Countdown to Lockdown: The REAL MICK FOLEY

AN ANSWER FOR AMBROSE

 I have only spoken to FCW prospect Dean Ambrose on three different occasions. Following his match on a WWE house show on Long Island, I went out of my way to tell him I had enjoyed his match. The skills and unique qualities qualities he posseses might very well make him a force to be reckoned with somewhere down the line. He has supporters in lofty places who feel he might be a huge asset to WWE for a decade or more in the future. I'm also told that his interviews ( "promos" as we call them) are compelling, intelligent and emotional; every bit as good as the top guys in WWE.

My second conversation with Mr Ambrose got quite a bit of attention. I know there has been alot of speculation as to the nature of this conversation. To me, it was whatever anyone wanted it to be; a shoot, a work, or somewhare in the middle - as almost all compelling pieces in sports-entertainment ultimately are.

I'm far more concerned with my third conversation with the guy. Look, Ive been accused from time to time of taking some things in the business a little too seriously. Maybe I do. But like that sailor-man of old, "I am what I am, and that's all that I am." After all these years, there are some things that just bother me. Remember that "Cane Dewey" promo from 1995 that so many are still fond of? It actually came from a very heavy place in my heart, when my wife impressed on me just how sick it was for any fan to be making a sign advocating the beating (even in jest) of my 3 year-old child.

That's the immediate feeling I got when I actually read the Dean Ambrose tweet that mentioned his dream to seeing me no longer able to make a dime in the wrestling business - with a particularly nasty mention of how he wanted to see my home repossesed and my children starved. Maybe the 1995 Cactus Jack would have cut a promo on the guy. The 2102 Mick Foley just wonders what would make something say something so stupid, heartless and ignorant. I felt Dean Ambrose had crossed a line that shouldn't be crossed, so took the opportunity before the Hampton, Virginia Smackdown to ask/tell him to please stop crossing a line that I wasn't comfortable with. Ric Flair had once asked a similar consideration of me before a memorable promo we shared in New Jersey in 2006. Of course I honored his request. Ours is a business built on trust and respect. I thought Dean Ambrose understood this. But less than a day after making my request, I saw that my children were once again the subject of his tweets - a reference to how I might feel differently about something if my children were in wheel-chairs. Maybe I would have cut a heck of a promo about it in 1995. Seventeen years later, I just wanted to get the fuck away from the whole scenario. It's not fun, it's not cutting edge. It just sucks.

Sports-entertainment has to involve a certain ammount of respect and trust. It's pretty obvious Dean Ambrose doesn't have any respect for me, my requests, or what I have done in the wrestling business. Therefore I can't place the slightest ammount of trust in him. Has anyone wondered if I'm feeling better following the concussion I spoke of in that December 2010 TNA Impact promo with Flair?  I'm not feeling too much better. I tend to have two types of days when it comes to that muted, under-water feeling I spoke of in that promo - bad and worse. I'm just not the same guy who took 11 chair shots from the Rock in 1999. I haven't been that guy in a long time.  Given my history of concussions, I would have to be a fool to place my future in the hands of someone I don't trust.  Perhaps I do have another decent match left in me. If so, it will be with a guy like Dolph Ziggler, who might well be the best worker in the business, and just needs that ONE little something to allow the WWE Universe to see  how talented he really is. Or a guy like the Miz - one of the best heels of this generation. Say what you want to about Miz, but the guy is damn good at what he does.

But Dean Ambrose? No. I may not have the power I once did in the business, but I still have the power to say no to things that just flat-out seem wrong. Like trying to put Dean Ambrose on the WWE map. A few weeks ago, it seemed like an interesting challenge. Now, it seems like an insult. A few weeks ago, it seemed like cutting-edge stuff. Now it just seems like bullshit. He is a very good talent. He has those supporters in high places. Let them wrestle him. Maybe they can put him on the WWE map. Good luck.

It's tough to get over in WWE. I certainly wouldn't want to be one of the young guys facing someone like Skip Sheffield, knowing that the priority placed on getting over will be somewhat higher than looking out for the well-being of an opponent. I'm not picking on Skip, either; I like him, think he has a wold of potential, and he has personally shown me nothing but respect. But that clothesline on that kid in Hampton, Virginia? To quote one of my idols, Jimmy "Superfly" Snuka - "Not tonight, bruddah!" I went through that with The Dynamite Kid in 1986, when I was 21 years old. I willingly did it then. I did it at 25. I did it at 30. I did it at 34. I came back and did it at 38, and 40, and so on and so forth. I refuse do it at 46...almost 47. Especially not for Dean Ambrose.

THREE WEEKS OF FOLEY IN UK

It's after 4am here in New York, and I should probably be getting some sleep. I'm a notoriously bad plane-sleeper; it's not unusual for me to take a walk through the aisle a few hours into a trans-Atlantic flight, and find I'm the ONLY person not fast aleeep. But, before I go, I wanted to give you the latest update on my UK "Tales From Wrestling Past" tour. As the name might imply, it IS a wrestler, telling wrestling stories for wrestling fans, but I do my very best to create a welcoming atmosphere for everyone - from the die-hardest of wrestling fans to the loyal wife or girlfriend, tagging along in an amazing show of love and devotion. Believe it or not, the non-fans almost always enjoy themselves, and seek me out to let me know how surprised they were.

With my further involvement in WWE, it's just not going to be possible for me to do a tour of this length again. In the future. I'll probably do 4 days in Ireland in November, but when I hit the UK again in a couple years, it will most likely be for a week or so - in the larger cities. SO, not that I'm threatening anyone in Middlesbrough, Derby and Telford, but...I'm not likely to pass through your towns again.

Here's how sales are shaping up. Belfast, Manchester and 2 of 3 London shows are SOLD-OUT. Leeds and Bath have less than 50 tickets remaining, and Edinburgh, Glasgow, Sheffield, Southend and Cardiff all have about 100 tickets left. Tickets are plentiful in some of the larger venues, like Middlesbrough, Newcastle, York, Birmingham, Telford, Derby and Reading. Warwick is not a very large venue, but, nonetheless, there are a few hundred tickets left.

I've got some great support along the way. Billy Kirkwood will be joining me in Edinburgh and Glasgow. Jim Smallman will be helping me out in Middlesbrough and Newcastle. Carl Hutchinson will offer support in Sheffield and York, and Chris Brooker will be lending a hand in Manchester, Sheffield, York, Leeds, Reading, London and Southend. Eddy award winning comic Brendon Burns will be offering up his G-rated observations (ok, he's about the furthest thing from G as you can get) on 10 shows: Leeds, Birmingham, Telford, Derby, Warwick, Cardiff, Bath, Reading, and at least two of the London shows. Magician extraordinaire Mat Ricardo will make a surprise appearance on at least one show, and in a great new aquisition, Craig Campbell of "Canadian Lumberjacks" fame will be hosting the sows in Telford and Derby.

If you're in the area, and it's in your budget, I hope you will consider coming out to a show.

http://uk.realmickfoley.com

 

THIS IS WHAT I DO!

THIS IS WHAT I DO!

Can I be honest with you? My spoken word shows are good. Call them stand-up, call them one-man shows; I wish I knew what the heck to call them. But I do know they're good. Usually, they're really good. Almost always, people show up having no idea what to expect, and walk away feeling like they've been part of something much better than they were expecting.

But to be equally honest, I have done a very poor job promoting what I do. Yes, I do get my plugs in - probably way too many of them. But very few people even know what the heck it is that I'm plugging. Over the past year, I kept waiting for WWE to embrace what I did, and take me under their wing. The way I saw it, World Wrestling Entertainment could almost instantly dip a giant foot into the waters of a whole new brand of entertainment with a single USA special, DVD release or promotion of a multi-media one-man-show. In retrospect, I wish I'd just showed up in Stamford, CT, thrown a copy of the "Life" section of USA today with Mike Tyson's story on the cover and said "if we can't do a better one-man show than Mike Tyson, we're all in trouble."

I still think WWE is eventually going to get it. Maybe my Hall of Fame speech will help. Sure, it was a little long, with no real emotionally stirring closing statement. And I've kicked myself in the butt (figuratively) many times for not bringing the speech home after that ad-lib elbow gift from the wrestling Gods - and/or Chris Jericho, and CM Punk - knowing instinctively that the moment couldn't possibly get any more perfect. But, at the very least, I showed I could entertain a large crowd with some tales of wrestling past.

But that speech - as special as it was - is not indicative of what I do. But THIS footage is. Filmed at last summer's Edinburgh Fringe Festival with just a single camera at the side of the stage, I think it captures the real FEEL of what one of my shows is like. Unlike my naive decision to open the Montreal festival with a story I'd neither written out or told in public, this footage from The Fringe contains material I'd worked on for quite a while. I could have edited out my dealings with a heckler, or the helpful sexual suggestion from a spirited female fan, but opted not to. I think they provide a further sense of what my show is about.

I long ago accepted that I won't ever compete on a laugh-for-laugh basis with a guy like Louie CK, or a woman like Amy Schumer, or any one of a hundred (probably way more) talented performers who are more polished, more professional, and flat-out funnier than I'll ever be. But I wouldn't trade places with them, even if I could. I like telling my stories, my way, to my fans. I'm happy when I'm up there, on stage, connecting with an audience. There are still some nights when I take my emotional lumps out there and wonder what I'm doing, and why I'm doing it. Trust me, doing autograph signings is far easier, far safer, and up until recently, far more financially rewarding. But when I watch this footage (which I hope you will too) it all seems crystal clear. It's the closes thing I've ever felt to being in the ring..without a tooth stuck in my nose.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=S4728VA87qA&feature=youtu.be

THINKING OF REID FLAIR

Several years ago, I received a phone call from a distraught mother, whose daughter had just passed away after a long illness. I had met the young lady only once, and was at a loss for words - struggling to find any words of wisdom or guidance that might help at such an awful time. I told the grieving woman that I would talk to a friend of mine, who might be able to offer some guidance - a woman I had gotten to know well during the course of her own child's extended battle with, and eventual death from cancer.

 The young man's life and death had touched me to the point where I had written a small chapter, "Marcos", dedicated to his memory in my 2007 book, "The Hardcore Diaries." I hoped that his mother, Rachel, might be able to tell me something - anything, that might allow me to ease the suffering of this other woman.

  "Does it ever get better?", I asked.

"No", Marcos's mother told me. "It never gets better. Not a day goes by when I don't feel the pain of losing my boy. You just learn to live with the pain."

Like so many in the wrestling world, my heart goes out to the family and friends of Reid Fliehr, who left this world way too young - at the age of 25. AS a father of four children of my own, I can only imagine the grief that his family must be feeling. I didn't know Reid all that well.  But I remember watching him play while I was at his father's house in 1991 - all of 3 years old, taking on all the challenges that a swing-set  had to offer. I remember seeing him every couple of years after that, watching him grow from a toddler into a boy, and then into a handsome young man with a world of potential.

What I remember mostly, though, was sitting next to his father, Ric Flair, on an airplane, getting ready to take off from the Philippines to Los Angelas - a flight in the neighborhood of 16 hours. I was a little nervous about sitting next to the legendary Nature Boy for such an extended duration; after all, it was widely known that we didn't see eye to eye on too many things. But I listened to Ric, as one by one, child by child, he placed telephone calls to each of his children - just to tell them he loved them. I asked Ric about the calls during the course of the flight, mentioning how touching I found them to be.

"I do that every day", Ric said. "Just because you never know." Now Reid is gone, leaving behind a world of "whys" and "what ifs". But unlike so many who leave this world far too soon, he left knowing that he was loved. For Reid's family, the pain may never get better. Over time, I hope, and pray, they learn to live with that pain. But I hope that knowing they loved their son - and that Reid kew he was loved, will be a source of small comfort in the trying times ahead. God bless you, Reid Fliehr. May you rest in peace

NIGEL'S LAST STAND - thoughts on "The Last of McGuiness"

I've been meaning to write this for a while. I viewed the documentary, "The Last of McGuiness" a few weeks ago, and it's stuck with me since then. The movie, an in-depth account of Nigel McGuinness's farewell wrestling tour in late 2011 can be tough to watch at times - not because it's bad; to the contrary, it's very good - but because it can be unflinching in depicting Nigel's pain, frustration, and, quite often, bitterness, as an end comes to a career that has not brought him all he hoped.

One of the things that kept running through my mind as I watched the movie was just how far Nigel's image of himself and his place within the business varied from my own perception of him. Prior to watching his documentary, had anyone asked me whether Nigel McGuiness had "made it" in the business, I would have said "oh sure; Nigel was one of the best." After all, he had the great run in ROH, with state of the art matches with Bryan Danielson, and, when given his shot on a national platform, had a great run with Kurt Angle. What more could a guy want? He had the respect of his peers, some  legitimate "match of the year" contenders, and a run on top - with Kurt Angle, one of the best of all-time - in a national promotion. So why didn't Nigel see himself as having made it?

Oh yeah, there's that tricky issue of being able to make a living doing what you love to do. I'd heard vague rumors as to why Nigel had been let go by WWE. But guys get let go by WWE all the time; it's just one of those unfortunate facts of life. But, when see in the context of Nigel's film, it's just heartbreaking to see how close he came to achieving his dream, only to see an old bicep injury provide an unceremonial exit. But I saw him as having landed on his feet with the move to TNA, and the matches with Angle as vindication for his WWE departure. Obviously, while watching the film, I learned that Nigel didn't see things in quite the same light.

One gets the sense from watching the movie that Daniel Bryan's success has made Nigel's departure from the business particularly difficult. Not because he wishes any ill-will to his former ROH colleague, but becasue Bryan (Danielson) like McGuiness, was a guy who on paper, should not have become a star in WWE. Too small, not colorful enough, too much of a technician - not enough of a character. But yet, there is Bryan an unlikely WWE Superstar reaching heights that no one (at least not this particular wrestling enthusiast) could have predicted. After spending quite a bit of time with ROH in 2005, I thought both Danielson and McGuiness were great wrestlers, and even back then, I could see Danielson's sense of humor peeking through. But I never went to bat for either man, as far as WWE reccomendations went. I highly recommended Punk, Samoa Joe, and pitched Homicide as a guy who could brawl or wrestle, who wrestled much "bigger" than his actual size, who could connect with a different type of audience than the luchadors who were expected to appeal to the entire Hispanic viewing audience.

But Nigel always struck me as such a nice chap, seemingly happy with the cards the business had dealt him. Always seemed upbeat, never a hint of the frustration that just about consumes him in this documentary. On occasions where I've done reality TV/documentary work, I've always realized that my fate lay partially in the hands of the editors. But, in McGuiness's case, he is the editor, and how well he comes accross is largely up to him. The fact that he willingly airs footage of his post-retirement tantrum is a brave move, and one that illustrates his quest to ducument the truth, even when the truth is far from pretty. His admission that the nightly retirement tributes and speeches felt less and less authentic was another bold statement that could easily have been left on the editing room floor. Yet Nigel keeps it, and the film is better off for his lack of vanity.

I was by myself when I started watching Nigel's film. But over the course of the viewing, I was gradually joined by all my children, ages 21, 19, 12 and 9. None of them left. All of them stayed, interested, even transfixed by the events unfolding on their TV screen. All the while, I kept thinking, "I hope Nigel gets some closure out of this", hoping that the filming and editing process would allow him another look and some appreciation for everything he accomplished in a very productive career. This does seem to be the case (don't want to ruin the ending, but you might enjoy it more if you know there is a flicker of light at the end of this tunnel) and my hope as the credits rolled was that Nigel would someday be able to look back on his career and realize that being among the very best in the world, and having the matches to prove it, should provide its own comforts - even if it's not enough to fully cushion the blows taken - both physically and emotionally along the way.

I hope you'll give "The Last of McGuiness" a try. Don't rent it or borrow it. Buy it from the man himself at http://nigelwrestling.com . His heart, hopes, sadness, frustration and, ultimately, his redemption are all over this film.

IN PRAISE OF BUDDY ROBERTS

I've been thinking about writing about Buddy Roberts, since learning of his November 29th passing. It was mid-December when I finally got the word - giving an indication of how much attention his passing received in the mainstream wrestling world. I just didn't know how many modern fans would remember Buddy, or how relevant his career might seem to those who never had the priviledge of seeing Buddy in his prime - as one half of The Hollywood Blondes in the 1970's, or as one third of the ground-breaking, star-making, top-drawing Fabulous Freebirds of the 1980's. I knew there would be others who could write more knowlegeably about his career, and his influence on the business. But as a guy who knew Buddy for over 25 years (I met him either in November, 1986 or January 1987), and most importantly, as a guy who has been doing some serious thinking on the subject, I feel like I have to share at least a few thoughts on Buddy Roberts - as a wrestler, an inspiration, and as a friend.

 

By the time I met Buddy, on a Mid-South swing into Ohio and West Virginia, I was already well-versed in the legendary accomplishments of The Freebirds - both in and out ofthe ring. Inside it, The Birds were innovators and money-drawers; a team comprised of three very different parts, three very different people, who somehow operated as one cohesive unit. Michael Hayes was the mouthpiece and the focal point of The Birds. He was one of the best talkers this business has ever known, and, to those who watched him, either hating him, or loving him - because there was no in-between - almost tough enough to back up his words all by himself. That's where Terry Gordy came in; he backed up the game Hayes talked, and did it as convincingly as any big man of his era. There would be those - like me - who would watch - as fans - and wonder why we should believe that a wrestler like Gordy - muppet-like in features, thick, as opposed to muscular in stature - should be taken seriously as an ass-kicker.  Then we'd watch him at work. and come to believe pretty quickly that he should be taken seriously as an ass-kicker because he dealt out some serious ass-kickings. Then, there was Buddy.

Buddy was the guy it took a little longer to appreciate. I'm not sure if I appreciated him at first. I was in The Garden in New York City the night they made their sole appearance. If memory serves me right, it was August, 1984, and I had taken my parents to MSG to see Snuka vs Piper. Yes, that's the type of caring son I was. Out came this legendary team I'd been reading about for years in PWI, and to tell you the truth, I wasn't that impressed - mainly by Buddy. I was less than a year away from entering the wrestling business myself, and looking at Buddy, I thought I had a realistic shot at him. But that was actually part of his charm. Half the audience on any given night in the Sportatorium probably thought they had a reasonable shot against him - yet there he was, on a weekly basis, creating mayhem, delivering cheap-shots, dishing out punishment to the heroic Von Erics.

When I did get into the business, in the Spring of 1985, and slowly came to learn the inner working of the busines - or at least the inner workings of the workers in the business, I came to marvel at Buddy Roberts. He was the guy who took the beating. He was the guy who dropped the fall, but somehow maintained his heat. He would do anything to make his matches exciting - including the rumored dropping of the first elbow off the ring apron. He could make anyone and anything around him look better. If someone around him was bad, he could make them look good. If they were good, he could make them look great. And if something was great - like The Fabulous Freebirds - he could help turn greatness to legend.

Buddy had his demons, to be sure. Not everyone gets an added middle name (Jack) based on their beverage of choice. Not everyone gets to have that nickname turned into a verb, based on the change in his behavior when enjoying that beverage of choice. The term "jacked off" had no sexual connotation when used in conjunction with Buddy Jack. It was just a way of describing his lively change in behavior  when enjoying his drink of choice. While I admit that I did see an occasional episode of Buddy J-ing off, there was a far different side of Buddy "Jack " Roberts that drew me to him as a friend, and an inspiration.

It was Buddy, along with Terry Taylor, Chris Adams, Eddie Gilbert and Missy Hyatt who started spreading the word about the two DeNucci students (me and Shane Douglas) who were tearing down the house in towns like Hundred, Virginia. The traditional Mid-South strongholds in Louisiana, Texas, etc had been hit hard by a recent slowdown in an oil-based economy, and owner Bill Watts was looking to expand to other areas where his sydicated, state-of-the-art TV show was popular. Shane got his shot with Mid-South. I kind of blew mine (see "Have a Nice Day", the Sam Houston "phantom elbow" match) but Buddy Roberts wouold nonetheless stay an outspoken advocate of mine, until we did meet up again - briefly in Memphis, and then in World Class Championship Wrestling.

The Freebirds were no more by then - Michael Hayes had gone on to WCW, and Terry Gordy was adding to his legend in Japan. Buddy was the manager of The Samoan Swat Team - in my opinion, the single most physicall dominant tag-team I'd ever seen. Try to find them in their World Class Days; they were awesome! Well. the SST got the call from WCW, and Buddy didn't get to go. He'd mellowed, with the help of his lovely wife Janice, and I'd often travel to shows wiuth them, absorbing as much knowledge as I could. I have a photo of my last day in World Class -  a day when Buddy Roberts helped me pack all my belongings (6 boxes) into my Plymouth Arrow - knowing that my "Loser Leaves Town" match with Eric Embry was not likely to go my way. It's a photo ofme with my wrist brace ( a souvineer from my Ft Worth "Scaffold Match" that did not go particularly well) taking a break and enjoying ice pops with Buddy's 3 year-old son, Brandon. Still tough for me to believe that the little kid with the ice-pop is now 27 years old.

Yes, Buddy "Jack" Roberts was a friend of mine. But is he still relevant? After giving it some thought, I became almost ashamed of myself for even wondering. Though he may be gone in person, his spirit still lives. It lives in every bad guy who makes us laugh, even while we hate them.  It lives in the memory of Kurt Angle wearing that ridiculous wig underneath his head-gear, trying to claim he hadn't actually lost his hair. Vintage Buddy Roberts. It lives in the stories Chris Jericho tell - of challenging Y2J to meet me at my book-signing at 7pm at the Walmart in St Louis if he wanted a piece of me. Different time, different signing, but vintage Roberts as well - and the most successful book-signing I ever had. It lives, most importantly, in the mind of Michael Hayes, whose creative mind has left such an indelible stamp on the WWE landscape for the better part of 20 years. Without the influence of Buddy Roberts, I just don't see Hayes leaving that indelible stamp..and without Hayes' indelible stamp, World WQrestling Entertainment would be a far differnt place; less dynamic, less creative, less fun. Most of our WWE Universe has never seen footage of Buddy Roberts. Fewer still got the chance to see him live. A lucky few had the chance to know him. Yet, without our realizing it, Buddy Roberts has been entertaining us for years.

My inclusion into the 2013 WWE Hall of Fame has been an honor of the highest magnitude - an event I know will go down as one of the highlights of my career, probably my life. But as I finish this piece on Buddy Roberts, I can't help but wish that Buddy Roberts had been given that same honor during his lifetime, and can't help but hope that the doors of the Hall will someday open for Buddy, for Terry, for Michael.