It's February 2023, and I'm overcome with feelings of pressure as I approach Hak's house. I pull up to the duplex, my breath hangs in the frigid air, and my nerves tighten as I pause for a moment. I knew I was up to the task of hosting and producing The Sandman Podcast, but the work had just begun.

I've known Hak for a long time, but gun to his head, he'd still struggle to even recall my first name. I grew up in Sandman's hometown. Contrary to popular belief, it's not Philly. It's Broomall, a suburb in Delaware County, Pennsylvania, more commonly known as "Delco." It's a tight-knit community where everybody knows somebody, and more importantly, everybody knows Sandman.

Afraid of Sounding Like A Mark

Hak grew up with several close friends, but Ruben was one of his closest. Together, they played rugby, partied, and attended monthly WWWF shows at the Spectrum. Somehow, the universe put me in a place where I became childhood friends with Ruben's son, Spike.

Growing up, I'd typically see Hak at Ruben's Fourth of July party, but I never would approach him about wrestling. I was too afraid of sounding like a mark. I got to know his son, Tyler, over the years, who frequented the local bar where I worked. 

Years later, I'm living at my friend Freeze's house, which was somehow directly across the street from Ruben's. The pandemic hits, Ruben sells the home, and his son Spike purchases it. He spends his nights fixing it up for his family. 

That summer, Spike stops by to borrow the lawnmower from Freeze's garage. He rips a cig right after he's finished mowing the lawn and mistakenly puts it out in a pile of garbage. Just a few minutes later, Freeze's girlfriend Beth runs into my room, shouting, "Spike's house is on fucking fire." His months-long work of improving the home for his family had literally gone up in flames.

Spike later texts me and Freeze that Hak was coming over to survey the damage. Hak claims that his expertise extends beyond wrestling, and he's worked every blue-collar job known to man. We strike up a conversation, which somehow turns to Deion Sanders coaching in college. While walking back, I say to Freeze, "Man, I need to start a podcast with that guy."

After joking about it for a bit, Tyler reaches out to me about actually hosting a podcast with Hak. Over a year's worth of prep went into creating the show — long before ever pressing "publish" on an episode, we would sit around a table and record conversations on just an iPhone to work on our chemistry. 

It took a bit to learn all of his idiosyncrasies. This is the same Sandman from Straight Shootin' Vol. 1, Stairway to Hell, "Here lizard lizard lizard," the Junkyard Invitational, and countless other wrestling memories.

And then before we launched, we almost didn't. 

Hak let me know that he was starting to do some Watch Along podcasts for Conrad's network. I was taken aback and unsure of where this left the show we had been working on. He told Conrad's crew that he was working on a show already. I made it clear to him that I thought he shouldn’t have two podcasts; he should take the one offering him guaranteed pay. 

"Nah," Hak said. "I want to do the show with you, kid." 

Eric Bischoff’s Mushroom Burger

From the outset, we've aimed to avoid the cliches that follow other wrestling podcasts. Wrestling fandom has some terrific voices, along with some of the most disingenuous takes you'll ever hear. So, instead of presenting everything Hak says as gospel, we call out whenever we think Hak is wrong. We aren't afraid of disagreeing with one another, which has helped to cultivate the show's authenticity. 

So much of modern wrestling discourse is rooted in legends sharing clear-as-day memories of events from 35 years ago, despite their minds not being in the best shape to do so. We lean right into this disparity. Half the time, Hak has no memory of a specific event. Somehow, in the remaining half, he has a memory so specific you wonder how it survived the years of substance use and chair shots. 

Most days, he can't recall what he had for lunch yesterday. When he signed with WCW in '98, Hak met with JJ Dillon and Eric Bischoff. He remembers Bischoff ordering a mushroom burger — Hak ordered one for himself to help feel like he wouldn't be out of place.

Light Up

Hak may not always remember specifics, but he doesn't lie. I get to see Hak's eyes light up when he truly enjoys wrestling. He'll say, "I've got goosebumps right now," and he means it. For so many years, Hak was out of the business, not accepting bookings, not watching anything modern. Now, he's got the bug again. 

When he gives out a "4 (They're My Boys)," he admits his bias. When he's blown away by a Kyle Fletcher match, "That's an eleven." He's still comfortable admitting his genuine love for the sport in its modern form. 

I quickly learned to trust his instincts. I put too much prep into my hosting duties and wanted to discuss our thoughts prior to recordings. I'd comb through archived Wrestling Observers for news tidbits to jog his memory, only to quickly realize they probably wouldn't.

Hak rightfully wanted our genuine reactions and conversations for the first time on the air. He carries this sense of time and place in every interaction we have, and I've definitely ended up in some places I have no business being.

Chicky Star Looks Fucking Great

Mania 40 weekend, I'm parking in the back of the 2300 Arena, waiting for Hak to arrive to walk in the door with him and the boys. He gets out of his car like a tornado hit and makes his way in. Joey Janela stood smoking a cig, still in his gear. "The fucking Sandman," Joey utters. 

I introduce myself to Joey and let him know that I just started a podcast with Hak. Joey said he would check it out — I thought he was just being polite, but months later, I see him posting about how much he loves the show. Soon enough, we have him on as a guest.

I'm backstage at the Mark Hitchcock Memorial show. Savio Vega bearhugs Hak. How did I get here? At one point, Hak sees another legend from the Puerto Rican wrestling scene and turns to a friend to say, "Man, Chicky Starr looks fucking great." Savio and Chicky come back over to our area, and going off of what I just overheard Hak saying, I thank Chicky. 

He starts to laugh in my face and lets me know that he is not, in fact, Chicky Starr. He is Huracan Castillo Jr. It's my first time ever backstage at a wrestling show, and I've called a legend by the wrong name because of Hak's warped brain. Fortunately, Hak, Savio, and Huracan have a great time laughing at my mistake.

Bad Boys Live Forever

Ahead of GCW's Spring Break show the following year, Joey books the match with Sabu. For fans of a certain age, discovering Sabu was like hearing 2Pac for the first time as a kid. Everything just changes after.

I hit Joey up to see if he wanted Hak for the 55+ Senior Scramble, but he wanted Sandman to make a run-in during Sabu's final match instead, not knowing that the boys, Hak, and I had all joked about Hak doing a walk-in during their match for months. Hak would only do it if it were a complete surprise and no one knew ahead of time. 

We drop him off at a side entrance and head into a back elevator in the building. I told Brett that I wanted this to be like Piper's run-in on Vince during Mania 19. I'm whisked in by security and suddenly sharing an elevator with Hornswoggle, Hak, the boys, and some security guards. "We might be over the weight capacity with him on it." Thanks Hak.

We run into Fonzie — he and Hak are confused to see each other. Here are two friends of 30+ years, both involved in the match, and neither one of them smartened the other one up to their involvement. I asked Hak afterwards, "Why did you both kayfabe it from each other when you're already there?" 

"Because it's wrestling."

We're backstage, and Sabu is still not at the building. People are scrambling as an uneasy, uncertain tension fills the air. Hak finds a corner for himself, and Joey comes over to him. I can immediately tell that Janela's nervous about the match. Hak and Joey go over the run-in, and it's waiting time. 

Eventually, we receive word that Sabu has arrived. Hak heads to another area for his entrance, and I walk out to the floor to witness the match. From the floor, I can sense the building buzzing with a big-fight feel, especially at the sight of the barbed wire surrounding the ring.

At one point, Joey places a barbed wire board onto the makeshift ropes and sends Sabu into the ropes with an Irish whip. Sabu takes it onto his back but breaks through the barbed wire ropes and flies head over heels to the concrete floor. The lively crowd is now quieted with shock as Sabu writhes on the floor.

The Cogar brothers head to the ring and send Fonzie through a board, but the crowd is still unsure of how to react to Sabu's fall. The lights go out, and the first few notes of Enter Sandman play. The crowd erupts as Hak makes his way to the ring with his signature entrance. He clears the Cogars out of the ring, and Sabu is back on his feet on the floor.

You can't tell me otherwise — Hak's entrance was what Sabu needed to get up off that floor and finish the match. 

Sabu passes away two weeks later, and Hak is devastated. I know we have to do something on the podcast, and Hak suggested we do listener call-ins to share memories of Sabu. Grieving isn't something you should do alone, and sharing listeners' memories of Sabu made for possibly the best episode of the podcast. I could tell it was especially helpful for Hak to be around family for this recording.

Father-Son Dynamic

From the start, Hak had the idea of having his sons on as a major presence. It seemed right for Tyler to work in the traditional sports talk radio producer role, occasionally contributing to the conversation. Hak thought the show would also benefit from the father-son dynamic and Tyler's expansive knowledge of the business. 

Hak is more proud of his children than anything he ever did in the ring. He beams when he talks about his daughter Kelly's career, teaching his youngest son CJ how to drive, what Ollie did in softball that weekend, or the trouble his grandchildren got into during the week. 

Tyler has real-world experience as a child performer during the Raven angle back in ECW, growing up in a wrestling household, and having trained as a wrestler himself. He has a knack for noticing things that the audience and I would never see. 

Tyler and I had established a friendship before starting the show, but I didn't know Ollie until we started our practice sessions. While never training or working himself, Ollie has the same wrestling household experience that Tyler brings to the table but with his own twist on it.

Instead of having a "fact-checker," it only made sense to make Ollie our resident "Hak-checker" to point out any mistakes, especially since he's been doing it his whole life. It's gratifying getting to participate in them, reliving their father's career and seeing Tyler work, edit, and produce the show weekly.

Making A Beeline to Toni Storm

I'm at WrestleCon in Vegas. Hak is very observant of who has long lines, the prices they're charging, and where they’re located in the room. Sandman's table is in the main thoroughfare, and he's content with his placement.

It's mid-afternoon, and a huge line forms, extending past Hak’s table. He sends me over to see whose line it was, and before I can finish saying “Toni Storm,” he abandons his table to see her. Hak blows right past Joe Hendry, not even realizing he was the TNA World Champion, and makes a beeline over to Toni. The pure joy on her face upon meeting him made Hak’s entire week. 

A few months later, I make a connection with Giancarlo Dittamo, a video producer with AEW. With months to go before AEW’s residency at the Arena, I begin trying to get Toni on the show.

We're able to set up an interview at the hotel where they were staying during the Philly residency. I meet with RJ City to make sure there’s enough space for everyone, and suddenly Toni hops out of the elevator. By this point, I've been around many big names and legends, but Toni just has an energy that consumes a room. 

I wasn't sure what to expect, but she couldn't have been any more genuine and generous with her time. She broke the news to us that she intends to be AEW for life, which was a major moment for the podcast. A closer look into the early days of her career reveals that her initial entry into pro wrestling may have been a response to childhood trauma, and we're able to balance these genuine moments with our typical lighthearted nature.

We discuss her upcoming Philly Street Fight with Skye Blue, and Hak gifts her a signed cane. We tell her about how Hak recently shouted out our collaborator, Gunky, at a show in Boston while in the ring, and that Gunky would be in the audience the next night. 

Our jaws were on the floor when Toni came out, smashing a box of wine on her forehead, showing off the signed cane Hak gifted her the night before, and hitting the spots she discussed on our show, including the mousetrap table. 

If that wasn't surreal enough, she spots Gunky in the crowd and screams to him on live TV. Is this real life? I'll never forget her generosity with her time, her openness in doing the show, and the homage that she paid to Hak on that show.

A Chaotic Dream

It's been a chaotic dream to make this irreverent show and put Hak's coughs in your ears every Monday. We've managed to maintain independence, and that will only change if it's the right move for us. The Sandman never sold out — middle fingers up if you think Hardcore Hak sucked in WCW. 

Brian W. Tosh is a lifelong professional wrestling fan, host, and co-creator of The Sandman Podcast, available every Monday.