There are a lot of things you can say about Terry Bollea. And they’d all be true. Should we excuse them? No. But I’m not really here to talk about Terry Bollea. At least not much. I’m here to talk about the Hulkster. Hulkamania. Hollywood Hogan. The man in yellow and red. The beach-bum tan. And those bleached blonde tassels whipping around his ever-receding hairline.
To me, it didn’t matter if what Hulk said was real or made up, it was a shoot, a job, a calling. The man was kayfabe till the end. I don’t think there’s anyone who did more for his sport, for those companies, or for inspiring kids around the world to “Train, say your prayers, and take your vitamins.” And let’s be honest, that mantra hits different when it’s leaping off the top turnbuckle with a double ax handle.
There are no heroes or villains in wrestling. Only babyfaces and heels. And Hogan knew how to work those roles better than anyone, or rather, monetize them better than anyone. Hulk always got the biggest pop. He didn’t even need the belt, he was the belt. Watch any Hogan entrance: the moment “Real American” hits, you better call for roof repair.
After a political hit job over steroid use rocked the industry, Hulk did get noticeably smaller. But when his boss Vince McMahon stood trial, it was Hogan’s testimony that helped get him acquitted. On the flip side, when Jesse “The Body” Ventura tried forming a wrestlers’ union, it was Hogan who made sure it never happened.
WrestleMania is often called the Super Bowl of wrestling. I hate that comparison, but it’s all I got. So does that make Hogan the ball or…? Either way, he headlined the main event for the first eight years of WrestleMania. And what’s crazier, he never changed his finishing move.
Well, finishing choreography. It always started with Hulk getting pummeled. But once his opponent hit their finisher, Hogan would shake it off like it was nothing. He’d start shaking his head, puffing out his cheeks, eyes wide. The punches started coming, and doing nothing. He wasn’t selling anymore.
Then came the finger wag. Three quick punches. Whip to the ropes. Big boot. Leg drop. One, two, three! Hulkamania wins. “Real American” blasts through the speakers. Every. Single. Time. And every single time, the crowd loses its mind like it’s the first time they’ve ever seen it. That’s the magic of Hulk Hogan. Like a favorite movie or a favorite song, nothing changes. And we don’t want it to.
But unlike those movies or songs that live forever, wrestlers only have so much magic to give. Most don’t make it past their 50s. So when Hogan turned 71, I thought, this guy’s in it for the long haul. He was starting a new wrestling league. Guesting on podcasts. Running his shop in Clearwater and a bar across from MSG. He was bear-hugging the hell out of his golden (brown) years.
I didn’t expect to write this much. And honestly, it barely scratches the surface of a life this big. A life full of contradictions and complexities that only those who’ve lived in that squared circle can truly understand. I wouldn’t have wanted to be Hulk Hogan. And I definitely wouldn’t have wanted to be Terry Bollea.
I’m sure there are people, former co-workers, friends, ex-friends, ex-wives, who needed to tell him one last thing, good or bad, before he left us. What would I say?
Thank you, Hulk Hogan, for making me believe in something bigger than myself. You’d be proud to know I never once agreed with anyone who said wrestling was fake. At eight years old, you were a living cartoon. At 45, I can see the man behind the cartoon, the one who gave everything to put on a good show. And yeah, to make some money too.
Oh, and say hi to everyone, will ya?
Randy “Macho Man” Savage. Miss Elizabeth. Andre the Giant. The Warrior. Rowdy Roddy Piper. Big Boss Man. Mr. Perfect. Owen Hart. Razor Ramon. Sensational Sherri. Mean Gene. Gorilla Monsoon. Hawk. Bam Bam Bigelow. Kevin Sullivan. Eddie Guerrero. Ole Anderson. Kerry Von Erich…
And everyone else.
