Ted DiBiase (18 page)

In Alexandria, Dick Murdoch and I were in a tag match against Ken Patera and Buck Robley. The crowd was hot, and you could tell by the way fans were throwing stuff into the ring that security was mediocre at best. The match ended in a Mexican standoff. As Dick and I were heading to the back, Patera grabbed a chair. Sensing total chaos, Dick screamed, “Don't do it, you idiot!” Patera looked at the crowd and threw the chair at us. Murdoch yelled to me, “Grab a chair and put it over your head!” Sure enough, Dick and I got nailed with an avalanche of chairs being thrown at us from the fans.

I wrestled a few matches against Paul Orndorff. Paul was a standout football player at the University of Tampa and was drafted by the Bears. He worked for every major wrestling promotion in the country and is probably one of the greatest wrestlers in the history of our business. In 2005, he was inducted into the WWE Hall of Fame.

One night in Jackson, Mississippi, Bill came up to Paul and me. “I am booking you guys in a babyface match.”

Paul and I said, “No problem.”

Bill then added, “And I want you guys to go for one hour—a draw.” Heels usually call the match, but with both of us being babyfaces, we weren't used to calling a match. Doing it for an hour would be a challenge. “Look, I know you can do it. But if you guys feel like you can't go any more, I'll give you your finish.”

Paul and I went out and had a great match. It was one of those nights that my confidence was taken to another level. We both called the match and I did things in the ring that I had never done before. Bill challenged both of us, and we rose to the challenge.

I was now making about fifteen hundred a week, but the long trips in the Mid-South territory hadn't changed one bit. With a pregnant wife at home, I was seeing less and less of her. I begged Bill Watts for some time off, but to no avail. He simply replied, “I can give you a day off here and there, but it is the nature of the beast. This is the wrestling business.” Bill was a slave driver and pushed everyone to the limit. He was a brilliant promoter and booker, but the business was always first, family second.

One day I left my house to work a spot show in Hope, Arkansas. It was about a six-hour drive. I was genuinely upset about going to a show that was of little significance. For the past year, I worked like a slave and didn't have any time off. I really wanted to be home with Melanie. About forty miles out, I pulled into a convenience store. I called the Mid-South office and spoke to Bill Watts's secretary, Georgiana. “I have car trouble. They are going to have to tow my car back to Baton Rouge. I don't think I am going to make the show.”

“Okay, when you get back to Baton Rouge, call Bill.”

I hung up and called Melanie. “Hey, Melanie, guess what? Since Bill doesn't want to give me a day off, I just took one.” I rehashed the lie I had told Georgiana and told Melanie to pull some steaks out of the freezer. We were finally going to enjoy a day together.

Once I got back to the house, I spent about an hour or so enjoying some quality time with Melanie. She had stopped traveling with me
because of her pregnancy. Then I called Bill. One of his sons, Erik, answered the phone. “Hey, Erik, it's Ted. I had some car trouble and finally made it back home to Baton Rouge. Georgiana told me to call your dad. Is he there?”

“Okay. Hold on, Ted. Dad just now put the steaks on the grill.” I wanted to take the phone and smash it against the wall. There I was busting my tail, driving all over the place trying to make a living. I couldn't even get a day off to spend with my wife, but Bill was sitting at home with his family having a barbecue.

Bill got on the phone and I explained to him my car trouble. He reiterated that I was in the main event for that night's show and that I really needed to be in Hope. Our brief chat ended with him telling me to call him back in fifteen minutes. Something inside me was telling me that my plan wasn't going to work.

When I called Bill back, he answered the phone and said, “Take a taxi to the airport. I've chartered a private plane to fly you to Hope.” I couldn't believe it. The first and only time in the wrestling business I tried to miss a show, it didn't work.

A major phenomenon was happening in the world of professional wrestling. Vince McMahon Jr. took over World Wrestling Federation. He was starting to pull talent from around the country. Mid-South was affected, especially when the Wild Samoans—Afa and Sika—left. We also lost other heel talents. Bill Watts and Ernie Ladd were looking for a good heel to battle me and JYD. Ernie was the booker and categorically a great athlete. Standing almost seven feet tall and weighing more than three hundred pounds, Ernie was a heck of a worker and an overall great guy. He also served as one of my mentors. Ernie kept reminding me to look around the country to find a good heel to join the company.

One night after a show in Shreveport, I went to visit Ernie at his hotel room at the Sheraton. We chitchatted and then I told him that I had found the perfect heel. His eyes lit up and he wanted to know the name of the wrestler. In an excited manner I said, “Ernie, you are looking at him!” Ernie smiled and his eyes got as big as pumpkins. He started shaking his finger at me and said, “Why didn't I think of that? That's it!”

“Who would ever think that I would turn on JYD?” He shared it with Bill, who thought it was just the thing we needed.

The story line for me to turn heel was perfect. The wrestling fans had watched me wrestle as a good guy over the years. They knew JYD and I were close friends and that he was the best man at my wedding. I was always there to help him, like the time he was blinded in a match against the Freebirds. In and out of the ring, we were inseparable.

But I started to get a feeling in my stomach that maybe I shouldn't turn heel. I was getting cold feet. Ever since I had started in the business, I had always wrestled as a babyface. I wondered if I was making the right decision. I talked to JYD about it. He loved the idea and encouraged me, as did Ernie. He told me that I was a leader and helped me build my confidence.

To build the angle, Bill decided to have a drawing to see who would be the next wrestler to get a shot at my North American heavyweight title. JYD's name was drawn. JYD and I were both interviewed on television. We discussed our friendship and how the match for my title wasn't going to change our relationship. JYD stressed that it was nothing personal, but business was business and he was going to try his best to beat me. The match was going to take place on television in a few weeks.

In an effort to build interest, I unexpectedly “broke” my hand in a tag match with JYD against the Freebirds. To protect it, I started to wear a black glove on my right hand. I continued to wrestle with the glove and the announcers, Boyd Pierce and Bill Watts, made sure the fans knew that it still hadn't fully healed.

It was time for my match against JYD for the title. We had a clean, nipand-tuck match. Near the end of the match, I went for my finishing move, the figure-four leglock. As I stepped over, JYD pushed me off with his legs; I went flying over the top rope and landed on the concrete floor. The referee began the ten-count. JYD stopped the referee from counting me out, and he went out to the floor to check on me and rolled me back into the ring. As he climbed back into the ring, I seized the moment and reached into my trunks. I inserted a foreign object in the glove. When JYD reached down to pick me up, I nailed him right in the jaw, knocking him out cold. I then covered him for the pin. The crowd was stunned. I had just screwed my best friend. It was the
beginning of one of the hottest feuds in the history of the Mid-South territory. I was making more money than ever before.

JYD was the most popular wrestler in the territory. His character and personality appealed to both black and white fans. He was so popular among the fans that when a poll was taken by the New Orleans public school system to find out which sports figure the students would most want to come visit their school, JYD came in first, with players for the New Orleans Saints placing a distant second. When I wrestled JYD in New Orleans, they co-opted the football theme and chanted continuously, “Who dat? Who dat? Who dat say they gonna beat that Dog!”

For weeks, JYD always destroyed me in the match, but I would by hook or by crook cheat in the end to get the win. The fans were livid. Because of my feud with JYD, I had to be very careful. I was getting booed like never before and people literally wanted to kill me. Back then lots of people took wrestling seriously. Bill knew about my concerns, so he beefed up security. The first time I wrestled JYD in New Orleans, I told Grizzly Smith that there was no way I was going to drive my own car to the arena. I knew the fans would destroy it. Grizzly agreed and drove me to the show. Unfortunately for Grizzly, on the first night the fans punctured all four of his tires because he had brought me to the show. Poor Grizzly, it seemed like I was always doing damage to his cars.

I was now the leader of the Rat Pack. We even had a manager, Skandor Akbar. The Rat Pack was a heel group that included “Hacksaw” Jim Duggan, Matt Borne, and me. King Kong Bundy and Mr. Olympia later joined the group. We wreaked havoc across the territory.

JIM DUGGAN:

When I arrived in the Mid-South territory, Teddy was one of the top heels in the promotion. I came in from Texas All-Star Wrestling in San Antonio. Bill Watts put me together with Matt Borne and Teddy and we worked as the Rat Pack. We were a pretty good heel team. Teddy had the loaded glove and could always draw heat with it against the babyface. We did a lot of three-man tag matches with the Freebirds.

Skandor Akbar and Grizzly Smith.

Though we didn't last too long together, we had some great battles with the Junkyard Dog and Mr. Olympia.

I started always wearing a black glove. The glove was part of my gimmick to help me secure a record number of wins. One night in a grueling match against Mr. Wrestling II in Tulsa, he started to get the better of me. After nailing me with his trademark high running knee lift, he thought he was about to
put me in his finisher. Skandor Akbar threw me a foreign object when the referee's and Mr. Wrestling II's backs were turned. I loaded the glove with the foreign object and popped him in the head, knocking him out. I covered my unconscious opponent and attained the victory. The fans were angry.

As we left the ring, a big, farm-fed guy blocked our path to the dressing room. Now, in the wrestling business, you never look for trouble with the fans. But if trouble starts, you finish it. If a fan ever gets you in a situation where you must fight him, then you'd better come out victorious. If not, you'd be fired on the spot.

The guy wouldn't let me pass. Initially, I was going to just step around him, but he kept moving in front of me. He hit me. Immediately, I got in his face and put my finger right between his eyes and said, “Don't you ever touch me again!” As I turned and walked away, I was shoved in the back. I turned around and with all my might punched the guy right in the face. He went down like a tree, and then he started to get back up. I kicked him as hard as I could right in the face. Blood was everywhere. By then, the police had showed up and he was carted away. At the same time, all the wrestlers from the back had come out to help me. When I got back to the dressing room, I noticed a lump in the black glove. I had broken my hand. It wasn't my first injury and it wouldn't be my last.

JIM DUGGAN:

One night in Oklahoma City, we were wrestling in a rodeo arena. They had just had a rodeo event the night before. To make room for the ring, they simply moved all the dirt to one side and into this giant mound. Since everything was wide open, Bill Watts wouldn't spring for security. All the heels had to stay around to watch each other's back. At that time, it was dangerous to be a heel, and it was pretty common to have fights with the fans and even riots, especially in Louisiana.

In the main event, Teddy was in a hot finish with Mr. Wrestling II. As all the heels sat up in the bleachers, high enough to
see over the big dirt mound, Teddy loaded his glove and knocked out Mr. Wrestling II. The place just went crazy. Liquored up, many of the fans started attacking Teddy. All the heels jumped up and started heading down to the bleachers to help him. But the first one heading down the stairs was King Kong Bundy. Since he was so big, he was moving slowly, one step at a time. We screamed at Bundy to hurry up as Teddy was fighting off the fans one by one. We eventually got Teddy back safely to the locker room.

I have a cauliflower ear. In the wrestling business, just about everyone does. From headlocks to getting punched, the outer ear takes a major pounding. After a period of time, blood and fluid builds up in the ear. If it isn't drained, the outer ear will remain permanently swollen and deformed, and it looks like a piece of cauliflower—hence the name. The first time my ear started to swell, I was in some serious pain. I didn't know what to do. Fortunately, or so I thought, Jack and Jerry Brisco said they had cauliflower ear and knew exactly how to treat it.