The Importance of…6.27.08: Bret Hart

No notes from the past week of wrestling this time around. Work has had me on the road, and I’m sorry to say I haven’t had the chance to watch any new material. Back to the usual format next week.

Now, on to our regular column…

He is a five time WWF champion, two time IC champion, and two time tag team champion. He is on the short list of men to have been crowned both King of the Ring and winner of the Royal Rumble. He is on the short list of men to have held world championships in both WWF and WCW. He was one of the key players in one of the most significant shoot incidents in the history of pro wrestling. Sound impressive? I’m hardly scraping the surface.

For those who read this column regularly, it should come as no surprise that I am a huge fan of Bret Hart. Ironically, I was not nearly as taken with “The Hitman” for the first half of his career. I grew up in a Hulk Hogan centered wrestling universe, where a man of Hart’s size and style was destined for nothing greater than the mid-card. My closest friend began to follow wrestling right when Hart won his first world title, and was a mark for him from that point on. For me, it wasn’t until Hart’s second title reign that I really warmed to him, and not until after his retirement that I truly came to understand him as easily one of the five greatest wrestlers of my lifetime. Hell, I would argue he was the best.

In a sense, Hart was bred to be a wrestler of importance. If any screen writer or wrestling booker tried to write Hart’s story from the beginning, he’d get laughed off for not being realistic, and depending too much on clichés. Nuanced as real life can be, the fact remains that Hart could hardly have come from a more fitting background. He was the son of a wrestling superstar and master of the “The Dungeon”— the basement of the house, in which he trained many wrestling greats. Bret was a middle child among a dozen kids—a mix of bullies, attention hounds, jokers, and genuinely kind people. He rose from this family to win amateur wrestling medals, before honing his craft as professional wrestler whose defining traits were his precision and toughness. He was a son of destiny, but also a man who earned his own way, through talent and hard work. You can’t make this stuff up.

And don’t be mistaken, because Bret Hart did work his way up in the wrestling business. One could argue that he was the booker’s son, and while this may have lent him a hand in getting his foot in the door, there were a lot of booker’s sons who settled for being a star in daddy’s territory. Bret Hart wanted to take on the world. This is what landed the man in WWF. And when he had arrived he refused to be saddled with a crappy cowboy gimmick, instead conceiving of the idea of teaming up in the Hart Foundation, and stumbling upon the pink and black attire that would become his trademark.

Once he had worked his way up, Bret Hart was exactly what he said he was—”The Excellence of Execution.” Whether he was delivering one of the crispest clotheslines in the business as part of the Hart Attack, leveling someone with a side Russian legsweep, taking a turnbuckle bump chest first to make it look real, or applying the greatest submission hold of his era, in the sharpshooter, virtually everything The Hitman did looked like a million bucks. This becomes all the more remarkable when you consider that, by all accounts, he never seriously injured another wrestler in nearly 25 years in the business.

Bret Hart was also important for his many fantastic feuds. The guy could truly make each and every scenario work. He played the underdog role to a tee in his on-again, off-again war with Yokozuna. He played the perfect straight man to Jerry Lawler’s comedy act in dominating his feud with “The King.” He tugged on the heartstrings of fans everywhere in his unique family feud with Owen Hart—the likes of which I don’t think wrestling had seen before, or has yet seen since. And of course, there was his most memorable feud. Bret Hart and Shawn Michaels each attained upper card singles status at around the same time. In early 1992, they battled over the Intercontinental title on the house show circuit, including the WWF’s first ladder match. By the end of 1992, they were having their first confrontation over the world title. In 1996, they headlined Wrestlemania. And then, as 1997 came to a close, five years after their first Survivor Series main event, they did it again—this time resulting in the Montreal Screw Job. The greatest part of this feud may be just how organic and real it all was. On stage and off there was a real clash. Michaels was a cocky, ultra-talented prick. Hart was a no-nonsense, technically-brilliant guy who may have taken himself a bit too seriously. You can’t get a much more natural rivalry than that. And while a part of me laments the fact that the feud could never truly be blown off in the ring, I reckon the only way it really could have ended was when one man left the company.

I’m making a conscious choice not to delve into the story or the politics of the Screw Job. It has been covered many times over and if I was going to start in on it, it would warrant a column all it’s own. The heart of the issue, though, was that Bret Hart’s sense of his own importance to the Canadian fans. I cannot blame him. Looking at Hart from an American perspective, he probably just barely cracks the list of the top ten draws of his generation. Turn to an international perspective, though, and particularly to Canada, the only guys who could even touch Hart would be Steve Austin and Hulk Hogan—and truth be told, I think he had them both beat. Would American hero Hogan have let a foreigner beat him for the world title, in the US, in effectively his last match with the WWF? Much less if that foreigner was someone he personally disliked? The idea is laughable, and we, as fans, wouldn’t even question him for that. Such is the case for Hart, Canada’s biggest wrestling hero, truly the pride of nation who wanted to leave Canada a champion.

Part of the importance of Bret Hart’s career comes in the form of tragedy. For his epic success, what followed in Hart’s career was nearly as epically sad. First there was the Screw Job. Then there was the revelation that, creatively, WCW really didn’t have anything for him. One of wrestling’s great stars, and hottest acts coming into the company, found himself a mid-card guy for no real reason. And then, dwarfing every other concern, came the tragic death of his closest brother, Owen—and in a WWF ring, no less. After some time away, Hart would return to the ring, and even go on to win another world championship. His career was cut short through a concussion-inducing bout with Bill Goldberg that changed the course his career and life. As if this were not enough to ruin a man, Hart’s brother in law, Davey Boy Smith passed away shortly thereafter. And, of course, most recently, Hart’s friend Chris Benoit redefined wrestling tragedies once and for all.

As fans, we lost Bret Hart for a period of years. By late 2000 he was retired and out of the public eye. In 2002, his life changed again with a stroke that temporarily paralyzed him, and left him a vulnerable man from that point forward.

Against all odds, in the years that followed, we fans got pieces of Bret Hart back. In 2005, Hart partnered with WWE on the release of a documentary and collection of matches, spanning his career—a true treasure to wrestling fans from that era. In 2006, Hart accepted an invitation to enter the WWE Hall of Fame. Giving the Hall perhaps its greatest moment, Hart delivered a speech that went from tragic, to hilarious, to downright inspirational. The final piece of the puzzle, cementing Hart’s legacy, came in 2007 with the release of his 500 plus page tome of a memoir. The book was honest and beautiful, and didn’t shy away from any narrative thread. It is without question, my favorite wrestling book, and, indeed, one of my favorite books in general. I’m convinced that this book gave a legion of fans the closure they needed. It’s the ultimate telling of an amazing career, and an affirmation that Bret is, as he said in his Hall of Fame speech, OK.

Bret Hart turns 51 next week. It’s easy to forget wrestling’s stars of yesteryears—especially those who don’t come running at Vince McMahon’s beck and call, to serve as guest referees or have one more last match. Nonetheless, Hart remains a star worth celebrating, and a true legend. His contributions to the business were of the greatest importance.

That’s all for this column. Next week, we take a look at the importance of The Brand Extension. See you in seven.