In 1993, I high-fived Bret “The Hitman” Hart in downtown Milwaukee.
I was 11 years old, and I was attending my first live pro wrestling event: a non-televised “house show” at the Bradley Center. The undercard featured matches that included “Mr. Perfect” Curt Hennig vs. Shawn Michaels; Bam Bam Bigelow vs. Kamala the Ugandan Giant; and Virgil vs. The Brooklyn Brawler. But the main event was Bret “The Hitman”—former WWF champion—facing off against “The Narcissist” Lex Luger.
As I recall, the match ended in disqualification after Luger used his (illegal) steel-plated forearm to knock Hart unconscious. To a chorus of boos, Luger headed for the dressing room while Hart laid on the ring canvas.
But then…Bret Hart stumbled to his feet and raised his hand in defiant victory. My friends and I ran down from the nosebleeds to high-five him near the ringside seats. I remember saying something like “you rule, Bret!,” him muttering “hey, thanks,” and then hobbling out like it took every bit of strength to work through the pain. Though I understood wrestling was scripted, a part of me hoped he was okay.
For those who don’t know, Bret “The Hitman” Hart was the World Wrestling Federation’s main event star following the departures of Hulk Hogan and The Ultimate Warrior. Hogan and Warrior, of course, were like superheroes brought to life. They were massive and muscular; they dominated their opponents; and their matches typically ended with them posing and flexing in triumph. Hart was different. He was essentially the WWF’s answer to Rocky Balboa—a perpetual underdog who got hit but kept moving forward.
Hart’s matches often involved him getting the living shit kicked out of him. And yet, just when things were at their bleakest, Hart would surprise his opponent with a wrestling move such as an inside cradle (or, if he was lucky, his patented Sharpshooter hold) and pull off a victory. But even in victory, I don’t remember Bret flexing or posing all that much. Instead, he panted and struggled to get to his feet, and then hobbled off while holding his hard-earned championship belt. This was far different, and far more relatable, than a superhero “hulking up” or shaking the ropes.
Aside from my aforementioned Bradley Center memory, allow me to share my favorite Bret Hart moment—and one that I feel sums up his wrestling character. No, it’s not his famous loss to the British Bulldog—his real-life brother-in-law—at Summerslam 1992; or his tremendous feud with brother Owen Hart throughout 1994; or even his submission match with “Stone Cold” Steve Austin in 1997, arguably the greatest wrestling match of all time. No, my favorite Bret Hart moment is the “contract signing” for his championship match against the massive Yokozuna in spring 1993.
Yokozuna was being promoted as an unstoppable 500-pound monster who sent his opponents to the hospital with his devastating “Bonzai Drop”—a move where he quite literally sat on them. At this so-called contract signing for their upcoming championship match at Wrestlemania IX, Yokozuna cheap shotted Hart…and then promptly Bonzai Dropped him. As Hart lay on his back, the cameras cut to fans of all ages looking shocked and worried for his safety.
At the time, no wrestler had gotten up from this move. But then we see Hart try. As Yokozuna looks on with his entourage, Hart struggles to get to his feet. He somehow finds the strength to stand long enough to look his challenger right in the eyes, but then immediately collapses. Yokozuna leaves the ring, and Hart is left alone. He defiantly keeps trying to stand. Color announcer Bobby “The Brain” Heenan questions why on earth Hart is doing this. Rival announcer Gorilla Monsoon counters, “He’s got pride!”
And then, finally, Bret Hart is back up, wounded but okay. He raises his championship belt. He took the worst that his challenger had to offer, and he still got up. He not only survived, he endured.
I’d like to tell you—hell, a lot of wrestling fans from that era would like to tell you—that Bret Hart won his big match against Yokozuna a few weeks later at Wrestlemania IX, but he was pushed aside to make room for a returning Hulk Hogan (long story). But the fact that this moment didn’t lead to a happy ending does not diminish the power, the drama, and—yes—the inspiration of watching it even after all these years.
Allow me to offer one more favorite Bret Hart moment: His challenging “Big Daddy Cool” Diesel for the championship at Survivor Series 1995. Have you ever seen a wrestling match when someone crashes through a table (the so-called “table spot”)? This was the first time, to my knowledge, it had ever been done on WWF television. Late in the match (about 22:30 in the video below), Diesel shockingly knocks Bret Hart through a nearby table. And, Bret Hart being Bret Hart, he “sells” it like he’s almost dead. Diesel even tries to put Bret Hart in his finishing maneuver—oh god, The Jackknife!—but Hart can’t even stand long enough to be put in the hold. It’s clear the match is over.
And then. Then. Hart pulls an inside cradle move out of nowhere and wins back his championship! The reaction from the crowd at the moment he locks in that move says it all. Diesel is so furious that he attacks Hart after the match, leaving the victorious Hitman lying on his back. But no matter. The championship was once again his. No posing needed.
I highlight this memory alongside the contract signing because it sums up what made Bret Hart’s performances so special for me. Here was a wrestler—a champion, no less—who was human. A wrestler who won not by superhuman strength, but by simply refusing to quit even as wrestlers twice his size were mopping the floor with him. Like any other art form, professional wrestling has its share of deeply flawed human beings, but it also has moments of transcendence. Such is the case with The Hitman.
As the ’90s wore on, the professional wrestling landscape changed drastically. “Stone Cold” Steve Austin and The Rock soon became the WWF’s biggest stars, and were presented as dominating badasses whose matches often ended in total victory and posing…and maybe beer chugging. Meanwhile, Bret Hart faced many real-life hardships and tragedies. He was pushed out of the WWF and cruelly humiliated by WWF tycoon Vince McMahon; his brother Owen was killed in a horrific in-ring accident; his career was abruptly cut short following an in-ring injury; and he suffered a debilitating stroke. In 2007, Hart released a painstakingly detailed and haunting memoir of his entire wrestling career; it is arguably the greatest autobiography ever written by a professional wrestler. He continues to speak out and advocate for a wrestling culture and community that critics say is long gone. Bret Hart the person, like his in-ring persona, is someone who has had his share of suffering. And, as both a character and a human being, Bret Hart endures.
The older I get, the more the art that inspired me as a child and adolescent continues to reveal new lessons. Thinking back on being a Bret Hart “mark,” I am reminded how much I have always been rather uncomfortable in atmospheres of total, unfettered triumph. My heroes, fictional or otherwise, are the wounded and vulnerable who find victory even in defeat. As Hart himself once said, “I always thought my most beautiful matches were the ones that I lost.”
Looking ahead to this new year, I know there will be myriad challenges, worries, and even reasons for despair. But I am strangely comforted by thinking of this as maybe my “Bret Hart” year—a year where so much of what I care about may get knocked around, beaten up, and maybe even thrown through a table. Defeat seems likely, if not guaranteed.
And yet. I know that I am still going to get up. Hell, we are all still going to get up. And our getting up is what makes it all so beautiful. We may even occasionally pull off a win out of nowhere, even if that win still ends in us lying flat on our backs while the heels leave in a defiant huff.
But we’ll still get up. Because, to paraphrase Hart: that is how we make our lives—and our community—the best there is, the best there was, and the best there ever will be.
We’ll survive. We’ll endure. We’ll get back up.
Here’s to the future.