Hulk Hogan was an icon. Terry Bollea was a mess.

USA Today

6 days ago

Terry Bollea was Hulk Hogan. Hulk Hogan was not Terry Bollea.
That's what we're left to grapple with upon the news Bollea -- best known as professional wrestling icon and six-time WWE world champion Hulk Hogan -- died at age 71. Hogan was an inspiration. A real life superhero. A pile of muscles stacked upon muscles who fought for justice and freedom powered by prayers and vitamins.
Bollea, on the other hand, was something else. His life and the icon he created became so intertwined it became unclear, even to Bollea himself, where the person stopped and the wrestler began. One thing was clear. Hogan, the superstar, was simple. He stuck to a script. His matches mostly played out the same way.
When he did change things up, he only became more powerful. His surprising heel turn (from a good guy to a bad one) birthed "Hollywood" Hulk Hogan and made World Championship Wrestling (WCW) the biggest promotion in the world for a stretch. It's one of the biggest moments in wrestling history.
Bollea, the person, was complex. He was messy. When he made changes in his personal life, they typically showcased someone insecure and lacking the strength he projected on the world.
He was, by his own admission (in a sex tape lawsuit that would eventually take down a media conglomerate), "a racist." He was anti-union and exceedingly selfish. He used his position atop the then-WWF and the since-shuttered WCW to hold other potential stars back and keep his place at the top of the food chain in a business where every bump is real but the outcomes remain predetermined.
He once apparently blamed a traumatic injury caused by his son's reckless driving on God's intervention for the victim's behavior. He threatened to body slam a female presidential candidate. He went on the Arsenio Hall Show to deny taking steroids, then admitted his steroid use when his boss, Vince McMahon, was forced to stand trial for allegedly supplying the drugs to his locker room (McMahon was acquitted).
You could make a book out of the totally inconsequential lies Hogan told over the years. One man turned it into a Twitter thread that scrolled at least 61 tweets deep.
It's remarkable Bollea and Hogan were separate entities in the public eye for so long. Only recently did everything outside the ring finally catch up to "The Immortal." Hogan had his WWE contract terminated in 2015 after his racist comments leaked to the world. He was still welcomed back three years later to host the company's Crown Jewel event in Saudi Arabia and later hosted WrestleMania. He only really felt blowback from the fans earlier this year, when his appearance on Monday Night Raw's Netflix debut with longtime manager Jimmy Hart was met with boos -- "go-away heat," in wrestling parlance -- from the Los Angeles crowd.
Bollea received second, third, fourth, fifth, etc chances because he understood his business. He created a legend. Hulk Hogan in the ring was a sword, but in the real world he was a shield. Bollea could be a conniving, lying politician and self-described racist behind the scenes, but when his music hit -- and it's great music, even if Bollea (who once told the world he was nearly Metallica's bassist) doesn't play a lick of it -- he was a hero. He persisted long enough that kids who grew up idolizing him could tell their kids about him, and then their *grandkids.*
He mostly played these dual roles like a virtuoso. Terry Bollea was the problem. Hulk Hogan was the solution. He was a brand so trustworthy you could slap his image on anything -- blenders, beer, even fast food pasta restaurants at the Mall of America. The problem was, like Hogan, once you drilled past the surface there was something different underneath. Something that failed to live up to the superhero we were promised.
Now the man is gone, leaving the superhero to live on unabated. Terry Bollea has died. Hulk Hogan will live on for years. Whether he's a hero or a villain with hinge entirely on your ability to separate the two.