Ric Flair vs. Sting, NWA Clash of the Champions (3/27/1988)

Commissions continue again, this one coming from Ko-fi contributor Guthrie. You can be like them and pay me to write about all types of stuff. People tend to choose wrestling matches, but very little is entirely off the table, so long as I haven’t written about it before (and please, come prepared with a date or show name or something if it isn’t obvious). You can commission a piece of writing of your choosing by heading on over to www.ko-fi.com/elhijodelsimon. The current rate is $5/match or thing or $10 for anything over an hour, and if you have some aim that cannot be figured out through simple multiplication, feel free to hit the DMs on Twitter or Ko-fi. 

This was for Flair’s NWA World Heavyweight Title

Being entirely honest, I’ve never loved this match.

I love Sting. Speaking of in the ring only, I also love Ric Flair. I even love Sting vs. Ric Flair. I think that they have a lot of better matches together. Primarily, I mean after this, such as the GAB 1990 title switch that I know I am the high man on, or especially the half hour plus classic that they had together on an episode of WCW Saturday Night in August 1993, but I also mean before this in early 1988, because this is not actually their first match, and the entire myth is half-true at best. Not getting into that, because like that is all myths more or less (this is why they’re myths), but I prefer the fifteen minute version of Flair and Sting in 1988 far more than I do the forty five minute version, because the former feels much closer to where Sting’s strengths lied.

That is not to say this is the worst, because there are a few less than great ones once Flair’s prime is over, but of all of them, it is the one that I have the least interest in talking about.

But this is the famous one, and so here we are.

It’s not as if this is a bad match, or anything close. It’s still a great enough one.

Ric Flair vs. Sting is never not interesting to me, and although this isn’t them meeting at the peaks of their powers like the would over much of the next six years, this is still a match with a lot to offer.

Common thinking is that this is Flair By Numbers, and while that’s not entirely untrue, it also feels a little bit unfair.

Flair By Numbers suggests that this is a kind of plug and play touring thing. Flair vs. Road Warrior Hawk or Nikita Koloff (as a babyface anyways), or to go less power and paint, Terry Taylor in the Mid-South. These guys who Flair plugs into the formula without too much variation, something that is almost always good, if never great, and where the other man rarely adds too much or sees much of a narrative change.

That’s not the case here.

What Sting has is, of course, unrefined (Barry Windham better a year plus prior in essentially the same set up in a TV time limit draw), but he brings SOMETHING to this that feels inarguable. People point to some kind of aura or charisma or it factor so often that it usually feels like bullshit, and it often is, but Sting has it in a way few other guys do. Sting here feels like watching a young MJ or LeBron or Mahomes or whoever you’d like, not only an athletic ability and presence and this ability to seemingly handle everything called up for him and then some, but a certain something extra. When he fires up against Flair, it is different than most other babyfaces — especially the body guy ones — firing up against Flair. It isn’t a prototype being written in real time exactly, nor does it feel like one perfected (partial to Flair vs. Butch Reed for this archetype), but it is special in a way that cannot entirely just be read about.

In their favor, this is also not a match that just leans on coward heel vs. strong guy, having those prior matches to draw from, but that in little things, does what it often gets credit for doing for Sting with big things.

Sting had been previously successful against Ric because of his explosiveness, succeeding through distance, while Flair only had a handle on him when he kept in close contact. This match, particularly the first third or so, with Sting inverting that and also succeeding against Flair with some basic holds, is the sort of thing that maybe feels routine, but is assisted by context and given a little more substance, the same with Sting powering through Flair’s traditional first line of defense, getting a chop for distance and throwing somebody outside. Likewise, Flair is remarkably good at the transition work here in ways that both benefit him as a character but also the larger match, selling the back off of the early power attack, before eating shit trying to give it back to Sting as if to prove a point before being forced to go to the knee and what he actually does well. It doesn’t quite feel like a full defeat for Flair, but in a match that he began trying to big league his way through, being gradually forced to go to his actual most urgent plan of attack by the end is something that really does help Sting out.

The thing is, it’s just a little too long.

For where Sting is at this point in terms of what he can handle (the selling is not the best), where it feels like he is relative to Flair even with the careful way this is put together, and also for the sort of stock adjacent Flair match that they have, even with slight changes and the things Sting’s already better at then most, and especially with the time limit mentioned like it is, working in conjunction with all of the above. Maybe that wasn’t the case for someone reading this who saw it as a kid at the time, lord knows there are matches that happen ten to fifteen years later I like more than a lot of people because I had that same experience, but it’s how it always felt to me. A match that went long because it was supposed to, trapped in between the objective best thing to do in a long term sense (establish Sting as strong as possible because he is special in a way that hasn’t been seen here in years) and what may have made for the best match at the time. Given how things worked out, it’s hard to say they chose wrong, but it’s always been the match I found the least interesting as a result.

Call it a victim of its own success or a victim of the format or anything else, but it’s still more than a little bit of a victim, especially given all that they were capable of when not boxed in like they were here.

All the same, it has the reputation it does for a reason, and it feels like watching one of those trope originator movies from decades and decades and maybe closer to a century back. Some have done it better, maybe even some of those involved, but the images are striking and powerful and wielded very well, so warts and repetition and reputation and all, there’s still just something here that holds up and doesn’t ever really go away.

You know how it all goes, of course.

Sting gets the move on and Flair survives, end credits on the first part of one of wrestling’s all time great rivalries.

It’s Sting vs. Flair, in the end. It has the reputation that it does for a reason, it’s famous for a reason beyond just “launching” Sting, but my hope now is less to bring anyone to this one and far more so that anyone who sees this and has probably seen the match branches out and looks at their better and more interesting work together.

***

 

Lou Thesz vs Hans Schmidt, NWA Chicago (1/16/1953)

Commissions return again, this one coming from friend of the program @beenthrifty. You can be like them and pay me to write about all types of stuff. People tend to choose wrestling matches, but very little is entirely off the table, so long as I haven’t written about it before (and please, come prepared with a date or show name or something if it isn’t obvious). You can commission a piece of writing of your choosing by heading on over to www.ko-fi.com/elhijodelsimon. The current rate is $5/match or $5/started half hour of a thing (example: an 89 minute movie is $15, a 92 minute one is $20), and if you have some aim that cannot be figured out through simple multiplication, feel free to hit the DMs on Twitter or Ko-fi. 

This was for Thesz’s NWA World Heavyweight Title, with Jack Dempsey as the special guest referee.

Before any other virtue, what stands out so much about this match is that it is picture perfect babyface and heel pro wrestling.

I am 90% sure this is the first time I have ever seen a Lou Thesz match. Ten percent of that is wiggle room, I only really recently began keeping a pre-1980s spreadsheet just to be sure, but whatever the case, he is genuinely great in this. Not only at wrestling as a top babyface, but in terms of the way he carries himself at all moments. There is not only a feeling of natural dignity to him, a sort of composure that stands apart from Schmidt yet again being like the ur-heel of pro wrestling, but he’s so great at reacting to things like a normal guy might. The anger at the cheap shots, the basic selling of those same shots, the comebacks, all of that. He walks the line perfectly between relatable and larger than life, getting that mythical mix correct between someone anyone can imagine themselves as, but also the sort of thing to really aspire to.

There is maybe footage before this that might fit the same bill, but relative to what I have seen, it feels like the first recorded great Ace performance.

Construction-wise, they get it all right too.

Schmidt, again, is the wormiest god damned little asshole. Good enough scientifically to be competitive, but taking every single available cheap shot. Stomps to the stomach and ribs after rope breaks when Thesz is on the ground, cheap little punches when he’s standing up, things like that. To the credit of the match, never anything obvious that stretches the credibility of a famous celebrity referee, but always the real sneaky stuff. Not only does it protect that credibility, but it also makes him that much more despicable, because you never hate anything more than the small stuff a guy gets away with.

That same small stuff lets him gain the first fall with three real nasty slams in a row (it is 1953, give them a break), leading to a second fall where our man Lou has enough and begins punching back on a few breaks of his own, and offering up the receipts. Never all that money, not as many as Hans has coming to him (this is a match with a non-finish, so you imagine there are more coming, and so this maybe feels deliberate), but enough to feel good, and that strikes me as the most important thing.

Following getting his fall back with, to echo Hans, three dropkicks in a row, Lou begin beating his ass, before they go to a double count out to keep things moving. For Lou Thesz, the dream is that he will get to beat Hans Schmidt’s ass again. For me, the dream is that one of you will pay me to do it. Seventy years later, it might feel old, but the feeling behind it remains the same, and the essentials, the core of it, still feel like something worth looking at.

Nothing all that spectacular, but put together with such a pure spirit and executed in full service of that vision and nothing else, it’s a match that I have a hard time not enjoying my time with. If nothing else, a stellar advertisement for the future work of both guys.

The classics are the classics for a reason.

***

 

 

Harley Race vs. Terry Funk, Houston Wrestling (7/1/1977)

A piece of Terry Funk themed commission work, this one from Benny. You too can pay me to talk about all sorts of stuff, wrestling matches generally at the top of the pile. You can do this by going to www.ko-fi.com/elhijodelsimon, where the current going rate is $5 per match. If you have something more complex, which is to say that cannot be figured out simply by multiplying something by five, hit the DMs, and we can work it out. 

This was a best two of three falls match for Race’s NWA World Heavyweight Title.

So, the first thing about this is that Terry Funk is incredible in it.

I’m not quite in the camp of saying Terry Funk is the greatest of all time. I don’t disagree necessarily, but with the 70s being a relatively blinder spot for me than the decades to follow, I just hesitate to totally commit, and instead go with a blanket statement of “top twenty for sure”. The statement about Funk that always stood out to me though is the idea that Terry Funk, he the individual wrestler himself, always had something to offer in any match he was in. While a lot of other contenders for the title of best ever or greatest of all time have some black marks on their resume (later career periods once athleticism is gone, occasionally being far too giving or tolerant like Danielson/MJF, etc.), I’ve never quite come across that with Terry Funk.

Even in matches that are not great, Terry Funk is great in them.

So in a match like this, one that is mostly great and that happens to have a less consistent performance from the other side of the match, the performance of Funk stands out even more.

Harley Race is fine here. Good, even. He’s just, yet again, a real frustrating guy.

There’s so much that he does right in this match. The working of holds is fantastic, especially when it comes to the headscissors he puts on after first taking control in the first fall. Genuinely, I’ve never seen a headscissors milked more effectively or better than the one in this match. Funk’s slow fight up in it and initial failure to break it is a big part of that (more later), but Race’s repeated stomps down to bring his knee into Funk’s ear in the hold is also real real nasty. His simpler offense also looks real great, and he works in the exact way a classic NWA World Champion ought to. Not only simple and mean on offense, but the feeling of it. At all times, Race is unlikeable and definitely dirty, but always also just clean enough to make him even more unlikeable. Yeah, it sucks when a guy cheats, but what works even better is something like the attitude and feeling that Race perfects here. He’s dirty and you know he’s dirty, but his dirty little acts are just enough within the boundaries of the rules that nobody has a real gripe, so much as a spiritual one.

Race also decides that, after Funk spends a great ten minutes really tearing up his arm at the start, that absolutely none of that matters for even half a second, which is always sort of the thing with him. It’s especially frustrating because in the last five or so minutes of the match, his selling of the leg after Funk’s attacks on it for the Spinning Toe Hold is genuinely very good, despite that work lasting maybe a third as long as what he he decided otherwise wasn’t worth his time.

Of course, a major pet peeve doesn’t wash away all that good, but as is so often the case with Harley Race and much of his celebrated work, it’s either more than a little uneven or maddeningly inconsistent, depending on how you want to take it.

Which makes it all the more impressive that, because of the performance of Terry Funk in this match, that it still winds up being as great as it is.

Funk does in this match what Race simply cannot, and that’s being great on both sides of the match.

Yes, his work on offense is tremendous. His arm work in the first quarter of the match is fantastic. His holds are both cool and a little bit nasty, but without ever even coming close to feeling mean or cruel. His comebacks manage to feel urgent and frantic and always feel like they build on top of everything to happen in the match up to that point. The particular moment at the end of the second fall where he blocks the abdominal stretch that won Race the first fall to go into a backslide, then immediately fires off a real motherfucker of a Piledriver (mostly to Race’s credit as a bumper) is particularly outstanding. Near the end of the match when he gets busted open, his attacks on the leg in the toe hold also get more and more desperate and vicious in a way that’s both super intense and thrilling but also deeply sympathetic. It’s a tightrope that not many people walk across cleanly, but that Terry pulls off without a single step out of place.

However, it’s the other half of this match where Terry really shines, and does all of the things that really bring the match together.

Funk has so many different chances to show off his selling chop in the match, and gets them all perfectly correct. When Race first takes over and attacks the head, Funk’s selling of a shaken equilibrium after some of the shots land by the ear and temple is incredible. The slow fight out of the headscissors also helps turn what, forty five years and counting later is a simple ten second bit into not only something that can fill three to five minutes, but that does so in a thrilling way, making a routine escape into something that feels like a real victory. When Funk hurts his back to end the first fall, the selling is maybe not as in depth (as Race doesn’t fully commit to it), the same with brief Race arm work in the middle, but Funk gives each of these things their proper respect, really making sure that at least in terms of what happens to him and what he can control, there is very little in this match that does not matter.

Late in the match, when Race gets a little lucky on a punch out of the initial Spinning Toe Hold and Funk get a gusher, the selling of the cut is also out of this world great. Not only the mechanics of it or how sympathetic he is, wildly swinging, trying to block follow up punches as he hangs onto the toe hold on later tries, slowly losing his grip on the foot or his footing in general, but the escalation of it over a few minutes. It’s not just the classic wobble leg business, having trouble getting up (more and more each time he goes down), but Funk communicates not being able to see better than just about anyone I’ve ever seen in a similar spot too.

Beyond individual performances, it’s such a great overall package too.

Every section of the match feels like it not only transitions perfectly to the next in terms of the nuts and bolts of the thing and how well it all flows, but narratively speaking too. Race’s two transitions to control in the first half are rough and unlikeable, but also a little lucky, leading to his final transition at the end of the match being the actual dirty play by going to the cut over the eyebrow more intently. Funk constantly takes advantage of Race trying to repeat what came before, or wrestling a little too conservatively, and the match makes the point that it’s actually the winning strategy, before Race just so happens to get exactly lucky enough at the end,

The referee finally stops the match when a half-blind Funk initially tries to lunge at him when he checks on him on the mat, and Race holds onto the title. As much as anything else, the real strength of the match lies in just how the finish feels, the ultra-rare blood stoppage finish that feels earned, and not just like something done to avoid a more conclusive finish.

It’s imperfect but it is, I think, necessary viewing.

Not only an ideal old style NWA Title match that I think hits all the beats as well as any other match — stately but unlikeable & dirty champion survives against local favorite through something like a 51/49 split between luck and skill — but also as succinct and powerful a single-match case for Terry Funk as an all-time great as any of the more celebrated AJPW or NWA work.

***3/4

Ric Flair vs. Jumbo Tsuruta, AJPW Excite Series 1982 Day Twenty Three (6/8/1982)

Another piece of commission work, this time from my old pal Biggie. You can be like him too, although I’d prefer it if that meant commissioning reviews of things, be they matches, backyard matches, movie fight scenes, or what have you. You can head on over to www.ko-fi.com/elhijodelsimon and do that, ideally after doing your due diligence and finding out whether or not I’ve already covered it. The current going rate is $5 per match, and should your aim be more complex than simply adding up a number of matches and multiplying it by five, hit the DMs and we can work something out. 

This was for Flair’s NWA World Heavyweight Title.

In a purely mechanical sense, as with every Flair vs. Jumbo match (and particularly their run in 1981-1985), this is a delight. Jumbo is a hard enough hitter, great enough technician, and skilled enough natural babyface to fit in as a perfect Flair opponent in the way that few others ever have. Likewise, Flair is always extra motivated in these Jumbo matches in a way he isn’t always overseas, coming close to what I’d consider the best version of him at this point. Respectable at the start, getting nastier and more desperate, focused on the process of that transition above all else. You could conceivably call Jumbo a top five Flair opponent, and I wouldn’t even argue it.

Many people prefer the June 1983 match between these two as the best of the lot, but it may stun many of you to find out that my personal favorite is the one that is half as long. Partially because it forces them to get tighter with the match up than usual, but also because I think of all their matches, this has the best combination of all of the stuff that makes pro wrestling work, beyond the strictly mechanical. The best physicality, the best Flair performance of them all, and the best story told both within the match at large and in a larger kind of character journey for our man Jumbo.

As with any repeat pairing, context helps.

This is not their first meeting in recent memory. The previous October, Jumbo challenged Flair for the title for the first time, two ascendant future Aces but neither one hundred percent there just yet, Flair in the nascent days of his first major title run and Jumbo yet to get there. Jumbo’s aggression did him well in that match up until the point when it didn’t, missing his knee or dropkick near the ropes and crotching himself in that classical Jumbo Tsuruta tradition. It’s very much a match that Jumbo could have won and spent something like 75% of the match winning, only to make a large mistake. Every loss has a lesson, and one of his biggest losses naturally brings along one of life’s biggest lessons with it, about everything having a time and place, patience, the ultimate toll an overzealous attack can take, and things of that nature,

In this match, it is not simply about the avoidance of those mistakes, but also wrestling a much smarter match beyond that.

Flair not only finds himself controlled on the match, but in Jumbo sticking with more holds and chops even when the match finds itself to their feet, it becomes the best sort of a Ric Flair match, one where he simply cannot figure anything out against a perfect opponent and mentally collapses. Flair runs through three or four different plans of attack, and gets owned in pursuit of each one individually. He can’t pick up the pace, he can’t turn it into a slugfest against a bigger and stronger guy, and even when he does seem like he’s finally baited Jumbo in like he’s done before, his knee work goes so sideways that Flair comes out of it as the one with the more significantly damaged wheel.

What I love so much about this match is that, while Ric gets his stuff in and has these small periods of control, it is largely a match that he never figures out in the way that he does in almost every other title defense in his prime.

Jumbo lands the knee by the ropes this time in the most deliberate show of match-to-match progression, and Flair careens over and outside. Instead of the easy count out spot, they go out and tease a totally different one off of Jumbo being sent into the post, only for that to fall short too. It’s a beautiful set up to the end, clear signs of classic bullshit finishes not working, only for an entirely different bullshit finish to happen, as Jumbo lands the Bridging German Suplex, only for his shoulders to be down as well.

(It also helps this in my memory that, the first time I saw it, it was mislabeled as a three fall match as many were at the time, and so I bought in to every single nearfall incredibly hard in a way I did for few other matches of this era, before realizing at some point that this piece of information probably wasn’t accurate. Repeat viewings have obviously taken this part of the experience away, but with matches that stand up to repeat viewings, those sorts of experiences stick around.)

A stellar match, not only delivering the goods on a context-free purely mechanical level, but also showing Jumbo’s growth and progression from match to match. Beyond that, it’s a match that goes out of its way to avoid many of the common bits of the era, and while it does have your kind of classic 1980s fuck finish, it’s one that as a result of the work and set up throughout the match, lands with so much more force than it might otherwise. Less a cop-out and more the sort of avoidance of Our Hero getting his due yet again, that the Flair and NWA Champion mythos were built on. A real crushing story about how you can do everything right in a match and improve on every mistake, and not even actually lose, but still just come up short if that commitment wavers for even just exactly three seconds.

The sort of defeat (whether that is in the record books or not) that every future Ace needs to go through.

One of my favorites of the decade.

****

Ric Flair vs. Ricky Morton, NWA Great American Bash ‘86 Tour Day Four (7/5/1986)

It’s more from that Black Friday Sale. This one comes from Darren. You too can pay me to watch any wrestling matches that I haven’t already covered on this space, over at www.ko-fi.com/elhijodelsimon. That’s $5 per match, and if you want a full show or something weird, shoot me a DM and we can talk. 

This was a steel cage match for Flair’s NWA World Heavyweight Title.

It’s the end of a wonderful few month long feud, as Flair targeted the Rock and Roll Express to try and humiliate them since they were the most popular act in the territory, constantly insulting their manhood and claiming only little girls liked the Express while all the grown women loved Flair, only for both of them to stand up to him and for the crowd response to obviously disprove the champion’s boast. Flair wound up as the one sulking away in embarrassment, prompting a wonderful series against both, but targeting Morton in particular as the more popular and better wrestler. Famously, the Four Horsemen attacked Morton backstage and rubbed his face on the floor to break his nose and face.

More than any other Flair feud in the mid to late 1980s JCP heyday, it’s the best ever Ric Flair feud as a heel. Against Rhodes or Nikita or Luger or any people like that, Flair always wound up having a little bit of a point as they’d do something bad to him either first or in revenge, and you could buy the feud as an escalation of hostilities. Against Ricky Morton though, he’s a pure villain. Ricky Morton wasn’t a contender. The Rock and Roll Express just wanted to try and win back the World Tag Team Titles, but it’s a fight that Ric Flair went out of his way to pick. He’s not only a bully, but an extremely petty and jealous one, because it was barely ever about wrestling.

The match itself is incredible, and one of my personal favorites ever.

A gold standard for matches like this.

This match is the simplest thing in the world. You can set your clock to it. That’s not an insult either, because this is exactly what it should be and exactly how a match like this should unfurl itself. Clear role, a pure sort of violence, and two wrestlers who not only bounce off of each other perfectly as characters, but have a world of chemistry in the ring as well.

In a story sense, it’s perfect.

Ric Flair begins the match once again trying to intimidate Morton, first with his usual stalling and shit talking, and then feigning at the face. It never once works. Morton is once again ready for everything and his response to the plays at his damaged and bandaged face are to do the same thing to Ric Flair. As soon as Flair can though, he rips the protective mask off and maims Morton using the cage. Blood and guts, classic pro wrestling stuff. Morton gets his revenge and repays Flair in his own coin, before they’re both beat up and throwing fists wildly and trying to just escape. The specifics with the face injury and the revenge for it are unique, but in a larger sense, it’s classic title match in a cage stuff, and it’s done exceedingly well.

The performances themselves are off the charts as well.

Ric Flair is the definitive heel champion, and this match shows why it’s not just about the hair or chops or the obvious bumping/stooging performance. It’s about everything else, the way he reacts to everything and the way he carries himself at all times. Everyone else to follow in his footsteps feels phony to some degree or another, but this match is a textbook example of how at his best, Flair never does. He’s able to convey that he’s suddenly in over his head better than most, by being subtle about it, but without giving away the farm and going entirely into a pinball routine, so they preserve the underdog approach of Morton. He’s surprised more than he is in a real panic, someone who doesn’t want to have to give a 100% effort being forced into it, and being so so so so mad about it at all times. The gift of this existing in unedited form and with no commentary track is that you can hear Flair shouting “MOTHERFUCKER” after one of Ricky’s early big shots, or cursing at the audience or Morton whenever possible. It’s not a significant thing that the match needs to work, but it’s the sort of minor bit of realism that shows how pissed he is and in ways that feel realer than just making goofy faces all the time.

Morton’s work isn’t QUITE as important here, but there’s a reason “playing Ricky Morton” is a thing people say. They say it about tag team matches, of course, but Ricky Morton does a stellar job of playing himself in this match as well. The bleeding, the selling, the evocation of sympathy while also kicking a ton of ass one the comeback, all of it.

There have been a hundred or a thousand great Ric Flair performances against faces, and where the difference between a great match and one of the best ever comes in is the performance on the other end of that. Flair’s assault on the face is gruesome and heinous and absurdly mean-spirited in the application of its violence, but it falls flat if Morton doesn’t bring as much pure babyface fire and righteous energy back to Flair on the other side. Garnering sympathy is one thing, but who wants to root for someone who can’t win a fight?

In the end, Flair is spent as Morton beats the shit out of him. He couldn’t bully him, he couldn’t outwrestle him, and he couldn’t get dirty enough and just plain beat Morton up to prove dominance. It’s a lost fight ideologically, and it’s then that Flair decides to just drop him on purpose groin first on the top rope before then cheating on the cover too, barely holding onto the title. The specific finish itself is a beautiful thing, a feud entirely about masculinity coming down to a nut shot. Flair couldn’t prove anything in the end, and takes both the cheapest and most thematically perfect win possible.

It’s all bullshit anyways, so Flair might as well do everything possible to keep the only thing that really matters.

Pro wrestling, baby.

An all-time classic, and the best match of a very very very good year, both for Jim Crockett Promotions and wrestling at large.

****1/4