Who Is the Greatest Pro-Wrestler of All Time?
The old answer no longer works, so let's recalibrate
In the late 1980s, which is when my wrestling fandom was arguably most fervent, it was a binary answer as to who the greatest of all time was. You were either team Hulk Hogan or team Ric Flair.
Sure, there were some old-time fans who'd make a case for Bruno Sammartino, Buddy Rogers, or Lou Thesz, but you didn't see them feted or acknowledged on TV to the degree that WWE trots out similarly old legends today. Rogers was at one time the only person to be world champion of the then-WWWF and NWA, but he didn't actually win the WWWF title; it was more a case of them still recognizing him as champ when they split from the NWA, and inventing an off-camera tournament he supposedly won. Thesz was a seven-time world champion, a record that stood until Flair broke it. Sammartino had been WWWF/WWF champion twice, as its then first and only two-time champ, a record Hogan would equal and eventually best.
In the '80s, the World Wrestling Federation dominated media, and traveled internationally, with a new vision of wrestlers as superheroes and comic-book characters rather than athletes and tough brawlers. (Japan and Mexico had long depicted wrestlers as superheroes, but often under masks.) In keeping with '80s excess, and the popularity of Schwarzeneggers and Stallones in movies and He-Man on the toy aisle, WWF wrestlers tended to be jacked-up steroid monsters, yelling their promos with an intensity probably powered by cocaine. The poster boy for all of this was Hulk Hogan, a muscled up American hero who beat down evil foreigners and avatars of darkness with powerful punches, slams, and kicks rather that wrestling holds. He told kids to train, take their vitamins, and say their prayers.
Many of his contemporaries died young due to a lethal combination of steroid-enlarged hearts, stimulants, and painkillers; Hogan wrestled smarter rather than better by devising a crowd-pleasing match formula that was easier on the cardio for him – he'd come out guns blazing, the bad guy would get in a cheap shot and beat him up for about 5-10 minutes as Hogan rested and sold the pain, then when the bad guy would hit a final move, Hogan would suddenly stand up, start shaking, and become invincible and impervious to pain, at which point he'd hit the villain with punches, a boot to the face, and a legdrop to end the bout.
The NWA was more popular in the South, and aside from the bleached blond hair, its poster boy Ric Flair couldn't have been much more different. Flair was a villain rather than a hero, who bragged about his wealthy lifestyle; referred to his penis as Space Mountain, a ride every woman wanted to take; and led a group called the Four Horsemen, who would beat up his opponents in the parking lot. Flair's matches went long, up to an hour, usually beginning with him getting steamrolled by the hero, but gradually using weardown holds and underhanded tactics to turn the tables. Unlike Hogan, he was technically proficient, and couldn't rely on kicks and punches. He had the physique of a guy in good shape, but didn't look like a superhero. Flair was a holdover from the territory days, when a bad guy champion would visit local promotions, fight the hometown hero, and hold on to the title by cheating while making the local guy look good.
Hogan got me into American pro-wrestling; I had previously been a fan of the UK style, and its comic-book superhero Big Daddy, who was more of a British Dusty Rhodes – a fat, working man's hero in patriotic clothing. My uncle Mike and his employees, in Virginia, were solidly NWA, in part because the WWF didn't really tour the South, a holdover from the days when it wasn't their territory. As time went on, I started wondering why I was cheering for Hogan. Why was Honky Tonk Man a bad guy for thanking his fans – because he cheated? Hogan cheated too, because he used closed-fist punches all the time! And he never thanked the fans – he demanded they cheer him, cupping his hand to his ear like they weren't sufficiently loud. This was my logic, anyway. Plus he stood for everything I didn't like: Christianity, right-wing patriotism, and jingoism. He was the embodiment of the Reagan era, and I started rooting for villains to take him down.
Flair was the embodiment of the Reagan era too, but he didn't pretend that made him good. He was an evil capitalist who looked down on the working class, and cheated to stay on top. Fundamentally, though, he was a better actual wrestler than Hogan. Fans speculated for years on who would win between the two. I became team Flair, even though I preferred WWF's cartoonish programming overall.
When Flair finally showed up in the WWF and won the world title, it seemed like the debate was over. As the only man to actually win, on TV, the NWA and WWF world titles, he was the greatest of all time. Oddly, the Hogan-Flair dream match never happened on WWF TV during that first run while they were still in their prime – they apparently tried it at live arena shows, and the two just did not work together well (years later they'd face off in WCW a lot, and then in WWE as old men). Hogan was thrown back into feuds with gigantic big evil men like the Undertaker, while Flair took on WWF's more technically skilled characters like Randy Savage and Bret Hart.
For years, I automatically named Flair when asked to name the greatest wrestler of all time, and I can say that in Orange County, it earned me the approval of drunk Nazis. Not that I want that at any time EXCEPT when I find myself in a bar with them and don't want any trouble. (Ultimate Warrior was my personal favorite, largely because he finally ended Hulk Hogan's four-year reign. But he could not credibly be called the greatest.)
But is it still Flair? It's been 40 years since the '80s. Flair has become a sad caricature of himself in old age – the cardio conditioning has saved his ass, but hasn't fully countered the level of alcoholic damage he's done. He has to keep working to fund all his divorces, even though he can't wrestle any more. Meanwhile, Hogan has been exposed over and over as a racist liar, and his support for Trump therefore no surprise. Many other stars have sprung up since, and I think it's time to re-assess.
First of all, though, we need to set ground rules. If we're talking pure ability at every aspect of pro-wrestling, Kurt Angle was arguably the best to ever do it, but he didn't have much longevity, debuting and peaking in the aughts. If we're talking ability to create a character that lasts, Undertaker managed to pull off his persona for three decades, while still being as skilled in the ring or more as any of the top guys. Rey Mysterio's amazing aerial ability and maintenance of that standard for three decades is arguably unmatched. But what do I mean when I talk about the greatest pro-wrestler of all time?
Here's what I think the GOAT needs to have:
-Ability to wrestle a good match with anyone
-A compelling personality and interview style
-A career that includes at least two great decades, and more
-World title reigns in the two top promotions of their time (WWWF/WWF/WWE and either NWA/WCW or TNA or AEW)
-A degree of crossover recognizability outside of wrestling.
-Memorable matches, moves, and career highlights.
I surveyed my friends to see which wrestlers they thought had any sort of name recognition outside of wrestling circles, and most thought only those who had been movie stars qualified: The Rock, Dave Bautista, Roddy Piper, Jesse Ventura, Andre the Giant, Hulk Hogan, and John Cena. Many had forgotten Steve Austin and Bill Goldberg had brief runs at film stardom too. Jerry Lawler's feud with Andy Kaufman made mainstream news, but you had to be there.
I would add that based on the amount of commercials they've done, Randy Savage (Slim Jim) and Ric Flair (numerous products) also count. In the South, you could name Dusty Rhodes and people would know. I think the Undertaker has some name recognition just for his gimmick alone, but many disagree, Chris Jericho has a movie career as a character actor, fronts a metal band, and is probably the best in the business at refreshing his gimmick every few years, but for whatever reason I don't think his name means anything to non-fans.
So that's our pool for greatest of all time. Rock and Austin had a run as probably the biggest stars ever in the business, but it lasted maybe a decade, not even close to Hogan and Flair in longevity. Ventura and Piper never held a major world title. Cena became boring.
It was my wife who said, “What about Macho Man?” And after taking a moment, I think she may be right. Randy Savage's interviews were so compelling he got my father to drop whatever he was doing and listen to them. His matches were so good he actually got a great one-hour match out of the Ultimate Warrior (and was seemingly the only peer that warrior really liked). True, he had a reputation for choreographing every match in advance and being unable to improvise, but it worked for him. And despite Hogan constantly trying to keep him at a lower level, Savage won WWF and WCW world titles. Mainstream crossover? Forget his rap album – just say “Snap into a Slim Jim!” and you hear it in his voice. Longevity? He started in 1973 and wrestled his last match in 2004. He fought all the greats of his time in main events everywhere. He wasn't always the #1 star at any given time – his highest rank was when Hogan took some time off – but he was always at or near the top. His merch still sells, and the Harvard Lampoon jokingly gave him a Man of the Year award in the '90s.
When he died behind the wheel of his car in 2011, it became a running joke that the Rapture had happened and he was the only one called home. When Mattel secured his toy rights, it was a huge deal. As for movies, I've got three words for ya: “Bonesaw is reeeeaaaddddy!”
So yes, I mean, Yeeeeeeeeaaaaahhhhh, dig it. I think Randy Savage is the greatest professional wrestler of all time.
Agree? Disagree? Make your case.
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