Death Clutch

by Brock Lesnar

  Of course, Vince kept telling me how good it would be for my character to drop the title to Eddie, and then take on Goldberg. “You can beat Goldberg in thirty seconds. He’s leaving, so I don’t care. We can get Austin involved, and it’s going to be the biggest match on the card. WrestleMania 20. Madison Square Garden. Brock Lesnar vs. Bill Goldberg, and Stone Cold Steve Austin will be out there as the special guest referee. It’s big box office, it’s pure money.”

  I knew what this was about. Vince was selling me hard on WrestleMania because he wanted to get the title on Eddie Guerrero. Vince kept telling me how the Latino audience was growing, and this was the right move for business. But after what happened in Miami, our relationship had already gone south. I never believed another word that came out of Vince’s mouth. I no longer had any faith whatsoever in the Federation.

  But Vince isn’t the only one that screwed me.

  LEAVING WWE

  I was getting angrier and angrier. I couldn’t get any time off. My body was hurting. I was going through a lot of personal drama. I was pissed off about the way things went down in Miami, and I certainly wasn’t happy about being replaced by Eddie Guerrero as WWE Champion.

  I remembered how every step up the ladder was worth more money to me, and now I’m looking at going back down that ladder?

  I don’t talk to a lot of people from the company nowadays, and it was the same story during my time in WWE. I didn’t like how untrustworthy so many of the boys were, but I thought there were a few people I could count on. Kurt Angle was supposed to be one of those people. Then something happened that caused me to wonder.

  I had many conversations with Kurt, but I soon found out those conversations didn’t remain strictly between us. It’s unfortunate I had to learn that lesson the hard way.

  I knew that at any given moment, anybody in that locker room would stab you in the back if they could get away with it. They all wanted a better place on the card. Everyone wanted to make more money, to have the best matches, get the biggest push. It’s no secret in the pro wrestling business that you have to watch your back at all times. Everyone is put in the position to double-cross the other guy to get ahead. Sometimes, they want to see if you’re willing to be that ruthless, because Vince likes to see his top guys fight for the number one position.

  Kurt and I should have had a bond. We both rose to the top in amateur wrestling. We were both real athletes, true competitors. But at the same time, Kurt wanted my position just like everyone else in the locker room. He just wanted what I had.

  Vince never looked at Kurt the way he looked at me. Kurt had that Olympic Gold Medal, but Vince and HHH didn’t see an Olympic Champion. They only saw a five-foot nine-inch guy in tights. In their minds, fans pay to see the huge guys perform. Kurt could never be “bigger than life.” It didn’t matter how good he was in the ring, Kurt just wasn’t tall enough or big enough to be Vince McMahon’s top guy for any length of time.

  Believing I could trust Kurt, I told him I was thinking of getting out of the business. I didn’t tell anyone else, and he said he wouldn’t either. But soon after I confided in him, I became convinced that Vince knew I was planning to leave. Did Kurt stooge me out?

  At the time, Kurt and I were traveling together, and I was already thinking something was up with him just from the way he was acting. Then, one day, I went out to move the rental car, and saw Kurt’s cell phone on the seat next to me. I opened it up, and the last call made was to Vince McMahon. Does that prove anything? Maybe, maybe not. But from that day forward I kept my mouth shut, and didn’t say anything to Kurt that I didn’t want anyone else to know.

  I dropped the WWE title to Eddie Guerrero at the Cow Palace in San Francisco. The whole story line was centered on Bill Goldberg getting into the ring and giving me a spear. I didn’t believe Vince wanted the title on Eddie Guerrero because he thought Eddie would draw more money than I could, or that Vince had this vision in his head about me versus Goldberg at WrestleMania. I suspected Vince made the decision to take the title off me because Kurt had told him I was thinking about leaving.

  I started to concentrate on just getting through WrestleMania, and getting my hands on that nice payday before getting out. You know it never works out that way, of course, because just as I was getting my head into survival mode, WWE pulled another bullshit move on me.

  We were scheduled to go to South Africa, and that’s just a miserable trip. It’s on the other side of the world. The food sucks. It’s a long trip to get there, and a long trip back. There’s nothing good about it except you can make some good money when you’re in the main event.

  I was scheduled to wrestle in those main events against Kurt and Eddie in Triple Threat matches for all four South Africa shows, but right before we left the United States, the WWE changed the main events to just Kurt vs. Eddie. I was told the two of them needed to get their match down for WrestleMania, which meant I was stuck wrestling Bob Holly, who I had just beat in four minutes at The Royal Rumble.

  I like Bob. He’s a good guy and he takes his shit seriously, but I didn’t want to work with him. Nothing against him, but wrestling Bob Holly wasn’t worth anything to me at the time.

  We did our match at The Royal Rumble, and that should have been the end of our story line. But now I have to travel all the way to South Africa to work with Bob Holly? Could anyone please tell me why? I knew no one would pay to see that match. Since I’m not really needed, give me some time off. I really needed the break by this time, but John Laurinaitis told me how much I’m needed on the card. AGAINST BOB HOLLY? Are you shitting me?

  I knew the truth. I was just on the card, taking up space. That’s not where I wanted to be. It’s never where I wanted to be.

  Even today, at this very moment, I’m still pissed at myself for getting on the plane to South Africa. I should have just walked. The trip sucked all around, the money wasn’t worth the time and aggravation, and I drank all the way back to the United States. I spent fifty-four miserable hours on an airplane that trip.

  When we landed at JFK Airport in New York, we got herded like cattle onto a bus over to LaGuardia Airport, where we were supposed to get on another plane and head to Atlanta. Once we get to Atlanta, we’re supposed to take this little puddle jumper to Savannah. Once the crew would get to Savannah, it’s back to the same old monotonous daily grind again. Get your bags. Grab a rental car. Find a gym. Look for something to eat. Hope for some sleep, because you have to be ready the next morning to spend your whole day taping TV.

  That’s when I snapped.

  Nathan Jones had lost his mind a month earlier, and he was just minutes away from wrestling in his hometown in Australia. But the weird thing is that, when Nathan snapped, I kept thinking that everything he was saying made sense.

  “Nothing is worth this stress” . . . “It’s all games, but then they tell you how seriously they take their own business” . . . “I just don’t want to be here anymore.”

  So we land at JFK and get bussed over to LaGuardia, and that’s when I started drinking again. I was sitting at the airport bar, and I decided right then and there that I wasn’t going to get on yet another airplane and go all the way to Savannah. Why? So I could wrestle Bob Holly again? I had no idea what they had in store for me at the TV taping, and I didn’t care. I had enough. This was it. The end of the line. I was going home.

  I got up from the bar, walked through the airport to the ticket desk, and bought my own plane ticket to Minneapolis. When I got on the plane headed home, I ordered another drink to celebrate, but they cut me off. I wasn’t happy about being refused alcohol, and I almost caused a major scene that could have turned out really ugly. Not a smart move on my part, but when your head is all full with this other nonsense . . .

  Lucky for me I wasn’t kicked off the plane and I made it home. Those poor flight attendants. They could have blown the whistle on me, but they didn’t. I gu
ess this is my chance to say “I’m sorry” in a pretty public way to them, and thanks for not making a bad day a whole lot worse.

  I had it in my head that I wasn’t going to do the TV taping in Savannah. In fact, I was going to pull a Steve Austin. I was home, and I wasn’t leaving again. Not to go back on the road. No way that was going to happen! This is where I can say I really understood what Austin was thinking that day he walked out, and why I never took it personally. When Steve walked out, it wasn’t about working with me. It was about everything but me.

  I didn’t want to leave because of Eddie Guerrero, or Bob Holly, or anyone else. I just had to get out. I had lost my faith, which happened because I had no family after being on the road three hundred days a year, and all I had was the Federation. How could I provide a nice life for my daughter if she never got a chance to see me? And what kind of financial rewards could I earn if I am slowly being worked back down the ladder? I was finally thinking clearly, or so I thought.

  I don’t know why I got on my plane the next morning and flew to Savannah, but I did. I think Rena talked me into it. “Go to Savannah, settle up face-to-face with Vince, handle your business the right way.”

  I love that woman.

  When I showed up at the building in Savannah, the producer told me I was supposed to go nine minutes on TV with Bob Holly. I blew a gasket. I went straight to Gerry Brisco, and told him, “You recruited me, so I want you to know I’m leaving. I’m outta here.”

  I wanted to tell Vince to his face, too. I had dropped the title to Eddie Guerrero so WWE could draw with the Latino market, and my match with Goldberg at WrestleMania is supposed to be so big the title isn’t needed to sell it? I’m supposed to crush Bill Goldberg at Mania in thirty seconds, but I can’t get through Bob Holly in nine minutes?

  I remember watching Brisco look for Vince, and I was just boiling. Vince was in the ring with HHH, so I just walked up to him and said, “We need to chat.” Not understanding how serious I was, Vince made me wait a few minutes. I was only getting hotter and hotter, so I interrupted his conversation and told him we needed to sit down and talk immediately.

  We went into his office, and I told Vince I was done, “going home.” I had no desire to wrestle Bob Holly on TV, didn’t want to wrestle that night period, and just wanted to leave. Vince said, “Well, Brock, what about WrestleMania? You can’t leave on bad terms that way!”

  I’ll never forget his next line. “You can’t do this to me.”

  All I could think of was, “DO THIS TO YOU?” I didn’t know what Vince thought I was doing to him, but whatever was going on was something I no longer wanted any part of!

  I agreed to stay on through WrestleMania, but only because I wanted that payday from my match with Goldberg. I trimmed down my match on TV with Bob Holly to a few minutes, wrestled that night, got showered and dressed, and jumped back on my plane.

  Rena rode home on my plane with me, and I felt relieved. I was going to leave the company. Stupid me, I let Vince talk me into dragging it out all the way to WrestleMania, but if I didn’t agree to that, they probably wouldn’t have paid me a lot of the money they owed me already. So financially, it was smart to agree to stay through Mania.

  I know Vince was pissed off. In his universe, I was ungrateful. I had turned around and spit in his face. But it’s not like he shouldn’t have seen it coming. How many times did I tell him I needed time off? How many times did I tell him I wasn’t happy with the life, or what it was doing to me? Vince always had his stock reply: “Brock, you’re so much tougher than that.”

  But it wasn’t about being tough. It was about having a life. A year or two bouncing around town to town, bar to bar, girl to girl, Vicodin to Vicodin, vodka bottle to vodka bottle, is not a life.

  I loved being in the ring and performing. Bringing people to their feet. Getting people to hate my character. Entertaining the fans. I had a great time doing all of that, especially when I got to work with people I liked. But I wanted to have a family, too, and I knew there was no way to do that with the schedule I worked. I don’t hate professional wrestling, and I certainly don’t hate the people in it. Life on the road is just not for me. It’s not the life I choose to live.

  When the time came, I made my announcement and told everyone I was leaving the WWE. From that day forward I became the outcast. None of the guys wanted to be seen with me, because I was the bad apple. I was turning my back on the wrestling business—their business, their life. I was leaving. I was jumping off the train. They couldn’t understand it, because that train was the only ride most of these guys would ever know.

  I didn’t care, because I had made my choice. I still walked around like I owned the place, because there wasn’t one guy in that company who could even hold my jockstrap. If I wanted to shoot on anyone in that locker room at any time, there wasn’t a thing anyone could have done about it. I could have stretched every single one of them out. But that’s not what the business is about, so I tried to be good about it. Be a professional. Do my job. Earn my check. Be a provider for my family.

  My daughter, Mya, changed my life. I wanted to be there for her, wanted to watch her grow up. So many of these guys, with their multiple ex-wives, and broken-up families in different states, missed everything that’s really important in life. I didn’t want that, and I didn’t want that for my daughter either. She deserves a real father.

  Don’t get me wrong. There were a lot of good things about working for WWE. I made a lot of money, even though I spent quite a bit of it trying to get out of my contract. I became famous, which did help me when I wanted a chance in the UFC. I learned about promotion and marketing. But the best thing was meeting my wife. If I hadn’t been in WWE, I wouldn’t have met Rena. She’s given me two healthy sons, and she’s been wonderful with Mya. When I say I’m a man who has been blessed by God, I mean it.

  Rena stood by my decision to leave WWE, which wasn’t easy for her because she was still with the company at the time. But she could tell there was no way I was going to stay any longer. Besides the lifestyle and all the bullshit, I wanted to compete and get back into athletics again. I thought maybe I would give pro football a try.

  But, in my desperation to get out of WWE, I made the biggest mistake of my life. I signed a release that included a noncompete clause.

  Vince was pissed at me because we had just done the new deal in July 2003, and he claimed it was the best deal he ever gave any wrestler. But by then I didn’t care about the money or the contract. I had money, and I just wanted to be done with Vince.

  At the time, I didn’t know I was going to pursue a career in mixed martial arts, or try to get into UFC. I had no idea I was going to wrestle in Japan. I thought I was headed into the NFL, but that wasn’t the main thing on my mind. All I could think about was getting away from Vince, and escaping the WWE lifestyle. Everything else was secondary.

  Vince finally said he would let me go, but he wanted me to sign a release agreement. This time, I thought it would probably be a good idea to have my lawyer look at the document before I signed it. I was sitting in a hotel somewhere when I got the release from Vince, and I faxed it to my lawyer in Minneapolis. He called me, said he would look at it, and then would fax back a marked-up copy to discuss with me.

  But I got impatient. I just wanted out. I never intended to compete with Vince and WWE, and I didn’t care if Vince’s agreement said I couldn’t. So before my attorney even had a chance to comment, I signed Vince’s release. I thought it would be quick and easy, I would get my WrestleMania payday, and I’d be done with pro wrestling forever. I couldn’t have been more wrong.

  What I didn’t know, because I didn’t wait to hear back from my lawyer, is that while my WWE contract had a one-year noncompete clause, the release I signed was much different.

  Just to avoid the hassles of lawyers negotiating and everything that happens when you’re leaving, I signed a release th
at stated I couldn’t appear for any wrestling, ultimate fighting, or “sports entertainment” companies, anywhere in the world, until mid-2010.

  With one stroke of the pen, I royally screwed myself over. I went from not being able to wrestle in TNA (Vince’s only televised U.S. competitor) for a year, to not being able to wrestle, fight, or do anything in “sports entertainment” worldwide for almost six years. I had just turned twenty-seven years old. If I didn’t fight that non-compete clause, I would have been forced to stay out of work until I was thirty-three . . . which happens to be my age at the time I’m writing this book. Everything I’ve accomplished since that final match at Madison Square Garden with Bill Goldberg would never have happened. The prime of my career would have been spent sitting on the bench.

  I guess the old expression “you live and you learn” applies here. It cost me nearly a year and a lot of money to fight that noncompete clause. But that’s in the past, and I won my freedom. I have my family. I love my life. I don’t walk around thinking about it. It’s the past. That part of my life is over.

  CLOSURE

  It’s fitting that my last match in WWE was against Bill Goldberg, and the referee was Steve Austin, because Bill and Steve are two guys I really like. It’s a shame that I didn’t get to know either one of them very well until after we all got out of the business.

  Steve’s a good guy. I thought Steve was going to be a WWE Lifer, but he surprised me and everyone else. I don’t have any regrets about my time in WWE, and I certainly don’t have any regrets about leaving, but I sometimes wish that Steve and I had one match during the time our paths crossed. That would have been interesting, because his character and my character would have been natural enemies. That makes for great box office.

  Steve had this rough edge to him, a no-bullshit kind of guy. He was also a lot more into the politics than I was. I was always so black and white on every issue, but Steve could always find some gray. Steve and I could have drawn a lot of money against each other. That would have been something special. Who knows? Maybe one day, we’ll do it.