That is what God wants for me, and there is no peace better than doing what God has called you to do.
CHAPTER 6
KNOW YOUR IDENTITY
“See what great love the Father has lavished on us, that we should be called children of God! And that is what we are!” (1 John 3:1).
In the time I’ve had to reflect on my career lately, I have been intrigued by how the Lord has brought together elements of wrestling and my faith and even my outdoors adventures.
I can guarantee you that before my first retirement, I could not have imagined writing this: wrestling and Christianity have a lot in common. That awareness is part of the perspective change I have gained as I have continued to grow in my faith and because of the time I’ve had to think about my career these past four years.
One of wrestling’s strengths is veteran wrestlers’ willingness to help younger wrestlers develop after they enter the sport. I was fortunate to have Jose Lothario train me and introduce me to wrestling. When I first started wrestling in Mid-South, Ricky Morton and Robert Gibson — The Rock ’n’ Roll Express — invited me to ride along with them, and they used our time on the road together to teach me the insides of the sport. Terry Taylor, one of the most passionate people about wrestling I’ve known, taught me invaluable lessons about how to perform in the ring. Then all along my way up the wrestling ladder, there were others who offered advice or tips that aided my climb.
At that time, I just thought of them as good guys who cared enough about their sport to ensure it would remain successful by teaching us young guys how to put on an entertaining show. Now, with my new perspective, I see them as more than that because of how God placed them along my path as part of the plan He had for my life. There was an additional purpose, which I would not discover for years, behind how they were guiding me.
When I retired from the ring, numerous people suggested I should travel around the country speaking about my faith. I have spoken in a few churches, but I chose not to pursue that option so that I wouldn’t take time away from home. I understood that people wanted to hear wrestling stories because wrestlers can tell great stories. I got that. But there also was this part of me that was uncomfortable with the idea of being billed as a religious “expert.”
The benefit of my not committing to a heavy speaking schedule is that I have had not only more time with my family, but also more quiet time with God. I’m not one of those people who claim to have heard God’s voice audibly. I haven’t, and don’t anticipate that I ever will hear it. But God does put things on my heart. I think He has revealed things to me through the perspective change I have experienced. And I am excited, because writing this book allows me to share some of what I have learned.
I’m still not claiming to be a religious expert, but like Jose, Ricky, Robert, Terry, and the others who helped me, I recognize that I have gained experiences that I can share with those who perhaps are newer to faith than I am. Or who might just listen because they care about wrestling.
As they say, God works in mysterious ways.
My life is proof of that, for sure!
Identity is an important concept in both wrestling and Christianity. Every wrestler needs to develop his own identity by which fans will recognize him. Early in my career I tried to distinguish myself from other wrestlers with an outfit that I thought was “out there” and would make people take notice. I wore chaps for a taste of Texas, and the rest of my outfit is best described as Freddie Mercury of the band Queen meets the Village People. It wasn’t exactly the manliest concept, but combine my outfit with an authentic attitude of being someone who would do whatever it would take to make it in wrestling, and I thought people would have no choice but to notice that I was different from the others.
For me to have an unshakeable walk as a Christian, it is vital to know what my identity is — more specifically, that my identity is found in Christ. Even though I have faults, God continually sees me in the image of Christ. God’s view of me doesn’t change despite what any detractors say about me, and I have to understand that in order to continue the Christian walk He wants me to maintain.
When I went back to wrestling, one of the biggest changes in the business was the focus on wrestlers’ identities. Character and character development were terms we hadn’t used during the first part of my career. Before, who we were was just our gimmick. We were wrestlers, and we kept it that simple. But that had changed — now wrestlers also were performers, actors, and entertainers.
I’ve been credited with having an ability to keep my identity relevant, to continually reinvent myself, so to speak. The funny thing about that is that I never concentrated on what my character was doing or what he would become next.
My character basically evolved as I evolved as a person. I’ve never considered myself a good actor. I was better at being than acting, so I meshed my real life with my wrestling identity.
I worked hard to learn how to record interviews or monologues in front of the camera — that’s known as “cutting promos” — because I cared about having an identity that fans would instantly associate with me, whether in a positive or negative manner. But I didn’t stay up at night in my hotel room wondering how my character should feel in particular situations. I am reactionary and emotional, and that came through in my character because I relied on instinct and feelings. Truth be told, I stumbled onto a lot of good things that hadn’t been planned.
Although wrestling is not real, my character did have a lot of real in him. Because of the nature of our sport, fans often struggled to perceive where the line was between the wrestling me and the real-life me. It didn’t help them that the line usually blurred. But I believe the real-life aspects I brought into my character were the primary reason I connected with fans.
When I went back to wrestling, WWE had added a writing team. I would chuckle when the new guys asked what roles the creative team had played in well-known wrestling storylines from the past. We didn’t have a designated creative team. Vince and Pat Patterson gave us a general direction, and we went out there to cut our TV promos and did whatever we wanted.
Vince, Pat, my opponent, and I were “the creative team” behind my storylines, and we were just throwing things against the wall. What we liked, we kept. What we didn’t like, we discarded. That was the extent of it. So I had to adjust to having a writing team around when I returned.
The writers didn’t create our matches, but they did script our TV promos. Early on, the head writer came to me and, respectfully, told me that a lot had changed since I had left and that there would be many fans who wouldn’t know who I was. He wrote out a bunch of stuff for me to say that would reintroduce me to the audience. I didn’t know how to take that. But I was new coming back and had no idea what to expect.
Some of what he wrote was helpful, and I used it. But for the most part, I did what I had always done and went out there on my own little tangent and ventured off to where I instinctively felt led to go. It worked, and I managed to make it work in a way that didn’t set off the head writer and his team. I probably would have butchered that in my pre-Christian days.
From that point on, we went through a process to where they would supply me with general bullet points to follow. In turn, I would inform the writers of what I wanted to say and let them write it out in nicer and bigger words so that I wouldn’t sound like a dumb hick.
One reason I believe that the second part of my career was better than the first is because of the range and depth of emotions I brought into my job after my comeback. That was a direct result of my faith, which allowed me to tap into real-life emotions like joy, sadness, despair, peace, and conflict over doing right versus wrong, and then bring those into storylines and matches.
A good example is WrestleMania 24 in 2008, when we brought real life into the storyline for my match against Ric Flair with his career on the line. I was seven years old when Ric made his wrestling debut, and he was an idol of mine growing up.
After it was
announced that I would wrestle Ric at WrestleMania, I received a call from Kenny Kent, my best friend in high school. Kenny and I had attended wrestling matches together in San Antonio and imitated various wrestlers’ moves against each other at home.
“I can’t believe it!” Kenny said. “I mean, you are wrestling Ric Flair at WrestleMania! When you were fifteen years old and we were watching wrestling on TV, did you ever think you would wrestle Ric Flair?”
I didn’t.
A few days before WrestleMania, I popped up wide awake at two o’clock in the morning, and my entire match with Ric came to me. I hurried to the dinner table and starting jotting down notes.
Yes, it’s pro wrestling — a bunch of men in their underwear fighting each other — but the element of that match that most compelled me was the story of a guy who admired another wrestler and had been inspired by him in the business. I paid attention to all the emotions I felt as I wrote out the match, and after I put the finishing touch on what proved to be one of the greatest endings in wrestling history, teardrops spilled onto the paper.
When we got to Orlando, Florida, for WrestleMania, I showed my notes to Ric and Michael Hayes. As they looked over the sheet, I observed Ric’s eyes moistening. He reached over, patted me on the leg, and said, “Thank you!”
At the end of our match, I sent Ric to the mat with my signature move, the Superkick. I slowly rose to my feet and retreated to the nearest corner. I sized up Ric, still lying in the center of the ring, and started to cue up the fans for my “Sweet Chin Music” finisher. I stomped only once, though, then stopped and looked down to the mat.
Ric struggled to his feet and motioned for me to come toward him. I told Ric, “I’m sorry — I love you,” then finished him off with another Superkick. I pinned Ric for the three count, then rolled over next to him on the mat, draped my arm around him, and planted a kiss on his forehead. I quickly exited the ring to leave Ric to have his farewell moment with the adoring fans.
The emotion that night was not acting. I did love Ric. I went from watching him on TV to having him, one of our sport’s true legends, accept me as a friend and peer. I can’t overstate what he did for our business.
There was a lot of real life going on in that ring, and it worked. Fans wept all around the stadium. Ric sobbed in the ring and then left to embrace his family in the first row. That match won another Slammy Match of the Year Award. In fact, it has been named by numerous sources as one of the greatest matches of all time. Fans still talk about that ending.
When I had showed Ric and Michael my notes when we set up the match, I’d asked if my idea was okay.
“This isn’t a wrestling match,” I told them. “This is a love story, for heaven’s sake.”
I know that sounds very un-wrestling-like. There was no bravado in the plan. Instead, it was filled with humility and vulnerability.
The match reflected a change both in the business and in my personal life.
There was a time when, if we would have attempted that match, we would have been booed out of the building for being wusses. Even if we had tried to pull that match off then, it would not have played out the same. I couldn’t have tapped into those emotions before, because they weren’t there. I was selfish then, and selfishness and humility are polar opposites. I pulled off my part of the story because it was easy for me. And it was easy for me because it was real now.
In 2 Corinthians 5:17, Paul writes of Christians, “. . . if anyone is in Christ, the new creation has come: The old has gone, the new is here!”
I liked the idea of the old me being replaced, but I understood little about what being a “new creation” meant. What it means, I learned, is that when we confess our sins and accept Jesus Christ as our Lord and Savior, we are more than forgiven of our sins. Our lives are also changed. More than that, being a new creation means that we are in the process of being continually changed for the better.
Becoming a Christian doesn’t make us perfect. If that were the requirement, I would have been disqualified a long time ago. God changes us, and then with the guidance of the Holy Spirit, we begin the process of learning how to live life a new way, a way that is more pleasing to God than how we had lived.
I had retired because of my back injury in 1998 and returned to WWE in 2002. But I did not make the decision to wrestle full-time again until WrestleMania 19 in 2003, when I felt certain that God had placed me back in wrestling for a reason.
Vince came up with a storyline for my return in which I would win the World Heavyweight Championship, more as a feel-good story than anything else, and then lose the belt a month later to Hunter. I was fine with the plan, appreciated Vince putting the belt back on me, and went through with it. After losing to Hunter, my next match was against Chris Jericho at WrestleMania 19.
All three of those matches went well, with me far exceeding what I expected from myself after the long layoff. The most difficult thing in wrestling is taking time off, whether because of injury or for personal reasons, and then getting back into the ring. Wrestlers understand showing a little bit of rust in the ring when you return, but you still have to perform at a high level. In my first match back, it was as though I hadn’t missed a day.
Still new in my salvation, I didn’t want to get caught up in everything that goes with being a wrestler again. I was back to headlining pay-per-views, and things were starting to move quickly. I wanted to go home, slow the hamster wheel down a little, and figure out what all was happening. Vince said that he understood, but needed me to cut a promo with Chris. Then I could go home and let him know where I wanted to go from there.
Chris had been in the WCW while I was wrestling, so he and I didn’t meet until I came back. We cut our promo, and I made it back to the locker-room area ahead of Chris.
“My God, did you feel that?” Vince exclaimed.
“Feel what?” I asked.
“Out there. You two. Did you feel that?”
“Yeah, it was really good,” I said.
“Really good?” Vince shot back. “That is money right there! I can feel it!”
I thought, Oh my goodness!
Vince and I hadn’t talked about a contract or my going full-time again. I had been doing one-offs so I could take things one match at a time, and Vince had been gracious in allowing me to feel my way around for the time being. I knew that in an enticing way, WWE could be like a merry-go-round that doesn’t stop and once you get on, there’s no jumping off.
“Look,” I told Vince, “I have to take a step back.”
“I understand,” he said. “But we still want to do this. If you want it, there’s something there with you and Jericho.”
Chris came back to where we were, all excited like Vince.
“My goodness, did you feel that?” he asked.
I told Chris that I felt it too, but also explained why I needed to get home.
“That’s fine,” he told me. “Just call me when you are ready.”
I had about three weeks before needing to be back for Royal Rumble and used that time at home for soul searching, praying, and consulting with friends. By the time I had returned for Rumble, I felt that a somewhat full-time status was God’s plan for me. I told Vince I wouldn’t work every weekend house show, but I would do the pay-per-views and TV events one weekend a month.
Vince agreed, and my comeback took a step forward.
A regular prayer of mine has been, “Lord, open up those doors you want me to walk through and close those you don’t want me to walk through.” The key part of that prayer is recognizing when it is the Lord who is opening and closing the doors.
There were open doors during my return that I did not step through.
At WrestleMania 19, Chris and I were not the main event, but we absolutely tore the house down. That match was when I knew that despite the four years off, I could still deliver in the ring.
Although I was not tempted to return to the lifestyle I had led previously in wrestling, the opportunities to resume
my old identity were plentiful.
Vince had put the World Heavyweight Championship on me for that one month, and I turned down additional chances to be a world champion again. The champ needed to be on the road all the time and make a lot of appearances. Those were sacrifices I didn’t want to make. Being a champion wouldn’t have been worth what it would have cost me.
The nickname “Mr. WrestleMania” was given to me during my second stint in wrestling. I had already been dubbed The Showstopper and The Main Event in my career. Before, I had allowed those nicknames to become my identity. Now, they were just names. Unlike before, they weren’t how I looked at myself outside of wrestling.
I also no longer stormed back through the curtain after a match, as I had earlier in my career, and boastfully challenged the other wrestlers to “Follow that!” The huge chip of pride wasn’t on my shoulder anymore.
But a wrestler cannot be humble in cutting a promo. He has to talk with a large show of pride and arrogance. Yet the new me — that new creature — knew I could not be that way in real life. I was so aware of the pride my wrestling character had to show that I often asked God, Is there going to come a time when You are going to humble me in that respect? Fortunately, God was much better than fans at separating my character from the real me! I didn’t like the thought of having to go through that kind of humbling process. I didn’t want the signs that it was time to retire to come through my skill level starting to wane, through no longer being able to deliver good matches, through having my performance deteriorate show by show, performance by performance, pay-per-view by pay-per-view. My desire was to be able to go out in a great match in a WrestleMania.
My routine after WrestleManias was to spend a couple of minutes alone on my hotel bed before joining my family for celebratory pizza and cookies. I remember a couple of times after a WrestleMania when I sat on the bed and wept in awe as I reflected on God’s faithfulness.
Wrestling for My Life: The Legend, the Reality, and the Faith of a WWE Superstar Page 8