A few weeks ago I found an Instagram video of Ric Flair having a heart attack on a live WCW broadcast and it blew my mind. Of course, with all things wrestling you have to see these things for yourself to tell if they’re real or not, but this one looked very real.
A red-faced Flair, wearing a plaid golf shirt and navy blue slacks, was railing against Eric Bischoff. Mean Gene Okerlund was holding the microphone for Flair and keeping his distance as Flair’s eyes and neck veins bulged with apoplectic rage.
Every few seconds, Flair would pause his ranting to perform elbow drops and somersaults like a man engaged in self-flagellation. The ring acrobatics made Flair more hyper but at the same time, more tired. Now he was gasping between words and rubbing at the golf shirt fabric over his heart. Something was wrong.
Greatest Promo Man In Wrestling History?
Ric Flair is one of the best promo men in wrestling history. His catchphrases are many: “To be the Man, You gotta beat the Man!” ; “I am Ric Flair! The Stylin’, profilin’, Limousine-riding, jet- flying, kiss-stealing, wheelin’-n-dealin’ son of a gun!” and “WOOOOO!”-the most famous of all.
Ric Flair was in his mid-40s during his time with the WCW. He was fit and athletic, showing no signs of slowing down. He could still remove his suit jacket, elbow drop it in one fell swoop and wax lyrical about his lavish lifestyle just like he did when he was a spring chicken. But in this video, “The Nature Boy” grew older by the second after one too many elbows to an empty canvas.
A Slow-Motion Emergency
Every verbal attack was now punctuated with the rubbing of his heart. Something was going on with Flair and it looked serious. Clutching his chest, he walked away from Mean Gene Okerlund to lie down at the ringside corner.
As Mean Gene drew attention to Ric Flair’s condition, an anonymous wrestling official approached Flair from outside the ring. The camera then panned to a sprinting Arn Anderson heading toward the ring. Flair was writhing in the ringside corner, moaning in pain, bracing his left arm.
The announcers calling the action were saying things like: “What’s going on? Did he injure his arm, his shoulder, his elbow? What is it?”
There was a lot of commotion in and around the ring, precious seconds turning to minutes, until a WCW senior official named David Crockett shouted for someone to “get a damn medic!”
At this point, Mean Gene Okerlund orders a cameraman to stop filming. The announcers concur with Mean Gene but are at a loss where to cut to next. Another cameraman stays on the unfolding medical scene. He must not have heard Mean Gene the first time.
Now the announcers go silent as paramedics ease Flair onto an orange backboard and onto a gurney. The fans cheer as paramedics moving with molasses speed roll Flair out of the arena.
When it comes to a heart attack, time makes a difference. Calling 911 immediately and telling someone to get an AED (Automated External Defibrillator) can increase a person’s chances of survival. These are first steps every CPR instructor emphasizes to their students.
In Flair’s case, it was clear these crucial first steps were not initiated. People who probably should have known better were milling about while Flair clutched at his chest. Most of the ringside staffers looked helpless and clueless.
To be fair, knowledge of CPR protocols were not as commonplace in the mid 90s as they were by the early 2000s. In fact, according to a journal published by the American Heart Association in 1998, as late as the early 90s, “fewer than half of EMTs and fewer than one quarter of non-EMT first responders in the United States were trained and equipped to defibrillate.” This might account for the absence of an AED at ringside but it doesn’t excuse the slowness of the EMT. Why were they moving so slow? What were they all waiting for?
Real or a Hoax?
It turns out the EMT’s tortoise-like response was just part of the act because Ric Flair’s heart attack was nothing but a hoax, an angle in a storyline with Eric Bischoff. Critics widely regarded the angle to be a low point in Flair’s career. His fake heart attack may have caused some fans to experience emotional distress or shock.
Sometimes, witnessing a medical emergency can leave a person feeling traumatized. This may have been the case that December night for many wrestling fans watching the broadcast, especially since there was no immediate explanation of what they’d just seen.
WCW claimed Flair was poisoned (presumably by Bischoff as part of their escalating feud) that night. Heart attack, schmart attack! You didn’t see what you thought you saw. I watched the Instagram for a few minutes and was convinced Flair’s heart attack was the real thing. The man is a 16-time world champion. He knows a thing or two about selling the illusion of pain.
If not for the viewer comments, I would have gone on believing the heart attack had been real. Yes, I admit to being gullible more often than I ought to be, but Ric Flair’s fakery is steeped in real medical history. He suffered an actual heart attack during his last match on July 31, 2022. That real one landed him in the hospital, where he underwent surgery.
Flair has been open about his history of heart ailments, kidney failure and sepsis. Whether Flair’s flamboyant lifestyle contributed to his health issues or not, there is no denying many wrestlers his age and younger were potential heart attack casualties just waiting to happen.
The drinking and drugging that is now so much a part of the lore of professional wrestling was taking its toll way before anyone thought to feign a heart attack in front of a live audience. Like it or not, wrestling’s sordid behavior behind the scenes lent a lot of credibility to Flair’s fake medical emergency.
Ironically, so did the slow reaction time of the WCW officials and paramedics attending to Flair. To the untrained bystander, a medical situation arouses confusion and panic. Without any knowledge of the steps needed to deliver a prompt response, a bystander can flounder in helplessness until surer help arrives.
Real World Example
This type of scenario played out on a soccer field in England in Match of 2012 when soccer player Fabrice Muamba went into cardiac arrest during a match between Bolton and Tottenham. He was only 23 years old when he suffered the cardiac arrest and in tip top athletic form.
Watching what few videos of Muamba’s cardiac arrest were on YouTube, I was shocked to see the amount of time it took paramedics to go to Muamba’s side. Initially, there was only one medical official attending to Muamba, struggling to turn him onto his back.
Once the paramedics pored out from the sidelines onto the pitch, they did so en masse. They performed CPR and administered AED shocks to Muamba-15 in total to be exact-as teammates and soccer fans in and out of the stadium watched with growing alarm. Muamba was dead for 78 minutes before his heart began beating again.
A few days into his hospitalization, Muamba’s heart was working without medication. Despite his full recovery, Muamba was forced to retire from soccer. Nowadays, he is an advocate for the American Heart Association, promoting awareness of cardiac arrest and the importance of learning CPR.
Slow reaction times can occur in any sport, but it can be even more common in pro wrestling given its scripted nature. How would anyone whose not in on the plot line know if the emergency unfolding before them is real or not?
Was It Worth It?
What were the WCW writers thinking when they wrote the heart attack angle? They probably thought it as harmless as any other angle they had invented previously.
I don’t think anyone would want to run a similar story angle today, knowing how tragedies like those of Owen Hart and a near tragedy like that of Demar Hamlin have shaped the consciousness of many fans. Serious situations can happen anywhere on the playing field. What we do and how quickly we do it will make all the difference.
Ric Flair is happily retired now. The fake heart attack did nothing to diminish his legendary status. He’s still “The Nature Boy” Why should it have diminished his status? There were worse plot angles than that one in his storied career, and he has survived every single one of them.
Let’s face it. Nobody keeps it as real as the stylin, profilin’, kiss-stealing son of a gun. WOOOO!
It is good to be alive!!!
Hi everyone. My name is Ariel Gonzalez, originally from Brooklyn, now living in the Garden State and I have a new podcast called “Wrestling With Heels On.”
On the podcast, I get to reminisce about my favorite wrestling bad guys from yesteryear. Light on stats and heavy on nostalgia, this little trip down villainy lane gives me a chance to visit the dark corridors of my wrestling soul, and it’s also fun to have a podcast.

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