The Price is Right
From flashing paper to wielding the bible, Ted “The Million Dollar Man” DiBiase books Jesus Christ as a tag team partner.
During the best era of professional wrestling, the ’80s and early ’90s watched the World Wrestling Federation (WWF) become an entertainment soap opera of dirty backstabbing, bikini-clad women and crisp costumes. The all-American hero, Hulk Hogan, and larger-than-life Andre the Giant were on top, but baby-faced, Ted DiBiase, paid ’Dre to win the belt and then bought it from him. This set the stage for the Million Dollar Man, one of the industry’s most notorious and wealthiest characters.
The golden age of wrestling had characters staying in role outside of the ring to make the fantasy a reality. From chauffered limousines and first class flights to five-star hotels and restaurants, DiBiase was ballin’ on the WWF’s budget. The Million Dollar belt even had fake documentation papers putting it at an estimated value of 40 G’s. “The fans were told that it was made of real gold and laced with hundreds of real diamonds in the shape of three large dollar signs,” he explains in his new memoir, Ted DiBiase: The Million Dollar Man [WWE/Pocketbooks]. “It wasn’t. The belt was gold plated and all of the stones were cubic zirconias.”
DiBiase, who went by his government name, grew up in Arizona, getting his feet wet at an early age, often refereeing matches while still in high school. Although football gave him a full ride to college, his true love was inside the ring. Ted DiBiase went on to be the ultimate hustler, winning titles and buying several—a total of 17 times. He was pimping out his championship belt and making it rain long before your favorite rappers were making remixes. Everything was all gravy until the fine line of reality got blurry. “From the late night drinking to the infidelity, I started to believe that I was the Million Dollar Man. My ego was out of control, more so my drinking,” he explains about the powerful character. “I was single and partying like there was no tomorrow.”
Building bank, a fan base and a family, it wasn’t until DiBiase got caught creeping that everything hit the fan. “I had money and fame and was climbing the ladder of success. I had a loving wife and a great family,” he says. “But deep down, there was a void in my life.” After guidance from his marriage counselor, DiBiase went the ways of the Lord in the late ’90s. Of course, change didn’t come without its share of criticism and DiBiase caught a hail of hatred from those claiming he stepped to the pulpit for financial reasons. “They are wrong,” he states. “I don’t have to justify my ministering to anyone.”
But even DiBiase doubters will find money morsels throughout the book, with Ted dropping more dimes than the sprint lady in secrets, tips, tricks and behind-the-scene’s beefs. In one story he exposes the truth about getting hospitalized for a week. “What happened was that in the locker room before the match, I had drawn some blood and placed it in a balloon,” remembers DiBiase about his public theatrics gone misunderstood. “I kept the balloon in my mouth until I was piledriven outside the ring. I then punctured the balloon with my teeth and spit out the plastic for the referee to retrieve.” His transition from power moves to the priesthood was hard to swallow for some fans, but for the Million Dollar Minister there was a higher calling. “Fans ask me all the time about which was my toughest match.” says Minister Ted. “I tell them that my toughest match was with God.”
