Guest Column: Mick Foley

Like most wrestlers, I’ve heard the phrase “funny isn’t money” thrown around in response to a performer, a match, or a storyline that was thought to be too humorous to have any drawing power or meaning on a live or televised wrestling show. I’m not sure where it came from, or whether it’s been put up to some type of scientific evaluation. I can only tell you that, in my experience, it’s an overly hyped and outdated cliché that’s been disproven time and time again by the biggest stars of the modern era.

Certainly, there are times when funny isn’t money - especially in main events. I still like the old-fashioned serious escalation of emotions that lead to a dramatic and intense main event. The Rock versus John Cena WrestleMania XXVIII build was at its best when both men discarded their established comic antics and landed sharp verbal jabs. But it was that departure from the comedic that made those serious moments stand out; if both men had built their popularity and reputations on a non-stop diet of tough-guy talk, the flavor of the WrestleMania build would have just tasted like more of the same.

Oddly, I look at the infamous 1998 Hell in a Cell match as the birth of my present-day pursuit of comedy. Until that point, the Mankind character, while showing moments of humor, certainly would not have been considered “funny”. But within a year of that match, the character had lightened up considerably, and had taken part in some of the more humorous moments of the Attitude Era. Following that match, I knew I had to change; there just wasn’t much of a career left for me if I didn’t. Physically, my body just couldn’t take it anymore, and I had to be more selective with how often I absorbed punishment. But psychologically, I could see that the market was wide open for a lighter-hearted, more humorous character. The character became funny, and not coincidentally, the character became money.

In my last book, Countdown To Lockdown, I wrote about the tendency of the more seasoned veterans to find some of that levity in their own characters as the years went on, and the aches and pains became more constant and more easily obtained. Triple-H and Shawn Michaels seemed to relish their time as DX, partially because it was a way to dial down the seriousness and the physicality. (Or maybe they relished it because of the type of merchandise checks a guy like me can only dream about.) But eventually, a challenge would confront them, requiring a more serious game-face, and both men would revert from rabble-rouser to ass-kicker. Many of the great ones find a way to do it, and therefore remain relevant long after Father Time and Mother Nature may have dictated otherwise.

For me, and for so many others, the key was not whether to be funny or not, but knowing when to be, when not to be, and why. As I mentioned in my Rock versus Cena example, the seriousness of the issue dictated that both men drop the comic stylings in order to deliver that “money” promo. I talked with Cena at some length about those promos, and hell no, The Rock didn’t like a few of them. There were some genuine hard feelings between them, and it showed. I’m sure that anger dissipated quite a bit about the time the WrestleMania checks came in; a main event pay-off on the biggest show of all-time had both men laughing all the way to the bank. But only because they knew when it was time to laugh, and when it wasn’t. For Cena and The Rock, funny wasn’t money.
Likewise, I had my biggest main events when I had been wronged in some way, and had to drop the humor and levity long enough to fight the big fight that would allow me to once again have fun, and laugh and explore the more innocent and ridiculous things in WWE. For me, in these big matches, funny wasn’t money. But without the funny, there would not have been a character WWE fans felt strongly enough about to spend money on.

THE CUT-OFF POINT
The anti-hardcore promos I used to cut in ECW were actually quite humorous. They were also quite scary - and effective. Paul Heyman used to refer to that style of promo as “making them laugh, then cutting them off.” Obviously, I didn’t invent the style; many a great, money-drawing promo man has made the fans laugh, and then hit them just as Paul described.

Robert Fuller was a funny heel when I cut my teeth in Memphis in the summer of 1988. Sometimes, it seemed hard to take an affable veteran like Rob seriously when he was on the mic or in the ring. But following my babyface turn a few months later, I remember watching Robert on TV, with my eyes just about glued to the monitor as my friend and mentor spoke with great intensity and detail about what horrible things he was going to do to a “free-bleeder” like me. The promo impressed me enough that I borrowed it 18 years later in the build to my SummerSlam match with Ric Flair - another guy who’s been known to make people laugh, before cutting them off.

I thoroughly enjoyed my time at The Edinburgh Fringe, and from what I could surmise, most of the people who attended my shows seemed to enjoy them, too. I can’t help but feel that the lessons learned from all those years on the mic prepared me for The Fringe in a most unique way. For if the art of the promo was partially about making them laugh, and then cutting them off, and if the art of building a likeable character was at least partially about making fans laugh before putting that character in peril, then getting laughs on stage was at least a little bit about reversing those lessons; building up tension, before offering a release.

I’m still reluctant to call myself a comic. I’m just a story-teller, except those stories are now told on a stage, instead of in a ring or on a page. But when a story is going really well, it’s because I’ve put a character the audience has come to care about (usually me, but not always) in some sort of peril. In the ring, the character would combat the peril with a big move or two - pretty much my whole arsenal! On the stage, I try to ease that position of peril with a laugh.
Unfortunately, there’s no textbook on creating the right ratio of laughs and drama, romance and action, and promos and matches.

Sometimes, WWE makes it seem incredibly easy. Sometimes those minutes seem to go by a great deal slower. But who among us doesn’t like a good Santino segment? Or a good Santino match? Wait, is that an oxymoron? I watched three Santino matches from ringside on a recent tour of Mexico, and it’s pretty darn tough not to laugh when he is in the ring, just as it’s hard not to laugh when he’s on the mic, or dressed as a woman, or sporting a unibrow et cetera. Simply put, he is funny, but is he money? Wrestling logic would seem to say no, but I remember last year’s Elimination Chamber, when Santino suspended the disbelief of a live crowd, a nation, and an entire wrestling world by almost becoming the World heavyweight champion. He had made us laugh for so many years, and then was able to flick the switch towards a serious, compelling story.
Along with Santino, I’d go with Colt Cabana as the best of the current funny in-ring performers in the business. Colt can pretty much endear himself to any crowd he appears in front of - at home, abroad, in front of die-hards, or the most casual of fans. He’s had a few shots at the big time, and fate or timing just hasn’t been on his side. I’ve heard on more than one occasion that he’s “too funny”, and we all know funny isn’t money.

Except when it is.