Scott Hall wasn’t a wrestler. He was a reminder it’s not too late to fix ourselves

Scott Hall’s legend goes beyond his work in the squared circle.

In a wrestling landscape filled with outsized personalities, Scott Hall was the coolest guy in the room.

Hall, who made his presence known in the then-WWF as Razor Ramon and then under his given name as a founding member of WCW’s nWo, passed away Monday at the age of 63. He leaves behind a complicated legacy of success, addiction, and redemption — and an indelible image as one of the most memorable and complex characters in a world once ruled by simple tropes.

Hall made his first major impact in Vince McMahon’s promotion as Ramon, an Intercontinental Champion who began as a dead-on ripoff of Al Pacino’s Scarface but grew into something more. That breakthrough came after eight years in the business, slogging through the NWA and regional territories as “Big” Scott Hall, “Magnum” Scott Hall, Scott “Gator” Hall, and Starship Coyote. His mainstream breakthrough should have been a tired, one-note spectacle with a limited shelf life. Instead, he turned it into one of wrestling’s most memorable characters.

Full disclaimer: this whole gimmick — a white guy from Maryland putting on a Cuban accent to cosplay as a Miami kinda/sorta drug dealer was problematic as hell. But Hall also took a heel character and made him fun to root for. He straddled an extremely difficult line to walk in a still-cartoonish WWF. He could also absolutely GO in the ring; his Intercontinental Championship ladder match with Shawn Michaels at Wrestlemania X is still regarded as one of the best examples of what’s become a staple match type across the globe.

Ultimately his success as Ramon helped usher in a new era of wrestling where characters were no longer one-dimensional, take-your-vitamins babyfaces or “I hate [insert tonight’s city here]” heels. Wittingly or not, Hall added depth to the spectacle at a time it was desperately needed.

That’s not the change we all know Hall from, however. That came after he left the WWF and started skulking around the front row of competitor WCW’s Monday Nitro shows. Soon after, Kevin Nash — formerly known as Diesel, a world champion in McMahon’s organization — joined him. Together they became The Outsiders, kicking off a storyline that changed the face of wrestling as we know it.

Hall was the catalyst that turned red-and-yellow, prayers-and-vitamins Hulk Hogan into the dastardly black-and-white, stubble-and-spraypaint Hollywood Hogan. For 82 weeks, WCW ruled the Monday night ratings war over WWF behind the nWo invasion storyline spearheaded by Hall. His machismo — who else could possibly look so cool after getting beaned in the head with a full Pepsi? — was a foundational part of that.

Ultimately, the lifestyle and Hall’s demons caught up to him. He told documentarians he was unable to shake the memories of a 1983 incident that left one man dead and saw him charged with second-degree murder. Hall described the incident as self defense and those charges were later dropped for a lack of evidence, but by his own admission the event was never far from his thoughts.

He also succumbed to the vices for which the wrestling industry had become known by 1992 — painkillers, alcohol, and recreational drugs all had regular roles in his life and eventually curtailed his in-ring career. It wasn’t until he checked into Diamond Dallas Page’s Accountability Crib — Page’s residence that’s become a remarkable halfway home and rehabilitation center for wrestlers and their personal battles — that he finally got his feet back under him, sobered up, and became the kind of reliable presence his friends and family needed him to be.

His life sorted out, he returned to the wrestling ring in ancillary roles. He made sporadic appearances on special episodes of Monday Night Raw. He performed independent shows, putting over young talent in an effort to be the veteran leader he’d always aspired to be. He was inducted to the WWE Hall of Fame twice, reeling off one of the most memorable acceptance speeches in wrestling history in the process.

That speech was more confirmation of what we already knew; Hall was still the coolest guy in the room. As news of his deteriorating health spread, the internet was awash with tributes for a troubled but relatable star from a world where workers traditionally had the depth of Looney Tunes characters. Hall’s vulnerability and decision to come to peace with his shortcomings in order to rebuild himself made him an inspiration. His willingness to put his ego aside to build young talent made him a veteran leader in the ring even when his addictions meant he couldn’t be one outside of it.

Hall was ultimately a supporting player, but he had a major role on both sides of the Monday Night Wars. He was a badass doing a second-rate Pacino impression. He was a badass being himself. This is what made him impossible to hate. When he turned around and admitted he wasn’t bad enough to overcome the issues draped around his neck like an albatross — the same issues that should have killed him a decade ago — it made him impossible to root against.

We saw you could be the toughest guy in the room and still need help. We saw it didn’t make you any tougher to die alone. We saw what you think is weakness can actually be strength.

Scott Hall, the man,  passed away Monday. Scott Hall the wrestler, however, will live on for generations to come in the character work he put on inside the ring and the humanity he displayed outside it. For now, we say goodnight to “The Bad Guy,” knowing full well that a legend like him doesn’t ever really die.