That Time Dave Meltzer Wrestled
Still, every revolution has its casualties, and the erratic Abrams was somehow able to channel his oft-misplaced passion into a habitually operational organisation. Actual success though, if it could be categorised as such, was patchy. The organisation managed to finance a live PPV in 1991 - its one and only - headlined by the Meltzer-bashing Steve Williams against Bam Bam Bigelow. 'Beach Brawl' - so called as it emanated from the opposite coast's Manatee Civic Center in Palmetto, Florida - mustered just 550 paying spectators, and a dismal 2,000 buys. In context: that year, around eight times as many people paid to see WWF's WrestleMania VII in person than homes across America ordered the UWF's maiden event.
A later, similarly overreaching show in Las Vegas managed to secure the 17,000 seat MGM Grand Garden Arena, and the company even pulled off the impressive coup of having Steve Williams incongruously turn up on the Jay Leno Show to promote it. On the night, 228 curious punters veered off the Strip to take a gamble on the 'spectacle' - little over ten times the number of wrestlers on the card.
Stiffing guys out of their earnings was one of the industry's ignoble traditions upheld by Abrams, and so too was his propensity for partying. Hard. Whenever he was in the midst of his latest binge - cocaine was a particular favourite - the promoter was obstreperous to the point of harm. On one occasion, he became addled with paranoia that card-filler Steve Ray was conducting an affair with his wife. His solution was to pay Steve Williams - who truly subscribed to Rand's philosophy that there's "no such thing as a lousy job" - an additional $100 to break the supposed philanderer's nose. A good employee, Williams obliged - right before the cameras of UWF's Fury Hour. Another time, he stumbled on set, off his proverbials, to inform Little Tokyo that he understood Japanese because he was once married to a "Jap". Live on air. He was at least as adept as Bischoff when it came to producing car crash television.
Wrestling couldn't have scripted a more apt demise for Abrams. On 23 July 1996, police were called to Manhattan's Penn Plaza, where a man was on the rampage, annihilating office equipment and furniture with a baseball bat. When the fuzz arrived, they found the pitch-hitting Abrams with a pair of prostitutes, his completely starkers body dripping with Vaseline and his preferred magic powder. He was duly cuffed, only to die of a heart attack in police custody about an hour later. Almost immediately, UWF folded. Besides two shows played before a host of appreciative empty seats, just about the only impact the federation had on the industry was tarnishing Bill Watt's legacy through misassociation. Watt's allegations of racism were nothing compared to this.