One Giant Leap For Mankind: The Mick Foley story

If Mick Foley was a cartoon crime-fighting superhero, he’d be the Toxic Crusader: About as physically attractive as batshit and equally talented, but what he lacks in ability he makes up for with an interesting look and bucketloads of charisma. Mick Foley was the Toxic Crusader of professional wrestling – It’s just a pity he can’t use radiation poisoning as an excuse.

Mick Foley, born Michael Foley (go figure), brought to pro wrestling what so many others couldn’t – abnormality through normality. In an era where performers had the bodies of Greek gods and the creativity of the Christian theologians who stole them for their own book, Mick Foley stood out like a man with only one ear – and it’s no coincidence that that was exactly what he was.

Wrestling as Cactus Jack, Foley worked predominantly in the Southern regions of the United States, as well as in Japan, playing a deranged lunatic who would put his body through pain and torment if it meant inflicting equally as much on his opponents. During a series of matches with former world champion Vader, Mick lost two thirds of his ear after tangling himself in the ring ropes. Mick’s matches with Vader were so brutal that they were banned from competing against one another on pay per view for the then World Championship Wrestling, one of which saw Foley lose sensation in his right leg after being powerbombed onto the unpadded concrete at ringside.

After leaving WCW, Foley (still wrestling as Cactus Jack) found comfort with a promotion almost deranged as he – Extreme Championship Wrestling, better known as ECW. One rivalry of note saw Cactus battle with the Sandman, where in one match Mick was belted with a Singapore cane over forty times. During his time in ECW, Mick complemented his risky stunts in the ring with terrific monologue interviews, and it was this expose of charisma which garnered the attention of the big dogs in the World Wrestling Federation (WWF).



The abnormal wrestler debuted in the WWF in 1996, only this time it wasn’t as Cactus Jack, but the deranged, mentally unstable Mankind. Wearing a leather “Hannibal Lector” style mask, Mankind squealed throughout matches, conducted interviews from the boiler rooms of arenas and frequently physically abused himself on camera. Little did he know that over 15 years later it would be the fans performing selfharm, as Mick waddled down to the ring in the fledgling TNA Wrestling. Mankind feuded with the Undertaker, bringing a new degree of violence and abnormality to the then kid-friendly product seen in the WWF. Buried alive matches and brawls in boiler rooms were not uncommon, and before long Mick found himself challenging for the WWF Championship, losing to Shawn Michaels by disqualification.



Mick Foley debuted yet another persona mid-1997, reviving a character concocted in home videos by the name of Dude Love. A 50s hippy who entered the ring to 70s music, Dude Love would capture the tag team championships with the beer guzzling, ass kicking, future wife beating machine Stone Cold Steve Austin, and conducted a series of humour interview segments where Dude Love and Mankind would chat to one-another, sort of like Fight Club, but without the faggy dialogue. Eventually both Dude and Mank (?) decided that it was time for the WWF audience to meet another of Mick’s friends, none other than the one-eared maniac himself, Cactus Jack and for the next 12 months or so, all three wrestled on-and-off on our TV screens.

Mankind took a huge leap – literally, at the WWF’s King of the Ring pay per view event in mid-1998. In a Hell in The Cell match with the Undertaker, Mick was thrown from a fifteen foot steel cage to ringside, where a wooden announcers’ table and the cushy concrete beneath broke his fall. Moments later, Foley was chokeslammed through the roof of the cage and remained unconscious for several minutes. The two death defying acts proved what this idiot would do for the pleasure of fans, not all that dissimilar to what the gladiators of yesteryear would put themselves through, only the prize was not survival, but a golden ticket to the merchandising gravy train. The price for both however, would be more or less the same, as many have since discovered (ala Chris Benoit, thanks Sean P). Speaking of merchandising, it was around this time I purchased my first Mankind action figure, which ironically had its head decapitated just moments after being removed from its packaging. Who would have thought a piledriver from a chest of drawers would have such disastrous consequences.



In what was Foley’s (the real one, not the 6 inch doll with his head and neck fused with superglue) greatest achievement came in 1999, when the original Jackass defeated the Rock (that guy from Doom) on the nationally sindicated Monday Night Raw for the coveted WWF Championship. Though Mick’s title reign lasted under three weeks, it was a monumental step for the struggling WWF, who broke an 80-something week losing streak to rival WCW in a ratings race, known as the Monday Night War. Foley would later lose the belt back to the Rock in another hardcore bruisefest, an “I Quit” match, where the loser would be the first man to say “I Quit”.

Around this time, freakboy began utilising a sock in the mouth as his finishing manoeuvre. Now I’m all for a good pun and double entendre, but Mick’s well documented dryness reached Sahara Desert levels when he began pulling out “Mr. Socko” from his sweat pants and shoving it down rivals throats. It may sound disgusting, and truth is it was, but for a brief period of time the WWF was like Beavis & Butthead, South Park, Spawn and Singled Out all rolled into one. It was exactly how it sounded, brilliant.

Though his career began to wane after the turn of the century, Mick still managed to continue the barbarity in the ring, facing off in horrific matches with Triple H, and later on, Edge. He also formed an unlikely friendship with the Rock, and in one of the more humorous vignettes of the time, interviewed the Rock in a “This Is Your Life” sketch. After writing a few best sellers, wrestling a few hardcore matches here and there, and providing colour commentary for a number of the WWE (they were forced to change their name when the World Wildlife Fund sewed. Yep, the Undertaker, Rock and Stone Cold Steve Austin got punked out by a bunch of fucking pandas of all things) the now over-the-hill Foley opted to head for greener pastures for the recently formed company, TNA Wrestling.







Now I don’t want to run Foley’s name into the mud, even if I was being a tad sarcastic above, I was and still am to this day, a fan of Mick’s work in wrestling. He bought something different to the table, which is always good when it comes to entertainment. However, from the mid 2000s onward, Mick’s act had gotten old...fucking old, and unfortunately like plenty of other professional wrestlers before him, and like plenty will do so after him, he overstayed his welcome. After seeing a couple of his antics in TNA Wrestling...by God...I’ll let you be the judge. In recent times wrestling has plunged in terms of creativity and pioneering entertainment, but Mick Foley, and TNA in general epitomise everything that is wrong with the wrasslin’ business: over the hill, over the top and all over the fucking place.



But I will save that for another rant.

Cactus Jack, Dude Love, Mankind, Toxic Crusader, Freakboy, whatever you may know him as, Mick Foley brought a new stream of creativity to professional wrestling. Love it or hate it, when Mick was at his best, wrestling was damn entertaining, and if we had a couple of Micks in the modern industry, you can bet your ass kids wouldn’t be singing faggy Kanye West songs and getting haircuts that make their heads look like the backend of a skunk’s ass, that’s for sure. Mick Foley wasn’t just a wrestler, he was a creative genius. Was being the operative, because judging from what I’ve seen of him recently, there’s nothing remotely intelligent about TNA Wrestling.

Mick Foley. Wrestler. Author. Toxic Crusader.

Forbidden Fruit: Can Rugby League thrive in the garden of Eden?

Call me a pessimist, but Rugby League’s recent escapades on what is the Holy Grail of New Zealand Rugby Union wreak of PR and Marketing bullshit. And as someone who loves a good publicity stunt as much as the next man, that is saying something.

Attempts to capture the attention of the casual fan are nothing new to League in this country. Years before the Warriors, promoters were paying Australian teams big bucks to perform on our shores in exhibition matches not too dissimilar from wrestling house shows put on by the WWE. I remember a certain Bulldogs/Sea Eagles match which drew decent numbers at Carlaw Park in ’94, and who could forget Dean Lonergan’s monumental attempt at drawing a crowd for a “Friendly” in Rotorua. But promo matches are one thing; playing 13-a-side in the heart of 15-a-side country is a different story completely.

I have a huge problem for moving fixtures from one ground to another, especially from one etched in culture and tradition, to another smothered in controversy and bitterness. Sure, tensions between the two codes seem to have been subdued in recent times, in the past few years we’ve had Union players training with League teams in the offseason, and League players facing off with their Union opposition in theatre sports. Even Murray Deaker, the Beezlebub himself, now features Rugby League segments in his various media spots, which ten years ago Jesus Christ himself would have had difficulty predicting.

But in my opinion in 2011, League is still not ready to tackle the Scarlet Beast that is Eden Park. The Warriors have spent the better part of 15 years attempting to build a solid support base at Mount Smart (formerly Ericsson). They’ve done it all: Army reinactments, mascot fights, daredevil stunts, even Chris Isaak warmed the 5000-strong crowd up one Sunday afternoon. And despite all of this bumper entertainment, the fact still remains: the only thing that draws the people in, is good footy.

Fans have experienced more than their fair share of controversy at Mount Smart over the last couple of years. Captains getting sacked out of nowhere despite being in the form of their careers; halfbacks getting sacked and winning Premierships at other clubs; one hit wonders; none hit wonders; we’ve had it all. But despite all of this, the guys running out on the pitch between March and October have managed to string a few wins together and make decent attempts during the Playoffs, all the while building a solid support base. Solid. Not overwhelming. Not blockbusting. Not record setting. But solid.

As a season ticket holder for over ten years, I can confidently say that a move to Eden Park is not a response to exhausting ticket demand, rather another shot in the dark at grabbing a few kick-clap fans looking to “slum” it for a couple of hours with the leaguies, and a blatant attempt to ride the Rugby World Cup wave. Whilst no one can fault Warriors management for seeking to expand their fan base, their turbulent history suggests they should first focus on maintaining their current numbers, and draw those from the “Dark Side” through the one way which never ceases to fail – football.

You might call me bitter in response to the Warriors’ decision, and to a degree you are probably right. I have grown fond of Mount Smart, and everything about it: the close proximity between the stands and ground; the tunnel; the luke-warm lamb burgers; Lion Red beer and Nick Smith on hype duty. I enjoy being able to get in and out of the ground in under ten minutes, even after a sell out. I enjoy not having uppity residents moan and groan when I urinate outside my car because the seal always seems to break after leaving the gate! But most of all, I enjoy having a place to call home.

This is not the first time the Warriors (and indeed the Kiwis) have played on Union ground either. The Warriors have played regular season matches in Wellington and Christchurch, though admittedly these were at the expense of an opposition home game, and aside from a last second draw against the Bulldogs at the Cake Tin some years back, they have been largely unfruitful. The Kiwis have lost two huge fixtures at Eden Park over the last couple of decades and were smashed in Wellington the last time they played Australia there. Outside of beating Tonga and PNG at Rotorua, they have performed solidly only at North Harbour, where they had played their home games for consecutive years prior.

One may be forgiven for thinking that Scurrah and his pals are attempting to ride the wave created by the Kiwis during the Four Nations, however the controversial Double Header which reintroduced the renovated Eden Park to the rest of the world was a unique event, heavily hyped by the media in order to attract curious fans looking to get a sneak peak ahead of next years’ Super Rugby season and indeed World Cup. This is a completely different situation, and after the casuals delivered their standard Mexican Wave, and the effects of 12 hours on the sauce began to take their toll, I struggle to comprehend the Warriors drawing anywhere near the 40000+ the Double Header did that night.

It’s fair to say that league in this country thrives not on one-off stunts, but consistency. I fear all of the hard work put in by both management, the coaching staff, the players themselves, and even the Auckland Regional Council, who have built a brand new stand specifically with the Warriors in mind, maybe undone by regularly transferring fixtures to Eden Park, and god forbid, a permanent switch. You only have to look at the disastrous consequences teams such as South Sydney have faced when moving to larger inner city grounds in attempts to draw more casual fans and cut the costs imposed by rates. How can a team go from having 40000+ marching in the streets demanding their return to the League, to drawing little over 10000. Admittedly their footy hasn’t been the greatest, but when you look at a side like the Cowboys who have been equally turbulent, yet can still regularly draw, one has to wonder. With a sport struggling to compete with the AFL in Australia, and Rugby Union here at home, you have to wonder what Wayne Scurrah and Co. will think when they see the half-full stands come Round One next year. It isn’t a good look, even from a purely aesthetic point of view.

There are claims that travel time impacts on the amount of people attending regular season matches played by the Warriors, however anyone who has been to Eden Park (before and after the renovation) knows that said “travel time” is no worse than the time it takes to leave the Gladwrap Stadium and its surrounding areas. No amount of street shutdowns, free busses and “one at a time” trains will solve this issue. Honestly, if you think getting to and from Mount Smart was a problem, I’d hate to see your face come Semi-Final/Final time during next years World Cup. Our infrastructure can’t support such a large crowd of people the way Brisbane and Sydney’s can. Suddenly fifteen minutes on the South Western/Southern to Onehunga doesn’t seem too bad. I highly doubt playing Parramatta at Eden Park will draw more fans based on the travel argument.

This may seem like a Union v League debate, but it is so much more than that. It is a slap in the face to those who have remained loyal through the tough times (and believe me, at times tough doesn’t begin to describe them) in an attempt to bring in the casuals. When the Warriors were flogged by fifty three weeks in a row, were the casuals purchasing merchandise? No. When the brand new captain and vice captain were signed illegally through breaching the salary cap, were the casuals eating half frozen hotdogs and purchasing four packs of lion red for $22.00 a pop? No. When a certain winger was accused of sexual misconduct after starring the season prior, was it the casuals who still managed to remain positive about their footy team despite the controversy? No. So when the management of the team which represents the heart and soul of the majority of rugby league fans in this country decides “they know best”, fans have the right to be angry.

I can hear the Union pundits already, but to be honest, I have nothing but the upmost respect for those that play the other code. Many of them are fantastically skilled and possess athletic brilliance which rivals the best sportspeople in the world. Many of them would make fantastic league players, if they hadn’t been already. But you are the spawn of Satan, you are all that is evil, so therefore all of that brilliance is nullified.

Warriors, NZRL and Rugby League in general, do us all a favour, and leave running around in the Garden of Eden to two faced serpents, oh and Biblical tales as well. We are perfectly suited to where we are: reality. We may want to believe the Warriors can draw 60000, but they are not the Brisbane Broncos, in a one team city, two times the size of Auckland. We may want to believe the move may “steal” audiences, but this is not the Monday Night Wrestling War of the 1990s. We may want to believe in a lot of things: free speech, peace and eternal happiness. But the fact of the matter is that none of these things exist in the real world.

Concentrate on building a franchise that can maintain consistent performances on the footy pitch, and the results will be far more fruitful in the long-term than the “grass is greener” scenario we are currently facing. Disrespecting your core fan base can have disastrous effects for a sports franchise as flimsy as the Warriors – why risk it?