The fan would painfully swallow the aptly named fire water and look at me expectantly. I would then toss the hooch into my mouth, facing the fan with my left side, and begin to gargle. What the fan couldn’t see was me slowly dribbling the sweet amber out of the right side of my mouth, effectively spitting it out. By the time I reached my record-setting three minutes and thirty-nine seconds, I was gargling nothing but fumes, and even that was enough to almost make me bap when I swallowed my saliva. The poor fanboy never knew what hit him or why he was so much drunker than me, but suffice it to say that most of my foes were carried out of the club an inebriated mess. Once again, I had responsibilities, remember?
Another one of those responsibilites was to try and be the most entertaining performer on the show, which wasn’t easy when working with The Rock. After another great twenty-minute match in Singapore, we followed up with another twenty minutes of improv comedy. Pat was the agent for the tour and it drove him crazy when we spent so much time in the ring after the match.
“What are you dooooing? You’re spending so much time in da fucking ring after da match dat nobody remembers how good da match was!!”
Rock and I respected Pat more than anyone in the company, but we knew this was probably the only time Rocky was going to be wrestling in these countries. The Asian fans wanted to see the most electrifying man in sports entertainment, and that’s what they were going to get.
In Singapore, we reviewed Scorpion King and plugged its opening in April. We called each other names, got into a mock argument, and then made up. Then I went to shake Rock’s hand, he gave me a Rock Bottom, and that was it for me.
I’m wearing a scarf here in Singapore because it’s my theory that if you wear one, you’ll NEVER catch a cold. Ever. It really works … try it! (The cut on my forehead is from a Tommy Dreamer kendo stick shot.)
Kuala Lumpur was the final night of the tour and we ended things with a bang—literally. After I beat him again, I was walking back to the dressing room when Rock grabbed the mic and informed me that because I’d cheated to win, everyone in the crowd thought I was an asshole. Ten thousand Malaysians smelled what he was cooking and began chanting at the top of their lungs that I was an anus orifice. I was heading back toward the ring, ready to begin our routine for the evening, when I spotted a blue balloon floating in the aisle. I had just seen Tom Hanks in Castaway and got an idea. I grabbed the balloon and held it close to me as I stepped between the ropes.
“Everybody in this arena hates me and thinks I’m an asshole, including you, Rock. But there’s someone here who still believes in me. Someone who will always be my friend. Someone named Ziggy!”
Then I held my Wilson up in the air like he was the Holy Grail. The place began booing and I found it amazing that I got an inanimate object more over as a heel than half the locker room. Rock did his trademark eyebrow raise as I continued: “Everybody in this country hates me and loves you and it’s not fair. But Ziggy here, Ziggy loves me. Ziggy is my only friend and the only thing I need in this toilet of a country! I’m going to hug him and squeeze him and stroke him and never let him go!”
Rock eyed me up and down, pausing as the crowd cheered in anticipation of what he was going to do.
“Ziggy’s your only friend?”
“Yes!”
“Well, then Ziggy must be an asshole too.” Ten thousand chants of “asshole” began again, this time directed toward my poor Ziggy, who had done nothing to deserve such verbal abuse.
“Ziggy’s not an asshole!” I yelled, jumping up and down as the Zigster nodded silently in agreement.
“Well, maybe I was wrong. Can The Rock introduce himself to Ziggy and apologize to him?”
I looked to Ziggy, who gave his approval. “Okay, Rock, but you better be nice to him.”
Rocky responded with his trademark dazzling smile. “Of course, Chris, The Rock is always nice!” Rock gently cupped Ziggy in his hands and said, “Well hello, little Ziggy! Let The Rock ask … are you Chris Jericho’s friend?”
Ziggy gazed silently at Rock, letting him know that he was indeed my boy.
Rock continued talking to Ziggy as if he were a child. “Well isn’t that nice that you’re Jericho’s pal. But do you know what The Rock thinks of you being Chris Jericho’s only friend?”
Ziggy contemplated the question and took the fifth.
“The Rock thinks this …” and he popped my little buddy.
The Rock killed Ziggy.
The crowd went wild, jumping up and down and screaming as if he had just assassinated Pol Pot. I freaked out and threw a tantrum. I collapsed onto my knees, wailing “NOOOOOOOO!” like Captain Kirk in The Wrath of Khan after Spock died.
But Ziggy was much frooter than Spock. He was my everything, and I remembered all of the good times we had. The time we double dated in high school. The time we built a birdhouse in the November rain. The time our Flock of Seagulls cover act won a battle of the bands in college. All those hopes and dreams we discussed in our jammies as we huddled together during a cold winter’s night.
Rock had taken all of that from me.
I looked up at my nemesis with tears in my eyes, just as The Rock extended his hand in an act of remorse. I dropped Ziggy’s carcass like a used blue prophylactic as The Rock told me that I didn’t need Ziggy anymore, because he wanted to be my friend. We shook hands and embraced like the newfound brothers we were. Rocky wiped the tears from my eyes and clapped me on the back. I reciprocated, but as I went to walk away he changed his mind and pulled me in for the Rock Bottom.
Instead of executing the picture-perfect rendition of the move we’d been performing nightly, we were so sweaty that my hand slipped out of his. Our timing was off as a result and we awkwardly collapsed in a heap onto the mat. The fans were so primed for the moment that there was an audible groan as everyone in the building knew we had fucked up.
But Rocky never missed a beat.
He popped right back onto his feet, grabbed the mic, and said, “Wait a second, wait a second, wait a second. Don’t you know that this is the part of the show where we’re supposed to shake hands, I pull you in, and then give you the Rock Bottom?”
The crowd cheered, delighted that Rock had broken the fourth wall and let them in.
“Yes, I know how it goes, but my hands are really sweaty and I slipped,” I retorted apologetically.
Rock looked at me with disgust. “You slipped?”
“Yes, I slipped, and I apologize, Rock. I forgive you for what you did to poor Ziggy and now I ask you to forgive me for my mistake. Can we just be friends again like we were in the old days?”
Rocky pondered my request as the crowd cheered him on. He surveyed the people, looked at his toes, nodded his head, and shook my hand—then pulled me in and gave me a textbook Rock Bottom to the delight of the crowd.
I came through the curtain and received a bollocking from a visibly upset Pat. “That was some of the worst shits I’ve ever seen in my life!”
I couldn’t even deny it because I was still laughing too hard.
CHAPTER 24
A Healthy Scratch
After the show, everybody was excited to blow off some steam and end the tour with a few celebratory drinks. When Pat caught wind of the evening’s plans, he vehemently protested. The previous time he’d been an agent on an overseas tour the boys had gotten so drunk the last night, that some of them missed the bus and subsequently their flight home the next morning. He was adamant that we shouldn’t go out and party. I took Pat aside and promised him as champion that I would make sure that everyone made it to the bus on time, no matter what. “This is a good crew of guys,” I said. “It’s not how it used to be back in the old days.” Pat reluctantly agreed and the bash was on.
We ended up at a bar that was essentially a big grass hut, and I expected Tugg Speedman to wander out and buy me a mai tai. We went inside and the bar was essentially divided like a snowball dance in high school: boys on one side of the crabgrass club and girls on th
e other. As we went to get a drink, each of us was instantly flanked by a girl.
Malaysian women are a mixture of Japanese, Filipino, Indian, and Chinese and are very exotic-looking. They also seemed to be very friendly. and soon it looked like a sping break movie from the ’80s, where every guy had an admiring female attached to his hip. I thought it was interesting how quickly it happened and figured the girls must be big fans of the WWE. But after a few words of stilted conversation, I realized that none of them knew our names or where we were from. I started surveying the area, and out of the corner of my eye I saw one of the girls talking on a cell phone. I continued my inspection and noticed a nicely dressed older lady sitting in the back of the room, also on the phone. When the girl hung up her phone, the old lady hung up hers. Another girl dialed a number on her phone and a few seconds later the old lady picked up. Then I saw two burly guys in dark suits sidle up to the old lady and whisper in her ear. The gears in my head started turning as I connected the dots of what was going down. We were in Malaysia. We had instantly been surrounded by a gaggle (fun word) of nubile young ladies, communicating with an older woman flanked by a pair of gorillas in suits.
Hmmmmm. I looked at the guys in the suits, then the old lady, then the girls, then the old lady, then the guys in suits … then it hit me.
The girls were hookers, the old lady was the madam, and the gorillas were the pimps.
We were in some sort of a brothel.
I slapped my hands to my face like the kid from Home Alone and screamed, “Ahhhh prostitutes!! Prostitutes!! Run! Run! Run!”
I started smashing drinks and shoving people out of the way like George Costanza at an inflamed children’s party, trying to get the boys the hell out of there. A mass stampede to the door ensued, like when the girls revealed themselves as vampires in From Dusk Till Dawn — except these girls had revealed themselves to be hookers. We made it out the front door and ran down the street as if we were expecting them to chase after us and drink our blood.
I finally got into bed at 6 a.m., and when the 7 a.m. wake-up call arrived, I closed my eyes to get that crucial one extra minute of sleep. The phone rang again and I hopped out of bed in a panic when I saw that it was now 8 a.m. My heart nipped up when I remembered the bus was supposed to leave at 7:45.
Pat was gonna be pissed!
I woke up, and made the bus in seconds flat—where Pat was standing furiously with his arms crossed. After my grandiose promise to him the night before, the only person late for the bus was me.
* * *
A week after the Asian tour, it was time for WrestleMania. On the final Raw before the big show, I finally got the upper hand on HHH by attacking him with his own sledgehammer and putting him in the Walls on the announce table, the same way I had the night he tore his quad. Vince came to me after the show and said, “How does it feel to finally have some heat?”
The way I’d been booked over the past month, it was amazing I had any at all.
For the week before the show, the entire city of Toronto was abuzz with anticipation. The WWE was on the cover of the Toronto Sun for a week straight, I was on the cover of the Canadian TV Guide for the second time, and every news channel and talk show had us on as guests.
The biggest of the shows was Off the Record, the same program where Moongoose McQueen had batttled Pink years earlier.
In the week leading up to WrestleMania, OTR had a WWE Superstar as the sole guest each night for the entire thirty minutes. First up was HHH. I was watching the interview, and when host Michael Landsberg asked him what he thought of his opponent for Mania, I couldn’t believe his response.
“Jericho can be as good as he wants to be but he’s missing something. I don’t know what that something is, but it’s keeping him from being what he could be.”
He was basically telling everybody that I wasn’t living up to my potential. The first rule I learned about interviews from Bulldog Bob Brown in Calgary was you always put over your opponent. That way if you win, you’ve really beat somebody. It didn’t matter if he thought I was missing something, I was the Undisputed World Champion! I felt that it wasn’t the best way to sell the huge match coming up in only a few days, and it annoyed me.
Jericho vs. HHH was technically the main event of WrestleMania X8, in that we went on last, but in reality the main event was Hogan vs. The Rock. Their images were on all of the posters, T-shirts, newspapers, and promotional materials, and that’s the way it should have been.
Very froot to see my name at the top of the WrestleMania card as champion. How many guys can say they were in the final match at a WrestleMania? It’s also interesting that you can pretty much count on one hand the performers on this show who are still in the WWE today.
I felt that Hogan and Rock would be impossible to follow, but Vince decided that the title match should go on last, which meant we had our work cut out for us.
Hogan and Rock put on an epic match and the fans lapped up everything they did. It wasn’t the greatest of matches technically, but with the ridiculous crowd reactions it was one of the best matches of the year. As I watched it I knew we were in trouble. I hoped that maybe my Canadian brethren would save some energy for me and help rescue us, but they didn’t.
Before we went to the ring HHH said, “Now it’s time to give them something completely different than Hogan and Rock. This is going to be a wrestling match.”
And that’s what we gave them. By no means was it a bad match, but after Hogan and Rock the crowd was mentally done. In the end, HHH pinned me with a Pedigree and we had a new Undisputed World Champion. The crowd reacted, but they were clearly tired and it was kind of an anticlimatic finish to the biggest show of the year.
But no matter the result, the bottom line was I had been in the official main event of WrestleMania, and only seventeen other matches in the history of the business could claim that. It was a huge honor, and to commemorate the moment I took the lineup sheet off the wall and kept it as a souvenir.
After the match, I walked through Gorilla and was surprised to see The Undertaker waiting for me.
“Congratulations, Chris. You worked hard tonight and during your whole run as champion and I’m proud of you.”
I felt like I was Ralph Malph and the Fonz had just given me a pat on the back. My relationship with Taker had always been respectful, but he certainly didn’t have to go out of his way to say that. What made his gesture even more impressive was that he’d made the good tenminute walk through SkyDome, from the dressing room to Gorilla to give me his compliment, and that meant a lot to me. He gave me a boost when I needed it, and I’ll never forget that.
Thanks, Take.
But as good as Taker’s comments made me feel, Vince’s comments brought me right back down to earth again. When I asked him what he thought of the match, he nodded his head noncommitally and said, “It was good.”
Vince is easy to read and I could tell he was just giving me some high-class lip service. “Well, I appreciate the opportunity you gave me to be the champion and I hope I get the chance to do it again in the future.”
Instead of agreeing with my statement, he just shook my hand and thanked me stoically. I could tell that his mind was elsewhere.
The Jericho as champion experiment was over.
My suspicions that Vince had had enough of the C-man were confirmed the next day when I showed up at Raw in Montreal and wasn’t booked. I’d been the World Champion for three and a half months, yet wasn’t important enough to have any part on the program the day after I lost it. It was a total slap in the face and made me feel like a total failure. To add insult to injury, after I had carried around both titles for the duration of my reign, the day after I lost them HHH was presented with a single brand spanking new Undisputed World Championship belt.
Pissed that I was a healthy scratch, I pitched an idea to Brian where a backstage worker would tell me he was sorry I lost the title and my response would be to furiously beat the shit out of him. Vince liked the ide
a, and when it came time to film the bit, I apologized to my hapless victim (Trivial Author’s Note: The guy was future WWE tag champion Sylvain Grenier.) beforehand for the savage beating he was about to get. I went into a complete zone and took out all of my frustrations on the poor fella, I mean I really beat the shit out of him, so much so that The Undertaker (who happened to be watching) said,
“Damn, man! You looked completely crazy the moment that pretape began. You weren’t acting, were you?”
No, Mr. Deadman, I wasn’t.
My banishment from Raw was just the beginning. At the next month’s PPV, instead of having a rematch with HHH or beginning a new feud, I wasn’t booked again. I had to weasel my way onto the show via a promo segment where I spoke my mind about how I was the Undisputed Champion only a short month ago and now I wasn’t even able to get a match on the show. Had my championship reign really been that bad? How in the hell did I travel back to 1999? Souped up DeLorean? Magical phone booth? The Guardian of Forever?
No matter the reason, my star was fading.
But Hulk Hogan’s was rising.
At Raw in Montreal, he came to the ring and got one of biggest pops I’ve ever heard in my life. He stood in the ring with tears in his eyes as the crowd gave him a standing ovation for ten minutes. It was incredible. As a result of that reaction and others like it everywhere he went, Vince decided to switch the title to him. HHH went from being out of action for seven months, to winning the Undisputed Championship, to losing it three weeks later to a forty-nine-year-old Hulk Hogan.
About a week before Hunter dropped the title, Vince decided he wanted to split the WWE into two separate brands and run them independently. In essence, he was creating his own competition. He booked a draft on Raw to decide who would stay and who would go to Smackdown! Everybody would find out what show they would end up on that night—except me. I was ineligible to be drafted because I was in a handicap match with Stephanie against HHH, where the winner would become the Undisputed Champion and work on both shows. I knew I wasn’t going to be winning the match and the title, but nobody would tell me what show I was going to end up on. When I asked Brian, he told me I would have to wait until they posted the complete draft results on WWE.com after the show. It was the most ridiculous thing ever. And to make matters worse, I had to start driving as soon as I was finished and had no access to a computer, so I was forced to call Lenny in Vancouver to find out where I was going to end up. In essence, I found out my fate at the same time all of you did.
Undisputed: How to Become World Champion in 1,372 Easy Steps Page 20