Wrestling legend Hulk Hogan, who passed away at 71, is being remembered not only for his iconic career but also for his fierce legal battle against Gawker, where he won \$140 million for a deeply personal invasion of privacy—an emotional victory that destroyed the media outlet and reshaped the boundaries between celebrity and press.

When Hulk Hogan died of cardiac arrest on July 24, 2025, at age 71, tributes poured in from fans, athletes, and media figures around the world.

But amid the wave of nostalgia for wrestling’s golden era and his iconic career in the WWE, one moment from his later years surged back into public focus: his devastating courtroom victory over Gawker Media—a lawsuit that not only vindicated the wrestling superstar but also sent shockwaves through the digital media landscape.

Many called it “the match of his life,” and it was one he won with the same defiance he brought into the ring.

Back in 2012, Gawker published a sex tape featuring Hogan with Heather Clem, the then-wife of his close friend, radio host Bubba the Love Sponge.

The footage had been secretly recorded without Hogan’s consent. What followed was one of the most brutal and high-profile legal battles in modern media history.

Hogan sued the outlet for invasion of privacy, emotional distress, and violating his personal rights. In 2016, a Florida jury sided with him, awarding a staggering \$140 million in damages—\$115 million in compensatory and \$25 million in punitive damages.

That verdict led to the immediate downfall of Gawker, once one of the most aggressive and talked-about gossip outlets on the internet. The company declared bankruptcy, and founder Nick Denton was forced to sell its assets.

But even more than the financial collapse, it marked a cultural turning point. For years, tabloid-style media had operated under the assumption that public figures had no privacy.

Hogan’s victory upended that assumption, proving that even the most larger-than-life celebrities had boundaries—and that violating those boundaries could come at a devastating cost.

Behind the scenes, the lawsuit carried a deeper story. It was later revealed that billionaire tech entrepreneur Peter Thiel had quietly bankrolled Hogan’s legal battle.

Thiel, who had been publicly outed by Gawker years earlier, saw the case as a personal vendetta against the site.

His funding—estimated at over \$10 million—sparked intense debate over whether wealthy individuals could use the court system to strategically dismantle media organizations they disliked.

For Hogan, however, the focus remained personal. What was posted wasn’t just embarrassing—it was deeply traumatic, especially considering the tape’s wide circulation and the impact it had on his family.

The emotional toll of the case was immense. During the trial, Hogan testified that he felt humiliated and betrayed, not just by the exposure, but by people he once trusted. He explained that children searching his name would find that explicit material.

“It wasn’t Hulk Hogan who was exposed,” he said privately to friends, “it was Terry Bollea—and Terry didn’t agree to this.” That distinction between the character he played and the man he truly was became central to the legal argument, and the jury bought it.

After the verdict, Hogan became something of a folk hero among celebrities seeking greater protection of their private lives. The win was seen as a strike back against the internet’s “everything is public” mindset.

In the years that followed, similar lawsuits leaned on the precedent set by his case, and the media industry—particularly online gossip platforms—began treading far more cautiously.

His victory didn’t come without critics. Free speech advocates warned that the case opened a dangerous door: if powerful people could destroy news outlets with one well-funded lawsuit, would the press still be able to expose misconduct or hold public figures accountable?

The question remains relevant nearly a decade later. But Hogan never saw himself as the villain. To him, he wasn’t attacking journalism—he was defending dignity.

Even in his final years, Hogan never apologized for the lawsuit. He viewed it as one of his proudest achievements. Long after his wrestling matches were over, this was the arena where he proved, once again, that he could go up against giants and win.

Now, with Hogan gone, that courtroom battle is being reexamined as a defining moment in the broader struggle between privacy and press freedom.

For those who celebrated his legal win, it was never just about one tape or one website—it was about finally telling the media: enough. And for Hogan, the message was clear: “You crossed the line. And I body-slammed you back.”