Ed Farhat didn't just play a character. He became a nightmare. Long before the "Attitude Era" or the blood-soaked rings of ECW, there was The Sheik. If you grew up in Detroit or followed the wrestling territories in the 60s and 70s, you didn't just cheer or boo him. You were genuinely, physically terrified of the man.
He didn't do interviews. He didn't sign autographs. He didn't even acknowledge that he spoke English. Instead, he would storm into arenas, flanked by "Eddie Creatchman," and start throwing fireballs. Actual fire. In a crowded building. Honestly, it’s a miracle he didn’t burn down half the arenas in the Midwest.
Why The Sheik Was Different From Every Other Villain
Most wrestlers in the mid-20th century were technicians. They wore colorful trunks, they did dropkicks, and they followed the rules of the "Sweet Science." Then you had The Sheik. He showed up in pointed boots and a keffiyeh, looking like he’d stepped out of a fever dream.
He was the "Original Sheik." While others like Adnan Al-Kaissie or later, The Iron Sheik, leaned into political heat, Farhat focused on pure, unadulterated chaos. He used foreign objects. He bit people. He would take a wooden pencil and jab it into an opponent's forehead until the front row was covered in red. It sounds barbaric because it was. He basically invented "Hardcore Wrestling" twenty years before anyone gave it a name.
The brilliance of his career wasn't just the violence; it was the commitment. Farhat stayed in character 24/7. There are stories of him refusing to speak to his own family members in public if fans were nearby. He understood that if the "mark" (the fan) saw him buying groceries or acting like a normal guy from Lansing, Michigan, the illusion would shatter. And in the 1960s, keeping that "kayfabe" alive was the difference between a sold-out Cobo Hall and an empty building.
The Detroit Territory and the Big Time
Detroit was his kingdom. Big Time Wrestling was the promotion, and from the early 60s through the 70s, he was the undisputed king of the Motor City. He didn't just perform; he owned the territory.
Success in Detroit meant he could draw massive crowds against anyone. His feuds with Bobo Brazil are the stuff of legend. You have to understand the social climate of the time. Seeing a Syrian-American "terrorist" figure battling a beloved African-American hero like Bobo Brazil in a city as racially charged as Detroit was explosive. It was visceral. People weren't just watching a match; they were exorcising their demons through the ring.
The Fireball: A Weapon of Psychological Warfare
Let’s talk about the fire. It was his signature. He’d hide a small piece of flash paper in his palm, light it with a concealed flint, and hurl a burst of flame into a wrestler's face.
The crowd would lose their minds.
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You’d see grown men jumping over railings to get away from him. It gave him an aura of supernatural danger. If he could conjure fire, what else could he do? This wasn't the choreographed "sports entertainment" of today. This was a man who looked like he genuinely wanted to maim his opponent. It worked. He became one of the highest-paid wrestlers in the world, traveling to Japan for Giant Baba’s All Japan Pro Wrestling, where he became a massive star alongside Abdullah the Butcher.
Those matches in Japan were something else entirely. Pure gore. Abdullah and The Sheik would slash each other with forks and pieces of glass. It wasn't "good" wrestling in the technical sense. It was a car crash. But you couldn't look away.
The Legacy of Sabu and the Family Business
Wrestling fans today might know his nephew better: Sabu.
Terry Brunk, known to the world as Sabu, was trained by his uncle, and you can see the DNA in every move. The scars on Sabu’s body? Those are a direct tribute to the style of The Sheik. Farhat was notoriously tough on his students. He didn't just teach them how to take a bump; he taught them how to survive. He taught them that the character is everything.
Sabu took that "silent but deadly" persona to the extreme in ECW, but it all started in a backyard ring in Michigan under the watchful, terrifying eye of his uncle. Without Ed Farhat, we don't get Mick Foley. We don't get Tommy Dreamer. We don't get the deathmatch scene in Japan. He was the root of that entire tree.
What Most People Get Wrong About Him
There’s a common misconception that The Sheik couldn't actually wrestle. That he was just a "garbage" worker who hid behind gimmicks.
That’s objectively false.
Early in his career, Edward Farhat was a legitimate athlete. He was strong, fast, and understood the psychology of the ring better than almost anyone. He chose the brawling style because it was more profitable. He realized that a five-minute bloodbath drew more money than a thirty-minute technical draw. He was a businessman. He protected his "brand" with a ferocity that would make a modern CEO blush.
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He also didn't just work as a heel. In a weird way, he became a cult hero. By the time his career was winding down in the 90s (yes, he wrestled well into his 60s), fans respected the sheer longevity. He even had a brief, bizarre run in WCW toward the end, though by then, the magic was mostly gone. The world had changed. The "secret" was out. But for those few decades, he was the scariest man on the planet.
Analyzing the Impact on Modern Media
You see his influence everywhere. Not just in wrestling, but in how villains are portrayed. The silent, unstoppable force that refuses to explain itself? That’s The Sheik. He was the Michael Myers of the squared circle. He didn't need a "why." He just needed a victim.
His ability to manipulate a crowd’s emotions through silence is a lost art. Today, everyone has a podcast. Everyone is on Twitter (X) breaking character. Farhat would have hated it. He lived in a world where the mystery was the product.
How to Study The Sheik Today
If you want to understand the history of the business, you can't skip him. You have to watch the grainy footage of him at Cobo Hall. Look at the faces of the fans in the front row. They aren't laughing. They aren't chanting "this is awesome." They are clinging to their seats in genuine distress.
- Watch the 1970s Detroit footage: Look for his matches against Bobo Brazil or Fred Blassie.
- Study his Japan runs: His tag team matches with Abdullah the Butcher against the Funk brothers (Dory and Terry) are essential viewing for anyone who wants to see psychology in chaos.
- Look at his hall of fame induction: He was posthumously inducted into the WWE Hall of Fame in 2007 by Sabu and Rob Van Dam. It was a rare moment of "official" recognition for a man who spent his life being the ultimate outsider.
The reality is that The Sheik was a one-off. You can't replicate that kind of heat in 2026. The world is too connected. But you can respect the hustle. Ed Farhat took a simple concept—a scary foreigner—and turned it into a multi-decade career that redefined what was "allowed" in a wrestling ring. He was the original outlaw.
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To truly appreciate his work, look past the blood. Look at how he moves. Look at how he never looks at the camera. He isn't performing for the viewers at home; he is existing in his own violent reality. That is the hallmark of a true master of the craft.
Actionable Insight for Fans and Historians:
To understand the evolution of the industry, track the lineage of the "Hardcore" style. Start with The Sheik in 1960s Detroit, move to the 1970s "Blood and Guts" era in All Japan Pro Wrestling, and then see how it birthed the FMW (Frontier Martial-Arts Wrestling) promotion in Japan and eventually ECW in Philadelphia. You’ll see that almost every violent innovation in the ring can be traced back to a fireball or a pencil held by Ed Farhat. Study the "Detroit Style" of promotion to see how modern independent wrestling companies still try to create that "anything can happen" atmosphere, even if they can't quite capture the pure terror of the Original Sheik.