Welcome to the deep dive. I am absolutely thrilled
you're joining us today because we're looking
at a story that honestly, it completely rewrites
a massive piece of pop culture history. It really
does. It changes the entire perspective. Yeah.
So I want to start by asking you, the listener,
a question, and I want you to picture this really
clearly in your head. Think about professional
wrestling in the 1980s. Right, the big boom period.
Exactly. When you think of the absolute peak
of that mountain, the global face of the industry.
You almost certainly picture Hulk Hogan. Unquestionably.
You picture the, you know, the bleach blonde
hair, the massive pythons and two very specific
universally recognized trademarks. A pose in
the name. Right. The word Hulkamania and that
iconic pose where he cups his hand to his ear,
listening to the crowd roar. It's totally etched
into the bedrock of American pop culture. But
what if I told you that Hulk Hogan didn't invent
either of those things? This is where it gets
crazy. What if I told you that in a twenty twenty
three interview on the Joe Rogan experience.
Hulk Hogan flat -out admitted that he took the
cupped ear pose and the concept of Hulkamania
from a regional Mid -South wrestler. A guy who
called his own movement Idle Mania. Yes. I don't
mean it. It's one of those admissions that forces
you to completely reevaluate the timeline of
wrestling history. It really is. You're looking
at the foundational elements of a billion dollar
global phenomenon and you realize they were lifted
directly from a guy operating in a highly localized
regional market. Exactly. And today we're going
to unpack exactly who that guy was. The universal
heartthrob. We are looking at the extensive biographical
and historical accounts detailing the life, the
career, and the unbelievable legacy of Michael
McCord. Far better known to the world as Austin
Idol. Right. And our mission today is to figure
out how a construction worker from Florida survived
a catastrophic deadly plane crash. Which we'll
get into. It's harrowing. Yeah. Completely rebuilt
his shattered body and his persona and used an
absolute master class in psychological manipulation
to become one of the greatest regional villains
in the history of the business. And you know
what's fascinating here is that You don't even
need to be a wrestling historian to appreciate
the mechanics of this story. Not at all. This
is a profound case study in the art of the career
pivot. Yeah. It's an exploration of the sheer
power of charisma and psychological manipulation
over over pure technical ability. Over just doing
the moves. Right. And perhaps most interestingly,
it's a look at how severe personal limitation.
Like a phobia. Exactly. A massive trauma -induced
fear of flying can inadvertently carve out a
legendary, highly focused niche. Because he couldn't
travel. Austin Idle is a man who was forced by
circumstance to operate within incredibly strict
geographical boundaries. He had to stay close
to home because of that. He had to maximize his
impact in a way that modern. globally touring
superstars rarely have to think about. Right.
He couldn't just leave town when the audience
got bored of him. He had to keep reinventing
the wheel to keep them furious. OK, let's unpack
this from the very beginning, because Michael
McCord's origins do not immediately scream, you
know, flamboyant wrestling mastermind. No, not
at all. He was born in Tampa, Florida in October
of 1949. We were up right there. Yeah. Graduates
from Robinson High School in 1966 and immediately
goes into construction. Heavy blue -collar work.
He's a working -class guy building things with
his hands, doing grueling physical labor under
the Florida sun. Which builds a certain type
of toughness. Definitely, but he has this intense
burning interest in becoming a professional wrestler.
The bug bit him. And he eventually persuades
a man named Mike Graham to train him. Which is
a huge deal. Right. For anyone who knows Florida
wrestling, Mike Graham is royalty. He's the son
of Eddie Graham. The fiercely powerful promoter
of championship wrestling from Florida. Yes.
But the training he undergoes, it isn't just
learning how to properly run the ropes or take
a theatrical fall. Oh, no. Not in that era. McCord
is thrown to the wolves. He is stretched by legendary
tough guys like Bob Roop, Hiro Matsuda, and Jack
Briscoe. The absolute enforcers of the territory.
Break down what it actually meant to be stretched
in the early 1970s Tampa scene. Well, to understand
stretching. You really have to understand the
immense paranoia of the territory era locker
room. They were very protective. Fiercely protective.
The promoters and the established veterans were
heavily guarding the illusion or kayfabe that
what they were doing was legitimate. un -choreographed
combat. Right, they couldn't let just anyone
in. Exactly. If an outsider, especially a powerfully
built construction worker who thinks he's tough,
walks into the gym, they don't teach him the
choreography. They don't just hand him a script.
They break him down to see if he'll quit. Wow.
When we talk about guys like Hiro Masuda and
Jack Berthka, we are talking about world -class
legitimate amateur catch wrestlers. Well, they're
tough guys. Masuda, in particular, is infamous
in wrestling history. He was the gatekeeper of
Florida wrestling. His reputation was terrifying.
His philosophy was essentially to physically
torture trainees to weed out the weak ones. Literally
torture them. He would trap guys in excruciating
submission holds. Legitimate joint locks. cross
faces, neck cranks, and apply real pressure.
Just crank on it until they gave up. If a trainee
panicked or cried or quit, they were thrown out
and told never to come back. So it was a hazing
ritual, but with a very real threat of bodily
harm. Precisely. I mean, Mitsuda would literally
break people's bones if he felt they didn't respect
the business. Wait, really? Look at Hulk Hogan's
own entry into the business. Mitsuda famously
broke his leg on his first day. On his first
day? That is insane. So the fact that Michael
McCord survived being trained by the Graham family
and stretched by Matsuda implies that he possessed
an immense reservoir of physical resilience.
He had to be incredibly tough. This was a painful,
exhausting gauntlet. The fact that he made it
through tells us he had extraordinary, legitimate
toughness before he ever put on a pair of wrestling
boots. He didn't just walk in and get handed
a gimmick. He earned their respect not by being
flashy. but by suffering in silence. It sets
up this incredible baseline of toughness for
him. It really does. So he survives this torture
chamber, debuts around 1972, wrestles a bit in
Florida and Alabama, and then fast forward to
1973. He heads north. Right. McCord finds himself
in the Northeast, working for Vincent J. McMahon's
WWWF. The precursor to modern WWE. He adopts
this rugged tough guy persona. Iron Mike McCord.
A very standard 70s gimmick. And he is given
a mouthpiece, the legendary manager Lou Albano.
There is a very specific, incredibly chaotic
match highlighted in the accounts from Madison
Square Garden in July 1973. This is a wild story.
McCord is facing Chief Jay Strongbow. A massive
star at the time. Strongbow gets McCord in a
sleeper hold, and Lou Albano, who is ringside,
interferes. As managers do. Albano takes a solid
cast and absolutely smashes it over Strongbow's
forehead. Brittle. McCord gets disqualified,
but Strongbow is cut wide open, bleeding profusely
in the middle of Madison Square Garden. It's
a huge angle. This is a massive spot. McCord
is wrestling the top guys. He's challenging Pedro
Morales for the WWF Championship. He's in the
main event picture. He's on the absolute biggest
stage in the country, positioned as a top tier
threat. making great money, getting huge exposure.
And then in January 1974, he just leaves. Just
walks away. He abruptly quits the WWWF. And the
reason... This is the best part. He hated the
cold weather in the Northeast. It is an incredibly
jarring career move. Wait, let me push back on
this for a second. Yeah. Isn't that just incredibly
short -sighted? To us, yes. I mean, I have to
ask you, the listener, have you ever quit a potentially
massive lucrative career opportunity just because
you couldn't stand having to scrape ice off your
windshield in the morning? It sounds crazy. It
seems insane to walk away from Madison Square
Garden main events because you don't like snow.
It does sound absurd to our modern sensibilities,
absolutely. But if we connect this to the bigger
picture of the territory system, it makes perfect
economic sense. Okay. How so? Today, there's
a massive corporate monopoly in professional
wrestling. Walking away from the global juggernaut
usually means a massive step down in pay, prestige,
and visibility. Right. Where else are you going
to go? But in the 1970s, the National Wrestling
Alliance oversaw dozens of regional promotions
all across North America. They were everywhere.
Vince McMahon Senior's WWF was just one of those
territories. Yes, it was highly lucrative and
centered around the massive New York market,
but it wasn't the be all and end all of the industry.
Right. He had options. Exactly. If a wrestler
like McCord decided he despised the freezing
winters of New York and Pennsylvania, he had
the luxury of simply packing his bags and driving
back down to Florida or Georgia. And they would
just hire him. The promoters in the South would
gladly book him. And in fact, they would pay
him top dollar because he brought the credibility
of having just main evented Madison Square Garden.
Oh, that makes sense. He had that New York shine.
He was a fresh face with Northeast main event
credibility. So while leaving over the weather
highlights a certain quirky, independent streak
in McCord's personality, it perfectly illustrates
the immense freedom and leverage that wrestlers
possessed during the territorial era. They really
were their own bosses. They were independent
contractors in the truest sense, and their mobility
was their greatest negotiating tool. That context
changes the entire framing. He wasn't throwing
his career away. No, he was just changing offices.
So McCord goes back down to the warmth of Florida
in January 1974. He wrestles under a hood as
a masked villain called the Super Texan. A classic
wrestling trope. He hangs out in Georgia for
a bit and everything seems fine. Until it isn't.
And then we hit February 20, 1975. A very dark
day in wrestling history. And the tone of our
story has to violently shift here because this
is where everything changes forever. Completely
alters his life. The accounts detail a completely
tragic event. McCord along with legendary manager
Gary Hart and a very promising young wrestler
named Bobby Shane are passengers on a Cessna
182 Skylane. A very small plane. The plane is
being piloted by another wrestler. Buddy Colt.
They are flying from Miami to Tampa. Just a puddle
jumper flight, really. The conditions that night
are atrocious. Heavy fog, terrible visibility.
The worst possible flying weather. And as they
attempt to land at Peter O 'Knight Airport, the
plane crashes directly into Tampa Bay. The specifics
of the crash are deeply harrowing. I can't even
imagine. You have to imagine the sheer terror
of that moment. You are in a small cramped single
engine aircraft. You are disoriented by the fog.
You can't see anything out the windows. The plane
impacts the water with incredible violent force
and immediately the cabin begins filling with
the freezing waters of Tampa Bay in the dead
of night. The toll is devastating. Bobby Shane,
who many believed was on his way to becoming
one of the biggest stars in the business, is
killed. A massive tragedy for the industry. The
others are injured, but McCord suffers horrific
physical trauma. Life -altering injuries. He
sustains two broken ankles, several severely
broken ribs, and deep traumatic lacerations to
his feet. His lower body was basically crushed.
He is pulled from the wreckage of this plane.
Incredibly lucky to be alive. But his body, the
very instrument he uses to make his living, is
completely shattered. The physical and psychological
trauma of an event like this simply cannot be
overstated. It had to be a nightmare. From a
purely physical standpoint, McCord is completely
incapacitated. He couldn't even stand up. Right.
For a professional wrestler, your feet and your
ankles are your foundation. You need them for
everything. You need them to base yourself, to
run the ropes, to pivot, and most importantly,
to properly absorb the impact of taking a bump.
Actually hitting the mat. Exactly. Taking a bump
without destroying your spine requires strong
ankles and legs. With two shattered ankles, his
career was ostensibly over. People probably thought
he'd never wrestle again. He is inactive for
months, undergoing grueling, agonizing rehabilitation.
The wrestling community recognized the sheer
willpower it took. just to learn to walk properly
again. Which makes sense. Which is why Pro Wrestling
Illustrated named him their most inspirational
wrestler of the year for 1975 simply for attempting
a return to the ring. Just for trying. But the
ripple effects of this crash were massive and
twofold. First, because the profound physical
inactivity, the inability to train, and the stress
of recovery, McCord's weight ballooned. How heavy
did he get? By 1977, he was carrying around 300
pounds on his frame. 300 pounds. He had entirely
lost the rugged athletic physique that he had
suffered so much under Hiro Matsuda to build.
And the second ripple effect. I have to imagine
the mental toll was even worse than the physical
one. The second and arguably much more historically
significant consequence was the psychological
scarring. Which is completely understandable.
Unsurprisingly, surviving a fatal plane crash
caused McCord to develop severe crippling aviophobia.
An intense paralyzing fear of flying. Exactly.
This phobia fundamentally altered the landscape
of professional wrestling history. Because he
wouldn't get on a plane. Because McCord adamantly
refused to get on an airplane for regular travel,
he effectively localized his career. He couldn't
go back to New York. He couldn't jump on a flight
to work a quick tour in California or head up
to Calgary or seamlessly return to the Northeast
on a regular schedule. He was stuck driving.
He restricted his career almost entirely to the
Mid -South region, territories he could comfortably
reach from behind the wheel of a car. like Tennessee,
Alabama, Georgia, and Texas. He effectively boxed
himself in. He did. If we connect this to the
bigger picture, this fear prevented him from
ever becoming a touring national or global star
during the impending national expansion of the
1980s. When Vince Jr. took over and went national?
Right. But conversely, it forced him to pour
all of his immense talent and creative energy
into a hyper concentrated geographic area. He
had to make it work where he was. It allowed
him to maximize his impact locally. He became
a regional deity because the fans in those specific
towns saw him constantly. Okay, let's unpack
this transformation because this is where the
legend of Austin Idol is truly born. The Metamorphosis.
We are looking at a guy who is pushing 300 pounds,
he's traumatized, he refuses to fly, his ankles
have been surgically repaired. Not exactly a
prime candidate for super startup. Right. He
drops off the radar for a couple of years and
then he re -emerges in March of 1978 in Fritz
Von Erich's NWA big time wrestling promotion
down in Texas. World class championship wrestling
later on. Exactly. But he doesn't come back as
Iron Mike McCord. The tough guy is gone. The
300 pound, dark haired, rugged guy is dead and
buried. He entirely reinvents himself as the
universal heart prob Austin Idol. Or the greatest
names in wrestling. And the look. The visual
contrast is staggering. He has dropped a massive
amount of weight. Got completely shredded. He
has completely rebuilt his physique into a chiseled
bodybuilder aesthetic. He bleaches his hair bright,
obnoxious. He starts wearing these incredibly
flamboyant, tight -eyed ring outfits, and his
entrance alone becomes this meticulously crafted
spectacle. You read the accounts of guys watching
him walk to the ring, step through the ropes,
and he wouldn't just take his robe off. Oh no,
it was the whole production. He would step to
the center of the ring, slowly outstretch his
arms into a perfect crucifix position, deliberately
flexing every muscle in his torso, and then he
would do these excruciatingly slow, arrogant
hip swivels as he continued to disrobe. So obnoxious.
It was pure theater. It was an absolute masterclass
in character reinvention. completely shed his
past identity. Just erased Mike McCord entirely.
And what's fascinating here is the underlying
psychology behind this new gimmick. Let's look
closely at the evaluations from wrestling journalist
Dave Meltzer and legendary manager Scott Bowden
regarding Austin Idol's actual mechanical wrestling
ability. Because he couldn't wrestle the same
way anymore. Bowden describes Idol as a marginal
worker who was somewhat limited in the ring.
Right. Meltzer echoes this sentiment precisely,
stating flatly that Idol was not considered a
strong worker. Now, for the listener, a worker
is the industry term for someone who mechanically
executes the physical moves, holds and sequences
of a match. The actual athletics. They are both
saying that, technically speaking, Austin Idol
was not putting on 45 minute technical grappling
clinics like a Ric Flair or a Ricky Steamboat.
Not even close. However, They immediately follow
that up by explaining exactly why he was a massive
ticket -selling superstar. Which is the most
important part. Meltzer points out he got over
on his looks and his arrogant interviews. To
get over, meaning to connect with the crowd,
make them care. Yes. Bodhi notes he had an excellent
grasp of psychology and was great on the stick,
meaning he was a virtuoso on the microphone.
Great on the stick. I love that phrasing. It's
classic terminology. But let me challenge you
on this. Are we giving him too much credit? What
do you mean? Was he actually a genius of psychology,
or was he just really good at hiding the fact
that his ankles were ruined and he couldn't wrestle
a fast -paced match anymore? That is the exact
genius of it. The limitation birthed the innovation.
Oh, I see. Wrestling psychology. At its core
is the ability to elicit a specific visceral
emotional response from the audience. To make
them feel something. To make them invest deeply
in the narrative of the conflict without necessarily
relying on complex physical maneuvers. You don't
need a thousand flips if they already hate you.
Idle realized a profound truth about the entertainment
business. Emotional investment will always trump
athletic exhibition. People pay you to see a
fight they care about. He knew his body couldn't
handle doing a hundred high impact wrestling
holds every night. So he adapted. He talked them
into the building. He understood that if he spent
five minutes on a microphone explaining exactly
why he was physically superior, genetically blessed
and universally desired by women while insulting
everyone in the crowd, simultaneously insulting
the intelligence and hygiene of the hardworking
local audience, he would generate immense heat,
which is the industry term for crowd anger and
hostility. He weaponized his own vanity. Exactly.
By the time he actually stepped into the ring
and did his slow, arrogant crucifix pose and
those hip swivels, the audience was already in
an absolute frenzy of hatred. They were foaming
at the mouth. They despised his arrogance so
deeply that they would pay top dollar at the
box office just for the chance to see the gritty
local hero punch him right in his perfectly bleached
jaw. They wanted to see him destroyed. He hid
his physical limitations behind an impenetrable
wall of pure, unadulterated charisma. It's brilliant.
He understood that anticipation, character work,
and emotional manipulation are often far more
powerful and memorable than the physical action
itself. That is just brilliant. He figured out
how to work smarter, not harder. Absolutely.
And there is absolutely nowhere he utilized the
psychology more effectively than in Memphis,
Tennessee, working for the Continental Wrestling
Association or the CWA. The defining territory
of his career. We have to talk about his defining
rivalry, the feud that cemented his legacy. This
is the stuff of legend. If Austin Idol is the
flamboyant, arrogant, bleach blonde outsider,
then his perfect foil, his ultimate arch nemesis,
was Jerry Lawler. The king. Lawler was the gritty,
working class, hometown hero in Memphis. He was
literally the king of Memphis. Nobody was more
beloved there than Lawler. When Idol arrived
in December 1978, he almost immediately defeated
Lawler for the AWA Southern Heavyweight Championship.
Struck gold right away. And from there, they
kick off a feud that defines the territory for
the better part of a decade. Ten years of drawing
massive houses. What was it about the dynamic
between these two specific men that made it so
incredibly potent? It's the classic, timeless
dynamic of archetypal opposites. If you analyze
the demographics of Memphis in the late 1970s
and 1980s, you have a very passionate, blue -collar,
working -class audience. All right, working people.
Jerry Lawler was their avatar. He wasn't a chiseled
bodybuilder. He had a very average physique.
He looked like a guy you'd see at a local bar.
Exactly. But he was incredibly tough. He threw
arguably the best working punch in the history
of the business, and he constantly defended the
honor of his city. He was Memphis. Then you introduce
Austin Idle. Idle bills himself as being from
Las Vegas, Nevada. Sin City. A city synonymous
with glitz, glamour, money, and superficiality.
The exact opposite of Memphis. He has the bleached
hair, the deep tan, the enormous muscles, and
an ego the size of the Mississippi River. He
represents everything the local audience distrusts.
The arrogant outsider. When Idle cut a promo,
he wasn't just threatening to beat Jerry Lawler.
He was insulting the very lifestyle of the people
sitting in the arena. Calling them fat, lazy,
poor. The chemistry was explosive because they
perfectly understood their roles within that
sociological framework. Lawler was the emotional
anchor of Memphis and Idol was the invading force,
the arrogant interloper who desperately needed
to be humbled. And the lengths they went to in
order to try and humble each other are just staggering.
The angles were insane. The specific storylines
they ran were wonderfully chaotic and deeply
personal. Let's jump ahead to 1981. Okay. Jerry
Lawler is embroiled in a bitter feud with a legendary
manager named Jimmy Hart. The mouth of the South.
Jimmy Hart decides he needs to eradicate Lawler
once and for all, so he starts bringing in bounty
hunters. Hiring mercenaries. And one of the most
lethal bounty hunters he brings in is Austin
Idol. The returning villain. They have a match.
And Idol manages to trap Lawler in his finishing
submission move, which he called the Las Vegas
leg lock. Essentially a variation of the figure
four leg lock. Lawler is trapped in the center
of the ring. He's in utter agony. His shoulders
are about to be pinned. So what does the heroic,
honorable hometown good guy do? He resorts to
extreme measures. He reaches into his trunks,
pulls out flash paper and a lighter, and literally
throws a fireball directly into Austin Idol's
face, supposedly burning his neck. Just a massive
explosion of flame. It is so incredibly over
the top. It is extreme, but it serves a very
specific, calculated narrative purpose. It sets
a tone. Throwing a fireball is a highly visual,
deeply shocking act. It establishes to the audience
that the hatred between these two men has escalated
to a point where the normal rules of athletic
competition no longer apply. It's not a wrestling
match anymore. This is a blood feud. It also
serves a practical booking purpose. It gives
Idol a legitimate reason to retreat from the
territory, sell the severity of the burn injury,
and plot his revenge. He has an excuse to leave
TV for a while. Which, of course, sets up one
of the most brilliant slow burn long cons in
wrestling history. Yes. The Mexican luchador
angle. Oh, this is a masterpiece. Here's where
it gets really interesting, and I want you, the
listener, to picture the television studio where
Memphis Wrestling was broadcast every Saturday
morning. Because now it's at you. It's the WMC
TV studio. It's not a massive arena. It's a small,
intimately packed studio filled with a couple
hundred screaming fans right up against the ring
guardrails. Very tight quarters. The legendary
announcer Lance Russell, who is the voice of
reason and trust for that audience, is standing
at the podium. The fans hung on his every word.
He announces to the crowd with total sincerity
that he has received an official telegram from
Salvador Lutteroff. Now, for the wrestling purists,
Salvador Lederoth was a very real, incredibly
powerful promoter who founded the EMLL promotion
down in Mexico. It grounds the story in reality.
You're very smart. Lance Russell reads the telegram,
which states that Jerry Lawler has been voted
the absolute most popular wrestler in all of
Mexico City. Massive honor. The studio crowd
is cheering wildly. They love this international
recognition for their hometown boy. They're eating
it up. Lance Russell then introduces a masked
Mexican luchador named Black Diamond who has
supposedly traveled all the way from Mexico City
just to present Jerry Lawler with a beautiful
commemorative plaque on behalf of the Mexican
fans. A beautiful gesture. So Black Diamond comes
out wearing a traditional mask carrying this
large wooden plaque. He steps into the ring and
hands it to Lawler. Lawler is totally unsuspecting.
Lawler is smiling, waving, the crowd is applauding
warmly. And then, without any warning whatsoever,
Black Diamond grabs the plaque and violently
smashes it right over Jerry Lawler's head. Just
obliterates him with it. Lawler crumbles to the
mat in a heap. Black Diamond stands over him,
grabs his own mask, rips it off. And the reveal.
And it's Austin Idol. The crowd goes ballistic.
The studio crowd absolutely loses their minds.
It is a masterpiece of shock and awe. It is a
phenomenal example of narrative misdirection.
Let's break down the mechanics of exactly why
that works so flawlessly. These do. First, they
grounded the angle in reality by using the name
of a real respected Mexican promoter, Salvador
Luteroff. Like we said, it added that layer of
trust. It added a vital layer of legitimacy that
bypassed the fans' natural skepticism. Second,
they played directly to the audience's pride.
The Memphis Pride. Telling the Memphis fans that
their local hero was internationally beloved
in Mexico lowered their guard. They wanted to
believe it, so they accepted the premise. They
bought into the feel -good moment. Idle. Understanding
crowd psychology perfectly allowed the positive
emotion to build in the room. He didn't rush
the attack. He let it simmer. He let Lawler enjoy
the applause. He let the fans feel a moment of
genuine joy and pride. And then he violently,
unexpectedly shattered it. Ripped the rug right
out from under them. The juxtaposition of the
heartwarming presentation and the sudden brutal
betrayal. generated a level of heat that you
simply cannot get from a standard wrestling match.
It was pure evil. It was deeply personal, highly
theatrical, and flawlessly executed. It's the
ultimate bait and switch. And that hatred just
simmers and boils for years. They kept it going.
They feud on and off, but it reaches an absolute
boiling point in April of 1987. With a cage match.
They're booked in a steel cage match. But it's
not just any cage match. The stakes are raised
to the absolute limit. It is a hair versus hair
match. The ultimate humiliation stipulation.
Whoever loses has their head shaved bald right
there in the middle of the ring. Now, Austin
Idol is famous for his beautiful, flowing, perfectly
quaffed, bleached blonde hair. It's his trademark.
It's central to his vanity. And Jerry Lawler
has his own iconic regal look. They battle inside
this steel cage at the Mid -South Coliseum in
front of a sold -out, rabid crowd. Over 10 ,000
fans. And Idol wins. Which nobody expected. But
of course, he doesn't win cleanly. He only wins
because his ally, a very popular wrestler who
had recently turned villain named Tommy Rich,
interferes. Wildfire, Tommy Rich. But Tommy Rich
didn't just run down the aisle and break into
the cage. No, that would be too simple. The incredible
detail here is that Tommy Rich had secretly hidden
underneath the wrestling ring for the entire
event. This is legendary. He crawled into the
floorboards before the doors even opened and
he sat in the dark in the dust for hours just
waiting for the main event. He had to stay completely
silent while matches were happening right above
his head. He pops out from under the ring, slips
into the cage, and helps Idol absolutely destroy
Lawler. A two -on -one beat down inside a locked
cage. And then Idol and Rich physically beat
Lawler down, strap him to a chair, and shave
his head bald in front of his hometown fans.
The heat was nuclear. The crowd in the Mid -South
Coliseum was so enraged by this injustice that
it nearly incited a full -blown riot. The logistics
alone of Tommy Rich hiding under the ring for
a multi -hour event demonstrate the extreme lengths
they were willing to go to protect the surprise
of the angle. They commit it to the bit. Completely.
But let's focus on the emotional outcome. Shaving
a wrestler's head, particularly a deeply beloved
hero like Jerry Lawler, is a ritualistic humiliation.
It's very visual. It is a visual stripping of
his dignity and his power. The Memphis audience
viewed Lawler as an extension of themselves.
An attack on him was an attack on Memphis. Exactly.
So when Austin Idol and Tommy Rich unfairly cheated
to win and then violently publicly humiliated
Lawler, the fans didn't just feel disappointed
that their guy lost a match. They felt personally
violated. They wanted blood. The threat of a
riot was very real in territorial wrestling.
This wasn't modern, sanitized sports entertainment.
Fans were dangerous. Fans would throw chairs.
They would try to jump the barricade with weapons.
They would slash tires and attack the wrestlers
in the parking lot. Idle actually needed a massive
police escort just to get out of the building
alive. The fact that Idle and Lawler were able
to manipulate the emotions of 10 ,000 people
to the point of genuine dangerous near violence
is exactly why the Wrestling Observer newsletter
rightfully awarded them the Feud of the Year.
for 1987. It totally deserved it. It was the
absolute zenith of emotional storytelling in
that era. It's just staggering to think about
the absolute psychological control they had over
that audience. They held them in the palm of
their hands. And Idol was doing incredibly innovative
things outside of Memphis too. Let's look at
his time in the Carolinas, working for Jim Crockett
promotions between 1981 and 1982. A very traditional
wrestling territory. There's a specific tactic
he used that I think is just brilliant and it
shows how far ahead of his time he was. The camera
gimmick. Austin Idol started bringing an 8mm
film camera down to ringside. Just walking down
the aisle with it. While other wrestlers were
having their matches, Idol would stand on the
floor holding this camera and physically record
them. Pointing it right at them. And you read
the accounts from guys in the locker room back
then? The other wrestlers were genuinely furious
about this. Oh, they hated it. Now, in today's
world, everyone has a 4K camera in their pocket.
We are constantly recording everything. But in
1981, this was a massive deal. Why was this such
an effective way to get under both the fans and
the wrestler's skin? What's fascinating here
is how it played on the specific paranoia of
the era. The KFA protection again. Yes. In 1981,
video equipment was bulky, expensive, and generally
restricted exclusively to the television production
crew. He didn't just carry a camera around. By
bringing his own 8mm camera to ringside, Idol
was violating the unwritten rules of the locker
room. In the kayfabe reality of the show, it
was viewed as a massive invasion of privacy.
He was crossing a line. He was effectively saying,
I am scouting you. I am studying your weaknesses.
I am looking for your flaws so I can exploit
them and take your championship. And he didn't
care who saw him doing it. It projected an immense
amount of arrogance because he wasn't even bothering
to hide his intentions. He was doing it right
in their faces. It's incredibly disrespectful
in the context of the sport. Furthermore, It
created a visually unique silhouette for the
television viewers. Oh, visually. Yeah. When
fans saw Idol at ringside with a camera peering
through the lens, it immediately communicated
that he was up to something devious and calculating.
He looked like a spy. It was a subtle, nonviolent
way to generate immense dislike, proving once
again that his grasp of psychological manipulation
was far superior to his physical wrestling abilities.
He was playing 3D chess while everyone else was
just practicing headlocks. That's a great way
to put it. And speaking of doing the unexpected,
there's another detail in his career map that
seems completely contradictory. And I really
want your take on this. The Japan trips. Yes.
We spent a lot of time talking about how the
1975 plane crash left Austin Idol with a severe,
crippling fear of flying. The defining limitation
of his career. It kept him locked in the Mid
-South territories. But. His career record clearly
shows that he embarked on multiple tours of Japan.
He sure did. He wrestled for All Japan Pro Wrestling
or AJPW in 1980, 1987 and 1988. Now, last time
I checked a map, you cannot drive a Ford pickup
truck from Memphis, Tennessee to Tokyo, Japan.
No, you certainly cannot. He had to have gotten
on an airplane. He did. He's over there teaming
with massive hard -hitting stars like Stan Hansen,
facing guys like Jumbo Saruta and the great Kabuki.
Legendary Japanese and foreign talent. He and
Hanson even win the PWF World Tag Team Championship
in 1987. How on earth does a man with severe
aviophobia, who refuses to fly from Memphis to
New York, manage to fly 14 hours across the Pacific
Ocean? It is a remarkable contradiction, and
it highlights a very pragmatic human element
of the wrestling business. The fear of flying
was very real, and it demonstrably dictated 95
% of his career choices and limited his national
exposure. However, the financial incentives offered
by Japanese prom - during the 1980s were astronomical.
They paid incredibly well. All Japan Pro Wrestling,
run by the legendary Giant Baba, paid incredibly
well, treats a foreign talent like absolute royalty,
and offered a level of prestige that was hard
to ignore. You could make a year's salary in
a few weeks. We can only speculate on the exact
mechanics of how he managed it, but it is highly
likely that Idol simply gritted his teeth. perhaps
utilized heavy medication or severe mental conditioning
to endure those excruciating 14 -hour flights
strictly for those massive concentrated paydays.
So everyone has a price for facing their worst
nightmare. Exactly. What this tells us is that
while his phobia was a massive limitation, he
possessed the sheer willpower to override it
when the stakes or the paycheck were high enough.
He forced himself to do it. And what's equally
impressive... is his success once he got there.
How did his style translate? Well, the Japanese
fans during that era strongly preferred strong
style or royal road wrestling, highly legitimate,
hard hitting, technically proficient grappling.
Very serious athletic competition. Idol style
was the exact opposite. It was all stalling,
posing in Memphis theatrics. Walking around the
ring, arguing with the referee. Yet winning a
major tag team title alongside a legendary brawler
like Stan Hanson. proves that his charisma and
character work translated across vast cultural
and language barriers. They didn't even speak
English, but they understood the arrogance. The
Japanese fans still responded to the sheer magnetism
of the universal heartthrob. That is just incredible.
He faces his ultimate terror, flies across the
world, wins a championship doing his arrogant
gimmick in front of a crowd that doesn't even
speak his language, and then flies right back
to Memphis to keep terrorizing Jerry Lawler.
A truly unique career path. So we move into the
late 1980s and the 1990s. The territory system
starts to collapse entirely as the WWU goes national
and buys up all the local television time. Idle
starts winding down his in -ring career. He wrestles
less frequently, does some shows for the USWA,
and officially retires from active competition
in 1998. Steps away from the ring. And what does
the universal heartthrob do when he hangs up
the tie -dyed boots? Something completely different.
He becomes a real estate investor. Which is pretty
fine. Which honestly feels like a very fitting
career for a guy who knows how to sell a big
idea and negotiate a deal. He was always a great
salesman. But the story doesn't end there, does
it? Because there is an entire Idolmania renaissance
that takes place in the modern era, proving that
his mind for the business never dulled. Indeed
there is. Idol transitions out of full -time
wrestling, but his legacy and his ability to
communicate never faded. He stays connected to
the fans. In 2011, he breaks his retirement for
a single night. winning a five -way match just
to prove he still could. Just a cameo, really.
He starts dipping his toes back into the industry
through media, launching a radio show in 2012,
and eventually hosting his own show, Austin Idol
Live, in 2017. Getting back on the microphone.
But his most significant modern contribution
begins in 2017 when he returns to television
as a manager. first for Nick Aldis, and then
forming a massive dominant faction in the modern
incarnation of the National Wrestling Alliance,
the NWA. Yes, Idolmania Sports Management. This
part of his career completely blew me away. It's
a great late career run. In 2021, he founds the
stable in the NWA. He is the mouthpiece, the
mastermind, the overarching architect. Doing
what he does best. He takes a wrestler named
Tyrus. a massive, imposing, heavily tattooed
guy, and manages him all the way to the NWA World's
Heavyweight Championship. The top prize. He brings
in a masked wrestler named Sion, who is portrayed
in the storyline as Idol's own son, and helps
him win the National Heavyweight Championship.
Keeping it in the family, so to speak. At one
specific point, between November 2022 and February
2023, Idol's stable held nearly every single
men's championship in the NWA. Complete dominance
of the promotion. He is in his 70s, and he is
still orchestrating total dominance. It really
serves as a reminder to you listening right now
that true talent, especially the ability to speak,
to manipulate a crowd, to understand exactly
what people want to see that doesn't age out.
It's a timeless skill. Your knees might give
out. Your impaired ankles might hurt. But if
you have a great mind for the psychology of your
industry, you can remain relevant forever. That
is precisely the takeaway. Austin Idol in the
2020s is utilizing the exact same psychological
tools he developed in 1978. The same playbook.
He doesn't need to take a bump or run the ropes
anymore. He stands at ringside, commands attention
with his voice and his presence, draws the ire
of the crowd, and elevates the wrestlers under
his charge. He takes the heat off them and puts
it on himself. He contrasts Tyrus' silent physical
menace with his own loud flamboyant arrogance.
It proves conclusively that the foundation of
his legendary status was never his physical athleticism.
It was always his intellect and his deep understanding
of human emotion. So what does this all mean?
When we pull back and look at the entirety of
Michael McCord's life, what is the ultimate legacy
of Austin Idol? If we synthesize everything we've
discussed today, Austin Idol is the ultimate
example of the power of pivoting in the face
of disaster. Surviving and adapting. He faced
a devastating, life -altering event in the 1975
plane crash. It shattered his body, and the resulting
phobia severely restricted his geographical mobility.
It should have ended his career. For the vast
majority of athletes, that would be the definitive
end of the road. Instead, he completely reimagined
his physical presentation. He became a new person.
He recognized his own newly acquired technical
limitations and consciously chose to master the
psychological aspects of wrestling. The promos,
the character work, the emotional manipulation.
He turned his weakness into an absolute weapon.
Because he couldn't travel the world, he focused
his immense energy intensely on a single region,
the Mid -South, and cultivated a rivalry with
Jerry Lawler that became the stuff of absolute
legend. He turned a massive career restriction
into a focused laser -like beam of success. I
love that. He took the strict boundaries that
were forced upon him by trauma and he built an
absolute empire inside of it. An empire of heat.
Which brings us to a final lingering thought.
I want to take you back to the very beginning
of this deep dive to that 2023 Joe Rogan interview.
Tell me full circle. Hulk Hogan, the undisputed
global icon of the 1980s wrestling boom. openly
admitted that he watched Austin Idol. He was
taking notes. He saw the bleach blonde hair.
He saw the unmatched charisma. He heard the term
Idol mania. He saw the crowd erupt when Idol
cut his hand to his ear to draw out the booze.
And he took it. And Hogan took those exact elements,
flipped them to make himself the hero, put them
on a national television platform with the expanding
WWE and became a billionaire pop culture deity.
It's the ultimate butterfly effect. So I want
to leave you with this provocative question to
mull over. If Michael McCord had never gotten
onto that Cessna in February of 1975, if the
weather was clear, if that plane had landed safely
in Tampa and he had never developed a crippling
fear of flying, would Austin Idol have eventually
taken that flamboyant act back to New York? It's
entirely possible. Would he have been the one
to capture the imagination of the world instead
of Hulkamania running wild? Would the entire
1980s have been defined by the global dominance
of the universal heart grab? We will never know,
but it is fascinating to consider. It is truly
one of the greatest what ifs in the history of
entertainment. Thank you so much for joining
us on this deep dive. Keep questioning the narratives.
Keep looking for the true origins of the pop
culture you love and keep exploring the hidden
histories all around you.