by Daniel Bryan
Before our six-man tag with the English legend, I had known Claudio from Ring of Honor. We’d done shows together in Germany, and since he can speak German, he’d help me out. Over time, we got to know each other just by being at so many shows together. It was a very gradual process, not unlike my most enduring relationships with a number of wrestlers—particularly those who’ve shared my path from Ring of Honor to WWE, like Cesaro, Seth Rollins, and Sami Zayn, who are all very close with me.
Jimmy Jacobs and I still occasionally talk because I consider him a genius. Despite not seeing him for a really long time, I feel closer to Nigel McGuinness than to people I see as friends in WWE. I still consider Nigel one of my best friends because he’s a good person and we went through a lot together. I’m not sure why it is, but even though I’ve been with WWE for more than four years, I don’t feel I have as close bonds with WWE people as I do with Ring of Honor people.
Speaking of WWE, the first week of August 2010, Regal’s advice became prophecy. My then-girlfriend and I were at the veterinarian’s office with a tremendously overweight beagle we were going to foster. The beagle’s previous owners were an elderly couple, but the husband had passed away and the woman had moved into a nursing home. The facility permitted the dog, but, unfortunately, the woman wasn’t in a state to be able to take her pet out for walks, so she kept the beagle happy by feeding her tons of treats, which created the fattest dog I’d ever seen. Her belly hit the ground as she walked, and she was barely fit enough to walk outside to go to the bathroom without getting exhausted. Eventually the beagle was placed in a rescue center until we agreed to foster, which would only be until the center found her a permanent home. In the middle of the vet’s examination of this fat dog, I got a call from John Laurinaitis. It was so unexpected I didn’t even think to excuse myself from the room.
Laurinaitis told me WWE wanted to bring me back and in a big way. They were doing a seven-on-seven elimination match for the main event of SummerSlam, WWE’s second-biggest pay-per-view of the year, and they wanted me to be the surprise seventh member of John Cena’s crew against the Nexus, the group consisting of the former NXT Rookies. The opportunity was hard to turn down. However, there were some logistical issues. I explained that I had a good number of independent shows booked already. Johnny said that was great, perfectly fine; I should honor all of them, except the ones I had the weekend of SummerSlam.
Also, since I felt like my value had increased following my release, I shyly asked for a pay raise—which I’d never done in my entire career. In Ring of Honor, every so often, they would just offer me a pay raise, often in thanks for my hard work, but also acknowledging that I was becoming more valuable. I made my request, and Laurinaitis paused for a minute, then said, “I think we can do that.” Thinking back on it now, I asked for such a minute raise, I’m sure he was taken aback by how little it was.
As I agreed to come back, Johnny emphasized that my re-signing and return was supposed to be a complete surprise. I couldn’t tell anybody … but I did. I told my family, just so they could watch, and I called and told Gabe. So many of his plans revolved around me, and I owed it to him. He was both disappointed that we would no longer be able to work together and happy for me, personally, that I was getting an opportunity to go back to WWE in such a good spot. Gabe was also thrilled I’d be able to finish out the bookings I had with him for the next month, and so was I.
Other than that, I told no one. Under the guise of a “family issue,” I canceled the bookings I had during SummerSlam weekend. I also stopped taking any new bookings, which was challenging because I had been in contact with New Japan, and they e-mailed several times during that period asking for my dates of availability. I didn’t know what to say that wouldn’t tip my hand about rejoining WWE, so I didn’t respond. Laurinaitis told me, “We just can’t have this getting out to the dirt sheets,” and I did my best to make sure it didn’t. I didn’t even tell William Regal, which was the hardest part.
My return to WWE was a very well kept secret. I flew into Los Angeles that Sunday morning of the event on August 15 and checked into a different hotel than the one where the rest of the talent and crew stayed that week for all of the events leading up to SummerSlam. WWE hired me a private car to take me to the Staples Center, and I didn’t arrive until well after the pay-per-view started. They told me to wear a hooded sweatshirt and nondescript clothes so that no one would identify or notice me as I was hurried from the car to a private locker room.
When I arrived backstage, I was told to hang tight, so I just waited. Shortly thereafter, all the guys in the match were brought back to the room. With the exception of a few guys on John Cena’s team, I don’t think anybody else knew I was in the match. Jamie Noble was one of the producers for the match, and he had already worked with a couple of Nexus guys to go over things the “surprise seventh man” might want to do, but those things were generic enough that most of them didn’t put it together until they saw me. I wasn’t going to actually be in the match very much, so I just had to work out a couple of things with some people.
Despite the pressure of being in the SummerSlam main event, I wasn’t worried about the wrestling part of it at all. What made me most nervous was the reaction I would get coming out. I was pretty concerned that when Cena announced me as the final member of the team, the crowd would have an anticlimactic reaction. Cena’s team consisted of mostly established stars; Bret Hart, Chris Jericho, and Edge were all on the team, and usually surprises are supposed to be big. Prior to being fired, I’d lost pretty much every match on TV and was portrayed as a nerd/loser by commentators. I assumed the casual WWE fan would be like, “What?! Why on earth did they choose this guy?!” The concern weighed heavy on my mind before the match.
They wanted me to continue wearing my hoodie so no one would see me as I walked to the Gorilla position for my entrance, which I thought was a little excessive given it was only moments before the match. After the match, I learned that WWE.com revealed that I was the seventh guy minutes before I came out. Given all the secrecy the entire day, I thought that was pretty funny.
When John Cena announced me as the surprise member for his team, in no way did I get a megastar reaction from the Staples Center crowd, but it wasn’t the apathetic reaction I had anticipated either. I’d say it was more like polite applause that rapidly shifted in my favor when I started the match and I got a quick submission on Darren Young, who tapped out to the LeBell Lock. The match was structured so I wasn’t in the ring much, but each time I was, I looked great. I didn’t come in for a second time until well after twenty minutes, but I came in like a house on fire, and after I hit a suicide dive to the floor, the crowd started chanting my name. It had worked. I then submitted Heath Slater, again using the LeBell Lock. In one night, I was instantly made more important than I had ever seemed during my entire time on NXT.
A few moments later, Miz, who wasn’t in the match, ran in to hit me with his briefcase because he was fictionally upset that he wasn’t chosen as Cena’s seventh man instead of his onetime Rookie. Miz’s actions led to my elimination from the match, which was great for me because it also easily led into a story with Miz going forward. I considered it a very successful night. Well, for me at least.
After I was eliminated, it came down to Cena against Wade Barrett and Justin Gabriel, and Cena beat both of them. The Nexus had created a lot of interest, and the group needed a win to solidify themselves as a force to be reckoned with. They didn’t get the victory when they needed it, and after SummerSlam, they went from being dangerous guys with an edge to just another faction of bad guys.
The night immediately after SummerSlam, we taped two episodes of Monday Night Raw because the Raw crew was headed overseas. I was feeling good about the pay-per-view, and I was eager to engage in the new story with Miz. The first Raw went really well. Even though I lost a quick match to Nexus member Michael Tarver, it was due to Miz’s interference and resulted in a brawl between Miz and me. During the se
cond taping, I had to run out and attack Miz in the ring. I thought it went well, but when I got back through the curtain, Vince was furious. He said, “That was horrible!” and then sent me back out into the arena to do the same thing, in front of the same crowd.
It was a taped show, so the production team could edit in the better one. This was the first time in my career I ever had to redo something in front of a live crowd. It was embarrassing, made me feel terrible, and, in my mind, justified any of my detractors who looked at me as the independent guy who couldn’t do the big league stuff right. The second attempt, they said, was much better, but it didn’t cast away that feeling of failure. That’s the way wrestling goes: One day you’re high, one day you’re low, and at the beginning of each day, you never know what to expect.
That September in Chicago, I had my first WWE pay-per-view match at the next major event, Night of Champions. It was also my first title win in WWE, as I beat Miz for the United States Championship. We had a good little match, but nothing great, and I knew they had me win just so they could get the U.S. Title off of Miz. They had big plans for him in the near future—winning the WWE Championship and being in the main event of WrestleMania—but they needed to detach the title from Miz. I knew the title win didn’t mean much as far as how much WWE wanted to push me, but it was still a great opportunity. At the time, both the U.S. and Intercontinental Championships were consistently defended on pay-per-view, and more shows than not, I would at least compete in a match. It was hard to get much wrestling time on Raw with the show being only two hours, but I was confident I could gain some steam if I could get a solid match on pay-per-view every month and wrestle at least ten minutes.
After I won the United States Title, I asked to change my entrance music. I had been coming out to this hard, generic metal-type music that didn’t fit me at all, and music is a huge part of the presentation. Admittedly, I’ve always had questionable taste in entrance music. Coming out to “Born in the U.S.A.” in my first match was a Shawn Michaels decision, so I can’t take “credit” for that one. When I had a big beard and a shaved head in 2005, I wore a giant crushed velvet cloak to the ring and entered the arena to the “Imperial March” from Star Wars. But during my last several years on the independents, the song I came out to was instantly recognizable and, to hardcore fans, became synonymous with me: Europe’s “Final Countdown.”
I was in Japan in 2004, looking through a music magazine that listed the hundred worst songs of all time. Lo and behold, “Final Countdown” was number one, voted as the worst song ever. I loved that song, but hadn’t heard it in a long time. Despite the horrible lyrics about leaving Earth for Venus, as soon as I reheard the horns blaring at the beginning, I knew it would be a great entrance theme. It didn’t take long after I started using the ballad for the entire audience to sing along with it, even before it reached the chorus: “It’s the final countdown!” Unfortunately, WWE couldn’t use “Final Countdown” without paying an exorbitant rights fee, so I suggested using a piece of classical music, Richard Wagner’s “Ride of the Valkyries,” which is in the public domain and can be used freely. One of my favorite old-school Japanese wrestlers, Yoshiaki Fujiwara, came out to it, and it was badass.
Once I suggested it, I thought it would take a few weeks to get it cleared and approved. Not this time. That same night on Raw, I was wrestling Edge, who had already made his entrance. Right before I walked out, WWE producer Billy Kidman was on a headset in Gorilla and told me, “OK, you’re coming out to new music.” I was just about to ask if it was “Ride of the Valkyries” when it hit. The version of the song they played—there are many different ones—was not what I was looking for, though. This one was very … soft. When I walked through the curtain, I could see an entire arena filled with confused faces, some people with their mouths wide open. Edge was visibly laughing in the ring. Miz was on commentary with Michael Cole, and the two of them were having a field day calling me a nerd. It wasn’t quite as badass as Fujiwara. We altered it a little bit, and now it’s become my thing. It was a rough go of it at first, though.
For the next few months, I was in this interesting position where I would do Raw TVs, pay-per-views, and some live events against Miz, but then would go do my remaining independent shows, where I relished the opportunity to bring in new fans based on my exposure in WWE. During this stretch, I worked my final match for Gabe at a Dragon Gate USA show in Milwaukee: It was me against Jon Moxley (Ambrose) in a crazy brawl all over the tiny building. There are few things in wrestling that add drama to a match like blood, and because I knew it would be my last opportunity to add that sort of drama for a long time, I took full advantage and bled that night for my send-off. Generally speaking, it was strange going back and forth from the independents to WWE. I was very well respected on the independents, and the fans saw me as a badass submission wrestler who would kick people’s heads in. Yet in WWE, I could tell management didn’t think very much of me; they didn’t really listen to my ideas, and they were constantly trying to portray me as a nerd on television.
The next WWE pay-per-view was Hell in a Cell, where I wrestled the Miz and John Morrison in a triple-threat submissions-only match. Despite neither opponent ever really using submission moves, it turned into a solid match. I felt good walking through the curtain, and then all of a sudden I was getting yelled at again. Alex Riley had come out to help the Miz during the match as we were all fighting on the stage. I went after Riley and ended up throwing him off the stage; unfortunately, he landed on a cameraman named Stu. They were livid. Not only was it dangerous for Stu (and could potentially open up a lawsuit), but in the process, he also dropped the camera—and those cameras are expensive, worth more to the company than either me or Riley, at that point. We both got an earful that night and more the next day. At Raw, Riley and I were pulled into Laurinaitis’s office and shown the tape. Somehow, they thought we did it on purpose to get ourselves over. I already had the issue after the Nexus attack in 2010, and the last thing I needed was something like that, where I again upset WWE management.
Stemming from this incident, I started to regret coming back to WWE and fell into a bad mental place where I hated every second I was there. When I was inside the ring was the only time I could get out of the funk, but every time I walked back through the curtain, I went right back to where I’d started. Nonetheless, I kept my mouth shut, kept working hard, and hoped that the way I felt would soon change. It did, but it took a long time.
Leading into the WWE Bragging Rights 2010 event, where Raw Superstars wrestled Superstars from the rival SmackDown brand, I was directed to go out and challenge Intercontinental Champion Dolph Ziggler to a champion-versus-champion match on pay-per-view. It was rare mic time; plus, I’d ultimately get to perform with Dolph, one of the better wrestlers in the company, so I was excited. Then I was told what they wanted after I challenged Dolph: He and I would get in a little scuffle, and while we were on the floor, a bunch of Divas would come out to dump confetti on Vickie Guerrero, who was Dolph’s manager at the time. OK, whatever. The thing was, after Vickie ran out, they wanted me to get into the ring with the Divas, get supershy like I didn’t want to be any part of it, then bust out into a dance while the Divas all danced around me. I hated the idea. Nevertheless, I put a smile on my face as we went through rehearsal, and I did my best to make it entertaining on the show. Meanwhile, on commentary, Michael Cole continued to mock me, declaring I’d never been on a date in my life. He was just playing his character (who randomly hated me); however, to me, Cole’s comments were indicative of how the company perceived me: just some nerd who was lucky to even be on the WWE roster.
Dolph and I had a good match at Bragging Rights, and I had another strong pay-per-view outing against Ted DiBiase Jr. the next month at Survivor Series. That November was the first time I’d gotten to work with Teddy since we were in Japan together after he’d only performed in sixteen matches. He was good then, but had gotten way better in the ring, and after Survivor Seri
es we wrestled each other on all of the live events, which was a lot of fun. In between all that, I went on my first WWE European tour: two straight weeks of shows every night, and I got to wrestle Regal almost every show. It was the first time Regal and I had been able to wrestle since 2001, so we went out and had proper wrestling matches every night, incorporating lots of European-style wrestling. It was a blast, and for a while, doing those kinds of matches lifted my spirits. Even if I was a geek on TV, I’d be able to go on the live events and wrestle however I wanted.
After having four good pay-per-view matches in a row, I thought WWE fans were starting to realize that I could be counted on to provide really exciting matches they could look forward to. However, the match with Teddy was the last pay-per-view singles match I had for over ten months, and my story shifted entirely.
15
BED, BEARD & BEYOND
SATURDAY, APRIL 5, 2014—8:49 A.M.
It’s very still on this Saturday morning in the hotel bedroom of a future husband and wife, both one day removed from two highly anticipated championship matches at their profession’s most magnificent event.
The quiet scene sharply contrasts with what Daniel Bryan is most known for: explosiveness, intensity. The drama of Total Divas is nowhere in sight. A bare-chested Bryan and his bathrobed Bella lie hushed, exchanging only short statements before Daniel departs.