By Scott Bowden
May 22, 2003
Bob-dammit!
Backlund proves Scott Bowden wrong…sort of
During a title match between then-WWF champ Bob Backlund and challenger Hulk Hogan at the Philadelphia Spectrum on April 12, 1981, announcer Dick Graham (no relation to Superstar) offers his opinion of Hogan’s chances of ever wearing the strap: “Perhaps one day years from now, but he’s got to learn he can’t win matches on brute force alone. I suspect Bob Backlund will give him a wrestling lesson tonight.”
Class was in session on this night, as Hogan had what was undoubtedly the best bout of his career up to that point — and perhaps his best ever. This near-30-minute performance, the longest I’ve seen Hogan work, was packed with tremendous psychology, near falls and, get this, mat wrestling. Hogan was still pretty green at this point, but he followed Backlund’s lead very well and undoubtedly learned a thing or two about putting together a match.
I learned something as well: Backlund was pretty damn good most of the time. The critics who say Backlund couldn’t carry a match obviously haven’t seen this one, which aired originally on PRISM, a Philly network that carried local sporting events. And when Backlund lost via count-out, the crowd in Philly didn’t like it. Yep, Backlund was over in a big way. (But remember, this was pre-ECW, when Philly audiences preferred hammerlocks to, well, hammers.)
After I questioned Backlund’s title reign in a column last month, I agreed to watch 18 hours of the former champ’s run (starting with the win over Superstar Graham), which lasted nearly six years. See, I had grown up watching tough-talking, Buford Pusser/WALKING TALL-type babyfaces. I couldn’t grasp how a soft-spoken All-American Boy (as Backlund was billed) who couldn’t cut a promo to save his life could have ever gotten over in markets like New York and Philadelphia. It’s clear to me now: He had credibility and the fans believed he could outwrestle anyone — which perfectly complemented that time period.
Backlund’s superior athleticism physique keyed his wholesome (though sometimes awkward) charisma. His seriousness and soft-spoken interviews were a nice contrast to the colorful antics displayed by many of the heels he faced in the former Fed: guys like Superstar Graham, Sgt. Slaughter, Jesse “the Body” Ventura, Magnificent Muraco and Greg Valentine. Plus, with heel managers like Freddie Blassie threatening to have their protégés break his pencil neck, Backlund was the ultimate underdog.
SIDE NOTE: In Blassie’s new autobiography, an excellent read, Backlund admits he was hurt by the Hollywood Fashion Plate’s frequent attacks on his character early during his title reign. Seems Backlund hadn’t quite grasped it was all just a work.
Eric Blaier, the self-proclaimed “HugeBacklundFan” from the KAYFABE MEMORIES site, grew up idolizing Backlund. He writes:
“I am glad that you saw that Hogan-Backlund match from the Philly Spectrum in April of 1980. I fully agree — it's the best match I have ever seen Hogan work. Even though Backlund didn’t fit the mold for some people, many who didn’t previously like him gain a new appreciation for how great his matches were after watching him. Simply put, that's one of the main reasons I personally loved Backlund — he had great matches.”
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Well, maybe his matches weren’t always great. Some of Backlund’s former peers remember him as being adequate, a worker who had many strong bouts with opponents like Valentine, Muraco and Ken Patera; however, those three had good bouts with everyone during that time period. Another Backlund match from Philly that I watched, a title defense against Adrian Adonis (before the “Adorable” gimmick), was on the other end of the, uh, Spectrum: several missed moves, including a botched finish. Perhaps it was an off night for Backlund, but Adonis was one of the best in the business at that time. I’d heard that Backlund and Adonis usually worked very well together, so perhaps that’s why this one was so disappointing.
The Patera bouts I saw, including one from Madison Square Garden, was outstanding, as was a cage match with Patterson from MSG. The bout I watched with Killer Khan wasn’t much. Muraco was a tremendous opponent for Backlund, but again, he was having good bouts consistently with most guys. I’d heard previously that Valentine was an ideal foe for Backlund, but the cage I saw was very disappointing.
SIDE NOTE: While this former Memphis mark now understands Backlund’s appeal, I don’t think I’ll ever grasp the logic of the WWF-style steel cage match from that era. Two men. Locked in a steel cage. The one who runs away, escapes the cage, wins. Um, what? And this was usually the blow-off to a feud? That bites as much as Abdullah the Butcher. Seems like another way to screw the fans. Here’s how the formula appears to me: Backlund (or some other babyface) loses via DQ or blood stoppage in the first encounter. Backlund loses via count-out in the rematch. And the big showdown is one in which the object is not even to pin your opponent but to escape the cage. Weak. I guess maybe that’s why they were able to recycle opponents after their first run with Backlund: “You never pinned me, Bobby boy!”
Sometimes the formula varied: First, a screwjob (COR, DQ, blood), then a time-limit draw, and the finale was a Texas Death match, which in WWF rings ended with a pinfall. Trouble is, Texas Death matches shouldn’t end in a lone pinfall. It’s supposed to be falls don’t count, with the man who can’t answer the bell for the next fall deemed the loser. As I mentioned in previous column, Texas Death in the Fed was merely a no-disqualification match. This formula, in my opinion, wasn’t good for Backlund, who wasn’t much of a brawler, usually a staple of Texas Death bouts. I will say, however, that the 60-minute draw he had with Muraco midway through their Philly program was outstanding.
A notable exception to Backlund’s weak-looking punches and kicks: the stretcher match with Superstar Graham from Philly. The crowd was about 60/40 Backlund, as the Superstar was over like crazy in the City of Brotherly Love during a time when fans didn’t cheer the heels. They had more heat in one bout than the WWE has had in weeks.
Backlund was hardly Ric Flair in the former WWF champ’s only bout with Dusty Rhodes, held in Japan. Flair often carried Rhodes to good bouts, something even Harley Race couldn’t always do. That would have been a hindrance had Backlund gotten that NWA title reign that influential promoter Sam Muchnick was supposedly grooming him for until Vince McMahon Sr. interfered.
At some point during 1982, the fans were tiring of Backlund. The emergence of new stars like Jimmy “Superfly” Snuka didn’t help. In another one from Philly, Backlund was heavily booed before his bout with Snuka, who received deafening cheers. The crowd was pretty split most of the way, helped in part because the two wrestled a clean bout; seems the plans to turn Snuka were already underway. And although their legendary cage match from MSG was solid (the famed Superfly leap from the top is legendary anyway), this Philly bout was marginal at best.
By mid-1983, after Backlund had cut his hair shorter and shorter until eventually it was a crewcut and his physique had started to fade, the fans were clearly ready for someone new. On Dec. 26, 1983, he dropped the title to the Iron Sheik in a bad match. The Hogan era would soon be upon us — seems Dick Graham was right about that guy after all.
Bottom line: Backlund often had great matches with great workers (Muraco, Patera), OK matches with good workers (Bob Orton Jr., Snuka) … and lousy matches with marginal workers (Ventura, Khan). He was the right fit at the right time, and he was on top for nearly six years, which granted, was probably two years too long. And he drew money: More than half of his 60 title defenses at the Garden sold out.
But could he have whipped my former childhood hero, Jerry “the King” Lawler? No freakin’ way. Especially if it were within the confines of a steel cage in Memphis.
