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.