The Three Count

by Jimmy Korderas

  The only thing I thought to ask was, “Where am I going to be while this match takes place?” I was told that I would not have to enter the pool during the match. I was to remain on the outside and help the ladies out of the pool afterwards. That’s when my Spidey senses started to tingle. I had a sneaking suspicion that I was in for a little surprise.

  Watching the crew set up the gravy bowl/pool was enlightening. Not only did they fill it with freezing cold water, they dumped an enormous amount of powdered gravy mix and began to stir the concoction with rowing oars. Don’t ask me where they got the oars. The more I surveyed the situation, the more I thought about my IFB pack. The IFB pack is a small receiver refs carry in their back pockets with a wire that runs up on the inside of the ref’s shirt and is attached to an earpiece so the producer can communicate with us. If by some happenstance I were to somehow make my way into the pool, how would I keep the IFB dry?

  Always trying to be proactive, I went to see Richie Posner. Posner was in charge of the “special” projects, and I’ll just leave it at that for now. I explained the issue I was having with keeping my receiver dry and, as usual, he had a brilliant idea. Richie walked over to one of his road cases, opened a drawer, and pulled out two condoms. You read that right, two condoms. He suggested encasing the IFB inside the two condoms, I suppose in case one broke, and tying off the end tightly so that no liquid could seep in if I were to get wet (pun intended).

  It was now time for the match. Me and my double-bagged IFB were ready. Trish and Stacy began the match by throwing food at each other. I totally forgot to mention the pies earlier but they were abundant as well. Eventually, the ladies made their way towards the pool and, lo and behold, into the gravy bowl they went. If I was sure my wife would never read this story, I would comment on having the best seat in the house, so let’s just say two beautiful and very wet divas in tight clinging dresses . . . sorry, drifted off there for a second, but I’m back now. After splashing around in the gravy for a few minutes, Trish put Stacy in a modified camel clutch. Stacy tapped in the gravy and the match was over.

  Of course, being the gentleman I am, I first assisted Trish out of the pool and raised her hand, declaring her the winner and still women’s champ. I then went over to help Stacy out of the pool. I gave her a helping hand. She took it and stepped out. She then turned to me and began screaming. Just as I was about to say something, Stacy reared back and shoved me as hard as she could. The only problem was that the gravy-filled pool was now behind me. In I went, looking like a guy who fell off the back of a speedboat that just hit the gas. I wonder if George Clooney has to deal with this sort of thing.

  As I struggled to get to my feet, another thought popped into my head. Not only was my referee uniform soaked, my ref shoes were now drenched and weighed what felt like 20 pounds each. It was going to be really tough to get my shoes dry but I had to get the smell out of my ref clothes as well. As I turned to exit the knee-deep liquid, I noticed that my referee brothers and others were gathered and having a grand old time laughing at my expense. Never one to disappoint, I pretended to have trouble getting out of the pool and took a pratfall landing back into the gravy. Everyone popped big time for my little gag. After doing a little backstroke, I made a second try to exit the pool and took an even bigger bump back in the gravy. Everyone was now in stitches. Everyone that is except Gerald Brisco. That was when I discovered that my IFB was still working. Mr. Brisco sounded annoyed when he said, “All right, Jimmy, that’s enough, let’s go. We have a show to finish!” I finally got out of the pool and made my way to the locker room. I took off my wet clothes and shoes, put them in a large Ziploc bag, showered, and prepared to help with dismantling the ring.

  The next morning it was off to the airport to catch the flight home. I normally do not check my bag and just carry it on the plane. This time, there was no way I was bringing my luggage on board. The odour from my wet clothes and shoes was lingering. Even with them sealed in the Ziploc bag. I could not subject the other passengers to the stale gravy aroma emanating from my carry-on bag. I also don’t think that two showers and my Cool Water cologne were enough to mask my own distinct fragrance. I may have been just a little funky that morning. At first I felt terrible for my fellow passengers but that changed when I remembered that I had been subjected to some nasty-smelling flyers plenty of times and I didn’t think my funk was all that bad. Let them deal with it.

  From that day on, the mere smell of gravy just turned me off. It took several years for me to get over my dislike for gravy. I don’t mind it so much these days but every once in a while, I have flashbacks whenever I go swimming.

  Chapter 15

  Tales from Outside the Ring

  While the ring provided me with countless fond memories, the road and my dealings with the cast of characters I was surrounded by made for some of the best times for me. So much happened in my 20-plus-year career, you might say the comedy just writes itself. I’d like to tell you some of those stories. I don’t know where to start. Why don’t I just give you whatever pops into my head? It likely will not be in chronological order but does that really matter? I think not, so here goes.

  The first thing that comes to my mind is golf. That’s right, golf. It is the one activity that I truly enjoy more than any other, besides being a part of wrestling of course. Thanks to wrestling and in particular the WWE, I have had the great pleasure of golfing around the world. Some of the places we have golfed are Scotland, South Africa, Australia, Europe, and of course all over North America. The person I golfed with the most was Larry Heck, the WWE’s athletic trainer. Larry and I are good friends and share a passion for golfing. Whenever we had a day off on the road, we would arrange to hit the links. We were frequently joined by some of the WWE superstars. Booker T is a huge golf enthusiast and joined us many times. He is quite good as well. I know what many of you are thinking. Many of you might find it hard to picture professional wrestlers golfing, but everyone from Spike Dudley to the Big Show has joined us for a round.

  One member of the roster who joined Larry and me many times was JBL. In my opinion, and I hate to admit this, JBL is probably the best golfer of the WWE. There was one small concern whenever anyone golfed with JBL, he liked to have a few “pops” while he played. He also bought enough “pop” for everyone, so it would have been inconsiderate to not accept his generosity. Okay, he didn’t really twist our arms to drink, but by the time we got to the turn, JBL was restocking the cooler. The other thing JBL liked to do while we golfed was play drinking games. For example, if one of us had a two-foot putt, JBL would shout, “If you miss that putt, you have to chug a beer.” Now 99 times out of 100 I make that putt. Unfortunately once there are consequences involved, other than costing me a stroke, I will invariably miss an easy two-footer.

  It wasn’t really fair to us normal humans because JBL’s tolerance level to beer was at least five times that of Larry’s and mine. The other thing that astonished us humanoids was the more that JBL drank, the better his golf game got. It was uncanny how much farther and more accurately he hit the ball. I hate to out him like that but it is the stuff legends are made of.

  The WWE also does some charity golf tournaments that benefit so many worthwhile causes. I had the great fortune of participating in the Road to Summer Slam 2005 golf tourney with all proceeds going to Ronald McDonald House in my hometown of Toronto. Whether it’s golfing with John Cena in Scotland, the Undertaker and Big Show in Australia, or Booker T and JBL all over the United States, I got to experience the sport of golf unlike anyone else I know, besides Larry Heck of course. Combining my two passions, wrestling and golf — it really doesn’t get much better than that. It really made me feel like the luckiest man on the planet.

  Not all of my non-ring memories revolved around golf alone. Some happened at the arena, just not in the ring. I had so much fun being the voice of Kaientai on a few occasions. It was a last-minute thing I was not prepared for but had t
o do. You see, Shoichi Funaki and Taka Michinoku were the two remaining members of the Japanese faction. As part of their ring entrance, they would stop at the top of the ramp and deliver a promo. Only it wasn’t Taka or Funaki speaking. Both knew limited English so their voice was dubbed for the promo by Brother Love himself, Bruce Prichard. It was done in a way to mimic how English was overdubbed in classic kung fu movies where the actors’ mouth and spoken words are not in sync. It was actually quite funny as Taka would begin by berating their opponents before handing the mic to Funaki who would move his lips for several seconds before Bruce uttered the word indeed!

  It was a running gag they did every week on the WWE’s syndicated show Velocity. At one TV taping for Velocity, Kaientai were about to make their entrance but Bruce was nowhere to be found. Brisco sent a few refs to search for him with no luck. They finally located Bruce but he was producing a pre-tape and could not go to Gorilla to do the voice. Now the show was being held up so Brisco called an audible. He told the truck to hit the music and sent the Japanese duo out. He then handed me the microphone and said, “You do the voice!” I was reluctant but Brisco was very insistent so I agreed to do it. He gave me the cue and I began talking. I had no idea what I was saying but I did my best dubbing voice and threatened the guys in the ring with bodily harm, I think. Then Taka handed the mic to Funaki and I gave the best indeed I could and it was over. After the match, Funaki asked who did the voice. Brisco told him it was me, and Funaki thanked me for doing it. He said he liked it but maybe he was just being nice. Bruce then came to Gorilla and asked who did the Kaientai voice. Everyone pointed to me as if I had taken it upon myself to fill in for him. Bruce commented on how terrible it was and said that he hoped I never got another chance to do it again. Thanks for the high praise.

  As luck would have it, I once again had an occasion to provide the voice for Kaientai in Bruce’s absence and once again was told how bad it was by Brother Love. I just couldn’t win so I tried to avoid Gorilla whenever Kaientai were about to go on but it didn’t help. They would call me on my earpiece so there was no escape. I performed the voice only a handful of times and, all kidding aside, I had a blast doing it. I was allowed to say anything I wanted (within reason) and really enjoyed it.

  Sometimes I contributed in other ways. When Curt Hennig first arrived in the WWF (at that time) he was Mr. Perfect. He did everything perfectly. So one day at a live event, I overheard Jack Lanza tell Curt that Vince wanted him to come up with a name for his finishing move. Curt told Jack that his finish was called a Fisherman’s Suplex. Jack acknowledged that but then said that Vince wanted a catchier name for it. As this conversation was going on, I was listening and also watching the match in the ring. Bob Orton Jr. was just about to deliver his finisher, the Superplex. Suddenly it hit me. I turned to Curt and said to him, “Hey, Curt, I couldn’t help overhearing you and Jack talking about a name for your finish and I wanted to throw a name out there to see what you think. How does PerfectPlex sound to you?”

  He absolutely loved the name and told Jack about it immediately. Jack agreed it sounded right. Vince had the final say but he was confident he would like it as well. He did and Curt has always credited me with coming up with the name of his finish. What can I say; even a blind squirrel finds a nut once in a while. That was my early claim to fame. Thanks to Curt Hennig for being a good buddy. He’s definitely another superstar who is missed terribly.

  Curt Hennig was not the only superstar from that era who provided me with memorable moments. The Macho Man Randy Savage was one of the most charismatic and memorable superstars of all time. His relationship with his then wife, Miss Elizabeth, was the subject of many rumours. The word going around the locker room was that Randy was very protective of Liz, maybe a little too protective at times. I was always someone who never entirely believed everything I heard. Was Randy overly protective of his wife? Maybe so but I could understand how he felt. I can only assume he felt uncomfortable having his beautiful wife around the boys. No offence to the boys, but I might be a little apprehensive myself if I were in his shoes. Then I got to experience Randy’s overactive imagination first hand.

  It was some time in 1988 or 1989 at a live event in Guelph, Ontario. It was another one of those days where it was business as usual. I set up the ring, got a bite to eat, and waited for the guys to arrive. Randy and Liz would generally get their own dressing room if availability would allow it. If not, Liz would change with the other girls in the female locker room. On this day, they had their own large room all to themselves. Then Randy called me over and asked if I would do him a favour. Of course I said yes and he brought me into his and Liz’s room and said, “I’ve got to go somewhere for a few minutes. Jimmy, would you mind watching the door and making sure no one comes in?”

  Again I agreed to his request and he left the room to do whatever it was he had to do. I sat nervously right beside the door as Liz sat on the opposite side of the room. We exchanged pleasantries and chatted about the weather. We were just making small talk, but I felt uncomfortable and I think Liz did as well. After a few more minutes of awkwardness, Randy came bursting through. He quickly surveyed the room, seeing me still sitting by the door and Liz still sitting on the other side of the room. He seemed relieved and thanked me for helping him out. I waved goodbye to Liz and told Randy it was not a problem. He held the door open as I left and when the door closed, he locked it immediately. Don’t get me wrong. I’m just telling you what happened that day in Guelph. My intention is not to paint Savage in an unfavourable light. Randy was a great guy who treated me well and taught me so much. I always enjoyed working with Randy. I just couldn’t help wonder what he thought I would try with his wife. Did he really think that I would hit on her? That’s the impression I got when he stormed into the room. I liked Randy and we did get along very well but that was a day I’ll never forget. Babysitting Liz while Randy took care of business was one of the most awkward moments I have ever experienced.

  Well, at least he didn’t give me a big chop or hit me with a spoon. How’s that for a segue? One of the most common moves used in a wrestling match is the “knife-edge chop.” It’s when one wrestler hits the other with an open backhanded slap to the chest. It often leaves a reddish handprint on the person’s chest. As a referee, I have never had the misfortune of taking a chop to the chest in a match. Notice I said in a match. It doesn’t mean I haven’t been chopped outside of the workplace. I’ve chopped in a bar, on the golf course, even on a plane. Most of those were given by my old buddy JBL. But the hardest chop I have ever been on the receiving end of was in Ireland and not from JBL.

  We were on one of our European tours and had two shows in Dublin. I don’t remember the name of the hotel we stayed in but after the first show, some of the guys got into party mode. The bar had closed for the night but the hotel staff was more than happy to continue serving us drinks. We moved the “party” into the lobby and it lasted into the wee hours of the morning. One of the games the guys were playing had two guys cut a deck of playing cards. The guy with the high card gets to chop the guy with the low card. I was not a part of the proceedings. I was just an innocent observer laughing at the guys getting their chests chopped. Brian Hebner and Tony Chimel were willing participants and feeling the effects of the game. Then Brian looked over in my direction and challenged me to join the game. I wanted no part of it but I could not back down either. I had been sitting there drinking and watching for a few hours now so I felt I had to get involved.

  Right from the start they had me cut the deck with our fearless leader Fit Finlay. Not a guy you want to lose to in a game like this. Of course I lost and had to take a chop from Fit. Before he did it, the elevator doors opened and the Big Show walked out and over to us. It was now about six a.m. and Show was heading to a media appearance. He could not believe we were still up playing that stupid game. Then Fit had a brilliant idea. He decided to pass the chop to the Big Show. I wasn’t too sure which would be
worse but I went ahead, lifting my shirt to expose my chest. Then Show said something that scared the hell out of me. He said, “You may want to move that crucifix or it might get embedded in your chest permanently.”

  I moved my cross and prepared for the worst with my eyes closed. Nothing could have prepared me for what I felt next. Now, I have been in car accidents, been thrown around by many a superstar, but never have I been hit as hard as when that giant paw made contact with my chest. The impact sent me across the lobby and had it not been for a strategically placed sofa, I might have ended up at the front desk checking out for good. It was by far the most painful thing I had felt without breaking anything. Big Show just thanked everyone for letting him play and left for his appearance. I, on the other hand, had to be helped up and the imprint on my chest stung so bad, it hurt just to breathe. Once everyone stopped laughing, we noticed that the restaurant had just opened for business. So we did the only thing we could after a night of zero sleep and shenanigans: we ate breakfast. We eventually got a few hours of sleep and then got ready for show number two in Dublin. Visitors of Ireland have fond memories of the beautiful rolling hills, the scenery, and the great people they meet. I will remember Ireland as the place where I got a gigantic hand smashed into my chest. I think if you look very closely, you can still see the outline today.

  The chopping game was not the only form of amusement the guys had. Thanks to Fit Finlay, we were introduced to the Spoon Game. Here’s how it is played. First, a veteran wrestler would be chosen to face a rookie or one of the newer guys. Both guys would get on all fours facing each other. Then, they would get a tablespoon and place the handle in the rookie’s mouth, leaving the bigger end exposed. His counterpart would lower his head and the one with the spoon in his mouth would hit the other guy on the top of the head as hard as they can with the spoon. Of course they can’t use their hands. They would take turns hitting each other on the head with the spoon until one of them would give up. Sounds simple, right? Well, this game was not on the up and up.