Undisputed: How to Become World Champion in 1,372 Easy Steps

by Chris Jericho

  “Chris, I want to talk to you about something.”

  Here it comes—my ticket to immortality.

  “I just want to tell you … that you have the most effeminate walk I’ve ever seen. You need to carry yourself in a more manly fashion.”

  With those words, he burst out in his famous belly laugh and continued walking down the hall.

  When I got to the arena in San Diego the day of the PPV, I still didn’t think I was going to win the tournament. Most of the time when someone wins the world title for the first time, they have their loved ones in the crowd to share the moment. I didn’t bother flying Jess or my dad in for the show, because I was half expecting to have the carpet pulled out from under me and didn’t want to look stupid.

  I walked into catering and saw Vince talking to The Undertaker. He still hadn’t said word one to me about the championship and I assumed he wasn’t going to. When I went over to say hello, Vince said sarcastically, “You can tell that the business is going down the toilet when we’re going to make Jericho the champion.”

  That was the extent of Vince’s big talk with me. Not exactly the vote of confidence I was hoping for, but at least I knew for sure that I was really going to be winning the title.

  Vince wandered away, and Undertaker said, “Do it, man. It’s your time. Go out there and kick some ass.”

  It was nice to have someone’s blessing, even if it was a dead man’s.

  I wrestled The Rock in the opening round, and after twenty minutes of the expected Rock-Jericho magic, I pinned him with his own Rock Bottom, when Vince interfered. I was WCW champion for the second time, which was once more than David Arquette.

  I was slumped down in the corner after Rock had layeth the smacketh down on my candy ass when the famous sound of smashing glass emanated from the arena speakers. Austin (who had beaten Angle in the first round) stormed down to the ring and the next match began instantly. But before Steve got to the ring, Rocky came back in and gave me the Rock Bottom, just as Angle snuck back in and hit Austin with the Olympic Slam. This left both Steve and me down on the mat as the ref rang the bell to start the match.

  This match wasn’t as good as the one I had with Rock and wasn’t the defining moment of my career that Austin had predicted. The body of the match was hard-hitting and solid, but the finish was a train wreck. It made about as much sense as an episode of Lost and boasted almost as large a cast. Ric Flair, Vince McMahon, and Booker T joined Rock and Angle in running in, each one making my win look more like a fluke, which was the last thing I needed. I needed all the booking help I could get to be a credible champion since my name value and status was far below the other three guys’. Instead I beat The Rock using his own finish after interference and then beat Austin by hitting him with the title after Jon and Kate Plus 8 ran in to assist me.

  It didn’t help that the crowd was quiet during the whole match because they thought there was no chance in hell that I was going to win. But after Booker T hit Steve from behind with the title, I crawled over and pinned him to win the WWE Championship for the first time and became the only Undisputed Champion in the history of the wrestling business. But the fans were nonchalant and didn’t buy it even as Vince raised my hand and a blizzard of confetti and streamers drifted down around us.

  It was the biggest moment of my career and the San Diego crowd was as silent as a fart in church—or however that saying goes.

  But it was still my moment, and I was going drink it in slowly like a baby suckling on J-Woww’s teat. It was surreal to raise both titles over my head, and I still couldn’t believe I was the champion. I was holding the same championships that Hulk Hogan, Randy Savage, Ric Flair, and Ricky Steamboat had. Since my first match in Ponoka, Alberta, more than eleven years earlier, my goal had been to become the Intercontinental Champion. Now I was the first Undisputed World Champion, the only man in history who could make that claim, and it had only taken me 1,372 matches to do it.

  I went through the curtain and looked to Vince for approval. He smiled and gave me a curt nod, but it didn’t seem that he was really blown away with my work.

  Neither was I.

  I found a secluded corner backstage, collapsed on a giant roll of carpet, and reflected on my night. I’d wrestled for thirty-five minutes straight and beaten the two biggest superstars in the world, and even though neither of the matches were bad, they hadn’t been the five-star classics I’d been wanting.

  I wished I would’ve wrestled better. I wished the crowd had reacted to my victory more. I wished I had received a better reaction from the boss.

  I wished—hell, it was pretty damn froot to be sitting there holding those two titles!

  The company had given me the chance to be the man because they appreciated my work rate and believed in my ability to be a moneymaking commodity. Winning the titles was like a pat on the back, a reward for a job well done. I felt like I had just won an Oscar; I was Cuba Gooding Jr. after he nabbed the trophy for Jerry Maguire. Unfortunately, my own WWE versions of Lightning Jack and Snow Dogs were to come soon enough.

  I left the sanctity of the carpet room and went back to the dressing room to find everyone gone. Roddy Piper once told me that the one drawback of being in the main events night after night was that when you went back to the dressing room, everyone was gone. After my first PPV main event, I realized how right he was. Nobody had stuck around to celebrate or congratulate me afterwards and I was literally the last one there.

  But I hadn’t totally been snubbed by my peers. Benoit (who was still out with his neck injury) and Eddy Guerrero (who had been fired by the WWE for his latest relapse) called and told me how happy and proud of me they were. Chris went on and on about how I had won the title not only for myself but for all the wrestlers who had been told they were too small to make it. Rey Mysterio, whom I hadn’t talked to since I left WCW, called to congratulate me. Even Dave Penzer, the ring announcer from WCW (whom I had my first big heel moment with when I ripped the tuxedo off his back on Nitro ), called and said, “You did it, and nobody said you could.”

  It was nice to hear the groundswell of support from my friends, and even better to know I was Undisputed Champion of the World, bitch!

  The WWE World Champion finally drove on to Anaheim and got to his hotel at two minutes to midnight. He was very hungry and was ready for a feast worthy of an Undisputed King!

  “What time does room service close, young Squire?” said the King to the check-in clerk.

  “I’m sorry, sir, but it closed at 11 p.m. And the bar stopped serving at midnight.”

  It was 12:02 a.m.

  The King wasn’t happy and disappeared back into my brain, allowing peasant Jericho to return. Here I was, the Undisputed World Champion of the biggest wrestling company on the planet, and I couldn’t get a damn shrimp salad.

  The desk clerk gave me the number for Domino’s Pizza and I swiped it from his hand rudely, grumbling something about lobster thermidor and couscous. Twenty-nine minutes later (two more minutes and I would’ve gotten that bad boy for free) the phone in my room rang and the delivery guy told me he was downstairs with my pauper’s repast. I told him to just bring it up, but he said, “I’m sorry, sir, but our policy is to not bring pizzas up to the room. You’ll have to come down to the lobby to pick it up.”

  I put on a pair of Zubaz and went downstairs in my bare feet, picked up my pizza (Vengeful Author’s Note: Amount of driver’s tip that night—37 cents.), and went back to my room. I searched through my pockets for the room key and realized I’d locked myself out. I went back down to the front desk (still in my bare feet) and told the guy I’d locked myself out and needed another keycard.

  “Sure, just show me some ID.”

  “I don’t have any ID, it’s in my room next to the key. Besides, you just checked me in forty-five minutes ago.”

  “Well, I can’t give you a key without any ID.”

  “Okay, but I can’t give you ID without a key.”

  We went bac
k and forth in the worst Reeves and Mortimer routine ever, until he finally agreed to allow the security guard to let me into my room, on the caveat that I could describe exactly what was in it.

  “Well, there’s a suitcase, a toiletry bag, and two championship titles because I’m the frickin’ WWE Undisputed Champion !”

  There were no Playboy models, paparazzi, or caviar for the champ that night; only bare feet, fawlty room keys, and a cold Domino’s pizza in a deserted hotel lobby. I had achieved the highest accolade in my profession, yet I couldn’t even get into my damn room.

  That old trickster the Jericho Curse had returned to join me for old time’s sake during my first night as the Undisputed World Champion.

  But as I was soon to find out, that rat bastard Curse was going to stick around a lot longer than just one night.

  CHAPTER 22

  Peanut Butter and Chong

  Now that I was the champion, I knew I would have to work harder than ever. Pat had told me, “When you make it to the top of the mountain, everybody wants to knock you off.” The entire company was watching my every step, waiting for me to stumble in any way, with my biggest critic being Vince himself. I couldn’t blame him.

  He’d made a big investment in making me the Undisputed Champion, as he needed to make new stars. HHH and Michaels were out, Angle had been the champion multiple times, Rock was spending more and more time in Hollywood, and Austin was already the biggest name in the business. Vince had no other choice but to elevate me.

  I was eager to prove my mettle, but the problem was I didn’t feel completely at ease being the champion. I wasn’t satisfied with my work in the WWE so far, my relationship with Vince wasn’t the best, and politically I still had doubters who thought I couldn’t cut it on top.

  The next night on Raw was my coronation ceremony, where Flair (who storyline-wise was the co-owner of the WWE) was going to present me with the two titles. I came to the ring and gave a heartfelt speech, thanking the person who made my championship victories possible— me.

  Later that night I had a rematch with Austin inside a steel cage, which consisted of him beating the hell out of me until I was covered in more blood than a fan in the front row of a Gwar concert. He gave me the Stunner and was walking out of the cage when Booker T once again interfered, this time slamming the door on Austin’s face and allowing me to escape for the victory. Even though I was the Undisputed Champion, I still hadn’t beaten anybody without outside help and my win was greeted with apathy from the sold-out crowd.

  Granted, winning with interference was part of being a heel, but the fans weren’t buying me as the champion yet.

  So far my big title win hadn’t made much of a splash with anyone—except airport security.

  The first lesson I learned when I trained at Hart Brothers was to always carry your gear with you. You never want to check your bag on the way to a show, in case it got lost. As a result, I had to lug both championship belts through every airport I traveled through. They weighed about twenty-five pounds each and showed up on the TSA X-ray machines every time. Each morning without fail the airport security would ask, “Sir, may we check your bag?”

  Then I’d have to stand there and watch as they unzipped my luggage like they were Vincent Vega opening Marsellus Wallace’s briefcase.

  “Well, what do we have here?” the guard would proclaim as his face brightened with suspicious amusement. “What kind of a champion are you?”

  “Wrestling.”

  “Wrestling, huh? Well, you must be good.” Then he would feel compelled to inform his nearest coworker of the treasures just discovered. “Hey, Enos, look at this! We got ourselves a real-life wrestling champion here!!”

  Enos (Census Author’s Note: 30 percent of all TSA employees are named Enos.) would leave his post looking for penis bombs and check out the merchandise for himself.

  “Well, look at that!” Enos would declare as he took the titles out of the bag, inspected them, fondled them, and strapped them around his waist. Wanting to show off to his coworkers Edna, Ethel, and Elias, Enos would strike a few poses until Elvis rushed over from analyzing a bottle of Aquafina and joined him in dress-up time.

  “Hey, look at me,” Elvis would crow as he snapped the gold around his waist, busting out in a Fabulous Fargo strut followed by a pictureperfect moonwalk.

  Now, that may seem amusing to you, fair reader, but imagine dealing with that nonsense four days a week, every week and you can see how the novelty might wear off quickly.

  One week into my glorious championship reign, I had a match on Raw against Rob Van Dam, and right before we went out we were given an extra five minutes. Normally this was not a big deal, but Rob was still getting comfortable with working the WWE style and I wasn’t in the groove either and found it difficult to fill the additional time. The match floundered a little, made worse by the fact that Vince was at ringside commentating. He rarely sat behind the announce table anymore and I wondered if he was out there to evaluate me. Did he want to see my work up close? Was he gauging my crowd reactions? I failed on both accounts if he was, as it wasn’t a good match and the crowd was flat throughout.

  I was off to a terrible start as champion and everyone knew it, so much so that the next night at Smackdown! I starting hearing rumors that Vince was going to have me drop the title. I dismissed them at first, but when three different people informed me Vince was secondguessing his decision, I started to think there might be something to it.

  Hearing the gossip really pissed me off. I’d only been the champion for a week, and after working my ass off for eleven years to get it I wasn’t going to give up that easily. I decided right then that I was going to go talk to Vince before it was too late.

  I found him outside his office and let him have it. I had nothing to lose. If he had already made up his mind to take the title off me, then it didn’t matter. But if he was on the fence, maybe I could show him something about me he hadn’t seen before. It was time to go hard or go home.

  “Listen, Vince, I’m the Undisputed Champion and you gave me this chance for a reason. I’m sure there are some people behind the scenes who aren’t too happy with your decision, but I don’t care—I’m the champion! This is my time, my chance, and if people don’t believe in me, they can go fuck themselves. And you know what, Vince? If you don’t believe in me, you can go fuck yourself too!”

  There, I’d said it. I had told the great Vince McMahon to go fuck himself. But it was how I truly felt, and I was relieved.

  Now I would have to deal with the consequences.

  Vince stared at me with an expressionless look. I bowed my head and waited for him to unsheathe the Sword of Damocles and decapitate my mutinous ass.

  He continued staring at me with a death gaze, barely moving a muscle.

  (Time moving slow … the minutes seemed like hours … the final curtain call I see.)

  Finally Vince moved, but instead of disemboweling me, his expression changed from that of a stone-cold serial killer to one of a delighted child opening his favorite present at six o’clock on a Christmas morning.

  “That’s exactly the attitude I want from you! That’s what I wanted to hear!” Vince said, his expression mirroring Dr. Emmett Brown’s when he discovered the DeLorean could actually travel through time.

  “You need to believe you’re the champion and act like it at all times! When Bret Hart was the champion, he believed it and nobody could tell him differently. That’s what I want from you! I know that you have this passion and believe in yourself, but you haven’t shown that to me up until now. You’re the first Undisputed Champion in the history of this business, dammit! Now prove to me that you deserve it.”

  I had just kicked the devil in the nuts and survived to tell the tale.

  Minutes later, Pat came over and said, “What did you say to Vince?”

  “I told him to go fuck himself,” I said in a half daze.

  “Really?” Pat said in shock. “Well, whatever you said worked,
because he can’t stop putting you over! You know what, Jericho, you’ve got some bigs ball, kid!”

  The next PPV was the Royal Rumble, where I was booked to face Rocky in the main event for the title. Rock was my favorite opponent and I could finally show off why I was worthy of being World Champion. The idea was for me to retain the title by beating him with a screwjob, which usually meant a low blow, outside interference, or the use of a foreign object. I decided that I’d get as much heat out of it as I could and use all three. So I had the Unamericans (Christian, Lance Storm, and Test) run down to cause a distraction. With the ref preoccupied, I nutshotted Rock, bashed his head into an exposed turnbuckle, and pinned him with both feet on the ropes. The crowd in Atlanta was furious and booed me like millionaires at an Obama rally. The victory gave me a major credibility boost and was the highlight of my run as the Undisputed Champion.

  The PPV also marked the triumphant return of HHH, who finally came back from his quad injury after seven months. He won the Royal Rumble and secured a title shot at WrestleMania X8, but he wasn’t the only familiar face to return to the WWE roster.

  At the end of the show, Vince teased that he was bringing the original NWO faction of Kevin Nash, Scott Hall, and Hulk Hogan into the WWE for the first time ever. I wasn’t the only one who was surprised or concerned that three of the biggest contributors to the demise of WCW were getting a chance to spread their cancer in the WWE.

  There were quite a few members of the roster who remembered what it was like in WCW when the NWO was in power, and they weren’t thrilled about their impending arrival. The whole locker room was up in arms, uncertain as to what exactly would happen when they arrived. Would they destroy the locker room with their horrible attitudes? Would they work their dark Jedi mind tricks on Vince like they had Eric? Who could stop them? Who would save us?

  There was only one man with the power to combat the NWO. I had to seek out the man who had everybody’s respect across the board and the greatest influence within the company. He was the oracle. He was the swami. He was the Fonz.