There was a bar in Minneapolis called Grumpy’s Downtown. It’s gone now. That’s how it goes.

Once a month, a few of us took over the side room. Punk rock vinyl on the turntable. Wrestling on the big projector screen. No sound on the matches, just music. It was called Moonsault Monday. 10 P.M. to 2 A.M. It wasn’t a business or brand. It was just a night where we liked the shit we liked and shared it with people.

That’s what this is – a night. Not a review or ranking. Not “the seven best Halloween matches you need to watch before you die.” I’m not trying to sell you on anything. I’m inviting you into a room.

Here’s how it works: I pick a handful of matches. Some months I follow a theme. You put on the first one. You watch it. Then the next one. The order matters. Sure, I can’t make you do anything, but there’s a build here. Think of it like listening to a full album – a journey from start to end.

• LET’S START WITH A MUMMY…

Not just any mummy. A mummy in Jim Cornette’s promotion – Smoky Mountain Wrestling. Cornette doesn’t mind horror-inspired characters, but not when they are supernatural beings. The man would rather eat glass than book a zombie or a vampire or a 3,500-year-old Egyptian prince. 

Well…

November 1993. SMW introduced Prince Kharis…

Here’s why: Rick Rubin.

Yes, that Rick Rubin. The music producer. The guy behind Def Jam and Johnny Cash and The Beastie Boys. Rubin was SMW’s financial backer. He rarely got involved in the product. He just wrote checks and let Cornette do his thing.

But he had one request. Rubin wanted a mummy on the roster. You better give a man their mummy if you’re playing with their money.

Prince Kharis was played by Rob Mayze. Managed by Daryl Van Horne – better known as Father James Mitchell, the Sinister Minister in ECW. But that came later. This is where he started as a manager – taking a name from a character in The Witches of Eastwick. 

This match is Prince Kharis’ debut. Thanksgiving Thunder. November 25, 1993. His opponent is Tim Horner – a veteran who had been wrestling since 1978. A guy who knew how to have a solid match.

 

The gimmick is terrible. It’s a flop. April 1994 – the mummy is finally put to rest after eleven losses to Dirty White Boy. Rest well, Prince.

• MONSTER TRUCKS AND CLUSTERFUCKS

It’s October 1995. Hulk Hogan is the WCW World Heavyweight Champion. He’s been on top for over a year, fighting off every monster Kevin Sullivan can throw at him. Sullivan’s faction, the Dungeon of Doom, is a rotating cast of cartoon villains trying to end Hulkamania.

They keep failing.

So Sullivan goes bigger. He finds a 7-foot, 400-pound rookie who has never wrestled before and tells the world he’s Andre The Giant’s son. Pretty wild pitch – the son of Andre is here to kill Hulkamania.

It’s a pretty standard build. The Giant snaps Hogan’s neck and runs over his motorcycle with a damn monster truck.

Hogan is forced to embrace his dark side, wearing all black and shaving his mustache. Meanwhile, the Dungeon found a yeti to back up The Giant. Still pretty pedestrian up to this point.

By the time we get to Halloween Havoc ‘95, WCW decides the main event needs a prelude – a Monster Truck Sumo Match on the roof of Cobo Hall. 

Sit with that for a second. Two men are supposed to fight in a wrestling ring for the World Heavyweight Championship in the main event. But first, let’s have them run into each other in fucking monster trucks on top of the building next door. 

And, well… just watch.

 

The Giant falls off the building. Five stories – presumably to his death. WCW sells this like a murder. The announcers are somber. Bischoff leaves commentary to “find answers.” A couple of hours later, The Giant walks out for the main event. Not a scratch on him. Not wet. Not dirty. Nothing.

Paul Wight, the man under The Giant gimmick, was green and trying to figure out how to play it. He asked Sullivan, the booker, if he should look bruised or dirty or wet from the fall.

Sullivan’s answer: “Brudda, you’re a giant, it doesn’t matter.”

Then the Yeti shows up. The Yet-tay! A mummy – another fucking mummy on Moonsault Monthly – this one thawed from the ice in Egypt, I guess. Giant in the front, a mummy named Yeti in the back, and Hogan in the middle.

 

WCW had all the money in the world. They still decided that a mummy dry-humping Hulk Hogan was the right way to end a pay-per-view.

• NOW FOR A GENUINE MASTERCLASS IN CHARACTER WORK…

October 1996. New Japan Pro Wrestling. Kobe World Hall.

Keiji Muto fell into his demonic alter ego – The Great Muta. A face-painted monster who spits mist and moves like nothing else. Jushin Thunder Liger is the superhero – the mask, the cape, the anime-inspired icon who defined junior heavyweight wrestling for years. 

There wasn’t a multi-month build. In fact, Liger and Muto teamed with Rick Steiner six days prior in a winning effort. That match focused on the tension between Muto and Ookami Gundan. Because Muto had been wrestling under his real name, fans in Kobe didn’t expect The Great Muta. That was for rare appearances by October 1996. 

This was a pure dream match – puroresu icons from their respective weight divisions. It became a classic good-versus-evil battle. Muta wore black, Liger wore white. 

But Keiji Muto wasn’t the only one harboring a demon…

 

• TEXAS CHAINSAW MASSACRE

August 1995. Kawasaki Stadium. The King of the Deathmatch Tournament. Yes, that one. 

Terry Funk is 51 years old. He’s in the quarterfinals against a man in a Leatherface mask.

Before the match, Leatherface cuts a babyface promo. He talks about how much he respects Funk. The guy under the mask, Rick Patterson, grew up watching Funk. He’s playing a horror icon, but he’s also a wrestler who can’t hide how he feels about sharing the ring with a legend.

Then he brings a fucking chainsaw.

The match itself is a brawl. Chain. Barbed wire board. The crowd shouts Funk’s name at everything he does.

 

Funk goes on to wrestle two more deathmatches before the night is over, including the Final against Cactus Jack. I told you it was that fucking tournament. 

Terry Funk had nothing left to prove in 1995. He had already been a world champion and bled in every territory. What’s a 51-year-old Texan to do but fight horror movie monsters and future hardcore legends in Japan?

• BITE INTO THIS ONE…

Tokyo Joshi Pro Wrestling. May 2018. Itabashi Green Hall.

Maho Kurone is a zombie girl who carries a severed arm to the ring and chews on it. She bites people. She’s the darkness in TJPW’s colorful idol world.

Su Yung is an undead bride. She’s American. She came to Japan and stepped into TJPW as a visiting horror show. She doesn’t speak the language. She doesn’t need to. Her face does the work.

Both women are committed to their bit. And speaking of bit, well… you’ll have to watch. 

 

This is Maho Kurone’s last match.

Not “last match before a break.” Not “last match before a comeback.” Last match. She retired two months later, diagnosed with generalized anxiety disorder. No farewell ceremony. She requested it that way.

• BURIED ALIVE

October 1996. Market Square Arena. Indianapolis. It’s the first-ever Buried Alive match. Nobody knows what it’s supposed to look like. Nobody knows if it will work.

The story is simple. Paul Bearer turned on The Undertaker at SummerSlam. He sided with Mankind. He gave him the urn. And now The Undertaker wants revenge. Not a title. Not a win. Revenge – the kind that requires a grave.

So that’s what they built – an open grave. A mound of dirt. A tombstone with both their faces on it. 

The match is a brawl. Nothing fancy. Just two monsters beating the shit out of each other and a fucking grave. 

 

Let’s run down the post-match.

Undertaker has won. He’s burying Mankind.

Terry Gordy left Spirit Halloween with a new costume. He hits Undertaker with a shovel. That’s his first appearance as The Executioner.  

You have Goldust, Hunter Hearst Helmsley, Crush, and Bradshaw. They come out of the shadows. They have Undertaker in the grave and they’re frantically shoveling.

This is where the story gets sad. Or funny. Or both.

They can’t fill the grave.

Years later, Bradshaw told the story on his podcast. “You know how long it takes to fill in a grave? It would’ve taken us about 7 or 8 hours. No one had any idea.” 

They were wrestlers. Not gravediggers. And they didn’t have hours – just minutes.

But the crowd didn’t know that. They were in shock and horror. Bradshaw worried someone might jump the rail.

And then thunder. The heels scatter. Lightning strikes the grave. A gloved hand shoots up through the dirt – one of the most enduring images of the Deadman’s career.

• WE END ON A TRUE WRESTLING MASTERPIECE…

October 1997. MGM Grand Garden Arena. Las Vegas. It’s the third match on the card. Just a Cruiserweight title match between two guys who had wrestled each other since their days in Mexico.

Eddie Guerrero is the WCW Cruiserweight Champion. He’s a heel – a nasty one. Slicked-back hair, the smirk, and a willingness to cheat that became his trademark. Rey Mysterio Jr. is the challenger – a beloved underdog. The mask. The high-flying moves. The heart.

The stipulation: Rey’s mask vs. Eddie’s title. In lucha libre, this is called Luchas de Apuestas – a wager match. To lose your mask is the ultimate defeat. You can never wrestle under it again. Rey knew this. He also knew that losing meant more than just losing a match. It meant losing his identity.

WCW wanted wrestlers unmasked. Rey was on the list.

Rey told Eric Bischoff he wasn’t comfortable losing the mask. He thought about no-showing. Bischoff threatened to sue him for breach of contract. Rey showed up.

Just before their match, a decision was changed, and… well… good thing Rey showed up…

 

Rey has said it’s the match that gives him the most pride. More than WrestleMania 22. More than the World title. Because without Halloween Havoc ‘97, there might not have been a WrestleMania 22.

Eddie died eight years later. Rey still talks about him like a blood brother. Says he wishes Eddie could have been there to see Dominik grow up – to see his legacy.

But in October 1997, in Las Vegas, they were two guys who hadn’t become legends yet. Two guys who knew each other better than damn near anyone else – their bodies, their timing, their tells. And they made magic.

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