Nobody, that is, except the William Morris Agency, only the biggest talent agency in Hollywood. A few of their top guys had seen me on King and wanted to take a meeting with me immediately. I’d had a few agents during my flirtations with acting, but none of them came close to the size or prestige of William Morris. This was my big break! Wait until Hollywood got a load of me. I was ready for my close-up. I was . . .
. . . completely wrong and my delusions of grandeur were shattered like The Rolling Stones when I went for my big meeting, to find out that William Morris had no intention of bringing me in as a client. The agents just wanted to meet me and get a few pictures for their kids because they were big fans of my work in the WWE. Ugh. In the words of Ron Simmons, I could’ve just mailed them a fuckin’ autograph.
—
When the whole Rourke match fell through, Vince switched over to Plan B. One of his favorite mottos was “Always turn a negative into a positive,” and that’s exactly what he planned to do. He pitched a scenario where I would continue comparing Flair’s career with that of Randy the Ram. Except now I wouldn’t just be insulting Flair but all of the other aging legendary WWE superstars who were still a part of the company. Vince’s criteria for the legends I’d be antagonizing were:
a) They had to be in the WWE Hall of Fame
and
b) They had to have competed at the first WrestleMania.
Using those guidelines, his idea was I would end up in a 3-on-1 handicap match at WrestleMania 25 against Roddy Piper, Jimmy Snuka, and Greg Valentine.
It seemed like an interesting plan, not as much of a main-event spot as the Rourke scenario, but still an attraction all the same. As a matter of fact, to the fans in the WWE Universe, the handicap match would probably mean more than the Rourke match anyway. The only problem I could see was the quality of the bout. While Piper, Snuka, and Valentine were all good workers in their prime, none of the three moved all that well in 2009. I knew that while the buildup would be great, the match itself had the potential to be rotten.
When I told Vince the match might not be good, his response was classic.
“The match isn’t supposed to be good.”
Maybe so, but this was WrestleMania we were talking about and I wanted to have the best match possible. So I suggested we use Jerry Lawler instead of Valentine. Lawler had been lobbying for a Mania match for years and this would be perfect because not only could he still work, he was one of the best talkers of all time.
But Vince shot it down instantly, because Lawler hadn’t wrestled in the first WrestleMania. Now, keep in mind these were McMahon’s self-imposed rules. We’d never mentioned them in any way on Raw, so it’s not like there were any real restrictions in place. Vince could put whoever he wanted in the match, but in his mind they had to fit that exact criteria. So then I thought about suggesting Tito Santana, but after some brainstorming I had an even better idea.
Ricky Steamboat.
Ricky was the perfect third man. He’d just returned to the WWE as a producer, had wrestled in the first WrestleMania, was about to be inducted into the WWE Hall of Fame that year, was one of the greatest workers in the history of the business, and was one of my biggest influences. I mentioned his name and I could see by the look on Vince’s face that he thought the idea might work. But there was one major problem.
“Does he own his name?”
I’m not sure of the specifics, but apparently when Ricky got divorced, his ex-wife somehow ended up with the rights to the name Ricky Steamboat and kept it. Ricky hadn’t wrestled in years, but if he ever decided to get back in the ring, it seems he’d have to change his name to Rookie “The Dagger” Sweatboat or Rocky “The Draggin’” Streamfloat. So even though Vince liked the idea, we had to obtain further nomenclature knowledge about Ricky before he would sign off on it.
After a few days of waiting, word came back that Ricky had indeed reacquired the rights to his name and was Steamboat once again. So at WrestleMania 25 it was going to be Chris Jericho vs. Roddy Piper, Jimmy Snuka, and Ricky Steamboat with Ric Flair in their corner—a pretty great group of guys to build a story line with. Plus, I was getting the chance to work with one of my all-time heroes and I knew that Steamboat in his fifties was still going to be better than a lot of the current roster.
The plan was I would confront one of the legends every week and bury them to where they would have no choice but to accept my challenge for the handicap match. I was so sure of my abilities as the Best in the World that I felt I could beat all three has-beens at the same time. Another character might have gotten cheers with these boasts, but not me. I was such a piece of shit at this point that the fans wanted to see the old-timers take me down and shut me up.
The first confrontation was with Roddy Piper on Raw in Spokane, Washington. I was going to tell him how his time had come and now it was time for him to disappear forever. But before the show when we were going over the promo, I gave him one request.
“Roddy, when we do this tonight, I want you to forget about the Roddy Piper who tells jokes and talks in funny voices. I want the Roddy Piper who made the first WrestleMania such a success. The rat bastard who made Hulk Hogan a superstar and who gets no credit for making that show what it was.” I really believed that. If it wasn’t for Piper being such a strong heel, Hogan would’ve had nobody to go after, nobody for the fans to rally behind him to beat. Piper took my advice and later that night delivered one of the best promos I’ve ever heard from him. No jokes, no comedy, just a straight-from-the-heart kick-ass dissertation from one of the best ever.
He dressed me down by saying that I had once reminded him of himself, but now I had become insufferable and boorish. He stood up for Flair and Rourke, explaining that Mickey’s performance in The Wrestler wasn’t about an old-timer trying to get one last run, it was about doing what you love to do and enjoying the thrill of performing. He explained that guys like him, Flair, and all of the legends had respect and love for the fans, while I had neither. Then, with a tear in his eye, he explained how people came up to him and reminisced about watching his matches with their families, their parents and grandparents who had passed away, and how I was trying to bury those moments instead of celebrating them. Roddy never raised his voice or pandered to the crowd; as far as he was concerned, it was just him and me in that arena. He delivered a riveting performance and absolutely nailed it (he had crib notes on his wrist tape, but I let that slide), finishing up with a serious delivery of his new catchphrase, “Old-school’s cool.”
He went to shake my hand as the crowd chanted, “HOT ROD, HOT ROD,” and I looked remorsefully at the ground. Then I kicked him in the knee and proceeded to beat the shit out of him. The silent crowd that had been sucked in by Roddy’s performance now erupted in a tidal wave of boos.
“You want respect?” I yelled at him as he rolled around on the mat in pain. “Roll around, Piper! Roll around!” I kept shouting as the fans continued yelling their disproval. I walked up the ramp to the top of the stage, relaxed my face, adjusted my suit and tie, and smirked. It was such a smarmy way to end the segment and the perfect demonstration of the dickery (is that a word?) of Jericho.
Next up was Jimmy “Superfly” Snuka. Snuka was almost a mythical figure in the WWE, a dynamic performer who had captivated fans for years with his high-flying moves. He was even directly responsible for Mick Foley (did you know Mick has never beaten me in an officially sanctioned match?) wanting to be a pro wrestler. But Superfly had deteriorated quite a bit from his glory days and, while he still wrestled on the indy circuit, was now a shell of his former self. However, he was still a beloved character in the WWE Universe and the perfect target for evil Jericho.
One of Snuka’s most famous moments was when he was beaten down with a coconut by Roddy on the set of “Piper’s Pit” twenty-five years earlier and to play off that historic moment, the WWE was promoting a rare “Piper’s Pit” on Raw with S
uperfly as the guest.
The famous “Pit” set had been assembled on the stage, and the crowd cheered vociferously (big word alert) when Piper’s famed bagpipe intro hit. Those cheers turned to jeers when I strolled out to the stage instead. I had hijacked the segment to inform Snuka that he was just as washed up as the rest of the so-called legends in the WWE.
Jimmy was never much of a talker and as his age progressed, he became harder to understand. At this point the majority of his communication skills consisted mostly of him flashing the I love you sign (aka the Dio horns) while vacantly smiling and saying, “It’s all about the love, bruddah.” The segment was designed for me to do most of the talking, so I taunted him about being washed up and threatened to hit him with some fruit (not froot) of my own. I pulled out a bunch of bananas and two coconuts and waved them in his face, taunting and punking him out until he batted them from my hands and got in my grille. I slowly backed down and skulked away, tail between my legs, leaving Jimmy to bask in the glory of his fans. He went down on his knees and hit his signature pose, arms extended with both hands holding up the horns. Meanwhile I had circled around behind the “Pit” set, waiting for my cue. When Snuka stood up, I was going to push the set down on him and attack. So I waited . . . and waited . . . but Jimmy never stood up. He continued posing on his knees, and the camera stayed on him far too long. This was known as an angle alert, a situation where it becomes way too obvious to the fans that something is going to happen. I’m not sure if he went blank, zoned out, or just decided he didn’t feel like standing up again, but I couldn’t wait around for him any longer. I pushed the balsa wood set onto to his back and he went down like a ton of bricks (and I ain’t talkin’ about Metal Church). It looked really lame, since hitting him with that flimsy wall was about as dangerous as being hit with a toilet paper roll. But it did the trick and the crowd gasped incredulously, not believing that I would stoop so low as to attack Jimmy Snuka from behind.
But I was about to stoop a lot lower, as I bashed him with pieces of the lethal balsa wood. I slowly took off my jacket and unbuttoned my shirtsleeves to illustrate that I wasn’t screwing around (it was one of my favorite tricks as a suit-wearing villain). Then I booted him in the stomach and started screaming like Walter Sobchak.
“You see what happens? Do you see what happens? Do you see what happens, Jimmy, when you fuck a stranger in the ass?!”
Well, I didn’t actually say that last line, but you know what I mean. The beatdown was drawing serious heat and at that point I had the Midas touch of heelism . . . everything I did made people boo. I then delivered the ultimate insult (according to Vince) when I grabbed a banana off the floor and shoved it in Snuka’s mouth. Once again, after the cowardly sneak attack, I calmly straightened my tie, fixed my hair, and sauntered off the stage, leaving Superfly down and the crowd steaming.
The next chapter in the story came on Raw the night after Mickey Rourke lost the Best Actor Oscar to Sean Penn. I don’t know if the Academy voted against him after his red carpet WrestleMania challenge, but I felt that he should’ve won. In my opinion, his portrayal of Randy “The Ram” Robinson kicked Sean Penn’s portrayal of Harvey “Spoiled” Milk’s ass all over the silver screen. But regardless of what I thought in real life, my character took great joy in Rourke’s defeat and I expressed this live on Raw.
My foil that week was the returning Ricky “The Dragon” Steamboat, who received a hero’s welcome from the WWE Universe, as they hadn’t seen him in over fifteen years. My idea to add him to the match appeared to be a smart one, for the fans were genuinely happy to see him—until I came into the picture. I waltzed on the stage like my name was Len Goodman and I owned the damn place. I was in the promo zone at this point and cut an intense (albeit a little long-winded) speech about how Steamboat had sold out to the WWE when he became The Dragon in the ’80s and how he had now sold out for the second time by accepting an office job with the company.
“Now the loyal dog gets his bone by getting inducted into the WWE Hall of Fame. You, Steamboat, are the ultimate hypocrite.”
Steamboat’s face told a million tales as he raised the mic to his mouth. Ricky had never been known for his promos, but on this night he delivered like he was The Rock. He started by telling the story from my wildly successful roman à clef, A Lion’s Tale, about how I waited in line to get his autograph over twenty years ago at a World of Wheels show because he was my hero. Then he fast-forwarded to today and addressed what I’d become, how I’d embraced and then turned on the fans so many times, how I’d become the ultimate hypocrite. Then he finished with a killer-go-home line.
“I am not a hypocrite, Jericho. But I am something you may never be: a WWE Hall of Famer.”
I’d been served and the crowd loved it. Of course they didn’t love it when I popped Steamer in the head with the mic and threw him into the LED screen on the stage. I continued my onslaught, berating him incessantly and calling him Mr. Hall of Fame over and over. Then of course I straightened my tie and strutted off the stage to a litany of boos.
The angle had gotten over better than we expected and a big reason for that was the passion projected by Piper, Snuka, and Steamboat. These were main-event players for the majority of their careers who had been reduced to bit players in the WWE for the last decade or so. But now that old fighting spirit to be the best had returned. We worked our asses off to make the match a true attraction for WrestleMania and it became one. Then a few weeks before Mania, I heard that since the Oscar race was over, Mickey Rourke was going to appear after all. He was going to sit in the front row and be involved in the finish of the match, which meant my Hollywood coverage was back, baby! The match also had a major cherry on top, with the inclusion of Flair in the legends corner, his first appearance at Mania since his retirement match a year earlier. Everything was going my way!
Everything, that is, until I had a confrontation with Flair on Raw that ended up getting me more heat than Miami . . . with Vince McMahon.
—
Flair started the promo on Raw by accepting my challenge on behalf of his friends to a 3-on-1 match at Mania, guaranteeing he would be in their corner and that Mickey would be in the front row. I interrupted him from the production truck, where I was standing in front of TV screens showing highlights of Snuka, Steamboat, and Piper. I left the truck and walked down the halls of the backstage area, through the Gorilla position and into the ring, all the while vilifying the legends with my diatribe. I boasted that I was going to beat them all at once, and there was nothing he could do about it. He told me I was wrong and then cut a classic Flair promo, describing how at the end of the match, all five of my opponents would be standing over my broken body, while 70,000 people shouted “WHOOOOOO!”
That’s when I sucker-punched him in the forehead.
Earlier in the day, Ric implored me to hit him as hard as I could, so I nailed him with all I had and he went down fast. I was surprised when he rolled over and blood was streaming down his face, but I went with it. There’s an old trick in wrestling when someone is bleeding and you want to open the cut further, you keep striking it repeatedly. So I kept punching that cut as hard as I could, in the ring, out of the ring, on the announce table, anywhere I could get ahold of him. I ripped his suit jacket off (after slowly removing my own of course), pulled his tie over his head, and threw his shoes into the crowd (Flair’s idea). The bloodstains bloomed on his dress shirt while I grabbed the camera off of a nearby cameraman’s shoulder and lined him up. He pulled himself to his feet as I ran across the floor and slammed it into the top of his head. To add blood insult to blood injury, the camera split him wide open as well and a crimson sheet cascaded down his face.
He looked like he’d just stepped out of an abattoir. But I wasn’t finished.
I stood over his prone body, staring at the Rolex on his wrist, given to him by HBK after their classic Mania match. Earlier in the day, I’d pitched the idea to Vince of
destroying that watch, but he balked as he felt nobody knew about the watch or cared. I argued that they would care if we brought it to their attention and made it into a big deal. Strangely, he agreed to let me smash the watch though he didn’t want to mention where it came from or the legit sentimental value it held for Ric. So when I pulled the fake Rolex off Ric’s wrist (the real one was safely in the locker room), the crowd didn’t respond as much as they would’ve if we had explained its significance beforehand. Even so, it was still Flair’s Rolex and there was a good reaction when I placed it on top of the steel stairs and slowly walked to the top step. I raised my foot over his biscuit like a guillotine, then dropped the blade of my heel into the glass faceplate and shattered it instantly. I stomped on it a few more times for good measure and the Midas touch of heelism struck again. Huge chants of “You suck!” rang throughout the arena as I made my way back through Gorilla, satisfied with a job well done.
Until I saw Vince’s face. I could tell he was furious again.
He started yelling about Flair getting color and bleeding all over the place, but this time I truly had nothing to do with it and didn’t want to deal with him. So I walked out of Gorilla and headed to the trainers’ room to wait for Ric.
He was covered in so much blood that he looked like he’d been in the front row of a Gwar concert as he sat down on the trainer’s table to be examined. While the camera shot had busted open (LaGreca) his head for fifteen stitches, the punch I’d thrown that caused him to bleed in the first place had only left a small cut in the middle of his forehead. You could barely notice it. Word was getting back that Vince was freaking out about all the blood that had been shed, but since I was completely innocent this time my attitude was “My name’s Paul and this is between y’all.” Unlike the Batista incident, this was an honest mistake, and if Vince felt differently he could take it up with Flair. So I left the arena without saying a word and figured that was the end of it.
The Best in the World Page 11