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Dynamite Kid Interview with Fin Martin From Powerslam magazine, December 1998 (Issue 53): |
Despite
the constant pain, the innumerable operations and the loss of mobility, Tom
Billington, who wrestled for nearly two decades as The Dynamite Kid, has no
regrets about his choice of career. "I loved wrestling," he tells Fin
Martin. "I wouldn't have change a thing . . ." There
was a time – a period of many years, in fact – when The Dynamite Kid was
revered by mat fans, pundits and co-workers alike. A superlative bone-bender, he
had incredible timing, an utterly intense, electic style, and a Great
Universal-sized catalogue of devil-may-care manoeuvres. That diving
head-butt, vicious snap suplex and running clothesline; those devastating chops
and uppercuts. Dynamite indeed: he could and usually would bring the house down. Unfortunately,
something happened in December of ’86 which would erode this super-worker’s
skills and ultimately force him into early retirement. OVER
THE LAST TWO YEARS, Tom Billington’s physical condition has deteriorated
rapidly. His mind remains strong, however, he still has his pride and a
wicked sense of humour, as Power Slam discovered in late October when he
agreed to tell us his story . . . At what age did you realise that you wanted to pursue a career as a pro wrestler? I
was 12-years-old when I took up boxing. I did that for six months in Golborne,
Cheshire, which was where I was born. My trainer . . . I guess he was getting on
a bit, so he retired. From there, my father, who worked for a plant hire
company, had me drive a dumper truck on weekends. And as it turned out – and
neither of us knew – the person who owned the plant firm was an ex-wrestler. That was Ted Betley, right? That’s
right. Anyway, Ted said to my dad, “He’s a bonny lad. I’ve got two lads
here, let’s put him in the ring and see if he can hold these lads down.” So,
we went to the ring, which was in this long building he had like a barracks, and
I did it: I held them down. How
did you get hooked up with Stampede Wrestling? In
1977, two years after my pro debut, me and Stu Hart’s son Bruce were booked on
a card in Cleethorpes. Bruce watched my match with Mark ‘Rollerball’ Rocco
and, afterwards, he asked me if I wanted to go to Canada. He said, “You’ll
have your own car, your own apartment, and we’ll give you ‘so many’
dollars per week.” I said, “F–k that.” Well, it wasn’t enough money. Not
bad at all. What was the going rate, per match, in England before you left for
Canada? Twelve
pounds per night. That was normal in England then . . . Go on, have a guess at
what my biggest ever pay-off for one month was. Well, it would have come during you stay with the World Wrestling Federation for services rendered at a WrestleMania pay-per-view . . . Erm, somewhere in the region of $15,000? It
was $24,000 which, at that time, was worth about £12,000. That was for
WrestleMania IV in Atlantic City, New Jersey. Did you train or have a hand in the training of you cousin and future partner Davey Boy Smith? Maybe
for a week or two, because just as Ted started training him, I left for Canada.
Bu I was responsible for taking him to Canada in 1981, then Japan, for Antonio
Inoki, and the WWF, for Vince McMahon Jr. When did you first run into Bret Hart? In
Canada in 1978. He’d just started wrestling. He was still fairly green, then? Green?
He was very green. I tell you, I went to Germany and came back and Bret had just
beaten Norman Frederich Charles III for the British Commonwealth belt, which
I’d lost to Charles just before I left for Germany. And Bret had just started
(wrestling), after a bit of training in his dad’s gym, the Dungeon – which
is well named, by the way; there’s been a lot of screams there. Once or twice. Well,
if you see Chris wrestle, you see me. Did you and Bret get along? At
first, no. You see, when we were wrestling I’d hit him with an uppercut and I
broke his nose a couple of times. But don’t get me wrong: it was by accident. You worked alongside Hulk Hogan in New Japan Pro Wrestling and the WWF for many years. What was he like? A
great man – always laughed, grinned, shook your hand. But he was only in it
for himself. He’d have a laugh and share a coffee with you, but when that
building sold out, he didn’t give a s–te if you were paid 50 pence, so long
as he got $50,000. Don’t get me wrong: I like Hulk Hogan very much. But he was
only in it for himself. How did you rate him as a wrestler? To
be honest, I rated his opponents, because it was them who made him look like a
million dollars. On a scale from one to ten, I’d give his opponents nine and
him one. Did you first meet Satoru Sayama when he was working in England as Sammy Lee? Yes.
He was wrestling Rocco and I was booked against Marty Jones. That’s the first
time I met him. I first wrestled him in Japan at Sumo Hall on the last card of a
tour. That was his first match as Tiger Mask, which was in 1981 . . . That was nothing to be ashamed of, though: he was an incredible grappler. He
still is . . . but he’s gained a lot of weight. To this day, fans still rave about your series of matches with the original Tiger Mask. In hindsight, do you think they were as good as people say? No.
They were better. Did you ever beat Tiger Mask? One
time, by disqualification. I never did get the pinfall, though: he was too good
for me, if you know what I mean. I do now. Why did you turn him down? Well,
I thought to myself, it might last a week or a year but, if it goes under sooner
rather than later, where would that leave me? So I decided to stay with New
Japan, until All Japan promoter Giant Baba offered me a $1,000 per week rise to
work for him. That
was in the autumn of 1984, right? Correct.
And I took s–t head (Davey Boy Smith) with me. When you arrived in All Japan, Mitsuharu Misawa had just donned the Tiger Mask gimmick. How did he, the second Tiger Mask, compare to the first? He
didn’t. I wrestled Misawa, as Tiger Mask, many times. Now, I like Misawa but,
at Tiger Mask, because he was a lot bigger than Sayama, he was just too clumsy.
He is a good lad and I do like him – as Misawa – and, as you know, he
is one of the top wrestlers over there. But as Tiger Mask, he wasn’t in the
same league as Sayama. In between tours with All Japan, you and Davey Boy Smith were bending bones for the WWF. Come 1986, however, the overseas tours ground to a halt and The British Bulldogs worked exclusively for Vince McMahon . . . That’s
right: we did. You know, we would give Vince plenty of notice before we left for
Japan but, one time, when we came back, he said, “No more (tours of Japan).”
So, that was it. After that, we went full-time with the WWF. We didn’t wrestle
in Japan again for over two years. What do you remember about the series with The Hart Foundation? Oh,
we had some great matches, especially by American standards. But, don’t get me
wrong, we still hit each other very hard. How
did it feel to capture the World tag team belts from Brutus Beefcake and Greg
Valentine at WrestleMania II? To
be honest with you, when I was in Detroit, Michigan one night, (road agent)
Chief Jay Strongbow said to me, “Dynamite, you’re not ready for the
belts.” My response was, “Chief, if we don’t get the title shot a
WrestleMania, then we’re going back to Japan. We’ll call it a day?” I
said, “We’ll leave.” So, he called Vince up and he must have got the okay,
because he came back and told us everything was sorted. So that was it. And we
took the belts. Which was great. Was your manager at that time, Captain Lou Albano, a help or a hindrance? Definitely
a help. He was a good character . . . What happened was that Vince asked me if I
wanted a manager, and I said, “Yes. I’ll take the Captain, Lou Albano.” No. What? He
would drink a bottle of whiskey and a bottle of vodka, then he’d tell Vince
McMahon to f–k off. He told Vince McMahon to f–k off? Oh, yeah: every night. He’d say to Vince, “You can’t fire me because your dad told you not to.” Anyway, Vince eventually fired him. Tell us about the back injury you suffered in that fatal match with Muraco and Orton in December 1986. It
was at the Copps Coliseum in Hamilton, Ontario. The discs, two of ‘em, ripped,
and they had to put me on a stretcher and strap my legs down because the nerves
were causing one of them to jump. So, they gave me an injection and took me to
the hospital and later removed two of my discs. How long were you in hospital? On
and off, about ten months. You see, I used to discharge myself from hospital,
but I was in so much pain that they kept taking me back in. You
must have been in agony when you returned the following month. How did you cope
with it? I
took painkillers. Did
you become dependent on them? Yes.
It really wasn’t good for my body. When did you start taking steroids? It
was in 1978, in Germany, when Sylvester Ritter was there: he gave me some pills.
When I went to Canada, I was introduced to injectable anabolic steroids, like
testosterone, decadurabolin, that sort of thing. Were you ever put under any pressure to use steroids? Erm,
no. But I knew that I had to take them, otherwise I wouldn’t have got a job. Because, without steroids, you weren’t bulky enough? Right.
Off steroids, I could only get up to about 180 pounds. When I was on steroids, I
weighed about 225. You had to look the part, and I couldn’t do that without
steroids. Did your steroid usage result in any unpleasant side effects? Yep.
They could make you very short-tempered. Say if you went to a nightclub after
the matches and someone you didn’t know said something harmless, like hello,
you could find yourself belting them straight in the mouth. You did that? A few times, yes. What other drugs, did you take? I
took cocaine, halcyons – which is a downer about five times stronger than
valium. I’d take amphetamines, smoke marijuana . . . Probably no other
wrestler would admit it, but the majority of them were doing the same drugs as
me. You must have been spending an awful lot of money on drugs. To
be honest with you, during my time with the WWF, I was spending about £700 per
week on hotels, rental cars, beer and drugs. I understand there was some serious heat between you and The Fabulous Rougeaus, Jacques and Raymond Rougeau. How did that come about? There
was, yeah. It began on a card in Ohio. I had a bad name at that time and, before
their match, the Rougeaus went up to Curt Hennig and asked him to watch their
clothes. Curt said, “No problem,” or something like that. You left the WWF immediately after the 1988 Survivor Series. Business was booming at that time, so why did you leave the group for a lower-paying job with Stampede? I’m
sure you’ve got principles, and I have too. We were doing a show in Syracuse
and everyone had their plane tickets to go home the next day . . . everyone but
me, that is. So I said to the Chief, “Where’s my plane ticket?” Anyway
because I wasn’t getting the same treatment as everyone else, I told them I
was done. So I did the Survivor Series, and that was it. Smith came with me.
Well, he had to, didn’t he? He
did? I’m
not being funny, but I carried that fat bastard all the years we were together.
He did what I did. And if something ever went wrong, I always had to sort it
out. You
were a notorious prankster during you wrestling days. Give us a few
(publishable) examples of what you got up to. Oh!
Me and my mate Harley Race – you know, The King – were in the Marriott Hotel
somewhere in the Carolinas one night, sharing a room. Anyway, we’d been out
for a load of drinks and had gone back to the room. Middle of the night, I got
up to use the bathroom and, on the way back, I took my cigarette lighter and set
fire to his bed . . . while he was in it. So he was in bed and I got back in
mine and pretended I was asleep. A minute or two later, the smoke and the heat
set the sprinklers and the fire alarm off. Anyway, I blamed him. I said:
“King, you daft bastard, you must have fallen asleep with a bloody cigarette
in your hand.” You haven’t been on speaking terms with Davey Boyz Smith for a number of years now. What happened? It
was a lot of things. A lot of lies and things he was saying behind my back. For
example, he called his parent, my auntie and uncle, and told them about all the
drugs I was taking. When
you retired at Budokan Hall in December 1991, did you genuinely believe that you
would never wrestle again? Yes.
Because of all my injuries and the pain I was in . . . But
you came back again, for Michinoku Pro Wrestling, in October 1996. I’ve seen
that match and it’s safe to say you were struggling. At that time, you had to
be telling yourself, “This REALLY is the end.” Not
half. That was definitely it. What’s your quality of life like now? I
have good days and bad days. I’m pretty much bedridden. I’m paralysed from
the waist down . . . my left foot looks like a golf club. So, I’m not walking.
If I want to get off this bed, I’ve got to crawl. With
that in mind, consider this: were all the dangerous dives, all the bumps, all
the knocking yourself out to have a great match every night . . .
was it all worth it? I
would say, yes. So, if you had your time again, you wouldn’t do anything differently? No.
I wouldn’t change a thing. Why? Because I loved wrestling, I loved the excitement, I loved my opponents, whether good or bad . . . really, and I mean this, I would do it all again.
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