Mick Foleys take on the horror movie bad guy (cf Kane again, his big brother the Undertaker, Abyss and Judas Mesias in TNA its a popular style of gimmick) started off as a creative masterstroke, Foley having all kinds of ideas about how to run the macabre, tortured character: how he should wrestle, dress, deliver promos, and connect with the audience as a truly screwed-up freak of nature, the Blair Witchs gibbering asylum-bound bodyguard. In the end though, all of that went out of the window when he found that being himself a sweet husband and father who loved amusement parks, Christmas and pro wrestling, in that order would get over far better than being a masked, rambling basket case who enjoyed pain. Shame, because the old Mankind (before the shirt and tie, before Mr. Socko and that love/hate relationship with the Cool Kids like D-Generation X and The Rock) was a grade-A nutjob, a bizarre slice of fried oddness that stood out even in the Attitude Era.