines, and chokes.

  Within the first few minutes of the match, Ivan was busted wide open. In general, the contest was chaotic and all over the place. We beat the Koloffs that night with help from Paul, who pushed Ivan off of the top rope, allowing me to get the pin. As different as the Russian Chain match may have been, I couldn’t help but feel the crowd deserved more.

  Gimmick matches are a part of the business that at one time or another most workers will be booked into. All you can do is put your best foot forward, try not to get hurt, and put on one hell of a show. Little did I know that over the course of the next year Hawk and I would be involved in two of the most historic gimmick matches in wrestling history.

  For the rest of the summer and into September, Hawk and I ran around the country wrestling the Koloffs and Krusher. I was having an amazing time working with my great friends Nikita, Barry, and Hawk. We had a ton of laughs thinking about how far we’d come since our punk days in Minnesota, when we never would’ve imagined we’d all be professional wrestlers in the same company.

  It was funny, man. I looked at Nikita, especially, and thought about how random his entrance into the business was. Even though I’d certainly helped him out, it was ultimately his look and his desire that broke him into a prime spot. I was glad to have been able to assist Scott Simpson along his journey into the persona of Nikita Koloff, but not everyone shared my enthusiasm.

  Believe it or not, Hawk actually didn’t care much for Nikita at all, and each of them never considered the other a real friend. They never came to blows or had words or anything, but they had an obvious indifference toward each other. In some ways, I think it was a simple case of Hawk feeling slightly threatened by my closer friendship with Nikita.

  There’s no question Hawk and I were inseparable brothers as the Road Warriors, but Nikita and I also had a special bond that had taken root back in my football days at Golden Valley Lutheran. Nikita took me under his wing back then, and I never forgot it. Now that Nikita was injected into the wrestling business and we were all working for the NWA at the same time, Hawk might’ve felt slighted by my divided attention.

  But also, Hawk and I led very different lifestyles by that point. I definitely liked to have my share of partying after a show, but everything had its limits. With Hawk, there were no limits and there was no sunrise. He’d party all day and all night, burning the candle at both ends. Eventually, as I’ve mentioned, it started spilling over into serious matters, like being late or absent for flights and shows and sometimes showing up to wrestle in a less-than-capable mind-set.

  But, no matter how much of a brotherly role I’d try to assume with Hawk, I still had to tiptoe around addressing how serious his behavior was becoming. I put it off to a later time.

  In the meantime, I spent more time with Nikita, who was a little more reserved when it came to the after-hours scene like me. I’m sure there are a lot of you reading this right now who think of the long time Hawk and I worked with Nikita as teammates and would’ve assumed we were all great friends behind the scenes. It simply wasn’t the case.

  Sure, the two of them worked with each other and had no issues, but you wouldn’t find them sharing a booth at Denny’s on any given night. In the end, minor problems aside, I was just happy to have some of my closest friends working in the business with me.

  As it came to be, I had the chance to help yet another friend from Minnesota step into the wrestling industry. Terry Szopinski was a six feet five, 320-pound freak of a guy I noticed working out at The Gym back home one day. Terry was so big that I had to approach him and introduce myself. After a little chat, being the savvy wrestling scout that I was, I asked him if he’d ever consider getting into the business.

  “I know a guy who could train you if you’re interested,” I told him. Of course, that guy I was talking about was Eddie Sharkey.

  Terry took me up on the offer and did, in fact, start working out with Eddie in the old church basement ring. Eventually Terry’s dad saw the potential in his son’s efforts and realized his connection with me could very well land him a lucrative new career. Within a few weeks, Mr. Szopinski opted to shell out a couple grand and build Terry a full-scale wrestling ring in the backyard. From that point forward, I donated as much time as possible when I was home from the road to personally train him.

  For a guy his size, Terry had made good enough progress that I could take some pictures to Dusty and show him my latest protégé. Before I left, snapshots in tow, I asked Terry what his gimmick name was.

  “The Warlord,” he said. “Tell Dusty I’m The Warlord.”

  I laughed and told him it was perfect.

  When I reconnected with Dusty and showed him the shots of Terry, he went for it hook, line, and sinker. “Give him a call, Joe,” he said. “Tell Terry to pack his bags and meet me in Atlanta in a couple of weeks. We’ll put him to work.”

  I was so thrilled to tell Terry, you’d have thought I was the one getting the call. Man, it’s an incredible feeling to be able to tell a friend his dreams have come true.

  Terry couldn’t believe it. “What? No way, man. Are you shitting me?”

  I told him it was the real deal and to get himself ready for a real change of pace.

  And like that, Terry Szopinski became The Warlord and was put on the road for Crockett Promotions as a brand-new monster heel under the management of Paul Jones. I began to think I was getting pretty good at spotting new talent and always kept my eyes wide open for the next big thing.

  When September rolled around, we booked ourselves onto a three-week tour in Japan for the latter part of October and early November. When Dusty found out about our little trip, I guess his creative juices started flowing because he approached us with an interesting angle: “I’m going to book you boys in the main event of Starrcade ’86 on Thanksgiving night against the Midnight Express in a scaffold match. We’re going to call it Night of the Skywalkers.”

  We had heard of scaffold matches but had never actually seen one
before. Basically, two 25-foot columns of scaffolding are erected outside opposite sides of the ring so that a thin catwalk can be suspended between the two over the ring. From there, in our case, two teams would climb up their respective sides and try to win the match by throwing both members of the opposing team off of the scaffold. Simple, right? Wrong. But as always, we were team players and said we’d do it. The only thing we had left to do before we took off for Japan was to set up the feud with the Midnight Express.

  The whole thing went down on the September 20 episode of World Championship Wrestling when Midnight Express manager Jim Cornette, along with his bodyguard, six feet five, 300-pound Big Bubba Rogers called us out. (Big Bubba, up until recently, was just another poor jobber using his real name, Ray Traylor.) He said we were a bunch of muscle-bound idiots who couldn’t compete with the skilled mastery of Dennis and Bobby in the ring. Never backing down from a challenge, “Precious” Paul decided to go and answer the call.

  When he got in Cornette’s face and the two exchanged insults, Paul reached back and slapped the taste out of his mouth. The second Paul landed the slap, Big Bubba and the Midnights started beating him down, prompting Hawk and me to run down. We didn’t have a chance to do much to help Paul because Dennis and Bobby got a hold of Cornette’s “loaded” tennis racket and worked us with it. I took the brunt of it when they got me into the ring, threw me against the ropes, and gave me a nasty gutshot. Cornette pranced around like a sissy little bandleader, cheering and whooping it up about destroying the mighty Road Warriors.

  The injuries we had to sell for the feud gave us the necessary time off to work our dates in Japan and let the buildup of Starrcade ’86 work. Before we left, we shot one of our most memorable promos for the event. We decided to find some abandoned scaffolding in downtown Atlanta and show the people at home exactly what the Midnight Express could expect on Thanksgiving night. We climbed up about 30 feet and took along two big pumpkins bearing the names Loverboy and Bobby in black marker.

  “This is what happens when you fall off a scaffold,” Hawk said before launching the “Loverboy” Dennis pumpkin over the side. Then there was this long, slow-motion shot of the pumpkin plunging to the ground, where it exploded into a thousand pieces.

  It was my turn. “This is what your head’s gonna do when it hits the ground.” I shot the Bobby pumpkin straight down for a nice messy impact.

  All the boys in the locker room loved those vignettes, especially Cornette, Dennis, and Bobby.

  When we were all set up to head off to Japan, I checked in with Julie at home. By early October, she was now seven months pregnant and looked ready to pop. Our doctor said it was likely she would deliver in the first week of December, so she was getting close.

  Even though she was late in the timeline of her pregnancy, Julie stayed as fit and active as ever. Sure, she might’ve had her various food cravings, but she definitely didn’t sit around eating pickles and ice cream all day. She took care of the house and visited Joey, as she always had.

  When we got to Japan, our first match was another all-out brawl with the Funks on October 10, but it was the match on October 21 against Baba and Tenryu that threw a little monkey wrench into the rest of the tour and threatened to cancel our main event at Starrcade.

  It all happened so fast. Right at the beginning of the match, Hawk was thrown into the ropes for a simple backdrop, but when he took the move and flipped, he landed awkwardly on his left leg and snapped his lower fibula. Crack! Hawk got up and immediately started hobbling over to the corner. “Fuck, Joe, I broke my leg. I felt it. I heard it.”

  I could tell by the look on his face how much pain he was in, so I told him I’d finish the match, which I did, taking the victory after powerslamming Tenryu almost through the mat.

  Afterward, we took Hawk to the emergency room and found out it was indeed a break. His leg was wrapped in a cast, and we were sent on our way.

  Hawk knew Paul and I were concerned about Starrcade. “Don’t worry, guys. I’ll be up on that scaffold if it’s the last thing I do.”

  Even though he tried to reassure us, I still had my doubts. In the meantime, I had to pick up the slack for my fallen partner. Although most of our matches for the next couple of weeks were cancelled, I did have a couple of handicap matches where I wrestled two guys by myself.

  By the time we got back to Minnesota in early November, I started thinking Hawk’s situation wasn’t as bad as I’d initially thought. Hawk was getting around pretty well and was even back in the gym training, and he was still intent on working our match in three weeks. As relieved as I was about our situation for Starrcade, something else had developed while we were in Japan that was far worse than the possibility of not performing.

  On October 14, while Hawk and I were competing in the Far East, our dear friend and fellow NWA babyface superstar Magnum T.A. had been terribly injured in a car accident. Apparently Magnum had lost control of his Porsche while driving in the rain and struck a telephone pole. It was over two hours before anyone discovered the scene and called 911. He sustained two broken vertebrae, paralyzing his right side for months. Doctors thought he’d never walk again, but eventually with the aid of a cane, he did. Magnum would never wrestle again.

  Losing Magnum was a huge tragedy, both personally and professionally. He was the next big star on the rise, having been groomed for a run as the World Heavyweight champion. In fact, it was Magnum who was supposed to face Ric Flair at Starrcade for the title. Dusty, who was absolutely devastated by what had happened to his dear friend, came up with an amazing idea that showed how much of a genius he was in the business.

  Dusty decided to take Magnum’s most hated and fierce rival and put him in Magnum’s place. Nikita Koloff, my best man and the dreaded Russian heel whom Magnum helped rise to another level during their blistering feuds for the NWA US Championship, was about to get one of the most dramatic face turns in professional wrestling.

  The week following Magnum’s accident, Dusty found himself getting a huge beat down on World Championship Wrestling by all of the Four Horsemen. As the fans were going insane for someone to run out and help, none other than Nikita came sliding into the ring to clear house. The people couldn’t believe it and were jumping up and down.

  Dusty played it cautious at first but then shook Nikita’s hand and gave him a hug. As the story line went, Nikita, upon hearing about his fallen adversary Magnum, was so moved with compassion that he felt compelled to “fight the good fight.”

  The union of “The American Dream” Dusty Rhodes and “The Russian Nightmare” Nikita Koloff became known as The Superpowers, in reference to the United States and the Soviet Union. With Nikita now a strong ally with Dusty (and us as well), he was booked in Magnum’s place against Ric Flair at Starrcade. Between Hawk’s broken leg and Nikita’s face turn, Starrcade ’86 was shaping up to be one interesting event.

  HAWK AND I ALWAYS KEPT OUR GAME FACES ON, EVEN WHEN OUR WAR PAINT WORE OFF. 1986.

  11

  SCALING DIZZYING HEIGHTS

  When Thanksgiving finally arrived on November 27, 1986, I was as ready as I’d ever be. As for Hawk’s leg? Well, let’s say that when we arrived at the Omni in Atlanta earlier in the day, Hawk decided to perform a little cast removal. With a pair of scissors and a knife, he cut into that thing until he had a perfect line sliced from top to bottom. He grabbed both sides of the cast and tore it off, revealing one hell of a pale and atrophied calf muscle. He started laughing. “Damn, Joe, as if my legs weren’t skinny enough already!” He got up and lightly walked on it, and although he winced in pain a little, he said he could manage it.

  Since I’d taken a class on athletic injuries in college, Hawk asked me to tape his ankle and leg for him. Back in those days, the boys didn’t have the luxury of trainers in the locker room, so anytime someone hurt an ankle, it was always, “Animal, we need a tape job.” I should’ve charged money.

  So after Hawk’s cast came off, I looked at it and proceeded to go to
work taping the old basket weave formation with a heel lock for total stability. I’m telling you, by the time I was finished taping Hawk up, it may as well have been a cast on his leg. I was proud of my work, and it was no wonder I’d passed the college class (though few others).

  When we were both done, we decided to go out to the arena floor and check out the scaffold. As we walked out from behind the curtain into the Omni and saw the scaffolding structure, I wondered if we’d made a big mistake. The thing looked ominous. When we arrived at the very bottom of the base where the side ladder rungs were, I looked straight up at the catwalk suspended over the ring and then straight down to the mat. Then I did it again. Holy shit, was it a long way down! We were told the distance to the bottom was 25 feet, but I’m telling you it made me dizzy the second I looked at it.

  To get a better feel for it, Hawk and I climbed up to the top. As I grabbed each rung and pulled myself up, I saw the arena seats get smaller and smaller until I was finally at the top. Hawk didn’t seem to be having any problem on his way up, so all was well. When we were both standing on the top of the structure, I started to get a little vertigo and held on to the railing. I swear I could feel the scaffold swaying a little.

  The only thing keeping the entire thing steady were a couple of safety cables attached to each side and bolted in the flooring. I also noticed how narrow the catwalk to the other side was. It couldn’t have been more than two and a half to three feet at the most. There definitely wasn’t a large margin for error on that structure. One fuckup and there’d be casualties, no doubt about it.

  Back in the dressing room, we talked things over a bit with Dennis, Bobby, and Jimmy, setting up certain spots and making sure we’d look out for each other while up there. This would have to be the greatest of team efforts, not only for the sake of entertaining the fans, but to maintain our safety at all times. Jimmy Cornette even insisted on taking a bump off of the scaffold at the very end, where Big Bubba would be waiting in the ring to catch his drop. Well, like a lot of things in life, it sure sounded good in theory.