A Lion's Tale: Around the World in Spandex

by Chris Jericho

  Farleyloaf wandered back in and gave a shout-out to Lance. “I like you too, Lance! Here’s a wheelbarra,” and she started to push around a child’s toy wheelbarrow while performing a massive booty shake. The camera panned to her left, only to find the fartster walking like a crab for no apparent reason. Then the camera panned into the yard where there was a battalion of rusted old vehicles, each housing a sad-eyed dog. In the background trying his hardest to stay out of camera range but failing miserably was an old American Gothic–looking farmer who I’m assuming was responsible for the whole mess.

  The camera spun back around, passing the Amazing Crab BoyTM and settling on a lady with a worse Lloyd Christmas Dumb and Dumber haircut than Jim Carrey. She stayed in the shot long enough to say, “I love the Thrillseekers. I want to have two kids named Chris and Lance and a dog named Storm.” It was much creepier than it sounds, believe me.

  These people were either the greatest actors of our generation or complete lunatics and I don’t think they were thespians. Nor do I think they knew what thespian means. I still don’t know why she gave me the tape. Did she think that I’d watch it and become so enamored of her and her family that I’d come over for farts and crabwalks? If I wanted to impress Jessica Simpson, I sure as hell wouldn’t give her a tape of me picking my nose and doing the Electric Slide. But then again maybe it’s just crazy enough to work...

  Somehow the video got around and became a cult classic on the tape-trading circuit under the name “Strange Kentucky People.” Look for it wherever fine hillbilly videos are sold and if you act now, you receive a free Rock ’n’ Roll Express/Son of God portrait package!

  I was also semiresponsible for another tape-trading classic known as “Jim Cornette vs. the Drive-Thru.”

  Me, Corny, Lance, and a few other guys were driving back from a show and stopped at a Dairy Queen drive-thru. Everyone was starving and we ended up ordering around twenty burgers. But there was a long line and it took us half an hour to get to the window, which put Corny in an even fouler mood than usual.

  “Can I help you?” the girl at the window inquired.

  Cornette answered with irritation, “Of course you can help me. I’m picking up my order.”

  I grabbed my video camera and started filming for the heck of it.

  “What order is that?”

  “What order is that? The order I placed half an hour ago for twenty burgers.”

  “Oh, I thought you were joking.”

  Cornette’s face turned beet red as he stuttered in disbelief, “Why the fuck would I be joking? Do you think I have nothing better to do than order twenty fucking burgers and wait in line thirty minutes as a joke? I thought you were fixing my order, you stupid bitch!” I learned in the South, you don’t make food, you fix it.

  “Sir, if you continue to use that type of language, I’m not going to get you your order at all,” she threatened.

  I was in the back of the van with the camera zoomed in on Corny’s tomato face and I needed more emotion for my epic, so I stirred the pot a little.

  “She’s fucking with you, Jimmy. She thinks it’s a joke.”

  I would’ve let it go at that point, but Jimmy was just getting started. His lower jaw jutted forward (giving him a massive underbite) and he continued, “You’re worried about my language? I’ll give you some language: You cunts better get me my fucking food right now!”

  Then he sprang out of the van and stuck his whole upper torso through the drive-thru window screaming that he was going to kill everybody inside and make them all pay.

  We eventually got our food, although I’ll bet after that whole ordeal our burgers had been garnished with some special snot sauce.

  Cornette had a horrible temper and was a hotheaded jerk sometimes but he was able to channel those qualities into his interviews. He was one of the best promo men of all time and he was the most hated heel in SMW by far.

  He took great responsibility in trying to train everybody else to do the same type of promos that he could do. Cornette was a master of incorporating the energy, charisma, delivery, and originality that it took to give a memorable promo. I was on the other end of the spectrum because I’d never really had the chance to work on them. Cornette stressed that interviews were the most important aspect of wrestling. If I wanted to make it to the big leagues, I’d have to learn how to do them properly.

  Other guys like the Dirty White Boy and Chris Candido could also do good promos but my favorite guy to watch was Bullet Bob Armstrong, the patriarch of the famous Armstrong wrestling family.

  Bullet was in his sixties and rarely wrestled but he was the commissioner of SMW and was responsible for multiple promos on every TV show. He didn’t need anyone to tell him what to say or when to say it, he just needed to know the details of what he was supposed to get across before getting the job done in minimal takes.

  I popped huge when he was asked to do a detailed promo to explain one of the complicated angles on the show. He listened to what Jim wanted to accomplish with the segment, thought about it for a few minutes, and went in front of the camera. After delivering a classic, Bullet looked at Cornette and said, “It don’t get any better than that,” then walked out the door without saying another word. Nobody disagreed. That, young Jedi, is known as true confidence.

  Even though I was learning from some of the best, my promos were still stanky. I had fire and energy, but my delivery was forced and cheesy. Instead of being cool and likable, I was coming across as insincere and annoying.

  Cornette worked with me for hours to help me to improve and when I started using some of his tricks, I got 1,004 times better. Jimmy taught me to stop speaking with the same volume and the same tone and alter my delivery. I started varying my voice, almost speaking with a whisper at times, forcing the fans to really pay attention to what I was saying. That made my point more memorable.

  That was the second big lesson I learned about promos. They’re like singing. If you scream the whole song it becomes monotonous. But when you sing with emotion and dynamics, it draws people into the vibe of the song. Then when you blow their heads off with a powerful scream, the performance becomes much more effective and memorable. The whole idea of doing a promo is not to just make jokes and repeat catchphrases, it’s also to make the people watching at home want to buy a ticket to see you. If the promos are good, fans will be familiar with the angles and the personalities and develop an emotional investment in each bout as a result.

  CHAPTER 28

  AIN’T YOU SUPPOSED TO BE A FAMOUS WRESTLER?

  Unfortunately, Jimmy’s business skills didn’t match his promo skills, and he tried to offset our huge guarantees by booking us on personal appearances.

  When we showed up for our first appearance at a furniture store, I had to look in the mirror to make sure I hadn’t transformed into David St. Hubbins because there was nobody there.

  I’m not saying there were only four or five people. I’m saying there was Nobody there. NOOOOOBODY!

  Only Artie Fufkin begging us to “kick this ass for a man” was missing.

  It was embarrassing but the owner of the store wouldn’t let us leave.

  “You gotta stay for two hours. I’m paying you seventy-five bucks each.” I would have paid him the seventy-five myself for the right to split. But we had to sit at a table in the middle of the store on a Saturday afternoon with the customers milling around wondering who the hell the two idiots with the stack of photos in front of them were. A couple of kids finally showed up to hang around the table and one of them said, “Ain’t you supposed to be a famous wrestler? How come nobody is here? Where is everybody?”

  There’s no way to answer that question with any kind of dignity.

  I just smiled and shooed them away. When another kid asked Lance, “Are you a famous pro wrestler?” he deadpanned, “Apparently not.” The kid wilted under Lance’s fuck-off stare and wandered away. The next 112 minutes were long ones indeed.

  The silver lining was that th
e owner of the furniture store had connections in the music business and offered to get me free Metallica tickets. After seeing the huge crowd we’d drawn to his store, it was the least he could do.

  So I drove the three hours to Cincinnati and saw Metallica, Danzig, and Suicidal Tendencies. It was a great show and because of my tight connection with Krazy Kelly’s Kooky Furniture, I got to hang around backstage like a real rock ’n’ roller. I was speechless when I got to meet Metallica’s guitar player Kirk Hammett. I was even more speechless when I asked him for his autograph and he replied, “Only if I can use my boner as a speed bump.”

  Master of Meat Puppets?

  After I drove over Kirk’s kock with my Kamaro, I struck up a conversation with Rob Dibble, a pitcher for the Cincinnati Reds, who’d helped his team win the World Series that year. The power of music once again reared its rockin’ head and after discussing the finer points of thrash metal, he invited me to come hang out. Let me say that hanging out in the VIP section of the hottest clubs in Cincy with a World Series winning pitcher definitely didn’t suck. Rob even lent me his championship ring to wear for the night and I used it to prove to the girls that I was a pitcher for the Reds also.

  Back in SMW, Cornette introduced his new attraction: a pair of angry ghetto dudes called the Gangstas. They came out for their first TV appearance with an entire posse dressed either like Louis Farrakhan with the bow ties around their necks or street thugs with the bandannas hiding their faces. They made gang signs, spoke Ebonics, and mockingly ate watermelons and fried chicken to protest the stereotypical “where all the white women at” portrayal of African Americans by certain segments of society.

  Jimmy was hoping to tap in to the racism of the South by making the Gangstas top heels. But instead of the controversy creating cash, it did the opposite. The sponsors, the television executives, and the fans were all offended. Corny’s act of desperation didn’t work, business suffered, and Smoky Mountain Wrestling was losing ground.

  Cornette didn’t help the situation by returning to the WWF. He’d struck up a working agreement with Vince and in return for Jimmy’s managing skills, Smoky became like a feeder system for the WWF. SMW suffered because Jim was spending less time with his own company. Still, I figured his return would lead to a big break for me and Lance. Certainly some scout from the WWF would discover us now! Except nobody did. The closest we got was an offer to do a weekend of house shows losing to the Bushwhackers, until even that fell through.

  Since it was clear that the WWF had no interest in me, I decided to flaunt my goods to the other show in town when I saw that WCW was coming to Knoxville. It wasn’t a problem getting tickets for the show because I’d received a complimentary pair with my power bill. WCW wasn’t doing very good business and they had to give out free tickets to entice people to show up. But I was a poor independent wrestler so I had no problem using the free ducats in order to suck up for a job.

  I walked the backstage area of the Coliseum in complete awe of the whole setup. Even though I’d wrestled in the same building with Smoky, this was like catching a glimpse of the promised land. Everywhere I looked I saw legendary figures milling around: Sting, Lex Luger, Arn Anderson, the Steiner Brothers, Terra Ryzing. All of them were eating plates of steak and chicken from an overstocked catering table that made the licorice and cupcakes that made up the SMW catering look embarrassing.

  Other guys like Kevin Sullivan and my former AWA idol Greg Gagne seemed to be running the show, holding clipboards and wearing headsets. Tonga was also now with WCW and he introduced me to everyone.

  “This is my friend Chris, I worked with him in Mexico. He’s a great wrestler.”

  It was actually quite embarrassing, but I appreciated the props especially when he brought me to meet the booker of WCW, Ric Flair. If you’re a wrestling fan you appreciate Ric Flair; if you’re a wrestler you idolize him. He’s on the short list of the greatest performers of all time.

  When Flair shook my hand, I noticed two things:

  1. He was immaculately dressed in an expensive suit and tie.

  2. He had a huge schnozz that looked like a plantain stuck in the middle of his face.

  “Nice to meet you, sir.” Why he was calling me sir, I had no idea.

  I was happy just to be talking to him, but when he said, “Let me give you my phone number. Give me a call, and maybe we can arrange a tryout for you,” I was gob-smacked! An invitation to the big time! Even though it wasn’t the WWF, I wasn’t going to take it lightly.

  I carried Flair’s number in my pocket for days, asking myself the same question I’d ask if I’d gotten a phone number from a pretty girl.

  How long do I wait before I make the call? One day? One week?

  Getting a job was more important than getting laid and I had to weigh the factors much more diligently. I finally decided to call two days later.

  That gave Ric a day to recuperate from his travels and another day to settle into his office. I didn’t want to wait too much longer because I was pretty sure he was waiting for my call. I dialed the number on the paper and when a female voice answered, I turned on the Jeri-Charm (taken verbatim from the actual call):

  “Hello, can I speak to Mr. Flair, please?”

  “Who’s speaking?”

  “This is Lion Heart Chris Jericho. The Nature Boy is expecting my call.”

  “Okay.”

  “He’s expecting my call.”

  “Yes, you said that Mr....umm...Heart. Hold on, please.”

  I waited on the line for a while. She came back and said, “Ric is in Aruba right now.”

  “Oh. Well, when should I call back?”

  “He should be back in about a week or so. He’s on vacation. So just leave your number and I’ll have him call you back.”

  I wanted to stall a bit longer and really win over Ric’s secretary with my charisma.

  “Aruba huh? Where is that? Maybe I should fly the both of us over there and we can meet up with Ric? Ha ha.”

  While it was obvious that she was enamored with my suggestion, she covered it up by stoically saying, “Ric will call you.”

  I thought it was a little strange that Flair’s personal secretary had to put me on hold to find out that her boss was in Aruba. It was almost as if she’d lied to me, but I knew THAT would never happen. Nevertheless I didn’t let it discourage me and I called her back one week later to the day.

  “Hi, this is Chris Jericho. Can I speak to Ric please? I spoke with you last week and you told me to call you back.”

  For some reason she acted like she didn’t remember my rapier wit and said, “No, I said he’d call you when he came back from vacation. He’s still in Aruba.”

  On it went.

  “He’s extended his stay for another week.”

  “He’s back from Aruba, but he’s in Charlotte now.”

  “He’s washing his hair.”

  “A dog ate his homework.”

  I finally got the hint, but I couldn’t figure out why he’d given me his number in the first place. It was another fine lesson about the world of wrestling.

  So I was 0-for-2 in landing a spot with one of the big companies in the States and I felt like shit because I’d come to Tennessee with the hopes of springboarding into the big leagues. Instead, I’d springboarded into the same high school gyms that I’d already worked in Canada.

  The situation was complicated further when I got a call from the Japanese company WAR, asking me to come work for them full-time. I’d already done a few tours with them and had impressed them enough that they wanted me to work for them on a monthly basis.

  But if I took the gig it would cause a huge problem. Smoky recorded four weeks of TV in one shot, so if I missed one TV taping I wouldn’t be able to be involved in any of the angles or shows for an entire month.

  The next WAR tour took place during the next SMW taping so I knew there was no way I could work in both companies. I agonized over the decision for days but in the end there was no
way I could turn down a regular gig in Japan. I’d based my career path on Chris Benoit’s and after he made a huge name for himself in Japan, he’d gotten a job with WCW. If working in SMW wasn’t going to get me to the big leagues, then maybe working in the respected environment of Japan would.

  I knew my absence was going to spoil a lot of Jim’s plans, so I dialed his number immediately.

  Jim didn’t understand or appreciate the Japanese style of wrestling and I thought the best way to make him understand my choice was to compare it to a similar situation that he’d been through: “You had a dream to start your own wrestling company and you left WCW and the WWF in order to make it happen. You took a chance and fulfilled your dream. Well, I want to do the same thing. Working in Japan is one of my dreams.”

  To my surprise, he understood and gave me his blessing. I think he was probably relieved that he wouldn’t have to worry about my guarantee anymore. We agreed that he would explain to the fans that I was missing the tapings because I was touring Japan, but it was no secret to either of us that, in the long run, I’d basically given my notice and he’d basically accepted it. However, I still wanted to wrestle for Smoky for as long as I could, and Jimmy still had plans for the Thrillseekers.

  He was planning to run a show at the Knoxville Coliseum that would climax all of the major angles of the year and was so sure of its success, he claimed if it didn’t sell out he would “strip naked and sing ‘Back in Black’ in the center of the ring.”

  Please God, let it sell out.

  One of Cornette’s big plans for the show was to build a feud between the Thrillseekers and the team he managed, the Heavenly Bodies. The Bodies were made up of Tom Pritchard and Jimmy Del Ray and had been the top heel team until they’d lost a loser-leaves-SMW match, which was an excuse for them to start full-time with the WWF. Cornette received permission from Vince to bring them back for his big show. It was to be our biggest win and the beginning of a serious push for the Seekers.