King Lear (The Fall of the WWF)

I was never good at this sort of thing in high school.

I read King Lear in Grade 12, and was quite impressed with it. It was



very dark and cynical, and as a cynic myself I could appreciate that.



But the whole “understanding Shakespeare” thing always went over my



head. I’m a very superficial person at heart, and I dislike symbolism



and allegories and boring stuff like that. It was meant as



entertainment, says I, so entertain me.

Despite that shortcoming, I still managed to turn in a critical essay of



King Lear that earned me 100% on the provincial diploma exam for English



and impressed the hell out of a bunch of teachers. But being the person



that I am, I quickly forgot about the subject matter and filed the play



away in the endless Rolodex of useless knowledge that is my brain.

Skip ahead more than a few years, to late 1997. As a side project for



my spare time, I decide to write a big epic work on the Monday Night



Wars and what led to them. While writing the WWF part of things, it



struck me how closely Vince McMahon resembled the tragic figure of King



Lear, although the ending to HIS story was certainly anything but



tragic.

For those who haven’t read King Lear, here’s a summary of what happens:

King Lear is a once-wise, aging ruler of a large kingdom who is in need



of an heir. He summons his three daughters to him and decides that



whichever one loves him most will be given his kingdom. Regan and



Goneril lie and profess their love with various hyperbole, while



Cordelia simply states her loyalty to him and no more. Lear loses



control and punishes Cordelia for her answer, denying her the kingdom



and giving it to his other, more “loving” daughters instead. As Lear



moves away from his ruling duties, he is shuttled back and forth between



his two daughters, both of whom are using him for their own gains. Soon



Lear’s only true friend is the fool, who ironically is the only one who



speaks the truth. Cordelia is courted by the King of France, who soon



invades the weakened Lear, nearly costing Lear his entire kingdom. The



invasion is barely held back by Lear’s army, and as his other daughters



desert the kingdom, Lear reconciles with Cordelia and finally realizes



who his true allies are, only to discover that it’s too late…Cordelia



has been mortally wounded by the battle, and Lear has gone so mad that



he is unable to see that, and thinking that she is still alive and able



to rule his kingdom, he gives up and dies.

Rather gloomy little play, isn’t it? So what does that have to do with



the WWF? Well, let’s re-write it, substituting some names…

Vince McMahon is a once-wise, aging promoter of a large wrestling



company, who is in need of a new long-term draw. He summons his three



biggest names to him and decides that whichever one kisses the most ass



will be given a run as champion. Diesel and Shawn Michaels lie and



profess their respect for Vince with various hyperbole, while Bret Hart



simply states his loyalty to him and no more. Vince loses control and



punishes Bret for his answer, jobbing him to Bob Backlund and giving the



WWF title to Diesel instead. As Vince moves away from his creative



duties, he is manipulated back and forth between his two champions, both



of whom are using him for their own gains. Soon Vince’s only true ally



is Jim Ross, who ironically is the only one who speaks the truth. Bret



Hart is courted by Eric Bischoff, who soon invades the weakened Vince,



nearly costing him the WWF. The invasion is barely held back by Vince’s



loyalist workers, and as the Clique deserts the WWF, Vince reconciles



with Bret Hart and signs him to a 20 year deal, only to discover that



it’s too late…Bret has been morally scarred by the changing face of



wrestling, and Vince has gone so mad that he is unable to see that, and



thinking that Bret is still a viable draw and able to carry the WWF



title whenever the need should arise, he gives up and instead allows



Shawn Michaels an extended reign as champion, thus effectively conceding



defeat in the Monday Night Wars.

Heavy, no?

So this, then, is why the WWF died, and how they got there…

THE STORY

Part One: Vince McMahon 1, Federal Government 0.

The first player in our little tragedy is a guy you’ve probably never



heard of, but who single-handedly changed the WWF nonetheless: Dr.



George Zahorian. See, from the mid-80s until the early 90s, steroids



were legal for use in the US as long as they were prescribed by a



doctor. So Vince McMahon simply hired himself a doctor, under the



pretext of having them there on behalf of the state athletic commission,



and away he went distributing the juice to any WWF wrestler who had the



cash. And even if they didn’t have the cash, no problem, he’d just



advance them some money on their next paycheque.

Problem: In 1991, Dr. George Zahorian is sent down the river by the



government, and arrested on several charges of distributing steroids.



Suddenly, the WWF is *very* nervous, and rightly so. Just as they



feared, upon his arrest Zahorian squeals to the feds that Vince McMahon



has been using and distributing steroids himself for years, and now the



government has a solid and tangible way to nail McMahon on felony



charges, something they’d been waiting to do for years.

And so, on Friday, November 19, 1993, the Brooklyn, NY office of the



U.S. Department of Justice handed down an indictment against Vince



McMahon and Titan Sports Inc. The indictment contained charges of



conspiracy, possession and possession with intent to distribute. Vince



was, in a word, screwed.

The effect on the WWF was immediately noticeable. Pat Patterson took



over most of the major creative endeavours in Vince’s absence, and the



result was Royal Rumble 94, a card featuring 10 guys teaming up to put



the Undertaker in a casket, and Undertaker subsequently rising to the



ceiling after delivering a soliloquy. It was widely considered one of



the stupidest things ever seen in wrestling. Ridiculous gimmick



wrestlers like Doink the Clown and Men on a Mission were pushed down the



fans’ throats, and the overall quality of Monday Night RAW declined at



an alarming pace.

One of the bright spots of the early 1994 period was the feud between



the Hart Brothers — Bret and Owen. Vince was all for transitioning



the WWF title from Undertaker to Ludvig Borga, who would then lose it to



Lex Luger at Wrestlemania X while Bret fought his brother in the



undercard. However, when a tied result of the Rumble was booked, with



Bret and Lex both hitting the floor at the same time (although



sharp-eyed fans pointed out that Lex clearly hit first), the crowd so



decisively voiced their approval for Bret that the WWF had no choice but



to drastically alter plans. Bret was given the title in the main event,



Luger was buried. Owen was subsequently pushed into the main event as a



foil for Bret. It was the first real sign that the WWF was willing to



change with the times. That proved to be premature hope.

On July 22, 1994, after deliberating for 16 hours, the jury found



McMahon and Titan Sports not guilty of the charges. Despite testimony



from Zahorian and Hulk Hogan, there proved to be too many flaws in the



evidence, holes in the stories, and reluctance from wrestlers to testify



and thus be branded a traitor in the locker room, and Vince was a free



man. And with the Dark Period looking to be over, Vince triumphantly



returned as the creative force behind the WWF.

The first major storyline to emerge after this was the Fake Undertaker



one. Ted Dibiase had “found” the Undertaker (after he “died” at the



Rumble, remember), only it was SMW mainstay Brian Lee with his hair dyed



red. The “real” Undertaker returned soon after the imposter debuted (in



reality he was on vacation with his wife) and a match was set for



Summerslam 94 with little buildup or interest from the fans. The real



Undertaker won the match, Brian Lee disappeared, and Undertaker went



back to his usual act again, a state in which he’d remain until 1996.

Meanwhile, another interesting thing occurred: WWF veteran Bob Backlund



was given a title match against Bret Hart on WWF TV, and lost. At the



end of the match, Backlund snapped and attacked Hart, then stared at his



hands in awe. The original idea was possession by the returning Papa



Shango, but to everyone’s suprise, Backlund managed to get himself over



as a monster heel using only the “crazy old man” gimmick and his largely



untested heel interview skills. The fans were hugely into the



character, so he was pushed into the main event with Bret Hart at



Survivor Series 94…and won the title. Backlund was the most



interesting heel champion they’d had in years, and was hugely over.



Best of all, he was still a great wrestler at 41, an age that seems



downright young compared to the people on top of WCW these days. So



what happened?

The Clique happened. And nothing would ever be the same again.

Part Two: The Clique

Let’s backtrack a bit.

In 1993, Shawn Michaels hit his stride as a singles wrestler, winning



the Intercontinental title for a second time from ex-partner Marty



Jannetty. In order to give the character the last ingredient lacking,



the WWF decided to give him a bodyguard. So, as a favor to WWF star



Razor Ramon, WCW jobber (and good friend of Ramon) Vinnie Vegas was



hired and repackaged as the monster Diesel. The three men became



friends and started working together on a regular basis. Around the



same time, independant wrestler The Lightning Kid was brought in and



repackaged as hard-luck underdog The 1-2-3 Kid, getting his first win by



going over…you guessed it…Razor Ramon. He soon joined their little



group. A contract dispute with the WWF left Shawn out of action in late



93 and Diesel out of luck, but by the end of the year Shawn was back and



Diesel was tossing out 8 straight wrestlers in Royal Rumble 94 to win



over the crowd. Ramon was Intercontinental champion, and set up an



issue with Shawn Michaels over who was the “real” champ that led to the



show-stealing ladder match at Wrestlemania X.

Now they were using each other to get more over, and the push escalated.



Diesel and Shawn were given the tag titles shortly before Summerslam,



while Ramon and the Kid were positioned as buddies. The four men had a



****1/2 tag team match with each other on an early episode of WWF Action



Zone that only served to demonstrate how good they could be together and



how lazy they tended to get otherwise. The booking was starting to



center almost exclusively on those four, and as a result they were the



only ones getting enough airtime to be significantly over. And so, at



Survivor Series 94, Diesel and Shawn finally split up in order to begin



the parallel singles pushes of both men. And mere days later, with



almost no warning, Bob Backlund made his first title defense against



Diesel after beating Bret Hart in a grueling 40 minute marathon. Diesel



won the match against Backlund in 6 seconds with a kick to the gut and a



powerbomb, taking the title and kicking off the wretched “New WWF



Generation” era.

Suddenly, the entire direction of the promotion shifted to Shawn



Michaels v. Diesel. Shawn was put over several bigger men in order to



build him as a viable contender. He won the 95 Royal Rumble and faced



Diesel for the title at WrestleMania XI…and that was the first sign of



a major problem for Vince McMahon, and the first sign that he was



unwilling to change with the times.

Part Three: Vince Big Talentless Slugs

For you see, the WWF had now done the impossible and made Shawn Michaels



MORE over than Diesel. It was undeniable. For the first time in his



experience since the Hulk Hogan era, the fans were actively demanding



that a smaller man be given the World title push at top of the



promotion, and Vince didn’t know how to deal with it. He jobbed Shawn



to Diesel at Wrestlemania, which only served to make him more over than



he was before. He gave Shawn a new bodyguard — Sid Vicious — and then



had him turn on Shawn, hoping the babyface push would steer the fans



toward a Sid-Diesel showdown instead. It didn’t work — the fans



clearly wanted Shawn v. Diesel again, and the WWF was unwilling to



provide that for whatever reason. Instead they provided Diesel v. Sid,



Diesel v. Mabel, Diesel v. Yokozuna, trying everything in their power to



build Diesel as a Hogan-like babyface to recapture lightning in a



bottle.

The ulimate example of this is King of the Ring 95, one of the most



depressingly bad cards ever put together by either promotion. The point



of it was to make the fans fear Mabel as a legitimate title threat, but



what the arena was screaming for was Shawn, and by the time Mabel



defeated Savio Vega in the finals the crowd was so deflated that none of



them could possibly have gone home happy. Meanwhile, the Diesel v. Sid



program dragged on, playing to houses of 1000 people or less much of the



time. And when the focus was shifted to Diesel v. King Mabel and set up



as the main event for Summerslam, the groans of pain from the fanbase



were almost audible. Matches like Michaels v. Ramon in a ladder rematch



and Kid v. Hakushi were blowing the roof off the arena, while fans



snored through Diesel v. Mabel or Undertaker v. whoever. The old



formula of building up a big fat heel to lose to the virtuous champion



was dying fast, but that didn’t stop the WWF from beating it into the



ground all of 1995 and 1996, once Shawn got his run at the top. In



Shawn’s case, he got fed to Vader and a heel-turned Diesel. Vince’s



facination with big men had killed the house show circuit so much and



left Monday Night RAW such a pathetic shell of it’s former self that the



WWF was now almost begging for a challenge to it’s throne.

In a word, Nitro.

Part Four: “He beats the big guy with three superkicks”

With those eight words, the Monday Night Wars were officially launched,



and WCW had the lead. In the early days of Nitro, Eric Bischoff



counter-programmed everything that the WWF did almost to the minute,



putting matches at the commercial breaks during the WWF’s big matches.



And most notably, the first example of Bischoff thinking “outside the



box” was to simply give away the results of the very stale taped RAWs



during the Nitro broadcast, as RAW was taped four shows at a time once a



month. Did it work? That’s debatable at best. But people *did* talk



about Nitro now, whether it was good or bad, and that translated into



viewers, enough to cause the WWF to take notice.

So what did they do? Refine their approach? Push new stars? Adjust



their way of thinking about the wrestling business as a whole?

No, even better…they mocked Ted Turner.

Yes, in early 1996, an increasingly desperate WWF began an infamous



series of sketches called “Billionaire Ted’s Rasslin’ Warroom”, using



very slightly changed versions of Ted Turner, Hulk Hogan, Randy Savage



and Mean Gene to illustrate how much hipper and with it the WWF was.



However, the sketches had two fatal flaws:

1) The WWF was doing the same repetitive nonsense that they were



mocking WCW for, and;



2) The sketches ended up becoming so bizarre and mean-spirited that Ted



Turner’s lawyers issued a cease-and-desist order against the WWF,



something which much of the WWF fanbase agreed with.

And now, with the failure of the Billionaire Ted sketches, things were



falling apart more rapidly than Vince could keep up. Diesel’s contract



was up and he made it known that he would rather ply his trade in WCW



for more money. Razor Ramon was suffering from a severe drug habit and



was no longer welcome in the WWF. The 1-2-3 Kid’s attitude was becoming



so distruptive that he was also asked to leave. And so, in the ultimate



slap in the face to the WWF, the departing Clique members lost their



final matches one night in Madison Square Garden, and then engaged in a



group hug to close the evening, before departing for WCW the next day.

Vince was enraged, and punished the only available target for his anger:



Hunter Hearst Helmsley, who had joined the Clique in mid-95 after coming



over from WCW.

Now desperate for anything to gain the edge back, he started doing



completely the wrong things — he re-signed the Ultimate Warrior and



gave him free reign, he put a major title on Ahmed Johnson, and began



pushing has-been Jake “The Snake” Roberts on a nostalgia trip.



Goldust’s quasi-gay character was stretched to the absolute bounds of



good taste, and then hastily turned face for political reasons.



Untested Olympic weightlifter Mark Henry was signed to a 10 year deal,



and immediately pushed. None of it worked. Nothing. The only bright



spot of the bunch was Shawn Michaels carrying everything on two legs to



**** matches at every turn, and even that could only go so far because



of Vince’s reluctance to give a smaller wrestler like Shawn a proper run



as champion.

And so finally on Memorial Day, 1996, Scott Hall showed up on the first



two-hour edition of Nitro, kicking off the nWo angle, and essentially



shovelling the last bit of dirt on the WWF’s grave, as WCW grabbed the



ratings lead and didn’t let go of it until 1998.

The World Wrestling Federation, 1984-1996, RIP.

Now, let’s cut open the body and see what the causes of death were…

Part Five: Garbageman By Day, Wrestler By Night.

If you could boil Vince’s major problems (and there were lots) down to



one simple reason, it is this: Gimmicks sell t-shirts, characters sell



tickets. Vince’s inability to make that distinction cost him dearly as



fans became smarter and expected a different product as a result.

See, the problem was Hulk Hogan. For years before the big crash, Vince



could just stick some guy out there with a dumb gimmick, put him against



Hogan, and the fans would have a reason to hate them right there. He’s



fighting Hulk! Boooo! Easy, right?

Well, now Hogan was gone and fans needed another reason to care. Want



an example of what I mean? Take Bob Holly, for instance. When he



started in the WWF, he was called “Sparky” Thurman Plugg, which is a



semi-clever play on “STP” and “spark plug”. Hah hah, right? But just



looking at that gimmick, do you cheer him or boo him? And why?

It was that “why” that really got to the fans. Because Vince would just



keep sticking guys out there with silly names and silly costumes and



pretty soon no one cared anymore. Vince produced the evil martial



artist Kwang, who didn’t get a reaction because he didn’t do anything



particularly evil. So he repackaged him as the good Caribbean legend



Savio Vega, and again he didn’t get much of a reaction because he didn’t



do anything particularly good. Vince, ironically, was the last to “get



it”. The fans were asking “Why should we boo a plumber? Why should we



cheer a garbageman? Why should even bother to care one way or another



about Jerry Lawler’s evil dentist?” The WWF’s answer was basically



“Because we told you so” and that’s where it all went bad. Because now



they had to TELL the fans what they wanted to see, when in fact the fans



were already telling the WWF what they wanted, and it was Shawn bumping



like a madman for Razor Ramon, or Bret Hart going 30 minutes with his



brother, or Mankind and Undertaker beating on each other in a boiler



room. The fans didn’t care about the backstory for Mankind (he was a



prize-winning piano prodigy as a child, but he never met the lofty



expectations of his upper-class parents, and one day his mother slammed



the lid shut on his fingers and sent him to live in the sewers and be



raised by rats…just in case you were wondering), they cared because he



was a dominant heel, and oh my god did he just BEAT THE UNDERTAKER?

The people knew who they cared about all along — it was those who had



characters they could relate to, or personalities they could connect



with. It didn’t matter what color the tights were or what profession



they held (and why would someone as well-paid as a plumber bother with



wrestling, anyway?) outside of wrestling, it was the wrestler that



counted. That’s why Sunny got over and the Bodydonnas are a footnote of



history, and that’s why the Goon was doomed to only doing a couple of



RAW tapings before getting shuffled out of wrestling history. And most



tellingly, that’s why fans at the 1996 Slammy Awards chanted “Kill the



Clown” when Vince had Doink make an unscheduled (and unwelcome)



appearance during the course of the show.

But most telling and sad of all is the treatment endured by the WWF’s



brightest star during this whole period, and the one who could have



saved them all along…

Part Six: This Week On RAW: Bret Hart v. Barry Horowitz!

No, not Barry Horowitz.

Following Bret’s loss to Bob Backlund in 1994, he was almost immediately



de-pushed into the mid-card at the request of the Clique, who didn’t



want their heat to be reduced via Bret. And so Bret got to face



Backlund in a boring rematch at the biggest show of the year,



Wrestlemania XI. Then he got to put over newcomer Hakushi and Jerry



Lawler. Then he got to have “Kiss My Foot” matches with Lawler. Then



he got to wrestle Lawler’s evil dentist Isaac Yankem in his first match



at the second biggest card of the year, Summerslam. Then it was off to



a feud with the evil pirate Jean-Pierre LaFitte. Man, can’t you just



FEEL the excitement Bret must have had all year with that lineup?

Thankfully, Vince came to his senses in late 1995 and decided that



Diesel was doing his company more harm than good, and jobbed him to Bret



Hart at Survivor Series 95 to end the Clique Era once and for all. Bret



ended up being a transitional champion to Shawn Michaels, a situation



which enraged him so much that he ended up taking 6 months off and



nearly jumped to WCW in the process as the famed “third man” for the



nWo.

Hindsight says that Bret probably should have left when he had the



chance in 1996. The two obvious questions, “Why was he treated so



badly?” and “Why did he then stay?” are harder to deal with, but both



answers, whatever they may be, speak volumes about Bret’s loyalty to the



sport in general and to Vince McMahon specifically.

When Bret finally returned in the fall of 1996, with the WWF far behind



WCW in the war, he was put into a program with upstart WWF newcomer



Steve Austin, and then, finally, Vince McMahon made the decision to



start listening to the fans, one that would slowly but surely swing the



balance the other way and cause the WWF to rise from the grave like



Lazarus and wreak vengeance on those who put it there.

But that’s another rant.

Part Seven: Checkmate.

The death was slow and painful — from mid-1996 until early 1998, the



WWF was essentially a zombie, a walking corpse that no one had noticed



was dead yet. It took a total cleansing of the heel-babyface system,



the gimmick system, the lockerroom, and a reinvention of what weekly



episodic TV was with regards to wrestling in order for the WWF to return



to it’s former glory. Had ECW not been around to provide a template,



it’s sketchy at best as to whether or not Vince would have known how to



go about recreating himself and his promotion, and it’s even sketchier



whether the WWF fanbase would have been receptive to those changes. In



fact, given how close to total bankrupcy the WWF was at the point where



Diesel lost his title to Bret Hart, it’s sketchy as to whether they



could have even survived another year.

But with wrestling, as with the stories crafted for it and upon which



they are based, it is often darkest before the dawn for the protagonist



and there is usually much soul-searching and spirtual realizations to go



through before redemption can be found.

I’m sure Shakespeare would agree. In fact, he’d probably be watching



RAW, too, and wearing an Austin 3:16 t-shirt…

NULL