My Ultimate Warrior: A story about Dad & Professional Wrestling

I lost my father this week after a grueling two and a half year battle with Stage 4 Colon Cancer. Dad fought valiantly and courageously through many highs and many lows; but, made the most of each and everyday God gave him. Dad was truly my hero and one of the first people to introduce me to professional wrestling. Along with my eldest daughter, he was one of my faithful Monday night wrestling companions and a huge part of my PPV viewing parties.

Dad grew up in the Midwest (Fort Wayne, IN) watching Vern Gagne’s AWA, where he idolized Dick the Bruiser and his tag team partner the Crusher. I grew up hearing stories of Dick Afflis and Reginald Lisowski, as if they were gods of Greek Mythology; but, I loved every second of it. My Dad, with the artistry and pageantry of a master story-teller, would make the old AWA stars sound as untouchable as the Zeus of ancient lore. “Daddy, could Hulk Hogan beat Dick the Bruiser?,” six year old me would ask. No one could touch him, not even Hulk Hogan. Dad grew up with professional wrestling; but, as Dad grew older he grew out of wrestling publicly, though inside he still loved the sport. When Dad reached drinking age he was tickled pink to see his boyhood idol, Dick the Bruiser at a local pub. Rather than out himself to his friends as a huge wrestling mark, Dad kept his composure and decided that he would join his friends in picking a fight with one of the meanest wrestlers in the history of the business. In a momentary lapse of judgment my Dad (along with his friends) decided to publicly challenge the Bruiser and call him a fake. In the era of kayfabe, the enormous Dick Afflis wasn’t going to allow a group of punk kids to taunt the sport that put food on his table. With the strength of a mountain gorilla, the Bruiser pulled a pinball table from the bar room floor, and hoisting it high over his head hurled it in the air after my Dad and his misguided friends. As the Bruiser chased after my Dad and company with speed that a man his size shouldn’t normally have, he shouted, “Fake….I’ll show you fake.” That’s all it took. Dad was hooked again and the story became a regular part of my Dad’s lore.

Dad was 40 when I was born in 1981 and I came just before the explosion of the WWF, under the leadership of Vince McMahon Jr. and his newfound creation, Hulk Hogan. When I turned six I began idolizing my own favorites like the Ultimate Warrior and “Macho Man” Randy Savage. Dad and I instantly had something to do together and we began purchasing pay-per-views as an excuse to bond as father and son. At around eight or nine my Dad would introduce me to people and ask me to do my Hogan, Macho, or Warrior impressions that quickly gained me some notoriety among family and friends.

In 1993, Dad took me to meet Sting and the late Ravishing Rick Rude at FAO Schwartz’ epic toy store in Chicago. After waiting a long time in line, both wrestlers signed everything I wanted and after I met them I was able to take a picture with each of them. Although I was 11 years old and a male, Rick Rude went into his hyper-sexual gyration for the photo, something that made me feel icky even then. After meeting them, and probably sympathetic over the picture Rude just took with a young boy, a WCW representative handed Dad a couple of tickets. We were invited to be WCW’s guests for Spring Stampede at the Rosemont Horizon. I saw Steve Austin take on the Great Muta, Sting fight Rick Rude, the Nasty Boys destroy Cactus Jack and Maxx Payne in a brutal Chicago Street Fight. I saw Ric Flair wrestle Ricky Steamboat in an epic match of wrestling prowess and technical expertise. I also saw Danny Bonaduce beat the hell out of Greg Brady; but, that’s a story for another day.

By 1994, Dad was regularly purchasing tickets to wrestling events. He bought us a pair of tickets to see SummerSlam that year in a card that featured Bret Hart vs Owen Hart in a steel cage and the Undertaker vs Million Dollar Man’s impostor Undertaker. Shortly before the event I grew ill with a virus that saw my fever spike and my throat tighten up. I begged my Dad to still allow go and in another one of those beautiful lapses of judgment, he gave in. He and I sat through the entire three plus hour event, the first ever sporting event in the young United Center’s history. Although I often felt like vomiting and sleeping our mutual admiration for the sport kept me wide awake, as I sat next to my hero, watching our heroes.

Through the years Dad would make it a point to give me just about every Hasbro WWF action figure you could imagine. He would even handle the phones, getting to know workers at Toys R’ Us just to find out when the store would get their latest shipment, so that I could have first dibs. I still have all of those figures today. We would meet countless wrestlers including; Randy Savage, Shawn Michaels, Bret Hart, Scott Hall, Ultimate Warrior, Lex Luger, the aforementioned Sting and Rick Rude, Ted DiBiase, the Bushwackers, the Legion of Doom, Hulk Hogan, and so many more. The more I loved wrestling, the more my Dad would feed into my growing obsession.

My heart broke two and a half years ago when my Dad was diagnosed with terminal cancer. He received a death sentence; but, over the course of that time we grew closer and my Dad seldom missed a RAW. On those rare occasions he did miss, I was always there the next day to give him the recap and just like my Dad did for his era of wrestling, I made today’s stars sound like untouchable mythological figures. Dad became a huge mark, hating heels with a ferocity that was unparalleled. He almost stopped watching wrestling entirely after John Cena was “screwed at SummerSlam” by one of my favorite political pundits, Jon Stewart. Just like always, Dad would come around and like a moth to a flame, watch wrestling again. Whenever there was breaking wrestling news, I would call Dad and tell him. We would laugh. We would imagine. We would hope. We would anticipate. Yesterday I deleted his number from my phone, the same day that I buried him.

I grew up watching the Ultimate Warrior, who like my father, also had a tragic and untimely demise. The day before Warrior’s passing he said to a live WWE RAW audience, “Every man’s heart one day beats its final beat. His lungs breathe a final breath. And if what that man did in his life makes the blood pulse through the body of others, and makes them bleed deeper and something larger than life, then his essence, his spirit, will be immortalized.” My Dad did all of that with the way he lived life, how deeply he loved his family, the memories he shared with his only son, and by the way he valiantly and courageously fought cancer. Cancer could not steal my Dad’s smile, his joy, his faith, his heart, or his love for a scripted sport. In the end, the disease could only take his body; but, his soul lives on forever. Dad, I will never forget you. I will always love you. May the bells salute you and bring you home. You are and will forever be my ultimate warrior.  




My Dad the warrior