WWE In 1997 | Wrestling Timelines

This is the night of the Montreal Screwjob. 

Bret is the WWF champion, but he’s going to WCW. He needs to drop the belt. He will not drop the belt to Shawn Michaels, especially not in Canada, because of the events of October 12 and everything that led up to it. Vince McMahon insists that Shawn Michaels is the next champion, and he has a point: Shawn is the top heel in the promotion, DX are heating up by the week, and WrestleMania functions better with a babyface on the chase. Vince is evasive and flighty when Bret tries to nail down the finish. As far as Bret is concerned, they’re going with a schmozz, the finer details of which will get worked out on the night. Bret is not initially suspicious. Few ‘97 PPV main events have ended clean; this is just the way the business is headed. What Bret does not know is that an inner sanctum within the WWF has orchestrated a double-cross. 

Shockingly, one of the two men who pitches the double cross is Hunter Hearst Helmsley. Vince McMahon has always seen something in him, but Hunter has never been as over as his push. He’s only looked worth a damn when sharing a ring with Mick Foley, and what’s ironic about that man’s later feud with Ric Flair, and the source of their tension, is that Foley is the guy who can carry the broomstick. And yet, Hunter has grown in influence. He had the brass neck to undermine Bret to management throughout the year, and now he says “If Bret doesn’t want to do business, we’ll do business for him”. 

“Pitches” is a stretch when it comes to Jim Cornette; he only offers the suggestion because he has been driven mad by the constant, circular conversions that surround the most complex finish in company history. Bret grows suspicious, especially when Vader articulates his anxiety for him, but he knows that trusted friend and match referee Earl Hebner will not screw him. Hebner screws him. 

For 10 blistering minutes, the Bret and Shawn business is almost worth it. The brawl is incendiary. After the only-good technical indulgence of Survivor Series 1992, and the cagey, pissy tedium of WrestleMania 12, they develop an amazing chemistry, harnessing a year’s worth of hatred to blinding effect in a crazed brawl. Then, Shawn locks in Bret’s own Sharpshooter. (Naturally, this precursor to the lasting finisher theft device is overlooked for its influence. The other story is too big.) 

Vince McMahon, who has marched down to ringside, orders timekeeper Mark Yeaton to sound the bell after Hebner appears to throw the signal for no reason. The title changes hands, even though Bret never quits. It’s one of the most shocking moments to ever happen in wrestling. There’s a disgusting narrative poetry to this; Bret has spent the entire year complaining about getting screwed, and that’s how it all ends. 

After mere weeks, Bret Hart is not the hottest free agent in wrestling; he becomes the 1997 equivalent of Bob Backlund, the guy who no longer fits in and is unceremoniously dumped in order to emphatically vacate the top spot. It was Hulk Hogan in 1984; in 1997, it is Stone Cold Steve Austin.