The first test of TKO's marriage with Netflix: Mr. McMahon

Six thoughts, one per episode, on the Netflix docu-series.

The territories before the WWF/WWE take over

It was supposed to be the wrestling exposé that would change the landscape of future fight documentaries.

Mr. McMahon (or “the evil owner” as titled on Netflix Japan) was certainly an audacious production. However, for fans who have seen Dark Side of the Ring or A&E WWE-based documentaries, there weren’t a ton of surprises from Bill Simmons and David Shoemaker.

In pre-release reviews, critics panned Mr. McMahon as nothing new or all that special. The MMA Draw’s Zach Arnold rated it as a 5.5 on a 1-to-10 scale, noting that it felt like a Dark Side of the Ring + A & E cupcake with some Netflix frosting on top. He found it curious that the full story of Nick Khan’s entry into WWE, the massive television deals he negotiated, and his Hollywood ties leading to Vince’s filthy rich yet ignominious exit did not get the complete 360-degree spotlight it deserved.

That’s not to say that the Mr. McMahon docu-series didn’t produce some rather interesting themes and compelling narratives worthy of discussion. To watch Vince’s internal conflict of labeling UFC a sport and WWE as Disney(land) while making billions of dollars when the two worlds merged under one Ari Emanuel umbrella was endlessly intriguing.

Here are six takeaways from the multi-episode Mr. McMahon docu-series on Netflix.

Competition is good. Monopoly is bad.

The first episode of the Netflix docu-series on Vince McMahon and the WWE — largely shot before the Janel Grant lawsuit and allegations that forced his resignation from the company — focuses on Vince’s takeover of the family business from his father, Vince McMahon, Sr.

During the episode, they show a map of “the territories” that existed when Vince, Jr. took over his father’s company.

I’m old enough to remember that each of those territories had a distinct identity and a unique set of stars.

My local Amarillo promotion punched way above its weight and featured stars like Terry and Dory Funk, Jr., Mr. Wrestling II, Superstar, and Dick Murdoch.

AWA featured Verne Gagne, Nick Bockwinkel and Hulk Hogan.

World Class featured the legendary (and tragic) Von Erich Brothers vs. The Freebirds, as portrayed in The Iron Claw.

Memphis featured Jerry Lawler’s classic feud with Hollywood funnyman Andy Kaufman, the chicanery of Superstar Bill Dundee, and the greatness of the Universal Heart Throb Austin Idol.

And the sweet Georgia Peachtree Street headquarters of WTBS featuring the NWA, which was how I was introduced to the one and only Rowdy Roddy Piper.

I’m sorry, but except for the Monday Night Wars era when Ted Turner’s WCW went head-to-head with the then-WWF, no era of Vince McMahon’s industry domination matched the entertainment I saw growing up in the 1970s and early 1980s.

Vince McMahon’s eventual rise to monopoly status is still a major source of debate to this day. We’re living with the consequences of it right now.

You could sense “Mr. McMahon” debate why his monopoly was good but Ted Turner’s conquest was not. Essentially, boiling down to this sales pitch: if I didn’t do it, somebody else would have. I did it right.

The WWE monopoly married the UFC monopoly. And just as wrestling fans talk about the good ole days of the territories, a lot of lapsed MMA fans pre-Endeavor owned UFC feel the same way about how their sport used to be.

The tragically brief era when both PRIDE and the UFC (plus Strikeforce and Elite XC and Affliction) were running strong was a much more fun and vibrant scene to cover before Dana White put them all on his tombstone of doom and declared World Fucking Domination.

Competition is great, especially for fans.

Monopoly sucks. It sucks for fans.

How did Mr. McMahon get away with so much shit for so long?

As someone who was a complete mark for most of his adult life, it’s hard to watch the second episode of this series without feeling like a complete chump. It makes you question your own judgment.

I’m one of those dumbasses who used to believe in America, capitalism, and democracy until long after it was obvious all three of those marketing concepts were complete horseshit.

How did I not notice that the Clintons were complete evil scumbags? Ditto Bill Cosby and Harvey Weinstein.

What happens when the guy in control of a fantasy world suddenly has to deal with the real story coming out?

One Netflix episode in particular details Mr. McMahon covering up the mysterious death of Superfly Jimmy Snuka’s girlfriend Nancy Argentino (a case ultimately dismissed in 2017 when Snuka was ruled incompetent to stand trial), an alleged rape by McMahon of the first female referee in WWF/WWE history (which resulted in a multi-million dollar settlement decades later), and a bunch of other shit that rightfully should have brought Vince down very early in his run.

Multiple people claimed he was harboring a ring of pederasts for crying out loud!

This was all shit I slept on as a fan of the promotion at the time just like I believed in art, America, free enterprise, and all that other pablum.

Why is the Montreal Screwjob the combat sports version of JFK’s assassination?

I don’t care about the Montreal Screwjob. Why do we constantly have to hear about it in every documentary?

Maybe it was all kayfabe and brilliant plotting; maybe it wasn’t. I’ve just never cared one way or the other.

On the other hand, this episode covers the brief era when WCW under Eric Bischoff gave McMahon and the WWF a run for their money. That I do care about. The Monday Night Wars era was a great time to be a pro wrestling fan.

Again, competition is good for fans.

The Attitude Era was fun at the time

Extremism and impropriety. A lack of compliance except from Right to Censor.

But it was a road that eventually lead to nowhere.

One episode of Mr. McMahon opens with Owen Hart’s horrible and humiliating demise — the guy died in a botched stunt at Kemper Arena that was intended to make him look stupid as part of the sadistic bungling Blue Blazer character he was playing at the time.

But his death was no-sold even on the live PPV and arguably is also no-sold on this docu-series as well.

"Those people came to see a show. They didn't come to see somebody die. And me as a businessman, it's like, well, OK, let's continue on. Let's continue the show."

It ended up turning into a punchline debate about whether or not Vince would have stopped the show if it had been his son Shane who had died.

"Had it been me, not just my son, had it been me who was splattered on the mat as Bret (Hart) said... I would want the show to go on. So, get me out of there. You know? And let the show go on."

Nonetheless, the brilliant performances of Stone Cold Steve Austin had me and my friends turning the channel from WCW on TNT to WWF on USA.

Truly, the challenge of Eric Bischoff and WCW brought out McMahon’s career-best work. And I’ll admit that WCW completely fell apart in the last 18 months or so before Vince acquired it.

But the real problem, again, was the wannabe monopolistic shenanigans at WCW’s parent companies when Ted Turner sold out to Time Warner who then sold out to fucking AOL. One of the most epic corporate disasters in U.S. history — and WCW and competition in pro wrestling were just among the many casualties.

It led the way for WWE eventually becoming a publicly traded company.

The UFC “Woulda Coulda Shoulda”

The penultimate episode focuses on the various dynastic antics that went on in the 2000s and 2010s at WWE with the McMahon Family. The profile of Vince’s son, Shane, was rising. He wasn’t just one of the boys, even if Kurt Angle was repeatedly slamming him through glass panels.

Shane didn’t want to be just one of the boys. He wanted his own major project. He was designated to be the face of Vince’s version of “WCW” after WWE bought the assets for a paltry sum from Time Warner.

However, Shane had something much bigger in mind. He wanted the UFC.

Shane wanted to buy the UFC in late 2000 when the original owners SEG ran out of rope after being banned from pay-per-view in the US.

The intriguing part of this story is that there may have been more than one opportunity for WWE to purchase UFC — and on both occasions, Vince said no.

WWE was Disney(land) and UFC violated both the financial and creative business models that made Vince a billionaire. He saw UFC as a sport that was too difficult to create stars in and own intellectual property.

Between the Fertittas and Ari Emanuel, Vince was undoubtedly proven very, very wrong. They were busy emulating Vince and his economic model of fighter pay.

Obviously, Shane was right that the UFC would have been a steal for a couple million dollars. However, it’s an open question if the McMahon Family would have made UFC into a successful fight promotion. After all, we’re talking about Vince McMahon of ICO-PRO and XFL fame.

I think that the WWE infrastructure and muscle could have gotten the UFC legalized and back on pay-per-view. I wonder, though, if fans would have been willing to take a McMahon-owned UFC seriously. Would fans think that fights were fixed? What about drug testing?

On the other hand, it feels as if Shane McMahon would have presumably embraced a more dramatic PRIDE-style presentation and flavor for Mixed Martial Arts. Instead of the Fertittas building up their credibility vs. boxing and marketing a product for the casino sportsbooks, a WWE-owned UFC would have looked a lot different.

Would Shane McMahon have been able to book Brock Lesnar vs. Fedor Emelianenko in 2009 when Dana White and the Fertittas failed to cut a deal with M-1?

Woulda coulda shoulda. Ari Emanuel’s UFC money helped bring Vince to the table for a Reverse Morris Trust merger of assets into the TKO holding company.

Did Vince miscalculate his inability to see the vision for UFC that the Fertittas had? Thanks to RAW, WWE gave UFC a hell of a ratings lead-in on Spike for The Ultimate Fighter. That changed the course of combat sports history.

The Netflix finish for Mr. McMahon was brutal — but not brutal enough

This docu-series as a whole is extremely weird. It’s as if they’d filmed a documentary about Aaron Hernandez in 2012 and then tacked on a five-minute explainer at the end upon its 2013 release.

In a forty-something-minute episode covering an era of relentlessly worsening news for the promotion and Vince, somehow he gets off light.

Can you still enjoy the creation while condemning the creator?

The tragedy cum debacle cum tragedy of the Chris Benoit murder-suicide, likely steroid and role of CTE, and ensuing PR and legal disasters get the finale off on an appropriately dreadful note.

There’s a lot about the toning down of the promotion during the thought-control 2010s amid the increasing role of daughter Stephanie and her husband Triple H.

Then we get to the first wave of suits and allegations and Vince’s initial retirement before he re-seized control of the company and transferred it to Endeavor, rug-pulling his own daughter and son-in-law in the process.

Father of the Year material!

Nonetheless, the producers seemed motivated to present a series as mostly favorable — until the events of late 2023. Which makes this tacked-on coverage of Vince’s most recent and seemingly final downfall all the more jarring.

Yes, it may have been an incomplete ending by necessity because legal matters are still proceeding and we don’t ultimately know what Mr. McMahon’s fate will be.

What we know for sure is Vince McMahon extracted a ton of cash from TKO before he went away to fight his legal battles. That part of the story won’t change.

Did the docu-series accomplish the goals set forth by the parties involved?

If this is a sneak preview of coming attractions with Endeavor gaining steam at Netflix, what is on or off limits in this brave new world?

One thing is for certain: there’s no documentary that can remove the stink of scandal on Vince… or Mr. McMahon.

Nate Wilcox is editor-in-chief of The MMA Draw.