LJN WWF Wrestling Superstars Action Figures

There was a time when wrestling wasn’t just something you watched. It was something you lived. And for me, that life came in the form of stiff rubber figures with paint that chipped if you looked at it wrong. I’m talking about the LJN WWF Wrestling Superstars action figures. Though calling them “action” figures was generous. They didn’t bend. They didn’t twist. They didn’t even stand up properly half the time. But they were glorious.

The card backs from those early series were like sacred scrolls. Hulk Hogan, Hillbilly Jim, Big John Studd…all standing shoulder to shoulder like Mount Rushmore in spandex. Later series added Paul Orndorff, Brutus Beefcake, and King Kong Bundy, expanding the roster like a Saturday night main event. These figures were heavy, solid, and unapologetically immobile. They were built for display, not play. But try telling that to a kid with a wild imagination and a living room carpet that doubled as Madison Square Garden.

I didn’t jump into the LJN pool right away. Living in a rural area meant toy selection was limited. When they did show up on shelves, they were expensive. Compared to my usual fare like G.I. Joe and Masters of the Universe, they were like luxury items. But I got my first taste thanks to my grandmother’s neighbor. Her grandson would bring over his collection when I visited, and we’d stage epic battles on the floor, complete with commentary and dramatic entrances. It was almost enough to make me cave.

What finally pushed me over the edge was my cousin’s wrestling ring. That thing was a marvel. Blue posts, elastic ropes, and a canvas that made every slam feel official. Once I got my hands on it, I was hooked. I told my parents I needed some figures. Not wanted. Needed. They obliged, and who did they pick as my first figure? “Mean” Gene Okerlund. The announcer. The guy who held the microphone. Not exactly the cornerstone of a play wrestling federation.

Eventually, I added Junkyard Dog and Nikolai Volkoff to my roster. But with only two wrestlers and an announcer, my matches were limited. The lack of articulation didn’t help. You had to imagine every suplex, every clothesline. And while imagination was never in short supply, the frustration of trying to make these rubber titans move eventually wore me down. I called it quits on the line.

Still, looking back, I wish I’d stuck with it. I probably wouldn’t have any of them today. They’d be lost to yard sales or buried in a box somewhere. But the idea of displaying them now, lined up like a Hall of Fame induction ceremony, makes me smile.

And while we’re on the subject, let’s talk about Sgt. Slaughter. Not the Hasbro version. The knock-off figure that looked like it belonged in the LJN universe. Rumor had it that LJN had a prototype mold ready to go, but after Sarge signed with Hasbro for the G.I. Joe line and refused to cut Vince McMahon in on the deal, he was fired and the figure was scrapped. Or so the story goes.

That knock-off Sarge was sold through ads in wrestling magazines. I remember seeing him towering over fallen LJN figures in the ad, arms crossed, looking like he’d just won the Royal Rumble. I wasn’t even into the LJN line anymore, but I still wanted that figure. There was something magical about ordering a wrestling toy from a wrestling magazine. I dreamed about it. But like so many dreams from that era, it stayed just that—a dream. To this day, I’ve never ordered a single thing from one of those magazines.

But I remember. I remember the ring. I remember the battles. I remember “Mean” Gene standing alone, waiting for someone to interview. And I remember what it felt like to hold those rubber legends in my hands and believe, if only for a moment, that the WWF was in my bedroom.