Welcome back to The Deep Dive. Today we are unpacking
a story that is honestly equal parts sporting
history, theatrical drama, and absolutely tragedy.
Yeah, it really is. We are looking at the life
of a man known to the world as... Gentlemen Chris
Adams right and it is a name that might ring
a bell if you were a wrestling fan in the 80s
specifically in the scorching heat of the Texas
territories But his influence is actually something
you see on television every single week today
Even if you don't realize it exactly and the
thing that really grabbed me when we started
pulling these horses together is that nickname
You know gentlemen Chris Adams. Yeah, you hear
that and you picture this polite refined Englishmen
sipping tea, maybe opening doors for old ladies.
And on camera, that was exactly the persona.
The tea drinker, the technical wizard, the Polish
athlete. He was the guy you'd want your daughter
to date. At least that's what the promoters wanted
you to think. But the reality... Yeah, the reality
is a whole different story. The reality we found
in the research is a stark and honestly almost
violent contrast. We're talking about a life
riddled with heavy drug addiction. Severe legal
issues, domestic violence, and ultimately a death
that sounds like something out of a cheap noir
crime novel. It's the ultimate irony. It really
is. The gentleman who died in a drunken brawl.
It is a study in wasted potential. We often talk
about tragic figures in entertainment, but Adams
is a really unique case. Historian Dave Meltzer,
who is essentially the encyclopedia of wrestling
history, cited Adams as one of the 20 best performers
in the United States at his peak. That's just
good. but elite. Exactly. Let's pause there.
That's a massive claim. Top 20 in the U .S. during
the 80s. It's a crowded field. It is a massively
crowded field. You've got Hulk Hogan, Randy Savage,
Ric Flair, Ricky Steamboat. To be in that conversation
is huge. Was he really that good or is that just
history looking back with rose colored glasses?
Now the praise is legitimate, but it's for a
very specific reason. He wasn't the biggest draw
like Hogan. Right. But in terms of work rate.
meaning the actual in -ring stuff. Right, the
ability to put on a believable, athletic, compelling
match. He was light years ahead of most guys.
He brought a realism that didn't exist in American
wrestling at the time. So here is our mission
for this Deep Dives. We are going to explore
how a British Judo champion revolutionized American
wrestling moves, specifically the super kick,
which everyone uses now. Everyone. We are going
to unpack his legendary run in world -class championship
wrestling. The dynamic duo. The feuds. And we
are going to look unflinchingly at that dark
spiral that led to his shocking death. It's a
heavy one, but it's an important piece of history
to really understand how the business evolved.
So let's start at the beginning. Before the lights
and the Texas crowds, Chris Adams was born in
1955 in Rugby Warwickshire, England. And right
off the bat, the sources highlight that this
wasn't a guy who grew up dreaming of being a
show wrestler. Not at all. He's a legitimate
athlete. A very high level athlete. He started
judo at age nine and trained exclusively in that
discipline for 14 years. This wasn't a hobby
where he went to the YMCA on Tuesdays. This was
his entire life. He and his brother Neil Adams
were national and international caliber. Now
Neil Adams went on to win a silver medal at the
1980 and 1984 Olympics. That's right. Neil is
actually one of the most decorated British judokas
in history. And Chris was right there with him
in terms of skill level early on. Chris was actually
a member of the British judo team for the 1976
Summer Olympics. That's incredible. He didn't
end up competing in the games, but just making
the squad tells you everything you need to know
about his discipline and physical capability
at that age. He wasn't just a grappler, though.
The sources mention he competed in football,
rugby, cricket, and amateur wrestling. And this
is the part that surprised me. He spent four
years studying architecture. Which really adds
a layer to the gentleman persona later on, don't
you think? Absolutely. He wasn't just playing
a character who was educated and refined. He
actually had that background. He had a life outside
of athletics before he ever stepped into a ring.
He could draw blueprints. He understood structure.
So how does an architect and a judo black belt
end up in pro wrestling. It's a weird pivot.
In 1978 he enters the business, but the source
makes a specific point that he had absolutely
no official pro wrestling training. Which is
wild to think about. Usually you go to a camp,
you learn to bump. Bumping is the art of falling
right. Exactly, taking a fall without hurting
yourself. You learn the ropes, you learn the
psychology. Adams just walked in relying entirely
on his judo skills. He debuted in June 1978.
Okay, hold on. We need to pause on the judo background
because I feel like judo champion is a throwaway
line in a lot of wrestler bios, but the sources
here are emphatic that Chris Adams wasn't a guy
who took a few classes. Far from it. This is
where we have to look at the difference between
fighting and grappling. Judo is the art of using
an opponent's momentum against them. It's about
balance leverage and the throw. When Adams walked
into pro wrestling in 1978, he didn't know how
to work a match. Meaning he didn't know the cooperative
dance of it. Which sounds incredibly dangerous.
If I'm a wrestler and I'm trusting you with my
body and your instinct is to legitimately slam
me into the mat using torque, I can't control
it. That's a recipe for disaster. Usually yes,
but here is the key insight from the research.
Judo also teaches you how to fall. They call
it ukemi. Ukemi? Yeah, brick falls. Adams knew
how to hit the mat hard without killing himself.
So while he didn't know the showmanship yet,
he was physically incapable of looking clumsy.
He had what insiders call snugness. Snugness.
That sounds cozy, but I assume in a wrestling
ring it means something else. It means his holds
felt tight. They looked real because biomechanically,
he was applying real pressure, just stopping
a millimeter before the bone broke. That must
have terrified the veterans. Oh, it terrified
the old school British wrestlers, like Big Daddy.
They looked at this kid and thought, is he going
to shoot on me? Is he going to try to hurt me
for real? And that tension, that whole, is this
real or is this fake vibe that became his entire
career signature? Exactly. He was working for
joint promotions in the UK, appearing on ITV's
World of Sport. If you know British wrestling
from that era, it was very technical. Rounds
based. Yes, rounds based serious stuff, almost
like boxing matches. But with grappling, he was
in there with absolute legends like the Dynamite
Kid and Davey Boy Smith. And he held his own.
He won the British Light Heavyweight Championship
and the British Commonwealth Tag Team Championship.
So he clearly picked it up fast. He did. But
the UK scene was very specific. To really break
out to become a global star, he had to go to
America. And that transition happened in 1981.
He moved to Los Angeles. And this is where the
transformation really begins. He went to work
for the Labels. Mike and Jean Label. Now, Gene
LaBelle is a name that comes up in everything
from Muhammad Ali stories to Bruce Lee stories.
Right. And for those who don't know, the Labels
are royalty in the combat sports world. Gene
LaBelle was a judo champion himself, a stunt
man, a wrestler. He was known as Judo Gene LaBelle.
So it was the perfect landing spot for Adams.
It was because they understood his background.
They spoke the same language of leverage and
joint locks. The source mentions an interesting
detail about his gear here. When he first arrived
in L .A., he was wrestling barefoot. Traditional
Judo style. He was presenting himself as a martial
artist, first wrestler, second. But after that
first tour, he switched. He put on the boots,
the knee pads, the arm pads. That was the moment
he physically transitioned from Judo guy to pro
wrestler who uses Judo. Right. And that leads
us to the innovation. We promised you we'd talk
about the moves. Chris Adams was doing things
in the early 80s that nobody else was doing.
He brought a fluidity to the ring that was ahead
of its time. The sources list a few specific
innovations. For one, somersaulting out of arm
bars. Which you see in almost every Cruiserweight
match today. Exactly. But in 1981, guys were
usually just powering out of holds or reaching
for the ropes. It was static. Just pulling their
arm away. Yeah, just pulling. Adams would use
his agility to flip out of it. He was doing back
flips, diving through the ropes to the outside.
He used the ends we give. which is a kick to
the back of the head. But the big one, the one
that changed the game, is the kick. The judo
kick. Later known to the world as the super kick.
Yes. Let's get into the legacy of this. If you
watch wrestling today... The Young Bucks, the
Uso Shawn Michaels. It is the most overused move
in the business. It's everywhere. But you're
telling me this starts with Adams. It starts
with Adams, but more importantly, it starts with
the mechanics Adams brought. Before Chris Adams,
a kick in American wrestling was usually a punt
to the gut. It looked like a bar fight. It was
messy. ugly brawling, just throwing a limb out
there. Right. Adams brought the martial arts
snap. He introduced the concept of the chambered
leg. You lift the knee first, you load the hip,
then you snap the foot out to the chin and retract
it instantly. Why does the retraction matter?
Why not just follow through like a soccer kick?
Because of the sound and the visual. It's the
whip effect. If you leave your leg out there,
it looks like a push. If you snap it back, it
looks like an impact. Adams also perfected the
thigh slap. Ah, yes, the thigh slapping his own
leg at the exact moment of impact to create that
gunshot sound. Which is a controversial thing
today, right? Yeah. Fans complain about it being
too obvious because everyone does it today. Yes,
because everyone slaps their leg for everything.
But in 1983. It was magic. The audience in the
sportatorium heard a crack that sounded like
a baseball bat hitting a melon. Wow. They didn't
know it was a thigh slap. They thought Adams
just took a man's head off. So he brought realism
through illusion. He brought danger. In a world
of body slams and bear hugs, a sudden kick to
the chin that could knock you out cold. It changed
the pacing of matches. It meant the match could
end at any second out of nowhere. That is the
DNA of modern wrestling and it belongs to Chris
Adams. So he's in LA, he's inventing moves, he's
winning the NWA America's title, but the real
explosion of his career happens when he gets
a call from Texas. Fritz Von Erich, 1983. This
is the golden era, world class championship wrestling,
WCCW. And we need to set the scene here. So he
lives the technical rounds based wrestling of
the UK and lands in Texas and not just any Texas.
We are talking about the Dallas Sportatorium.
The sport. If you've never looked up footage
of this building, you really need to. It was
essentially a tin barn. No air conditioning.
Oh, man. In the Texas, summer temperatures inside
would hit 110, 115 degrees. It smelled like stale
beer, cigarette smoke and sweat. And yet every
Friday night. It was the hottest ticket in the
state. It was absolute hysteria. And I don't
use that word lightly. The Von Erich brothers,
Kevin, Kerry, David, they weren't just wrestlers
to these people. They were local gods. They were
like the Kennedys of Texas. They were good Christian
boys fighting the forces of evil. So enter Chris
Adams. He's British. He's refined. He's sipping
tea. In any other territory, that guy is a villain
immediately. He's a snob. Why did Dallas embrace
him? That's the genius of Fritz Von Erich's booking.
They didn't present him as a snob. They presented
him as a gentleman. There's a difference. A huge
difference. He opened doors. He was polite. And
most importantly, the source material mentions
this crucial detail. The Von Erichs vouched for
him. The pen pal angle. Right. They told the
fans, this is our friend from across the pond.
In the psychology of wrestling, that is a rub.
By standing next to Kevin Von Erich and shaking
his hand, Adams absorbed all that love by osmosis.
He became the honorary Von Eric. Yes. And the
fans just ate it up. He wasn't just some foreign
guy. He was family. He was teaming with Carrie
and Kevin against the fabulous Freebirds. He
won his first 11 matches straight. Incredible
run. He won the American Heavyweight Championship
on Thanksgiving at the reunion arena. He was
at the top of the card. But you know, in wrestling,
you can't stay friends forever. Peace is boring
conflict pays the bills. It always does. And
this brings us to one of the most famous turns
in wrestling history, the chair shot. This is
1984. Adams hires Gary Hart as his manager. Now,
Gary Hart was a legendary villain manager. Just
standing next to him made you look suspicious.
The story was that Adams was going to fire Hart
to get back in the Von Erics good graces. They
had a match. Kevin pinned Adams. And everyone
thought, OK, Adams will shake his hand, fire
the bad manager, and we're good. But that's not
what happened. No, it wasn't. Adams snapped.
He grabbed a wooden chair and slammed it over
Kevin von Erich's head. And we have to get into
the details of this chair shot because it's gruesome.
The source says Adams claimed the chair accidentally
split. OK, so usually in wrestling, you use a
metal chair. and you hit the back or use a specific
technique to minimize impact. Or if you use wood,
it's usually gimmicked. Shave down so it breaks.
Right. This was a real solid wooden chair. A
literal piece of furniture. Exactly. He hit him
so hard or the angle was just wrong that it split
and it caused a genuine concussion and opened
Kevin up. There was blood everywhere. And in
wrestling, there is a concept called a receipt.
If you hurt me legitimately, I'm gonna hurt you
back later to make us even. And Kevin got his
receipt. A month later, at Reunion Arena, they
did the spot again. Kevin hit Adams with the
chair. This time, the chair shattered again,
and a piece of wood actually got stuck in Adams'
nose. Right near his eye. Right near his eye.
Ouch. That's not working. That's assault at that
point. It was visceral. It was violent. And it
cemented the turn. The fans went from loving
this polite Englishman to chanting Benedict Adams.
Benedict Adams, that's great. They held up posters
calling him a traitor. Psychologically, it was
a master class. He broke the heart of every fan
who wanted him to be the fourth von Erich brother.
This launched the next phase of his career. He
wasn't the lonely traitor for long. He found
a partner. Gino Hernandez. The dynamic duo. Or
as they were sometimes called, the handsome half
-breeds. referencing Adams' British and Gino's
Hispanic heritage. They were the cool villains.
Contrast Gino for me if Adams is the refined
technical judo guy who is Gino Hernandez. Gino
was a handsome one. He was flashy, arrogant,
dripping with jewelry. He was a party boy. If
Adams was the architect, Gino was the rock star.
Together, they had this chemistry that was just
electric. They represented everything the working
class Texas crowd hated, arrogance, wealth, and
foreign backgrounds. They really leaned into
the arrogance. They had this gimmick where they
would cut their opponent's hair. Long before
Brutus Beefcake made it his whole thing in the
WWF, Adams and Hernandez were doing it in Texas.
It's the ultimate disrespect. I beat you, and
now I'm going to humiliate you by taking your
masculinity. Exactly. In Texas. Cutting a man's
hair against his will. That's fighting words.
This led to a massive showdown. October, 1985.
The Cotton Bowl. Hair versus hair match against
Kevin and Cary von Erich. The stakes couldn't
be higher. And the result was iconic. Adams and
Hernandez lost. They were shaved bald in the
middle of the stadium in front of tens of thousands
of people. I've seen pictures of this. They had
to wrestle in masks for a while afterwards while
their hair grew back. Which is such a great wrestling
detail. It keeps the Shane alive for months.
Every time they came out in those masks, the
crowd remembered, ah, yes, you got saved. But
as with all bad guy teams, the ego eventually
gets in the way. Christmas 1985, the breakup.
It was a classic setup. They were wrestling the
Cosmic Cowboys, who were just the Von Erics in
masks, which everyone knew, but pretended not
to. Right. Gina Hernandez claims he has a knee
injury. He refuses to tag in. He leaves Adams
in there to get destroyed. Adams takes a beating,
finally tosses Kevin over the rope to end the
match, and then, snap! He slaps Hernandez. He
walks out. And just like that, the crowd is ready
to cheer him again. He turned face. This set
up the feud between the two former partners.
And this leads to the blinding incident, January
1986. The stipulation was that the loser would
have Freebird hair cream rubbed into their scalp,
a callback to the hair gimmick. But during the
match, Hernandez grabs the cream, which the source
notes was actually a dark liquid substance. And
he throws it right into Adam's eyes. This was
a huge angle. It wasn't just my eyes sting. They
sold it as Adam's being permanently blinded.
It was the way to write him off television. We
call this kayfabe. The reality within the show.
In reality, Adams wanted to go visit family in
England, tour Japan, maybe go to Israel. So they
did the blinding angle to explain why he disappeared.
He was recovering. But the feud never got a proper
finish. No. And this is the first really dark
turn in the story. In February 1986, while this
feud was hot, Gino Hernandez was found dead.
A drug overdose believed to be cocaine. Right.
So the feud ended abruptly. Adams came back,
but his greatest rival, his greatest partner
was gone. And you have to wonder what that did
to him psychologically. And around this time,
1986, the darkness starts to creep into Adams'
own life, too. We start seeing the legal issues
pile up. And there's one story in the source
that is just, it's hard to believe it actually
happened, the Mile High incident. June 30, 1986,
Adams is flying back from a wrestling event in
Puerto Rico. He's on a commercial flight. He
is intoxicated. And apparently he gets belligerent
when they stop serving liquor. An FAA inspector
is on board and stops the sales. Adams doesn't
take it well. Doesn't take it well is putting
him mildly. The source says he grabbed the pilot,
John Bentley, by the collar. And head -butted
him three times. He head -butted the pilot of
the plane and punched a flight attendant. It
took fellow wrestler Kevin Von Erick and others
to physically restrain him. Imagine being on
that flight. You look up and the pilot is getting
head -butted by a pro wrestler. It sounds like
a movie scene, but this is a federal crime. The
consequences were real this time. He was sentenced
to 90 days in jail and fined $500. A slap on
the wrist by today's standards, maybe? It was
a sign that the alcohol use was becoming a violent
problem. He wasn't just a party guy like Gino.
He was becoming dangerous. And sadly, that violence
didn't stay on airplanes or in the ring. We have
to talk about the domestic violence. We do. This
is the ugly side of the gentleman persona. In
February 1988, Adams was arrested in Lufkin,
Texas. His wife at the time, Tony Adams, was
found severely beaten. The source says he allegedly
did this in a drunken rage. He was sentenced
to a year's probation, but it established a pattern.
The drinking, the rage, the violence. Later in
1991, he had multiple DUI arrests. The spiral
was accelerating. And it's hard to reconcile,
right? The man who opens doors... The man with
the architecture degree becoming this monster
when the bottle is open. It is difficult to reconcile
the technical wizard in the ring with this chaotic
figure outside of it. But in the midst of this
personal chaos, he starts a new chapter in his
career. The teacher. Late 1988, he opens a wrestling
school at the Dallas Sportatorium. And this is
where his legacy gets a massive boost because
one of his students ends up becoming the biggest
star in the history of the industry. Steve Williams.
who we all know as Stone Cold Steve Austin. Austin
joined the school in 1989. And he was a quick
study. He went from student to having his debut
match in just five months. So Adams trained Stone
Cold. That should be a point of pride, right?
I built the guy who saved the WWF. You would
think. But looking at the sources, the relationship
was complicated. Austin didn't exactly sing his
praises later on. No. Austin later described
Adams as a con man deluxe and a pile of crap.
Wow. Tell us how you really feel, Steve. Why
the hostility? Austin alleged that Adams was
known for taking students' money and ill -preparing
them, basically taking the cash and doing the
bare minimum, stiffing them. But even Austin
admits that he learned the snug style from Adams.
So even if Adams was a bad businessman or a scammer,
the technique transferred. Austin stomps his
punches. They all have that Chris Adams snap.
Exactly. They did feud in the USWA, the United
States Wrestling Association, teacher versus
student. Eventually, the students surpassed the
master. Austin went on to WCW and then WWF becoming
a pop culture icon. And Adams stayed behind.
Let's talk about that decline. The 90s were not
kind to Chris Adams. No, they weren't. He became
a journeyman. Explain that term for people who
don't follow the business. A journeyman is someone
who has the skills, but no home. They bounce
from promotion to promotion, suitcase and hand
paycheck to paycheck. He was in the USWA, the
Global Wrestling Federation, the NWA. He was
working everywhere but never quite getting back
to that WCCW peak. He was chasing the dragon
of his glory days. There are some bizarre stories
from this period. The source mentions a feud
with a guy named Rod Price in 1993. This is gruesome.
Adams ripped a hair weave off Rod Price's head
and it wasn't a work or maybe it was too much
of a work. It caused Price to need over 200 stitches.
200 stitches from ripping off a hair weave. How
is that even physically possible? It sounds like
a brutal messy situation where the line between
fake fighting and real assault completely blurred.
And then you have strange promotional efforts,
like Adams promoting a tour of Nigeria in 1993.
Co -sponsored by Pepsi. Allegedly. Just shows
how he was scrambling, trying to find the next
big thing, trying to keep the money coming in.
He was hustling. He finally gets a shot at the
big time again in 1997, World Championship Wrestling,
WCW. This was during the Monday Night Wars. WCW
was huge, owned by Ted Turner. He was brought
in, and on paper it made sense. They had a stable
called the Blue Bloods, aristocratic British
snobs, Lord Stephen Regal, who we know as William
Regal, and squire David Taylor. Adams was supposed
to join them. It seems like a perfect fit. The
original gentleman joining the new nobility.
It was, but legitimate personal issues got in
the way. The source says the run was short -lived.
He didn't fit into the group socially or reliability
-wise. He ended up feuding with Glacier. Glacier.
the Mortal Kombat character. I remember the blue
lights and the snow. It was a battle of the super
kicks. But Adams was firmly a mid -carder. He
was there to make other people look good. There
was one moment, a match against Randy Savage
on the first episode of WCW Thunder in 1998.
The Macho Man. One of the biggest stars ever.
Adams actually pinned him. He got the three count.
Yeah, there's always a but. J .J. Dillon, the
authority figure, reversed the decision. He claims
Savage won by disqualification because Lex Luger
interfered. So Adams had the visual victory over
a legend, but it was snatched away. That feels
like a metaphor for his whole career in the 90s.
Almost there, but not quite. He was released
in late 1999. The source says he was unsatisfied
with being a jobber, someone who loses to make
others look good. And that brings us to the final
tragic chapter. The new millennium starts and
Adam's life completely unravels. April 2000.
This is the beginning of the end. Adams and his
girlfriend, Lyndika Fanks, were found unconscious
in a friend's apartment. It was an overdose?
GHB and alcohol? GHB is a serious depressant.
Combining it with alcohol is lethal. It shuts
down the respiratory system. Adams recovered.
Lyndika Fanks did not. She died 10 hours later
at the hospital. And suddenly Adams isn't just
a wrestler with a drug problem. He's facing a
manslaughter charge. He was indicted in June
2001. He was out on bond awaiting trial. He was
living in Rowlett, Texas with his new wife, Karen.
But the shadow of that death was hanging over
him. He was looking at actual prison time. And
then comes October 7th, 2001, the final night.
Adams was in Waxahachie, Texas. He was at the
home of a friend, Brent Boray Parnell. What happened
that night? According to the reports they were
drinking, they started roughhousing, wrestling
around. But as we know with Adams, when alcohol
is involved, roughhousing often turns into violence.
It escalated. It became a brawl. Parnell claimed
self -defense. He said he feared for his life.
He retrieved a .38 caliber handgun from a nightstand.
And he shot him. One shot to the chest. Chris
Adams died at the age of 46. Parnell was acquitted
of all charges, right? He was. The jury accepted
the self -defense claim. which tells you that
the jury believed Adams, an unarmed man, was
a legitimate threat to his life in that moment.
That speaks volumes about the reputation Adams
had developed. It is such a grim ending, 46 years
old, a career that started with Olympic aspirations
and ended in a fatal drunken fight in a friend's
house. It's devastating. So let's try to synthesize
this legacy. When we look back at Gentleman Chris
Adams, what are we actually looking at? It's
complex on one hand you have the stats 26 titles
the man who trained Steve Austin the man who
popularized the super kick Which is a foundational
move of modern wrestling if you watch wrestling
today you see Chris Adams' influence in every
single match. Every time someone does a backflip
out of a hole that's Adams. Every superkick is
Adams. Absolutely. But then you have the Meltzer
quote, one of the 20 best performers ruined by
addiction. You have the documentaries, The Gentleman's
Choice, and the Dark Side of the Ring episode.
They paint a picture of a man who could never
outrun his demons. It brings up that uncomfortable
question about the line between the performance
and the reality. We cheer for the violence in
the ring. We cheer for the chair shots, like
the one he gave Kevin Von Erick. But when that
violence bleeds into real life, headbutting a
pilot, beating a spouse, a fatal brawl, it stops
being entertainment. That's the crux of it. The
gentleman was a mask, a very good one. But underneath,
there was a chaos that he couldn't control. And
sadly, that chaos is what defined his final years.
It is a story that leaves you wondering, what
if? What if he had stayed clean? What if he had
stayed with Yvonne Eriks? But we can only look
at the history we have. And the history tells
us he was a brilliant innovator who lost his
way. We want to leave you with a thought today.
Next time you are watching wrestling and you
see someone tune up the band and deliver a super
kick to the chin, whether it's the Usos, the
Young Bucks, or whoever's on top, take a second
to remember where it came from. Remember the
judo champion from Warwickshire who brought that
snap to the business. And remember the cost that
came with the life he lived. History is rarely
simple and heroes are rarely perfect. Chris Adams
was neither simple nor perfect, but he was definitely
unforgettable. That's it for this deep dive.
Thanks for listening. We'll catch you on the
next one. Stay curious.