Sport
Looking Back
How the WWE nearly started a riot in the UK
With the WWE soon to return to these shores, we look back at one of the most infamous nights in UK wrestling history
“Scream for your country, Bulldog!”
Triple H is bellowing into the microphone as a stricken British Bulldog tries to free himself from the figure-four leglock applied by a grinning Shawn Michaels. The year is 1997, the WWE’s One Night Only event is reaching fever pitch and security is looking anxious. An increasingly rabid UK crowd, highly displeased with the outcome of this European Title bout, are pelting the ring with cans, bottles and whatever else they can lay their hands on. As a 12-year child attending his first ever wrestling event, I am completely spellbound. My Dad – no doubt picturing the conversation he’ll soon be having with my mum – is looking for our nearest exit…
The WWE has always had a close relationship with its UK audience. In the late ‘80s, stars like Hulk Hogan and Macho Man Randy Savage headlined the promotion’s first shows across the pond, and before long, even the rarified surroundings of the Albert Hall were rocking to the strains of the Hulkster’s ‘Real American’. In 1992, nearly 80,000 people turned out for Summerslam at Wembley Stadium, a crowd that remains one of the largest in company history. By the late nineties, the UK was fully bought into the trash-talking stars and blood-letting action of the WWE’s self-styled ‘Attitude Era’, and in September 1997, One Night Only was the hottest ticket in town.
Growing up, we didn’t have Sky at home, so the only way of getting my wrestling fix was by asking a friend to record Monday Night Raw for me on VHS. I was deemed ‘too young’ to go to that famous afternoon at Wembley (to be fair to my parents, I had only just turned 7), and didn’t expect to be anywhere near One Night Only given that it was taking place in Birmingham, some hundred-odd miles from our home in south west London. So, when my dad revealed that he’d managed to get hold of a pair of tickets from a work colleague, I felt like I might actually die of excitement.
My memories around that trip are fragmented – having breakfast in the Travelodge, drinking a bottle of Lucozade on the way to the NEC – but I can picture the event itself like it was yesterday. Union Jacks strung from the rafters, a pair of Beefeaters lining the entry ramp and a distinctly adult crowd ready to treat the spectacle like they would a football match. Songs were chanted, beers were sunk… I remember the floor actually shaking at one point. The atmosphere felt febrile even before the main event rolled around, at which point, bedlam.
It all starts with Shawn Michaels’ entrance, a chorus of boos growing steadily louder as The Showstopper swaggers his way down the ramp. In a particularly grubby bit of theatre, Michaels grabs a Bulldog action figure from the hands of a small boy and shoves it down the front of his tights, leering and gyrating before tossing it away again. Even Vince McMahon sounds scandalised in the commentary box.
Then suddenly the crowd erupts all over again as the Bulldog finally arrives. Rule Brittania booms through the tannoy as he walks to the ring accompanied by his sister, Tracey, who has been fighting a very long and public battle with cancer. As she tentatively joins the rest of Bulldog’s family at ringside, the stakes feel impossibly high. This man surely isn’t about to lose? Not here, not tonight?
Indeed, all indicators at the time pointed to a Bulldog victory. He’d won at Wembley, he was reigning European champ and the WWE didn’t usually like to stage title-changes at overseas events. Re-watching the match now, the commentators are quick to build the Bulldog up as the bigger, stronger man, and as he tosses Michaels around like a ragdoll, a crowd-pleasing outcome looks likely. Even when Michaels’ cronies arrive at ringside – Triple H, Chyna and the heroically named ‘Ravishing Rick Rude’ – it seems like a series of obstacles are being erected for the local hero to bravely overcome. Until suddenly, it all feels very different.
The Bulldog’s knee gives way beneath him and before the crowd can quite compute what’s happening, he’s taken two finishing moves and Michaels has him in the aforementioned leglock. I remember this part very clearly, because for all the pantomime shenanigans, Bulldog does a great job of selling the idea he’s in genuine agony. Michaels locks the hold in tighter. Bulldog doesn’t tap and doesn’t tap… is there going to be one final turnaround? Victory snatched from the jaws of defeat? There is not. After what feels like an age, the referee calls for the bell, deeming that the Bulldog is unable to continue. It’s a finish that at least spares him the ignominy of giving up, but it’s slim consolation for the home fans who can’t believe what they’ve just seen.
Michaels is presented with the belt and grabs hold of a microphone as the missiles begin to rain down. ‘Alright all you limeys,’ he sneers. ‘I want you to take a look at your champion.’ Michaels then turns to the corner of the arena where the Bulldog’s wife is seated. ‘Diana Smith, my sweetheart, this one is especially for you.’ The leglock is reapplied, Bulldog screams in agony and by the time the rest of the Hart Foundation arrive to make the save, the crowd are about ready to tear the venue down brick by brick. Winning the match is one thing, but goading the man’s wife? This is clearly beyond the pale, and Birmingham is very much out for blood.
As feel-bad finishes go, it certainly takes some beating. If rumour is to be believed, Michaels himself pushed for the twist ending, arguing that a shock result would do more to build up the status of the European Title than a routine win for the home favourite. What it certainly did was secure his status as the company’s top villain, setting in motion the chain of events that would culminate in the infamous “Montreal Screwjob” later that year, when Michaels would take Bret Hart’s World Heavyweight title in even more controversial circumstances. Meanwhile, 12-year-old me had learned a valuable lesson… sometimes the bad guys win.
Nearly thirty years later, I’m still hooked on wrestling, and will be taking my seat at the O2 when Raw and Smackdown roll into London in June. At that point in the calendar, storylines will already be building towards Summerslam, with the likes of Cody Rhodes, Seth Rollins and Roman Reigns all eyeing the company’s top belts. Many of the details are still to be determined, but one thing seems certain: if there’s even a fraction of the drama that took place at One Night Only, we’re all going to be in for a treat.
WWE Raw and WWE Smackdown come to London’s O2 on 22-23 June. Find tickets here
Header image: Netflix
