Mick Foley Ranks the Most Painful WWE Weapons

In the larger-than-life world of professional wrestling, few have sacrificed their body for the art form quite like Mick Foley. Known to millions as “The Hardcore Legend,” his career was a symphony of destruction, a highlight reel of moments that made audiences gasp, cheer, and genuinely fear for his well-being. From being thrown off the top of a Hell in a Cell cage to being speared through a flaming table, Foley’s pain tolerance became the stuff of legend. But behind the spectacle, behind the roar of the crowd, was a man enduring very real, often agonizing, pain. Now, the legend himself has finally pulled back the curtain, providing a chilling, first-hand account of the weapons that defined his career, ranking them not by their crowd-pleasing “pop,” but by the genuine, bone-deep hurt they inflicted.

For years, fans have wondered about the “reality” of wrestling’s foreign objects. Are the chairs gimmicked? Are the tables made of balsa wood? Foley, in a candid discussion, methodically dismantled these myths, offering a brutal and honest assessment of his tools of the trade. His ranking is a fascinating, and at times disturbing, glimpse into a world where art and agony are inextricably linked.

At the lower end of his pain scale are items that are more about spectacle than suffering. The iconic table, for instance, is a surprisingly forgiving partner in a hardcore dance. Foley describes going through a table, often sourced from a regular hardware store, as a “high reward, fairly low risk” maneuver. The wood breaks the fall, dispersing the impact. It’s “noticeable,” he admits, but “not bad.” Similarly, the guitars that have been shattered over countless heads are designed to produce a satisfying crunch. While a stray splinter once bloodied his nose, he describes the sensation as a “stinging thing” rather than a brain-rattling blow.

Moving up the scale, the pain becomes more pronounced. The Kendo stick, a staple of hardcore wrestling, is not gimmicked. It’s a legitimate martial arts weapon, and its sting is very real. The key, Foley explains, is in the technique—a flick of the wrist to create a bend and a loud crack. Aluminum trash cans, while visually dramatic, carry a hidden danger. After a few uses, the edges become frayed and sharp, turning a theatrical prop into a legitimate cutting hazard.

However, it’s when Foley discusses the upper echelon of pain that the true cost of being a hardcore legend becomes terrifyingly clear. Thumbtacks, a weapon he famously introduced to a mainstream audience, are a unique form of torture. He once took a back body drop onto 10,000 of them in a match against Randy Orton. But the initial impact, he reveals, isn’t the worst part. The true agony comes later, in the quiet of the trainer’s room, “having human beings taking those tacks out of your body” one by one. He rates the experience a definitive “it hurts a lot.”

Perhaps the most surprising revelation comes from his discussion of his signature weapon: the barbed wire baseball bat. Counter-intuitively, Foley claims, “the more barbed wire, the less it hurts.” The tangled wire creates a cushion, preventing the full, blunt force of the bat from making direct contact with bone. The real danger of barbed wire, he clarifies, is when it’s used to replace the ring ropes. This scenario, which he endured in brutal deathmatches, offers no theatrical buffer. The wire rips and tears at flesh, causing deep lacerations and the potential for permanent nerve damage. It is this specific application of barbed wire that earns a spot on his most dreaded list.

The flaming table, another one of his most iconic and dangerous spots, also ranks high on the pain scale. The spectacle is immense, but the risks are catastrophic. Foley recounts the extensive safety precautions WWE takes, with fire marshals on-site, but emphasizes that things can, and do, go wrong. During his legendary WrestleMania match with Edge, a miscalculation left Edge with second-degree burns on his face. Foley himself lost his eyelashes and eyebrows, and he vividly remembers the horrifying, unforgettable smell of burning skin and hair. The potential for life-altering injury places it firmly in the “it hurts a lot” category, and it’s a stunt he strongly advises against.

But what weapon does the Hardcore Legend place at the absolute pinnacle of pain and risk? What object was so dangerous, so unpredictable, that it made him question his career choice? The ladder.

To the casual viewer, a ladder seems almost mundane compared to barbed wire or fire. But in Foley’s experienced view, it is a “career shortener.” The potential for catastrophic injury is simply too high. A fall from a ladder can result in spinal damage, paralysis, or worse. A mistimed spot can lead to devastating facial injuries, as famously happened to Joey Mercury. Even in a best-case scenario, the constant, jarring impact leads to a collection of nagging injuries that shorten a wrestler’s longevity. There is no safe way to interact with a multi-hundred-pound piece of steel in a high-impact environment. It is the one weapon that, for all its crowd-pleasing potential, elicits a somber, unequivocal rating from Foley. It’s the weapon that lands squarely on his “I hate this job” scale.

Mick Foley’s ranking is more than just a piece of wrestling trivia; it’s a testament to the incredible physical and mental fortitude required to be an entertainer in the world’s most brutal theater. It’s a reminder that for every cheer, for every “Holy S#!t” chant, there was a man putting his long-term health on the line, all for the love of his craft and the roar of the crowd. He is, and always will be, a legend, not just for the bumps he took, but for the truth he is now willing to share about the very real price of pain.