Profile #1,912: The New Breed

They hailed from the future---more specifically, from the year 2002. At least, that's what we were told at the time of their NWA debut, in 1986. Sean Royal and Chris Champion were known as The New Breed, and they had traveled back in time to 1986 on a mission to dominate the wrestling universe. [Read: the Carolinas, pockets of Virginia, and parts of Southern Maryland.]

They claimed that, in the future (2002), Dusty Rhodes [See Profile #2] was President of the United States, and that every citizen owned a personal robot. Not unsurprisingly, they frequently made nebulous and repeated references to a "flux capacitor" and bee-bopped their way toward the ring to the tunes of the, uh, futuristic Beastie Boyz' "You Gotta Fight for Your Right [To Party]."

Perhaps not ironically, The New Breed actually did possess the talent, skills, athleticism, and move-sets that not many North American wrestling fans had ever seen before. For all intents and purposes, they were from the future, in a way---bringing high body crosses from inside the ring out onto the concrete floor, utilizing the bear hug-flying clothesline combination that the Hart Foundation [See Profile #1,095] made famous, and employing a dizzying array of flying dropkicks, crucifix pins, and other assorted luche libre flares.

They stormed onto the scene in Jim Crockett's NWA and immediately began feuding with the Rock & Roll Express [See Profile #107], getting the better of the duo in short order before suffering an untimely car accident that kept Royal and Champion out for an extended period of time. Upon their return, Champion sported a cast "from the future!" [read: glued circuits and wires from a computer onto his arm] and the two began a feud with the Midnight Express [See Profile #4,014]. Maybe the only thing better than watching the two youngsters wrestle was watching them bumble through promos that, even at age 10, made me chortle at their collective stupidity:




Ultimately, Royal's knowledge of the future must've steered him away from wrestling, as he decided to embark on a career in construction. Champion disappeared as well, resurfacing years later in the then-WCW as a character named Yoshi Kwan, replete with makeup and slitted eyes. Making him kinda-sorta Asian, and vaguely racist.

Where are they now? Assuming they left 1987 and transported back to 2002 at the time, that places them [approximately] in the year 2016 right now. Where I can only assume they are ardent supporters of President Brutus Beefcake [See Profile #88].

Profile #771: "Hot Stuff" Eddie Gilbert

He who slings mud loses ground,
He who throws fire yields the hot hand.
—Eddie Gilbert


So sayeth the late, great "Hot Stuff" Eddie Gilbert. Pretty acute statement from a guy who spent most of his life doing coke, gobbling amphetamines, and wearing sunglasses straight from the set of Summer School. Gilbert was a second-generation wrestler who came to prominence around 1986 in Bill Watts' UWF. At only 5'9", he was undersized during an era that increasingly geared itself toward bodybuilders and steroid-heads. Nevertheless, "Hot Stuff" had charisma to burn, was great on the mic, and consistently put on entertaining bouts replete with both brawling and understated technical brilliance. He brought in local cooze, Missy Hyatt, as his valet/manager (and married her in real life some time later). Together they formed "Hyatt & Hot Stuff International." They worked well as a unit, playing off each other's real-life partnership.

In a dual role as booker, Gilbert was able to position himself as an invaluable asset to Watts and subsequently, when the UWF was purchased by Jim Crockett's NWA, Gilbert stayed on the active roster and excelled from mid-card status to a brief feud with world champion, Ric Flair.

For me, though, there were three distinct facets of Eddie Gilbert's career that remain burned into my memory:


1. Missy Hyatt's tits

2. Missy Hyatt's tits

3. Throwing fireballs into people's faces [hence, "Hot Stuff"]



Eddie was a heel for most of his career, but he was always pretty funny and mouthy and he earned his stripes in the NWA in the late-'80s and early '90s.

Unfortunately, he was one of those myriad partier wrestlers who indulged in the lethal mix of alcohol and painkillers and in 1995 it caught up with him. He was found dead of a heart attack at just 33 years old.

Where is he now? Slingin' fireballs in heaven, I hope.

Profile #317: Barry Horowitz

To my knowledge, Horowitz was the first [and only?] openly Jewish wrestler in history. Despite his Semitic weakness, Horowitz made it to the "big league" and landed a gig with the WWF in early 1987. Unfortunately, he wallowed in opening matches, where he was summarily pinned in under 5 minutes. This would become his trademark, and he was one of the pioneers of the "lifelong jobber" gimmick.

Horowitz graduated from Florida State with a degree in sports nutrition. Naturally, this led him to pursue a career in an industry where barbituates and pain killers were popped like Pez. Horowitz was a sound wrestler with a penchant for getting caught in hip-tosses and high back-body drops. Despite his collegial background, Barry never seemed able to adapt to his opponents' offense. His own offense consisted mostly of punches and kicks, and the occasional body slam or atomic drop---though his supreme confidence never waivered. A neck injury forced him to sit out nearly 10 months, and when he returned to action Vince McMahon informed him that his services were no longer needed.

Horowitz wrestled in Jim Cornette's fledgling Smokey Mountain Wrestling for a time, offering his services as a jobber to pock-marked Tennessee inbreds like Tracey Smothers [See Profile #4,265], Bobby Blaze [See Profile #9,211], and "White Lightnin'" Tim Horner [See Profile #8,132]. Unfazed, Horowitz soldiered onward and eventually would re-sign with the WWF in the mid-'90s, where he'd become even more demonstrative by sporting a faux-silk vest with a hand-print on the back. Horowitz would come to the ring and, literally, pat himself on the back.

That hand-print back patting maneuver is probably what most people remember about him. But I remember him more for breaking the invisible barrier pro wrestling had against Jews.

Well....that AND the hand-print back patting.

Where is he now? Horowitz is currently a nutritionist, working in Florida.

Profile #222: "Hands of Stone" Ronnie Garvin

Perhaps the best interview in the business, Jimmy Cornette [See Profile #303], articulated it best when he referred to Garvin as "the Barney Rubble of professional wrestling." Part of the problem, I think (read: I'm sure), was that Garvin was a French Canadian pretending to be an Atlanta, Georgia, native, wrestling in Charlotte. He was brought to the NWA under the pretense of being "Georgous" Jimmy Garvin's [See Profile #871] brother, when really he was Garvin's step-father. Though the family-tree-as-straight-line angle may have gone over well in Charlotte in the mid-'80s, President Jim Crockett, Jr. wasn't taking any chances.

He was more popularly (though not in my house with my father around) known as "Hands of Stone" Ronnie Garvin. And, in his later WWF years, known as "Rugged" Ronnie Garvin. Both vague allusions to his [undocumented] amateur boxing background, and one-punch knockout power. He came to the Carolinas, ostensibly, in defense of his "brother" Jimmy (who was feuding with Ric Flair at the time). Ronnie then feuded with Ric Flair and actually defeated Flair for the world title. Normally, a rematch clause stipulates that the new champion must grant a defense to the former champ within 30 days. Garvin received special privilege to go over the 30-day mark before giving Flair a return bout, where he was promptly and soundly thrashed by the Nature Boy. Subsequently, Garvin dropped his title on the very first defense.

Garvin would end up in the WWF and ascend to nothing higher than mid-card status, and was soon relegated to toil in the opening bouts of untelevised house shows. His no frills, punch-kick-stomp-chop style of wrestling didn't serve him well in the WWF. His average physique and size--compared to the 'roid freak WWF wrestlers--also did him no favors with the booking committee.

Looking back, the most entertaining thing about Garvin was his promos. Not because he was so good, rather because he could barely speak the language. He'd invent words, combine words that weren't supposed to be combined, he'd stutter, he'd turn red in the face, etc. It was beautiful; virtuoso performances of unintended comedy abounded.

Behold, this Ronnie Garvin gem [unedited]: “He tried to assassinate me! You saw it! If it would’ve [sic] been for Barry Windham, they was gonna decapitate me! I wouldn’t even be here today, and if I was, I wouldn’t have my head on. Well, I’m gonna tell ya something, Jimmy Corners, Jimmy Cornette, Denis the Menace, whatever you are...”




Where is he now? Garvin owns and runs several used car dealerships in North Carolina. I'd love to listen to him try and sell me a Volvo.

Profile #66: Don Muraco

Forget about that other guy; the original Rock is none other than Don “The Rock” Muraco. A native of Sunset Beach, Hawaii, Muraco's first moniker was simply the Magnificent Muraco. Nicknames aside, perhaps the most important thing to note about Muraco was a protruding, wormlike vein that pulsed in his upper left shoulder area. In retrospect, some 20+ years later, I'm still not sure what [if any] significance that vein has for me, only that it haunts me in my dreams.

Don Morrow was an amateur state wrestling champion in his youth, who chose to become a professional wrestler rather than follow his dreams of becoming a professional football player. After moving from Sunset Beach to the continental United States, Muraco entered Verne Gagne's AWA territory in Minnesota, teaming with "Superfly" Jimmy Snuka [See Profile #201]. After several years of bouncing around, Muraco would eventually land in the WWF, where he would stay for the better part of a decade and make an indelible mark on the industry, showcasing his sometimes-impressive-sometimes-doughy physique and understated humor to an industry laden with the trappings of the small-town and the obtuse.

It's clear that Muraco experimented with a regimen of anabolic steroids, recreational drugs (read: a lot of marijuana), and probably psychedelics (Muraco owned a variety of tie-dyed shirts and sunglasses, which clearly equals psychedelic). Anyway, he gave one of the all-time funniest interviews ever while shoveling down near a dozen donuts. If this doesn't convince you Muraco was blazed out of his mind, I don't know what will:




Couple of important things about The Rock, which most lay fans don't know: (1) he was the first King of the Ring champion ever, and (2) his finisher was an inverted piledriver that most now attribute to the Undertaker's Tombstone Piledriver finisher (Undertaker blatantly aped Muraco's innovative finisher, of course).

Rock always seemed to have a strange dichotomy: part beach bum/surfer, part musclehead. He was a legimitately funny, good-natured guy, but also a real-life tough guy. One of the old breed who never transitioned (due to age) over to the "new" style and persona of today's wrestlers. Which, in my humble opinion, is a good thing.

He feuded with all the great names, from Snuka to Tito Santana [See Profile #1,021] to Ricky "The Dragon" Steamboat [See Profile #441]. In his myriad bouts against Steamboat, Muraco enlisted the help of Mr. Fuji, and they actually had a parody video together, "Fuji Vice," which underscored the WWF's hyperbolic bent on wrestling at that time. Again, I'm convinced Muraco was absolutely stoned out of his gourd during this entire bit:







Where is he now? After returning to his native Hawaii, Muraco was an on-screen commentator for a small wrestling organization until 2006. He also worked for a time as a longshoreman.

Profile #480: "The Boogie Woogie Man," Jimmy Valiant

Saturday nights were awesome. As a kid, sitting in the basement with my father, eating cheesesteak subs and watching the NWA. And whenever I’d hear the opening strains of the Manhattan Transfer’s "Boy From New York City,” I knew I was about to see the boogie man.

More specifically, “The Boogie Woogie Man,” Jimmy Valiant (aka, “Handsome” Jimmy Valiant). He was a bizarre looking dude and I was never quite sure if he was a biker or a hippie or simply a mentally deranged street urchin. Nevertheless, he was a fun guy to watch. I don’t know that a chronological re-telling of Valiant’s wrestling career is really in order. Probably a more efficient way to illustrate the nonlinear nature of The Boogie Man’s career, which subscribed mostly to chaos and tomfoolery, can best be summarized via bulleted highlights:

• Valiant’s finishing maneuver was the ol’ thumb-to-the-eye. That’s it. He’d get his opponent in a side headlock, distract the ref, and then jab his thumb into the eye of his opponent. As a kid, I assumed this move would knock people unconscious, as it did on television.
• During interviews with play-by-play man, Tony Schiavone, The Boogie Man would ramble on and on, mixing metaphors and speaking in virtually incoherent street lingo, pausing only to nod his head vigorously (as if agreeing preemptively with what he’d just said), clapping his hands, shaking his enormous posterior, and then the interview would culminate in Valiant grabbing Schiavone (whom he referred to as "Tony Sha-von-toe!"), pulling him close in embrace, and kissing him on the mouth for anywhere between 5 to 10 seconds. Yeah. I got nothin’ here.
• Valiant’s most famous feud was against Paul Jones’ Army; specifically, a series of hair-vs.-hair matches against Pistol Pez Whatley (now known as Shaska Whatley) [See Profile #691]. Jimmy was known for his long lion’s mane and ratty biker beard, so needless to say these matches, while short on technical proficiency, were hard-fought battles with a tremendous amount at stake.
• After losing a big match late in his career, The Boogie Man was down-and-out, inconsolable. In what would turn out to be a pioneering effort of “candid” shots, cameras followed Valiant and found him on skid row in Charlotte, NC, singing the blues. Literally. Between the harmonica, the beard, and Big Mama’s appearance, this would become an all-time favorite bit for me [See below]. Forward to the 3:00-minute mark to 4:34.



Where is he now? As far as I know, Valiant is retired from active wrestling after spending numerous post-NWA years on the independent circuit. He currently runs "Boogie's Wrestling Camp," in Shawsville, VA.

Profile #901: Michael "P.S." Hayes

As a kid growing up, I always thought Michael "P.S." Hayes was the coolest guy in wrestling. He did the moonwalk (when it was still cool), he had a faux-rock star lip snarl goin' on, and his chest hair was a different color than the hair on his head. That pretty much sealed it for me. Hayes was a character among characters, a diehard party guy, and the undisputed leader of the feared Freebirds triptych---along with Buddy "Jack" Roberts [See Profile #888] and Terry "Bam Bam" Gordy [See Profile #71])---who resided in Atlanta, GA. Or, as Hayes liked to refer to it: Badstreet USA.

The best way to summarize Hayes' brash personality is revealed when he was asked what the "P.S." in his name stood for. Hayes' deadpan response? Purely Sexy.

In early 1982, Hayes and his fellow Freebirds sauntered into Fritz Von Erich's WCCW promotion and promptly began a feud with the Von Erich boys. The battle raged on in the South, where "P.S." was reviled for slamming a steel cage door on Kerry Von Erich's head [See Profile #111]. Hayes & Co. left for greener pastures and ended up in Verne Gagne's AWA for a couple of years (1985-1986), briefly getting his assed kicked by The Road Warriors [See Profile #4]. But watching Hayes get his ass kicked was a thing of beauty. The guy wore spandex to the ring, had blonde hair, a black beard, and brown chest hair. And everyone hated him. But he carried himself as though he was the best entertainer on the planet; and I have to say, he was pretty good. The biggest mark he would leave came during his tenure in Bill Watts' UWF, where he became embroiled in a rare heel-vs-heel feud with General Skandar Akbar's army. For the first time, fans cheered Hayes' underhanded tactics and the cheers must've gone to his head, as he would eventually decide it would be a good thing to put out a music video to accompany his braggadacio. And I must say: perhaps the best music video ever put to celluloid. Don't believe me? Check this shit out:




Once the UWF was subsumed by the NWA in mid-1987, Hayes & Co. took on "Gorgeous" Jimmy Garvin [See Profile #585] as the fourth Freebird. A brief face run in the NWA turned into Hayes and Garvin capturing the tag-team titles several times as they straddled the line between comical heels and beloved faces. Hayes turned out to be one of the few party guys from the '80s who likely indulged in all kinds of decadence and lived to tell about it. Sadly, I can't say the same for his longtime Freebird companion, Terry Gordy. Now's the part where I'm supposed to be trite and cliche and quote Skynrd--but I won't. Sike, I will: "Because I'm free as a bird now, / and this bird you cannot change! / Whoa-whoa-whoa-ah-whoa......"

Where is he now? Hayes took on a creative director position in the WWE, the fucking sellout.

Profile #122: Magnum T.A.

Magnum T.A. had it all: the mustache, the barrel-chested physique, the cascading curlicue golden locks conforming to a tight mullet, raw athleticism, unparalleled charisma, and a gravitational pull on his fans. But Magnum's professional wrestling career---which began so promisingly---would be cut short in tragic fashion. But that comes later; let's start at the beginning.

Born in Tidewater, VA, Terry Wayne Allen grew up bouncing between Virginia Beach and Norfolk, VA. A state champion high school wrestler, after graduation he attended Old Dominion University before dropping out to move on to the world of professional wrestling.

After toiling for several years wrestling in the Mid-South region, Allen (at the suggestion of Andre the Giant [See Profile #329]) re-branded himself "Magnum T.A.," modeled, uh, vaguely after television star Tom Selleck's "Magnum P.I." character. He caught the eye of Jim Crockett Promotions' NWA organization and signed with them in 1984. In the span of just 2 short years, Magnum would go from relative unknown grappler to the organization's torch-bearer, and most wrestling media had him pegged as the next biggest star in the history of the sport. Fate, however, would have other plans.

Upon his arrival, Magnum would promptly enter a feud with the Paul Jones-managed Kamala [See Profile #541]. After several months of beating the Ugandan Giant's head in, he would move onto what would become the defining feud of a generation---one so vicious and bloody that it would change both combatants forever.

Magnum was the ultimate representation of good, of all things positive. He wasn't just the blue collar athlete from around the way, he seemed to have that glimmer in his eye that spoke to soon-to-be-realized greatness. With him, everything seemed possible. The fans responded to this with rabid cheers and the expectation running through the NWA by early 1985 was that Magnum would soon be world champion, and surpass even then-global wrestling icon Hulk Hogan's [See Profile #58] popularity.

To become that icon you must conquer evil. Accordingly, Magnum made a straight line toward the most elite group of wrestlers in the business, and the most dangerous: The Four Horsemen. Specifically, television champion Tully Blanchard [See Profile #101]. Blanchard was the Horsemen's answer to Keith Richards: a debauched, woman-abusing, loudmouth coke fiend who happened to be a stealth technician inside the squared circle. After watching Blanchard slap his valet, Baby Doll [See Profile #679], around, Magnum interceded on the bleached whale's behalf. What ensued was a series of brutal matches that culminated in the now-infamous "I Quit" match. Pinfalls didn't count. Submissions didn't count. Weapons were legal. Both wrestlers were locked in a steel cage and the only way to gain victory was to have the other wrestler scream those two shameful words: I....quit. Long story short, after ripping a wooden chair leg off, Magnum gouged Tully's eye socket bloody until Blanchard gave up.

They fought all over the Mid-Atlantic region, repeating the I Quit match over and over again, each time more bloody than the last. Magnum's sheer will was too much for Tully in the end. Of course, contoversy would ensue, as Horsemen advisor, Master James J. Dillon [See Profile 780] would claim Blanchard simply said "Yes" when asked if he quit, thus nullifying the particular stipulations of the match. Nevertheless, Magnum had wrested the television title from Tully and moved on to challenge the "Russian Nightmare," Nikita Koloff [See Profile 35].

Koloff was a steroided out Soviet who shaved his head more than a decade before Stone Cold Steve Austin even dreamed about it. After months of battles with the U.S. title at stake, a best-of-7 series was signed between the two. Magnum was quickly and soundly defeated three times, with the big Russian looking to close out in a clean sweep to retain his title. Instead, T.A. stormed back, taking the next three wins in a row. The deciding seventh bout ended in controversy, with Magnum apparently pinning Nikita for the win, but referree Tommy Young [See Profile #974] noticed Koloff's feet were on the ropes. Magnum left the ring and lost via countout.

Magnum's star continued to rise despite this, and he was positioned to take down the biggest draw in the territory, the NWA world heavyweight champion, "Nature Boy" Ric Flair [See profile #1]. It seemed Magnum was about to climb the mountain, to actualize his dreams, to become wrestling's next great star. Fate would intercede.

On October 14, 1986, while driving his Porsche on a rain-slicked road just outside of Charlotte, NC, Magnum lost control of his vehicle and crashed into a telephone pole. Trapped in his car for hours before emergency personnel arrived on the scene, Magnum's spinal cord was damaged and he was paralyzed from the waist-down; his wrestling career finished at just 27 years old.

Though doctors said he would never walk again, on the second night of the annual Jim Crockett Sr. Memorial Tag-Team Tournament in Baltimore, MD, Magnum would make a surprise appearance. With the aid of a cane, Magnum walked down the aisle of the Baltimore Arena and made his way to ringside, receiving a standing ovation from the sold-out crowd that night. Here he was, a superhero to some, once again defying the odds. The sound of the crowd was deafening. Wrestlers in the locker room and in the ring cried. The fans wouldn't stop their applause. Magnum looked out over his people and held a hand up in the air, making a fist in salute, a warrior once and always.

Where is he now? Magnum currently resides in Chesapeake, VA, where he owns and runs several cell phone towers in the area. He is happily married [to Tully Blanchard's ex-wife]. Winning!