Harley Race might be the toughest son of a bitch to ever put on wrestling trunks. He'd drink a case of beer and smoke a pack of Marlboro Reds then get up the next day and slam his body around the mat for 60 minutes against guys like Ric Flair and Terry Funk, selling their moves so furiously that he helped turn them into stars. And he'd do it night after night, 350 or so days a year, shuttling around the world in stuffy vans and cramped flights, for three decades, from the Kennedy administration to the... More >>>