Death Clutch

by Brock Lesnar

  It was a smart strategy on Vince’s part. Hey, just the cost of living was hard enough to manage, but I was funding a lawsuit for my freedom. I knew I couldn’t back down, but paying all these legal fees was bleeding me dry.

  I told my lawyers to cut a deal for me with New Japan, but the Inokis were leery of getting sued by WWE.

  Oh, did I forget to tell you that WWE stopped all my royalty payments when they decided to sue me?

  I had no income, and everyone was scared of the big bad monster WWE and their legal tactics. I can see how Vince beats all these other guys into submission. He almost did it to me.

  I had to think long and hard about what to do next. Do I just cave in, suck it up, do what I have to do to make a living? Do I keep fighting this uphill battle, where I have to pay two sets of lawyers, against a company that appears to be intentionally running up my legal tab as a defensive strategy?

  It took me a little while, but I finally made the decision to keep fighting. I could never look at myself in the mirror if I just tucked my tail between my legs and put up with the way WWE was trying to treat me. I had my lawyers finalize my deal with New Japan so I could have a few bucks to live on while I spent everything else on the lawsuit.

  When I cut my deal with New Japan, I made sure to get Brad Rheingans in on it, because I wanted to use his experience with New Japan’s management to my advantage, and keep him by my side in all my dealings. Plus, I figured going to Japan would be a great experience. I’d pick up some excellent coin, eat some fresh sushi, have some good times with Brad, and deliver a great big “screw you” to Vince.

  That’s how I entered the world of Japanese professional wrestling.

  NEW JAPAN PRO WRESTLING

  My first match in Japan was a Triple Threat Match against Fujita and Chono on October 8, 2005. It really didn’t matter who they put in the ring with me: I knew the Japanese crowds were looking for a monster heel. They wanted someone they could “ooh” and “aah” about, and I was going to be that guy. I was happy to be working and making money again, but my whole time there, I was waiting for bad news to drop at any moment. That’s the mind game a lawsuit plays with you.

  As soon as New Japan started advertising my first match, the WWE lawyers tried to stop me from appearing. They threatened New Japan, and claimed they were going to get an injunction to prevent me from doing the match. Right up until the time I stepped on the plane to Japan, I was actually expecting my lawyers to call me on my cell and say, “Go back home, Brock, WWE pulled such-and-such legal maneuver, and the match is off.”

  Lucky for me, WWE’s lawyers were full of shit. WWE never sued New Japan, and they never got an injunction to prevent me from working my scheduled match. But that wasn’t the end of the hassle.

  I was scheduled to wrestle on a couple of shows in Japan in December, and then go back to work their big annual show on January 4, 2006. I thought all of the shows would go off without a hitch, because while the WWE’s legal dogs had barked a lot, they had shown themselves to have no bite. They made all these threats about forcing me to sit out the October show, and they kept backing down every time. I thought it was a case of the Boy Who Cried Wolf.

  I was wrong.

  Right before I headed out to Japan for the December shows, WWE filed what is called a Motion for Temporary Restraining Order, or a “TRO.” I wasn’t too well versed in these legal terms at the time, but I’ve sure learned them thanks to my “hard-way education” from World Wrestling Entertainment and their team of attorneys. WWE asked the judge who was presiding over our lawsuit to issue an immediate injunction against me that would prevent me from wrestling on the New Japan shows. If I decided to ignore the TRO, I would be in contempt of court.

  My lawyers fought back, but the judge was taking his time in making a decision. You can’t tell a judge to hurry up “because Brock wants to know whether to get on the plane to Japan or not,” so during my whole flight over to Japan, I’m wondering if I’m even going to get to work when I land. I kept thinking how pissed off I was going to be if I had to turn right back around once I landed in Japan because the judge ruled against me and in favor of WWE.

  The judge, however, never granted the TRO, and I wrestled on . . . and got paid for . . . the December shows. When I got back to the United States, I was told that WWE “formally withdrew” its motion, because they knew it was a loser. They never really wanted the judge to make a decision. In my opinion, WWE’s motion, like most of their threats, was just a legal form of harassment intended to make me lose sleep and spend as much money as possible on lawyers. I went back to Japan again for their major annual show on January 4, 2006, and did a few more shows after that. I’m sure it burned Vince’s ass that he couldn’t do anything to stop me.

  I was a vengeful person for many years. “An eye for an eye” wasn’t just a saying to me: it was a way of life. In time, I’ve come to learn just how much this kind of negativity wears you down, but back then I wasn’t ready to accept that truth. My finishing maneuver in New Japan was the very same one I used in WWE.

  In WWE, it was called the F-5. In New Japan, it was called “The Verdict.”

  That was my way of sending a message to Vince and his geek squad lawyers.

  I planned on kicking WWE’s ass in court, and I wanted the world to know I was still a top dog whose bite was every bit as bad as his bark, if not badder. Once the Inokis realized that Vince was not going to be able to stop me from wrestling for them, they went ahead and built their company around me. We were off to the races, and before anyone knew it, I beat Fujita and Chono in a Triple Threat Match to win the IWGP World Heavyweight Title.

  One of my old coaches used to tell me that 80 percent of the things we spend our time worrying and having nightmares about never actually happen. We spend so much of our lives racking our brains about things that will never materialize. It’s all such a waste of valuable time, but I’ll be the first to admit I didn’t understand this until I got into UFC and focused on the truly important things in life. Back when I had to travel all the way to Japan just to earn a living, the sword was still at my throat, and it was tough to have a positive outlook on anything.

  With all that negativity around me, it didn’t take long for me to get back on that vodka-and-Vicodin kick. Brad called me the other day to ask about this book, and he was reminding me of a match I had with a Japanese wrestler named Nakanishi. Brad thought it was one of the best matches he ever saw me fight, and we both remembered that I was half shooting on the poor guy. Unfortunately, that’s all I remember about the match. Brad remembers so much more about it, but when you’re poisoning your system with pills and alcohol, your memory is one of the first things that gets affected.

  I can come up with a lot of reasons why I got back on that drugs-and-booze train again, but they’re all excuses. My back was killing me at the time, and I was in constant pain. I went into the hospital for an MRI and found out I had ruptured two vertebrae, which meant I was flying across the world to wrestle with a broken back. The doctors were telling me my situation was serious enough that they were strongly recommending surgery. No thanks. Not for me. I knew too many athletes who had back surgeries, and never recovered. I was going to get through it on my own. But that’s a lot easier said than done!

  I was having what is called “strong style” matches against all the top guys New Japan had to offer. In WWE, everyone performs a very “safe” style, or as safe as professional wrestling can be, given that the company is built on the name “Entertainment.” In New Japan Pro Wrestling, the wrestlers go out of their way to try to convince the audience that pro wrestling is still somewhat for real. The office actually encourages the wrestlers to go out there and beat the hell out of each other. If someone gets hurt, it’s considered “good for the business.”

  I didn’t mind wrestling “strong style,” but doing it with two ruptured vertebrae was just plain stupid of me. I’d ge
t back into my locker room with Brad and just collapse from the pain. I wasn’t about to let anyone know how I was really feeling, so the only way to mask it all was to swallow more Vicodins and wash them down with more vodka.

  I’m so blessed that I’m alive to tell this story, because there are a lot of people who went through the same thing as me who aren’t around today.

  Thank God I woke up one morning and decided that enough was enough. I knew if I kept on living this way, I would one day just stop living. Eventually, the odds catch up to you. There’s no escaping the inevitability that something will go wrong. Whether it’s choking on your own vomit while you’re sleeping, or falling down when you’re all messed up and smashing your head, there’s too many ways to screw up when you’ve dulled your own senses to the point that you’re numb to everything.

  So I just stopped, cold turkey. I didn’t stop because I went to some WWE-sponsored rehab. I didn’t stop because I went into therapy, or counseling, or anything like that. I stopped because I wanted to see my daughter, Mya, grow up, and I knew I wasn’t going to be there for her if I kept going in the wrong direction.

  My timing couldn’t have been better. The Inokis were having a lot of internal problems with their company, and I knew that New Japan was on a downswing. My time in their organization was quickly coming to an end, but I wanted to go out with a bang. That’s where Akebono comes into the picture.

  Akebono was a big-time national superstar in Japan. Even though he was originally from Hawaii and not Japan, he was respected as a legitimate sports icon, a folk hero, because he was a dominant Japanese sumo champion. I was happy when the Inokis told me they wanted me to do a match with him, because I knew we could build it up as the great big American heel champion against the even bigger Japanese sumo legend. I saw big dollar signs in that matchup.

  Akebono is another giant of a man who has a great big heart. I believe we could have drawn big money against each other if the Inokis had played their cards right. I called Akebono “Big Chad,” and he was one of the few guys in the wrestling business I considered to be a friend. I wanted to make our matchup mean something so that we could enjoy a long program and make a lot of money with each other.

  But the Inokis had no long-term vision for Brock Lesnar vs. Akebono. They wanted me to beat him, right on television. I couldn’t believe it. Why would they want me to kill what could be a great feud with one match on free TV?

  Now I understood one of the reasons why Steve Austin had been so angry that day in Atlanta when WWE wanted to hotshot our first match on Monday Night Raw.

  Because I’m a stubborn bastard, I demanded that we do what’s called a “fuck finish,” so we could come back with a rematch down the road. I had this idea about me and Big Chad doing all these big-man spots, and at the right time I’d smack him in the head with the IWGP title belt. The Inokis kept wanting me to just beat Big Chad, but I wore them down until they agreed to do the finish my way.

  So Big Chad and I go out to the ring, and we’re doing all the typical spots big powerful guys do against each other. We do the shoulder tackle attempts where no one budges, the spot where I run into the ropes and collide with Big Chad, or he comes charging into me and we both end up in each other’s faces.

  When it came time for the finish, I cracked him upside his big melon head with the title belt just like I planned. Big Chad dropped to the canvas, I covered him, and the entire arena went quiet. Dead silence. Not a single sound from the crowd. The audience wasn’t buying it. They didn’t pay to see a “fuck finish,” and they’re too intelligent to buy into a cheap horseshit heel victory like that. What a dumb-ass mistake I had just made!

  The referee dropped down and started counting, and I’m saying to Big Chad, “Kick out, you son of a bitch, kick out.” One . . . two . . . and the instant before the referee hits the canvas for the three count, Big Chad gets his arm up in the air, and the people went nuts.

  We ended up doing some ridiculous finish that served no purpose except to piss off the Inokis, but at least Big Chad cared enough to give them the best match we could manage, and I think, all things considered, it was one hell of a match.

  The fact that Big Chad and I could put together a solid match didn’t surprise me. He’s a trained athlete with a lot of pride, and so am I. What did surprise me was that the Inokis didn’t try to get me to drop the title before I left Japan. They probably knew better than to make me feel like I was being backed into a corner, because I was already pissed off that they started playing games with my money.

  I thought I was being smart when I went to Japan, because I insisted on private transportation, first-class hotel accommodations with all expenses paid, you name it. If I have to travel halfway around the world to work, at least I’m going to be comfortable while I’m over there.

  Part of my deal with New Japan was also to get paid up front. My lawyers set up an escrow account in the United States, and our deal was that I don’t get on a plane until the Inokis wire my money into that account. Then, when my match is over, the money is released directly to me so I never have to worry about going over to Japan and getting stiffed on my payoff. The system worked . . . for a while.

  On one of my last trips to Japan, I didn’t get all my money up front, but I got on the plane anyway. I figured the Inokis needed me because I was their champion, and I wasn’t going to step into their ring until I got the word that all of my money had been deposited into the U.S. account. What could go wrong?

  Plenty. But I should have known that. Another lesson in life. And, I guess, an interesting story for this book.

  When my match was over, the Inokis threw me onto the bus with all the other boys headed to the airport. What the hell? It was in my contract that I was supposed to have a car and driver from the time I land in Japan until the time I’m dropped off at the airport to go home. That bus ride is just brutal, and I wanted no part of it. The Inokis knew I wasn’t expecting to end up riding the bus, and I kept wondering to myself why they would give the IWGP World Heavyweight Champion such a bush-league send-off.

  What game were they trying to play with me?

  I had been schooled on all sorts of shenanigans the Inokis could try and pull on me. Brad had smartened me up to a famous negotiating trick the Inokis liked to use. They take you to lunch or dinner, and then just stare at you, trying to make you feel uncomfortable. They want you to do all the talking so that you reveal your cards and expose your own business strategy. The first three times I met with the Inokis, that’s exactly how they tried to play me.

  Thanks to Brad, I was wise to that tactic, so it didn’t work with me. I would stare back at the Inokis, and talk about whatever popped into my head. I’d keep saying things like, “How about this weather?”; “This food is really great”; “What a beautiful country you have.” I would go on about anything and everything . . . except business. I knew their game, and I was ready for it. That probably drove them crazy.

  Another game I was ready for was the Inoki Slap. I guess part of the initiation over in Japan is that all the newcomers end up getting slapped by Antonio Inoki, who is a living legend over there. I let them know where I stood on that one right away. No one was going to slap me. Not Inoki. Not anyone. They got the point.

  But when they threw me on the bus with everyone else, I looked over at Brad, who had seen it all in Japan. Even he didn’t know what was coming next, so we knew to be prepared for anything.

  When we got to the airport, Simon Inoki comes up to me and says in this soft-spoken, respectful tone, “Mr. Lesnar, you should leave the title belt with me, because we want to polish it up for you and fix the rhinestones so that the belt looks very nice for when you come back to Japan!”

  The Inokis had to know there was a chance I wasn’t coming back, so that meant there was a possibility they were going to ask me to turn over the title belt. I was one up on them, though, because I had the title belt buried
all the way at the bottom of my suitcase … and you can just imagine what my grip on that suitcase must have been like. I was holding on for dear life, because they still hadn’t paid me, and I wanted to keep their title belt as an insurance policy. As long as I had possession of the IWGP Heavyweight Championship belt, I knew they would find a way to come up with the money they owed me.

  As polite as Simon was to me, I was even more polite to him. I thanked him for the offer to take care of the belt for me, but told him that I was planning on polishing it myself back home, and that I was going to make the rhinestones look nice for the New Japan fans.

  Always trying to stay one step ahead of everyone, the Inokis must have anticipated my response, because Simon had a couple of the New Japan wrestlers with him. It looked to me and Brad like they were going to try to strong-arm me for the title belt. They had the advantage because I was a foreigner on their home turf and didn’t speak the language, and if security jumped in they could say anything they wanted to. But, when those guys tried to intimidate us, Brad and I stared right back at them as we backed ten steps to the ticket counter, where I just let them know in no uncertain terms, “I’m taking the title with me!”

  There was nothing they could do at that point unless they wanted to create a major incident in an international airport, so Brad and I checked in and got on the plane with the title belt still in my possession. I had heard New Japan was talking to TNA about a joint promotion, and it was easy to figure out that they were going to want me to come back and drop the title. That gave me a lot of negotiating leverage. I had something they wanted, and they had the money to pay me, so I used that to my advantage.