On the eve of the release of Ric Flair’s autobiography, “To Be The Man,” I watched Flair compete in the prime of his career — when he was, indeed, “The Man.” The match pitted Flair, the challenger, against then-champion Ricky “The Dragon” Steamboat on May 7, 1989, at an event billed as the “Music City Showdown.” On that night, Flair captured his sixth NWA world heavyweight title in one of a bevy of five-star classics with Steamboat dating to their feud 10 years earlier. When most 40-year-olds are contemplating retirement, Flair had reached the pinnacle of his professional career. He had just finished a three-match series with Steamboat and was headed for a wild, hardcore feud with Terry Funk. Flair’s encounters with Steamboat are only a small part of an autobiography that reads like the Bible of professional wrestling history simply because Flair has participated through so much of it. He’s wrestled just about everyone in the business from Wahoo McDaniel to Triple H — a career that spans more than 30 years and four decades. His influential promos have become the prototype for every heel, and his championship swagger and suave, yet cocky, charisma is often imitated but has never been duplicated. Two constant themes resonate throughout Flair’s book: respect and partying. Flair lay on a cold, steel X-ray table after a plane crash Oct. 4, 1975 on a flight from Charlotte to Wilmington, N.C., left him with a broken back. McDaniel, who Flair refers to as his biggest professional wrestling influence, busts in. Flair writes “Thank God Wahoo had driven to Wilmington (Wahoo opted not to fly with Flair). What would fans have thought if he’d been pulled out of a small, intimate plane with me. It could have killed the territory.” Flair, forgetting that the plane crash nearly killed him, worried more about the perception of he and McDaniel flying together would impact their feud. Flair, with his future and career uncertain, put wrestling first. In fact, Flair writes with candor about how he always has, until recently, put his business ahead of his family, later having to resolve issues with his children and second wife, Beth. This is where the partying part comes in. Flair doesn’t necessarily apologize for his antics — which basically cost him his first marriage — rather he attributes it to his run as “The Nature Boy,” a character instilled in him that eventually overtook his life. That’s not to say that the partying didn’t provide its share of memorable stories from his NWA heyday. Flair talks about Funk trying to light Greg Valentine’s hair on fire driving to Raleigh, followed by Funk returning to the city and directing traffic wearing only the NWA world title and cowboy hat and boots. Flair also recalls hanging out with good friend Roddy Piper and watching “Hot Rod” run through a hotel room clotheslining potted plants. Stories of drinking — there are enough funny stories to write another book — and partying with wrestlers quickly turn into tales of career suicide for Flair. As Flair’s WCW career in the late 1990s came to an end, he ignored the crumbling company around and again put business first, participating in countless campy skits — including a pseudo heart attack, a stint in a mental home, and losing to anyone the company asked him to, including non-wrestlers Vince Russo and Eric Bischoff. Flair went along with the steady stream of inane writing because, again, he had perhaps too much respect for a company — WCW and before that NWA — that afforded him the opportunity to make millions and become a star. The “Nature Boy” even turned down an offer to jump to the WWF in 1998 because he felt a loyalty to his friend, Arn Anderson, and the remaining Horsemen. You don’t necessarily feel sorry for Flair but rather admire him for being such a team player among a locker room filled with superstars who weren’t — namely Hulk Hogan. Flair, unlike Hogan, could be the biggest star in the world but never shied away from sharing his magnetism. Flair once feuded with Ricky Morton — one half of the “Rock ‘n Roll Express” — and delivered quality match after quality match. Could you imagine Hogan, as WWF champion in the late 1980s or early 90s, feuding with Shawn Michaels — one half of The Rockers — or Bret Hart — of the Hart Foundation? That’s what makes Flair more relevant than Hogan, even if the latter has a tad more name value. Two hours after watching Flair vs. Steamboat from 1989, I turned on “Raw” last Monday and saw a different Ric Flair. This Flair wasn’t trading chops with a superstar called “The Dragon,” instead participating in a game of musical chairs at the direction of a superstar named, “Eugene.” This Flair wasn’t in the world-title picture, vying for the gold against guys named Dusty Rhodes, Barry Windham, Harley Race or Sting. This Flair, at 55, was a role player alongside Triple H and the-up-and-coming Randy Orton. But even with his main eventing days all but gone, Flair still loves performing and manages to turn on the “Nature Boy” persona at any moment — like his stylish strut in Stacy Keibler’s direction on “Raw.” That’s because Flair’s passion for professional wrestling never wavered. It’s that heart and soul that shine through in “To Be The Man,” and makes Flair a timeless entity in wrestling — regardless of who he wrestles, what he does or whether he wins or loses. Main-event allure, notwithstanding, Flair’s name still sells. He can still, given a microphone and direction, be valuable on any level, even as an opponent to wrestlers 10 or 20 years younger than him. Flair isn’t the greatest professional wrestler of all time. He is professional wrestling. That’s why his story isn’t just important but imperative; that’s why his autobiography stands out as the best. Just like him.

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