by Daniel Bryan
I’m not sure if it’s because the basketball game got so much mainstream attention or if it was the plan all along, but the following week, I turned on the Wyatts. Bray and I were doing a tag match against the Usos inside a steel cage and after the Usos won, Bray wanted me to submit to him by allowing him to hit his “Sister Abigail” signature move on me. I refused, and the crowd that had been dead for the last ninety minutes of the show all of a sudden came alive. Bray charged at me and I dodged it, lighting him up, knocking the other two Wyatt Family members off the cage, and then at the end, hitting Bray with the flying knee. I climbed to the top of the cage and sat there, leading the entire arena in “Yes!” chants. It was another really cool visual.
Somewhere around this time, I was speaking with Vince in his office, and though I forget what we were originally talking about, he suddenly changed topics; he wanted to talk about his plans for me for WrestleMania 30. Prior to this discussion, I had been talking to Triple H about possibly doing a match with him, but also, in the back of my mind, I was still hoping they had convinced Shawn Michaels to come back to wrestle me. But Vince’s idea was neither of those. He wanted me to wrestle Sheamus.
Let me say right now that I love working with Sheamus. We have great matches, we get along really well, and, with the exception of the two WrestleManias we’d already wrestled, we always had fun together. However, given that I was, at worst, the third most popular wrestler in WWE—and on some shows the most popular—it was a pretty low-positioned match for WrestleMania. We would be lucky if we were the fifth biggest match, given WWE had already planned to have Randy Orton–Batista for the title, Brock Lesnar–Undertaker, Triple H–CM Punk, and John Cena–Bray Wyatt. With those four matches, it would be difficult for anything else to get much time. Though demoralized, I thanked him for the opportunity and was determined to do the best with what I was given.
But the road in life is uncertain and nothing is set in stone, even what Vince tells you—maybe especially what Vince tells you. Things can always change, which is what happened to my WrestleMania plans at the 2014 Royal Rumble in January.
Royal Rumble is when WrestleMania season starts, and the winner of the event’s headline thirty-man Rumble match goes on to compete for the championship at WrestleMania, presumably in the main event. Next to ’Mania, the Royal Rumble crowd usually has the most hardcore fans in attendance. People fly in from all over the world for the annual event, and those people are very vocal. That year they also happened to be pretty big Daniel Bryan fans. I knew I wasn’t going to be in the Rumble match, and I hadn’t been advertised for it, but nobody specifically said I wouldn’t be in it, either.
I didn’t mind that I wasn’t involved in the Rumble, because I had a match with Bray Wyatt earlier in the show and I was able to just focus on that. We wrestled in the second bout on the show and had a great match, fueled by an amazing crowd in Pittsburgh that was overwhelming in their support for me. The only times I had seen anything like that audience was the night after WrestleMania XXVIII and shows in my home city, Seattle. And just like at those shows, the fans continued to chant “Yes!” and “Daniel Bryan!” long after my match was over.
It’s interesting that wrestling has moved into this postmodern era where fans understand that what they’re watching is entertainment. They choose to cheer for what entertains them, whether the character is good or bad, and they reject things they don’t want to see by booing, chanting “Boring,” or creating their own entertainment among themselves. One crowd might start the wave; another might start chanting for an announcer or the local hockey team. I don’t know where this idea came from to start having your own fun and stop paying attention to what’s being presented, but it has its pluses and minuses. Fortunately for me, it’s been mostly positive. For instance, in the title match for the unified WWE World Heavyweight Championship featuring John Cena against Randy Orton, the crowd initially rejected it. They were chanting “Boring!” and “Yes!” and “This is awful!” The thing was, it wasn’t awful. It was an actively good match, so much so that the same crowd that wanted to reject it at first actually got into it by the end.
I sat in the back in Pittsburgh during the main event Royal Rumble match, watching and wondering if there would be any discernible negativity toward me not being in the Rumble. At first there wasn’t; there were “Daniel Bryan!” chants, but they dispersed pretty quickly. Generally speaking, the fans were just enjoying the Rumble. But they didn’t know I wasn’t going to be in the match. Not yet.
When Batista—the guy WWE wanted to be the headlining hero going into WrestleMania—came out, the crowd booed because they figured that if I didn’t win, he would. Shortly after he entered, the chants for me increased, and the closer the match drew to its final entrant, the louder those chants got. When the countdown to the thirtieth entrant started, the fans were on their feet in anticipation. However, once the countdown was completed and the buzzer sounded, instead of hearing “Ride of the Valkyries,” they heard Rey Mysterio’s music. This was the moment when the fans finally realized I wasn’t going to be in the match, and they started booing—loudly.
As I watched, I instantly felt bad for Rey. He’s the last person to deserve that kind of reaction, and I’ve looked up to him since I was in high school. Rey has worked through more injuries than one could count, and he has always done his best to entertain the fans with his high-flying style, despite the toll it might take on his body. And yet the fans booed him because he wasn’t me, and I was what they wanted. It’s weird for me to be typing that now. It sounds egotistical, but I don’t know how else to say it. The fans turned on the whole match. They booed pretty much everyone except for CM Punk and Roman Reigns. When Batista won, the crowd mercilessly booed him, the man who was going to main-event WrestleMania. Then they followed with a loud “Daniel Bryan!” chant. They were directly telling WWE what they wanted.
You have to keep in mind that this was one crowd on one night. All crowds weren’t like that, and Batista got some amazing positive reactions after he’d come back. WWE knew that the WrestleMania crowd would be very similar to this crowd, and I wondered if WWE would listen to what the crowd told them. Truthfully, part of me was already resigned to just hoping that maybe I could build up enough momentum for the following year’s ’Mania.
The next night, another bizarre incident occurred. CM Punk left WWE. I don’t know why, and it’s not my place to guess. That side of it is his to tell, should he choose to tell it. All I know is he left and he didn’t come back, and all I can tell you is how that affected me. As for WWE, Punk’s departure put the company in a strange place for WrestleMania; two of the big four matches they planned were going to be much different than they thought. One, the Punk–Triple H match at WrestleMania, was not even going to happen. And two, if they moved forward with the WWE World Heavyweight Championship match between Randy Orton and Batista, the fans were going to turn on it just like they turned on the Rumble match.
For a couple of weeks, I didn’t hear of anything changing. I knew Hunter wanted to face me at WrestleMania. Unfortunately, even in his position, Hunter doesn’t always get what he wants. I’ve seen him come out of the TV production meetings on the road to discuss stories looking like he’s been in a battle and lost. I think Vince was still hoping that Punk would come back or that Batista would win back the crowd. Neither of those things happened, but then WWE came up with a solution to both of those problems: me.
Not only did the fans want me in that spot, but it made sense story-wise. The Authority had kept me from being champion since SummerSlam the year before, and every time I got close, they took it away. They ignored my popularity and didn’t even put me in the Rumble match to get an opportunity to compete for the title at WrestleMania. It was a very legitimate story that could easily be told about a corporate machine (The Authority) holding the little man (me) down. All they had to figure out was how to get us there.
WWE came up with a very creative idea based on the “Occupy” m
ovements that protested against social and economic inequality, which were happening all over the world. It was called “Occupy Raw,” and I, along with a bunch of “fans” wearing Daniel Bryan T-shirts, hijacked the ring and did not leave until we got what we wanted. Most of the fans that were in the ring were actually production or catering people that work for WWE, though the people on the floor surrounding the ring were real fans. I’m not sure how those individuals were picked, but they sure were enthusiastic, which helped. One of the real fans actually jumped in the ring and stood right next to me as I sat on the turnbuckle, and you could see him taking a bunch of selfies during the entire segment.
Our seizing control of the ring threatened to ruin the show, and after putting up as much resistance as they could, The Authority finally gave us what we wanted: I got a match with Triple H, and if I won, on that very same night, I would be entered into the WWE World Heavyweight Championship match and main-event WrestleMania 30.
22
TIME FOR CHANGE
SUNDAY, APRIL 6, 2014—11:12 A.M.
The first Superstar on the coach bus headed to the Mercedes-Benz Superdome, Bryan receives the genuine support of all who step aboard and shuffle down the aisle for the biggest day in WWE—Arn Anderson (“DB! This is your week,” he exclaims), the Miz, Mark Henry, and others. Once he’s arrived and inside the massive stadium, Bryan rolls his suitcase and the modest “Makin’ Groceries” Whole Foods bag he’d picked up earlier in the week toward the Superstars’ quarters. He finds his spot among his fellow warriors in the locker room and carves out his niche.
As he’s expressed this week and for the past several months of his developing Movement, a sea change feels imminent. Should he succeed tonight, WWE may never be the same .
“Things will change because expectations have to change,” Bryan declares, addressing Triple H and The Authority. “What ‘they’ think someone needs in order to be a successful Superstar has to change. Whether I win or not, my popularity has spoken for itself.”
Tonight at WrestleMania 30, the “People’s Couple” has a rare opportunity to emerge as a power couple (though they’d likely prefer never to be given such a moniker). Daniel Bryan and Brie Bella could emerge from the Show of Shows with the top prizes in their divisions—not unlike Triple H and Stephanie McMahon themselves had done in 2000. To Bryan, it’s not about the grandeur, however.
Midday inside the Superdome, near the foot of the entrance ramp of the WrestleMania set, “Braniel” reconnects after their morning apart. As much as this night means to Bryan, it’s also a significant event for Brie, who’s vying for the ladies’ top title in the Divas Championship Invitational. It could very well come down to sister against sister, among several other possible outcomes weighing on the Total Divas star’s mind. She—like Bryan—needs to be prepared for anything.
“I just try to tell her to go out there and do what you do,” Bryan encourages. “Last year, [Brie and Nikki’s] match got cut from WrestleMania, and that’s hard because that’s one of the reasons they came back. They wanted to wrestle at WrestleMania. [Brie has to] try not to get caught up in the distractions and drama that are inevitable.”
Their ringside huddle shifts elsewhere, much like the “Yes!” Man’s face, which is slowly changing. The jocular Goat, as the bearded star is likened to, starts to resemble an American Dragon as he internally prepares for the battle (or battles) beyond at WrestleMania.
As you can imagine, I was ecstatic about the opportunity to main-event WrestleMania. There is no higher mountaintop in professional wrestling. I was also a little overwhelmed because not only did I have the biggest matches of my career, but also Bri and I had bought our very first house together the week before and we were getting married a mere five days after ’Mania. The logistics of everything that needed to be done that week to make sure everything would go off without a hitch were very stressful, as you can imagine.
The timing of our wedding ceremony was based purely on the filming needs for the season two finale of Total Divas. Originally Bri and I wanted to have our wedding outdoors in Washington State, which meant we would need to wait until summer for ideal weather. Total Divas offered to pay for our wedding if they could shoot it, and, though hesitant, we said yes. Weddings are expensive, and ours would be especially, because Bri has such a large family. We still wanted to have it in Washington, but when the producers told us the second week of April was the last possible weekend they could shoot it, we realized an outdoor wedding at that time of year would be too risky in the Northwest. We talked about it and decided to get married in Sedona, Arizona, a beautiful desert area about an hour and a half north of Phoenix. We wanted to get married outside surrounded by nature; plus, Sedona was where we spent Valentine’s Day the year before, so it seemed like the perfect place. And it was.
Bri did most of the planning for the wedding—not “our” wedding, “her” wedding, as she referred to it—which was very helpful, but I was still put in charge of managing some things. Most importantly, I was completely responsible for our honeymoon. So, while preparing for this huge moment in my career—wrestling in two matches in front of seventy-five thousand people and so many more watching around the world—I was also managing the details of our honeymoon trip. Getting all that in order was fun, just stressful given the timing.
Closing on our new house was just circumstantial as well. We’d been kind of looking at houses after renting for so long, but were content to wait to buy anything until after the wedding. There was one specific street we always walked down whenever we’d take Josie on walks, where people greeted one another and neighbors seemed to know each other. All of a sudden, I stumbled upon a perfectly sized and inexpensive house that had opened up on it. I was really excited about it and wanted Bri to take a look at it. Unfortunately, she was on the road doing media for Total Divas and within days of going on the market, before Bri even got home, someone apparently bought it. No big deal, we thought; if it wasn’t meant to be, it wasn’t meant to be. Two days before we left for WrestleMania week, our real estate agent—who was Matt Bloom’s (a.k.a. Tensai’s) wife, Sarah—called and told us the previous buyers’ financials fell through and, if we wanted to, we could take a look at it. This was just three hours before we were leaving for Sedona to check on the wedding venue and a couple of other things. We couldn’t pass up the chance, so right before we left, we swung by the house to check it out. Bri loved it. It was small and cozy, and she envisioned ways we could remodel it to make it our own. As we were leaving the place, two more potential buyers were coming in to look at it. By the next morning, we put in an offer that was ultimately accepted. It was a very opportune thing.
It obviously wasn’t ideal to have all of these things going on while preparing for the biggest matches of my career. I would have liked to be a hundred percent focused on WrestleMania during that week. But life is rarely ideal, and these were all good things, so I rolled with the tide.
23
WARRIORS
SUNDAY, APRIL 6, 2014—4:23 P.M.
Twenty-four years ago, WrestleMania VI’s Ultimate Challenge altered the landscape of the WWE Universe and forged a new breed of fan that rallied behind a behemoth named Ultimate Warrior. Among them was Daniel Bryan. Long before he discovered technicians like Shawn Michaels and Bret “Hit Man” Hart, the submission specialist was an enthralled young Warrior himself.
In the wide halls of the Mercedes-Benz Superdome, Bryan encounters the grayed yet ever-intense Ultimate Warrior, mere hours prior to WrestleMania. He shakes hands with the presently neon-fringe-free legend for the first time and fulfills a moment little Daniel Bryan only dreamt of years back.
“I’m looking forward to your match,” Warrior bellows at the five-foot-eight Superstar as they break.
Ironically, tonight, Bryan takes aim at breaking the mold Warrior once propagated as a successor to “the Immortal” Hulk Hogan. An industry that once flourished on the backs of big men is about to change forever.
W
hen I was walking down the hall the day of WrestleMania and saw the Ultimate Warrior backstage, I had to take the opportunity to say something to him. I don’t see myself as someone the old-school wrestlers and WWE Legends would recognize, but Warrior was certainly very nice and, to me, quite sincere. He said, “You’re doing a great job with what you’re doing.” I don’t even know if he watched what I did closely, but it was an honor and pleasure to get the chance to go up to him and tell him that I was a huge fan of his as a kid.
This first live wrestling show I ever went to took place in the summer of 1990 at the Tacoma Dome, about ninety minutes from our house in Aberdeen. My parents surprised me with the tickets when I came home from school one day after I’d heard an ad for the show on the radio and, for weeks, begged my mom and dad for us to go. I would have wanted to attend any wrestling show at the time, but what made me feel like I needed to go to this one in particular was the DJ’s announcement of one person competing that night: the Ultimate Warrior.
When the first notes of Warrior’s entrance music hit, the entire Tacoma Dome erupted. I cheered as loud as my little nine-year-old voice would permit, while standing on my chair to get a better glimpse of my hero. He sprinted to the ring, his face painted and his huge, muscular arms made even more vascular by the vibrant string tied around his upper biceps. He shook the ropes like a maniac as soon as he got to the ring and the crowd roared with approval. The Ultimate Warrior looked like a superhero on television, but in person, he looked like a deity.
That’s all I remember from the show—that entrance, that energy. It transcended the visual and auditory excitement I’d previously only gotten from seeing it on a TV screen. Live, you could feel it. That excitement struck a chord in me that I’ve never forgotten.
Nobody else in my family who was there that night remembers Ultimate Warrior’s entrance. They remember his opponent, “Ravishing” Rick Rude. In the middle of their match, Warrior attempted to give Rude a sunset flip. Rude stood his ground—with his back to us—and he would not go down. In order to gain more leverage, Warrior reached up and pulled at the top of his tights. Still Rick Rude would not go down … but his tights sure did. His bare ass was directed right toward us.