Hitman: My Real Life in the Cartoon World of Wrestling
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Written without collaborators and based on decades of tape recordings he made throughout his career, HITMAN is Bret Hart's brutally honest, perceptive and startling account of his life in and out of the ring that proves once and for all that great things come in pink tights.
about how the toughness in truly tough men never really dies out. The night before, Dynamite and Davey had turned on each other in the biggest angle that Stampede Wrestling had seen since Stu started up again. But my father saw it for what it was: the last gasp of his dying business. Two days after the wedding, things got bleaker. Wayne had quit in disgust over the disorganization, and Ross had stepped in to drive the van on a long, rainy, miserable trip through northern Alberta. The crew was
Amidst chicken feet hanging everywhere and jars of mysterious ancient potions lining weathered shelves, I’d had my palm read by a portly old black woman in a black linen dress. I was silent, not wanting to give her anything to go on, as she traced her long red fingernail along my palm lines. “You have a red-haired companion, a friend; he’s trouble, not so much for you, but trouble to himself. Definitely a bad influence.” Holy cow, I thought, she hit that one right on the head. She went on to tell
drop kicks and throw punches, do all those fancy moves?” Hito grinned. “The rest you learn by yourself. You learn as you go.” They thought I was ready, and I knew I wasn’t. But fate stepped in. 4 PUERTO RICO I GOT TALKED INTO making my unofficial debut in Saskatoon on May 2, 1978. Stu was one wrestler short, and it was as simple as that. Being green here wouldn’t hurt the ring rep I needed to build as a Hart in Calgary; I’d appear before the usual crowd of about one hundred fans,
there were so many worked injuries in WCW that when somebody got hurt for real, hardly anybody believed it. On the bus in Hamburg, I had a talk with Jeff Jarrett, who had been one of Owen’s closest friends. He told me he was offended when Martha’s lawyers pressed him about any possible philandering Owen might have been doing, and had refused to even call them back. I told him that they were just doing their job, checking out every aspect of Owen’s life—and for the sake of Owen’s kids, he needed
that the fans would really pop—which they did. But Tom was furious. I didn’t think he could get any angrier—until the next week, when Dick had Bruce do it again! We couldn’t afford to lose Dynamite, so Ross brought Marty Jones into the territory to appease him. Marty came from Manchester, and he had been Tom’s chum and mentor. But when he got to Calgary, Steinborn told him he wanted him to be an Australian Kangaroo. “A fookin’ Australian what?” I heard from the other end of the dressing room in