Yes!

by Daniel Bryan

  “I do,” I said.

  “Not anymore you don’t,” he responded.

  I could see what was going on, but still replied, “What do you mean?”

  “I’m taking it,” he said.

  The previous night (the “losing streak” thing) already had me frustrated, and I didn’t feel like taking any shit.

  “No, actually, you’re not,” I said. “And actually, had you asked nicely, I would have gladly given you my seat. But since you didn’t, I’ll just give it to somebody else.”

  Jackson was infuriated, but just as he was about to respond, Regal chastised him. “Do you even know who you’re talking to?” he said. “This man is like a son to me and has more talent in his little finger than you have in your entire body.” With that, Jackson left, and I gave my aisle seat to someone else and took his middle seat.

  After that, my WrestleMania week was a blast. We had a handful of appearances, though not many. I had one signing where I replaced Evan Bourne, who was pretty popular at the time. He had a line of substantial size when I replaced him, and when the announcement was made about it, the crowd’s disappointment was audible as half of the line left.

  I ventured around the city using public transportation, trying to find the best vegan food. Ring of Honor was doing their yearly shows in the vicinity of WrestleMania, so I went to one of them, hitching a ride with some fans who were going as well (including one who is a radio DJ in Philadelphia and interviews me regularly today to promote upcoming shows). On Sunday of that weekend, we actually got to participate in WrestleMania XXVI—not in any big way, but we still got to go out there. On the pay-per-view preshow, there was a big battle royal, and since we were considered Rookies, they sent us out to the stage to watch “so we could learn.” The winner of the battle royal was Yoshi Tatsu, a Japanese wrestler I competed against once in New Japan when he was a young boy. I guided him through that match, and it mildly amused me that I was now out there pretending to learn from him.

  On that show I actually did learn from, and was emotionally touched by, Shawn Michaels’s retirement match against the Undertaker. It was by far the best match on the show. Not only that, with a crowd of seventy-two thousand people and the atmosphere being simply electric, it might be the most memorable match I’ve ever seen live. I watched it from the stands so I could take in the entirety of it. Shawn Michaels trained me, and there I was, my first WrestleMania and his last.

  For the NXT after WrestleMania, they advertised the first results of the Pros Poll, a legitimate vote by the WWE Pros ranking each of our abilities to be WWE Superstars. Since they just had the Pros write down their genuine thoughts on our standings, I ended up being ranked number one, despite not having won a single match. I can imagine the fans were very confused, given the idea that winning and losing is supposed to matter. The Pros Poll was important because you were eliminated from the show if you came in last. The first one, however, was just a demonstration; no one would be eliminated until week twelve of the competition, we were told. Still, I felt confident that no matter how many matches I lost, as long as the voting was legitimate, I would do fairly well on the show.

  The following week, WWE changed plans entirely on what NXT would be, and they essentially turned it into a joke. Instead of making it a vehicle for us to exhibit our skills as wrestlers, they decide to fill the show with silly challenges that have nothing to do with wrestling; we carried kegs, ran obstacle courses, and jousted like the American Gladiators in a contest called “Rock ’Em, Sock ’Em Rookies.” In the middle of one challenge, we had to run upstairs and drink a big cup of soda as fast as we could. (Originally it was supposed to be us eating a hot dog, but since I was vegan and they couldn’t find any veggie dogs, it was switched.) Since I don’t usually drink carbonated beverages, it took me almost sixty seconds to complete that task alone. That’s right, on a show that was regularly viewed by one million people, NXT viewers were subject to a full minute of watching someone try to drink a soda. Now, that is quality television.

  The only reason to care was that if you won the challenges, you got points, and by the time we did the first elimination, whoever had the most points was immune to being ejected. But the challenges were so inane and demoralizing that by the end, we all treated them as a joke—except, that is, for Skip Sheffield (later known as The Ryback), who demonstrated an undeniable will to win even the most idiotic game.

  On top of the challenges, the commentators consistently kept putting us down, especially Michael Cole. Any little mistake in the ring or on the microphone would be called out instantly, and the audience would be reminded of how we were “just rookies.” I was persistently ragged on for being a “nerd,” ostensibly because I had wrestled on the independents so long and had a decent-sized following on the Internet. Instead of us doing things to make us more popular, we were treated like fools. It’s hard for me to imagine the Undertaker ever becoming the legend he is today if, when you first saw him, he was falling off greased monkey bars while the announcers told you he was stupid for trying to be a dead man. Then again, it’s possible WWE never saw the potential in any of us to be that kind of star.

  Not only were we presented in ways that made us look like schmucks, we were also segregated from the rest of the locker room. Despite all eight of us being under contract with WWE, we had to change in a separate dressing room, which usually wasn’t a dressing room at all. They would put up pipes and drapes to cover up a little hallway, with no bathroom or shower. One time, our designated changing area was amid the lunch tables set up for the local crew guys to eat at during breaks. We had to hold up towels over ourselves while we changed so people eating their food didn’t have to see our dicks.

  Even though my character ended up being a nerd who lost every match (I finished NXT a resounding 0-10), I tried to stay positive. This one week midway through the season, after he came out of a TV production meeting, Arn Anderson told me the only way I’d ever get a real opportunity was if the fans got behind me. He told me he believed in me and assured me that the fans can tell when someone is the real deal.

  One week prior to the first elimination, in another unscripted interview, Matt Striker asked each of us at the end of the show who we thought should be eliminated. Most guys pinpointed Michael Tarver because of his bad attitude, but since I’d lost to him earlier in the night, it didn’t make sense storywise for me to say him. Since I had lost to everyone else on the show, it didn’t make sense for me to say any of the others either. So, thinking it was the right, humble good-guy thing to do, having not won a match, I said I should be eliminated. Afterward, Miz told me I shouldn’t have even put that perception in the fans’ minds. I was facing an uphill battle as it was. To me, it seemed logical; plus, I figured there was no way I’d place last in the Pros Poll and get eliminated.

  When it was time for the first elimination the following Tuesday, we were told to line up by the ring before the show started, again without being told what was going on. Striker came out and reminded the fans that the previous week he asked us who should be eliminated. Michael Tarver had said himself as well, with his justification being everyone was safer without him around. Striker then said, “WWE management feels that if a Superstar does not believe in himself, then how can anyone believe in the WWE Superstar?” And with that, he told Michael Tarver he had been eliminated by management.

  After Tarver exited, Striker walked slowly down the line toward me. They replayed the video of me saying I should be eliminated, and I knew what was coming: Striker announced that I was eliminated as well. As I slowly walked up the ramp to exit, a million things were going through my mind, but the one that kept sticking in my brain was that WWE did this to prove a point. All the things I’d heard from guys like Colt Cabana about WWE’s negative feelings toward independent wrestlers seemed to be confirmed. Given that I’d been the flag bearer for independent wrestling over those last few years, it all of a sudden made sense why they would mock me on the show, despite me being one of
the best performers. Then I thought they might just fire me after this and I’d go back to the independents as a failure. When I walked through the “Gorilla position” (the space immediately on the other side of the curtain, named after Gorilla Monsoon), I was informed I’d have an interview with Striker after the commercial break and that I should just answer however I felt was right.

  The interview started off fine with a fairly harmless question from Striker about whether I thought the whole thing was fair. I knew Matt was fed his questions by producers and probably Vince himself, but the second question was insulting. He asked, “Do you regret leaving the independent scene, where you were a big fish in a small pond, to ultimately drown in the sea that is the WWE?”

  Fuck you. In no way, shape, or form did I “drown” in WWE. I was booked as a loser and was still the most popular guy on the show. This only confirmed to me what I thought coming up the ramp. But I answered relatively calmly.

  “Well, that’s funny, because ‘Daniel Bryan’ never wrestled on the independent scene,” I said. “If you go on and YouTube ‘Daniel Bryan,’ all you ever see is WWE. But there was this guy, man, he was out there, he was kicking people’s heads in; people called him the best wrestler in the world. He was a champion in Japan, Mexico, and Europe. And do you know what his name was?”

  Before I could say it, Striker cut me off, saying, “What’s next, for this guy?” I could practically hear the yelling in his earpiece, but I continued on. I downplayed the skill of “Daniel Bryan,” saying that guy couldn’t even beat rookies. And then I said it.

  “‘Daniel Bryan’ might be done, but Bryan Danielson—God knows what’s going to happen to him.”

  When I said my real name, it actually got a reaction from the fans. It got a reaction from Vince as well; apparently, he threw his headset. I was in the frame of mind that if I was going to get fired, I was at least going to plug my own name before heading back to the independents. But because NXT wasn’t quite live (it was on an hour delay), they made me redo the interview, and Striker asked different questions. When the show aired, however, they played the original on TV. Vince must have changed his mind in the meantime.

  It seems to me that Vince’s perception of me is always changing. It’s actually strange to think about what somebody else is thinking about me. I’ve never really worried about it, but when one man can change the whole dynamic of your career, you tend to wonder. When I first started on NXT, I got the distinct impression that Vince didn’t like me. After the first episode, Jericho came back and told Vince he thought I was great in the ring, but otherwise, Vince’s reaction to me was “Ugh, but he doesn’t even eat meat!”

  Then I thought he just liked to pick on me. Shortly after NXT started, all eight NXT Rookies joined about six other Superstars each week before TV for what they called “promo class,” which was led by Vince himself. Vince would call people up to the front and have them cut promos on random subjects. You had ten seconds to think, and then you just had to go. Afterward, he’d ask other people in the room what they thought of your promo, and then he’d give you his own opinion. He was very hands-on.

  From our very first class, it seemed like he singled me out. He had me cut a promo on a table, and it was rotten. I got nervous because I’d never done anything like that before and it was in front of many people I respected, like Rey Mysterio and Fit Finlay. Every promo class, he called me up—sometimes more than once—but with each class, I grew more confident and I got better. One promo class, he decided to make us the teachers. First, he had Big Show go up and teach, then Matt Hardy. Between the two of them, they pretty much said everything that Vince had taught us, and they called up different people in the class to do promos as well. Neither of them called me up, so when Matt was done, Vince stood up and told me to go teach the class. It was a horrible position to be in. At least Matt and Show were veterans in WWE. Nobody wanted to be taught by a guy on NXT who wasn’t even known as giving a good promo. Regardless, I went up and tried to keep it short, not repeating anything Show or Matt had said. I pretty much just told everyone how important I thought it was to be yourself, then work from there to identify your strengths and weaknesses. When it was time to call somebody up to cut a promo, I named Vince. His topic: “How great Daniel Bryan is.”

  Vince stood there in front of the class, silent. Then he looked me up and down, judgingly, before his face turned to various levels of disgust, amping it up as he went along. Vince never said a word for about a full minute, and then he said he was done. He went to sit back down, and I stopped him, requesting he stand up front while the class critiqued his promo. I first called on Big Show, who put it over the moon. The next person did the same. And they were right. It was great, and the whole room was laughing. I excused Vince to go sit down, but then he said there was a lesson there. He taught us about the importance of facial expressions and how to say something without saying anything. It was really good.

  The last time Vince called me up front in promo class was one that included everybody on the roster. When I was called upon, I accidentally knocked over my bottle of water, spilling it all over the floor. I was embarrassed, but then he started asking people how that incident made them feel about me. (Most said it made them feel sympathetic toward me.) Next, he asked me a series of questions—definitely not the usual class protocol of having me cut a promo on something random. Vince made a statement, then said nothing. I asked if there was a question there, and he said there wasn’t, so I just stood there in the front of the room, with neither of us saying anything. I thought he was trying to embarrass me, but then he asked, “What are you doing right now?”

  “Nothing,” I said.

  “Close,” Vince said, then asked me again, “What are you doing right now?”

  I was clueless. “Close to nothing?” Miz let out a groan in sympathy, as if he’d been rooting for me to respond with the right answer and I completely blew it. Vince chuckled.

  “No,” he said. “You’re using the silence.” And with that, he excused me to sit down.

  On my way out the door, Vince pulled me aside and said, “You know I’m doing this for a reason, right?” I lied and told him I did, but, more importantly, that was the first time I thought he saw more in me than I knew. Even today, he will occasionally bring up how much better my promos got after that experience. And they truly did.

  After I was eliminated from NXT, WWE told me they would call me when they needed me, which they guessed wouldn’t be until the season finale. Plans change rapidly in WWE, though, and they called me back to be on the show the very next week to initiate a story with Michael Cole, stemming from all the times he put me down on commentary. It was the first time on NXT that I was able to prepare for promos—using the instruction I learned in promo class—and it was by far the best talking I’d ever done. We went back and forth verbally, and ultimately physically, as I ended up tackling Cole into the barricade as he ran away. We combined this with a continued rivalry with Miz, and it turned into good television. WWE liked it so much that they ended up using our story to turn Cole into a heel on Raw as well.

  The final episode of NXT ended with Wade Barrett winning the season and, as part of the story, earning a spot on the main roster. Even though I didn’t win, I was confident that WWE would continue to feature me, given how well the stuff went with Cole and all. As I sat with the eliminated Rookies in the front row, watching the final episode, I was thrilled NXT was over, and I looked forward to moving on to the next step, whatever that would be.

  14

  MATTERS OF THE CHART

  FRIDAY, APRIL 4, 2014—7:15 P.M.

  His previous chatting with Miz foreshadows an important discussion awaiting Daniel Bryan when he returns to his hotel room to find his fiancée … plus Nikki and “Mama Bella.” Serving as the couple’s wedding party planner of sorts, Brie’s mom insists that the two—both with significant championship matches in two days—commit to their final seating chart for their approaching event.

>   Bryan shares some unfortunate news about an important relative being suddenly unable to attend, then grabs a seat on the sofa between Brie and his future mother-in-law. Mama Bella makes her case for the seating arrangements she prepared but advises the pair to review and adjust for their big day. Table 1 is slated to seat guests from the WWE roster; table 2 will house the cast of Total Divas. Resting across from the trio of Bella clan members on the couch is a short stack of mixed papers, a FedEx envelope, Bryan’s full WrestleMania Week itinerary, and a publication: YES! Magazine. Yes. Correct. YES! Magazine.

  “It’s an unbelievable magazine,” Bryan emphatically declares, as he shows off the special revolution issue. “It’s about powerful ideas, practical actions, different ideas on how to change the world. And they’re actually based out of Seattle. My favorite magazine is YES! Magazine.”

  Overwhelming (and unintentional) irony aside, Bryan’s three-year readership of the publication isn’t the limit of his interests in eco-consciousness.

  “One thing I want to do is build an Earthship Home,” he adds, advocating their use of solar panels, rainwater filtration, and general reuse. “That’s a home built out of recycled material—used car tires and stuff like that. It’s a completely sustainable system, completely off-grid. I found out about that through YES! Magazine.”

  Reading isn’t presently an option, however. There’s tons of chatter in the room with three lady Bellas, and, much the way he may be on Sunday night, Bryan finds himself outnumbered … and he feels just fine.

  The Monday after NXT was finished, all eight of us Rookies were brought to Raw in Miami. We had no idea why. We still had to dress separately from everyone else in the locker room, in a dirty draped-off space next to the catering area. Midway through the day, Laurinaitis pulled us all into Vince’s office, where we waited until Vince and Michael Hayes, a former wrestling star and one of the top match producers in WWE today, came in. Vince told us they had a plan, but it was of the utmost importance we not tell anybody outside of those in the room. If we did, it would ruin it, and if they heard of any of us telling anybody, that person would be fired. We were going to do something that had never been done before on WWE television.