Radical Royal Rumble 1990
WWE Royal Rumble 1990
Orlando, Florida—Orlando Arena
January 21, 1990
Ted DiBiase, Jake Roberts, and Randy Savage
It was 1990. I was 4. Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles was a cultural phenomenon and I’m certain it informed my vocabulary. I can’t definitively say it to be true, but I’m sure when I encountered wrestling for the first time, “radical” would have been my go-to superlative.
Alex Gibson wrote a great article about the origin story of his fandom. I wish mine was neater, easier to pinpoint. I was an obsessive wrestling fan immediately. I don’t know if I stumbled upon it earlier or what made me receptive to watching it that day in the first place. But I 100% remember with absolute clarity on Easter Day 1990, in my grandmother’s basement, the first wrestling VHS I watched was Royal Rumble 1990.
By virtue of it being 1990, I vaguely knew who Hulk Hogan was, not unlike being peripherally aware of Michael Jackson, Batman or the New Kids on the Block. But seeing the Hulkster in action, with the fucking shirt-tearing, the fucking ear-cupping to hear the crowd, the fucking posing, the fucking 80s cheese of “Real American” blaring in revelry, I was all-in for life upon his entrance as the 25th combatant in the Royal Rumble.
Because this was one of my first childhood memories in general, I can’t recall, beyond Hogan, what was the identifying characteristic that made me and kept me a fan. I was having all of it. I was big into the wrestler’s interviews, their voices and goofy things they said directed towards the camera, as if they were addressing me. I was captivated by their outfits, their looks, the garish colors corespondent to their personas. I was swept up by the physicality and fake violence. And like many a sick kid (congestive heart defect->open heart surgeries->impish, wispy frame) I was attracted to those larger-than-life physiques. When you identify as a sick kid, you think you’re frailer and weaker than you actually are, and you’re magnetized to those cartoonish muscles that seem impervious to pain and illness. You get so mesmerized by Hulking Up that it resonates to you with some deeper symbolism and meaning, as if you too can no-sell sickness and metamorphose into perfect health.
Even though it technically wasn’t the first, the 1990 edition felt like it was the pioneer of Rumbles, as it set precedents for many of the formulas still used today.
We know who drew Number 1 and 30 entrants—“The Million Dollar Man” Ted DiBiase and Mr. Perfect
Number 1 entry felt like a big deal from a story attached to it—Ted DiBiase
Best worker expected to carry the match—Ted DiBiase
Unproven rookie dominates and dumps deadweight—Earthquake
Big fat guy gets eliminated by group effort—Earthquake
Imminent WrestleMania headliners face-off—Hulk Hogan and Ultimate Warrior
Dream match showdown—Hogan and Warrior
Top star goes over—Hulk Hogan (Jim Duggan and Big John Studd, nowhere near main eventers in ’88 or ’89 respectively).
Andre the Giant, Smash and Ax of Demolition, Ted DiBiase, and Dusty Rhodes
“The Million Dollar Man” Ted DiBiase in the ’89 Rumble paid to get number 30, so in a cruel twist of fate, was the number 1 contestant, which Howard Finkel pronounced with whimsical schadenfreude to the delight of the crowd. DiBiase carried the initial portion of the match, and disposed under-card wrestlers Koko B. Ware and Marty Jannetty before shitting a brick when Jake “The Snake” Roberts came out. A fantasy tag-team match kicked off, after the inclusion of “Macho King” Randy Savage and “Rowdy” Roddy Piper. This lead to a great, silly spot of Roberts and Piper literally fighting back to back before teasing they’d punch each other, only to then have the resolve to boink the charging heels in the eyes to another big pop from the Orlando Arena. Throughout his 45 minutes in the ring, DiBiase was saved by Virgil on the outside. They did a cute, subtle spot where Virgil pushed DiBiase back into the ring from the apron, only to have referee Danny Davis clearly see him on the outside, who then pretended to not notice any wrongdoing on Virgil’s part and picked at a hangnail that seemed to occupy his attention right when Virgil got DiBiase safely back into the fracas again. (The other bit that made me laugh in this match that I didn’t catch as a kid, was how bad of a runner Bret Hart was. Bret wobbled down to the ring as if he had the thickest resistance bands on his thighs.)
Some big eliminations such as Dusty Rhodes backdropping Randy Savage out, Roddy Piper and Bad News Brown eliminating each other, and Demotion double-clotheslining Andre the Giant to the floor with his gargantuan bellowing, led to the 2nd act of the match, when Earthquake came in. Earthquake had debuted on syndication television doing the ol’ plant-in-the-audience-to-blindside-The Ultimate Warrior-trick, which signified he was a dangerous threat. To think he was 26 at the time! He immediately dumped Dusty and Ax of Demolition, and then 5 guys made a point to work together to hoist him out and keep him looking strong. The Ultimate Warrior came out next and took out Dino Bravo and finally, Ted DiBiase to a huge ovation. Hulk Hogan came out at number 25 and cleared the ring so it would be down to Hogan vs. Warrior, in one of the most iconic sequences in WWE history.
The Ultimate Warrior and Hulk Hogan (all images courtesy of WWE.com)
The camera work by Kevin Dunn and crew was fantastic to stage this moment. They knew how to ratchet-up the drama. It’s only for seconds, but a tight close-up of The Ultimate Warrior’s face as he turned around to see who was left in the ring with him gave his character a rare moment of vulnerability and (in his own words) fulfillment of destiny. Hogan was up for it and wanted the challenge, and the crowd went batshit shocked. It was the first time in a Rumble there was a moment of unthinkable paths crossing, and it effectively road-tested if there was an appetite for this as the main event of WrestleMania VI. The criss cross and double-clothesline spot established that the Rumble was the event on the WWE calendar you could look forward to for the forbidden. It’s a cataclysmic moment, easily the most standout of all 90s Rumbles, which is all the more shocking that for how ahead of its time it feels, it only lasts under a minute.
The third act of the match started with Hogan and Warrior out on the mat. Once the ring got occupied again with The Barbarian and “Ravishing” Rick Rude, the heels double-teamed Warrior and had him on the verge of elimination, only to have Hogan come running along with a double-clothesline that only eliminated Warrior. Funny to think how much of a dick Hogan’s character could be. Last year he caused his then-partner Randy Savage to be eliminated in a similar spot. How would he not know his momentum would create the same outcome? Even when Hogan and Warrior first touched, Hogan was the initiator to say game on, while also being the first to shove and lay hands on Warrior. Jesse “The Body” Ventura on commentary couldn’t stop pointing out Hogan how much a covert douche Hogan was. The irony of course, in the set-up to the finish of the match, when Mr. Perfect eliminates Rick Rude by “accidentally” pulling down the ropes, Jesse calls it as such as both men are heels.
The finish of the match had Perfect hit Hogan with the Perfectplex which the Hulkster no sold by Hulking Up and throwing his ass out after a launch from halfway across the ring. Smart fans like to fantasy book this in hindsight, giving the nod to Warrior or Perfect to build them as credible title challengers, and they may have been the more logical choices, but the reaction of the crowd and 1990 impressionable Christopher said otherwise. Hogan winning—and posing, brother—sent the Orlando Arena home completely satisfied and established the Rumble as a premier event that could tell a gratifying story.
Too bad Hulk Hogan turned out to be such an aficionado of the N-word and a habitual lair. ★★★★1/2
