All that's left is the memories, wrestler Scott Hall.

I remember "the Bad Guy".  I remember "the Outsiders".  I remember "the Band".

In his infinitude, he was, a precursor perhaps of the "Ruthless Aggression" era, but some weird homage to Pacino and De Palma, Cubano mystique and toothpick slingin'.

It was the attitude.  To take no stink and have a drink, which to say, is unfair to Scott, but in the interest of fairness, we take into our loading dock all of his circumference.  But saying in that, there was a personal demon, a beast, and he whipped its ass like so many heroes, so many worthwhile people.

Pity then, perhaps his greatest act was to escape the pressure cooker of the harsh light of stardom and get back to "work on oneself".