A Lion's Tale: Around the World in Spandex (54 page)

Then Vince asked me what my finishing maneuver was and I explained it was a submission similar to the Boston Crab. He was reluctant to have me use a submission, feeling that I was more of an explosive pin fall type of guy. I would’ve used a sweaty sock as a finish if he’d wanted me to and I wasn’t going to disagree. But I told him whether I was using a pin fall or a submission, I wanted to call my finish the Y2J Problem. Y2J was a take-off on the much ballyhooed Y2K problem that was apparently going to destroy us all at midnight on January 1, 2000. It didn’t, although I personally was destroyed on that night.

He smelled what I was cooking straight away and said, “That’s not going to be the name of your finish. That’s going to be your name period.”

“The Y2J Problem?

“No, just Y2J.”

The rest is Jeric-History.

I was a nervous wreck the night the clock was supposed to first appear on
Raw
. I’d been in the business long enough to know never to count on anything until it happened. I still didn’t quite believe that I could actually be going to the WWF.

Sure enough midway through the show, the screen went to a neon blue graphic that said “Countdown to the Millennium” while the numbers clicked backward. 28 days, 1 hour, 4 minutes, and 11 seconds...10 seconds...9 seconds, each click accompanied by an awesome whooshing sound effect.

It was definitely happening.

I spent that week writing my debut promo. In WCW I’d done a lot of my promos improv, but with this one I wanted to get everything just right beforehand. This was a different world and there would be no Onta Gleeben Glouten Globens allowed here. I had a few ideas about what I wanted to say and when I put pen to paper, the whole thing flowed out of me within ten minutes.

I was going to talk about how complacent the WWF had become and how they were in need of a new savior to carry them into the next millennium. That savior was their role model. That savior was the Ayatollah of Rock N Rolla. That savior was Chris Jericho.

I flew into Detroit the night before my debut in Chicago to observe the WWF behemoth at work. They were filming the
Sunday Night Heat
show for MTV and I watched the whole production from the Gorilla Position (named after WWF legend Gorilla Monsoon), the brain center of the operation where Vince and his crew called the shots.

It was such a change from WCW where there was no Gorilla Position, no Giraffe Position, no nothing. Just an empty hallway and a curtain. But Vince was hands-on running everything, just like the Wizard manipulating everything from behind the black curtain.

The only thing that bothered me about joining the WWF was some of the provocative angles the company was doing, like when the World’s Strongest Man Mark Henry received oral pleasure from a transvestite. I thought that stuff had no place in wrestling and I tried to get veto power in my contract if I was ever asked to participate in an angle I felt to be questionable.

Vince gave me his word that if I was ever asked to do something I felt awkward about, all I had to do was say no. I remembered his words when I watched the
Heat
show that night.

A character named Meat had his drink spiked with Viagra, which forced him to wrestle with a huge boner. This effect was subtly achieved by stuffing a dildo down Meat’s Calvin Klein underwear-looking trunks.

The finish of the match saw his opponent the Big Bossman take his nightstick and whack poor Meat in the cock.

I watched all of this in amazement thinking, “What have I gotten myself into?”

The next morning when I arrived at the Allstate Arena in Chicago, I suited up in my new Y2J costume of a pair of Harley-Davidson leather pants and a silver rave shirt that I bought from a hip-hop shop.

I was taking Jimmy Hart’s darling advice of wearing color to the max. Besides, I had a lot to live up to if I was going to dub myself “the most charismatic showman to ever enter your living room via a television screen.” I put my hair into the Gene Simmons topknot, combed the billy goat beard I’d grown for the occasion, looked in the mirror, and gave myself a Billy Idol sneer.

Y2J had arrived, muthatruckers.

My costume complete, I walked out of the dressing room as cocky as a male porn star, acting like I owned the place. I ran into Vince, who was getting a cup of coffee in catering. He looked me up and down, his eyes settling on my ricockulous hairstyle.

“It’s cheap heat, Vince.”

“Indeed.” He nodded with a weird look on his face and strutted away.

I went over my promo with Russo and he didn’t have any major concerns or changes. The Rock joined us, we rehearsed the whole thing once in catering, and that was it. Rocky and I were both trained professionals and we knew what to do. As the heel, I had some choice insults for him and as the babyface he had some tremendous comebacks for me. If everything went the way it was supposed to, it was going to be a classic moment.

I rehearsed my ring entrance in the empty arena and when I saw my new entrance video and heard my new music, I was in awe. The video was a montage of lights and cars speeding down the city street at night combined into a sleek and sexy package. Just like me.

My music was even better, with the opening tagline of “Break the Walls Down” setting the tone as a heavy, grooving guitar riff kicked in. The tune made me feel like walking up to the Pope and kicking him right in the rosaries.

In a moment that brought everything full circle, I ran into Jesse “The Body” Ventura backstage. Except he was now Jesse “The Governor” Ventura, the head of the state of Minnesota, and he was promoting his one-time-only return to the WWF for the upcoming
SummerSlam
PPV.

I went up to him and said, “Jesse, I don’t know if you remember me, but I met you in Winnipeg at a hockey tournament you played in with my dad. I told you that I wanted to be a wrestler and you gave me some great advice that helped me get here today.”

I don’t know if I expected him to jump up and down, pat me on the back, and give me the keys to Brooklyn Park, but he really didn’t give much of a reaction at all. He actually kind of jobbed me out saying, “Good for you kid. Another Jesse success story,” before walking away with a cigar clenched between his teeth. My grandma was right!

The day changed to night and before I knew it it was show time.
Monday Night Raw
started with a hailstorm of bombs and fireworks, as the whole crew gathered around the backstage monitor to watch Jim Ross hard-selling that night’s show.

“The clock hits zero tonight. What could this mean?” JR screamed with excitement.

A lot of the Chicago fans already knew what the clock signified. Some of them had brought Role Model signs and others were chanting “Je-ri-cho,” but all of them were ripe with anticipation about what the clock was going to reveal.

Like a Viking warrior, I was ready for battle when I was called to Gorilla Position to get ready for my cue. The Rock’s music began and the two of us hit knuckles as he stepped through the curtain to a thunderous reception.

I said a quick prayer thanking God for the opportunity and asking for his help in making it a success. Midway through The Rock’s promo the Countdown Clock appeared and the crowd exploded. The Rock turned his steely stare toward the gigantic ’Tron displaying the graphic.

15. . . 14. . . 13. . .

This was it. After nine years of backbreaking physical and mental challenges, I was finally here.

12. . . 11. . . 10. . .

The crowd worked themselves into a frenzy as the numbers spiraled backward toward zero.

9. . . 8. . . 7. . .

Everything I had done to get here and all the accolades I’d amassed meant absolutely nothing at that moment. Nobody cared that I had the best match of the Super J Cup in Japan or that I won the match of the year in Mexico. Either I could cut it in the big leagues or I couldn’t. I’d have one chance to show what I could do with my promo and one chance only.

6. . . 5. . .

But one chance was all I was going to need, because this sucker was getting knocked out of the park all the way out of Chicago and back to Winnipeg.

4. . .

My career and my twenty-eight years flashed before my eyes.

3. . .

My dad was going to be so proud.

2. . .

My mom was going to be so proud. She would get to watch me on her TV tonight and I loved her so much.

1. . .

The pyro went off with double force and I walked through the curtain straight into my dream come true.

REQUIEM

I
n a lot of ways, being in the wrestling business is similar to being in a war. The people you work with and work against become like army buddies. You count on each other, watch each other’s backs, and trust each other with your lives. They become your surrogate family because you spend more time with them on the road than you do with your actual family. You share each other’s highs and lows, dreams and realities, joys and pain.

You may not see your army buddies for days, weeks, months, or even years, but when you finally reunite it doesn’t seem like a day has passed. There’s a unique bond shared by all of us in this business that, like it or not, lasts a lifetime.

Unfortunately, some of those lifetimes are much shorter than others and a lot of the brothers talked about in this book will never read it.

There’s no question that I owe a part of this book to every performer I’ve ever had the pleasure of watching, meeting, and working with throughout the years. I have a deep respect for each of them for having the courage to follow their dreams and seeing them come true.

But it’s to those who left before the party was over that I truly dedicate these tales:

Jerry Blackwell, Andre the Giant, Davey Boy Smith, Floyd Creachman, Owen Hart, Stu Hart, Brian Pillman, Mike Lozanski, Ed Whalen, Rhonda Singh, Bob Brown, Hammer Rick Applegate, Ken Timbs, the Great Goliath, Oro, Eddy Guerrero, Chris Benoit, el Texano, Art Barr, Dexter Barr, Daniel Benoit, Roberto Rangel, Indio Guajardo, Brian Hildebrand, Chris Candido, Dick Murdoch, Rad Radford Louie Spicoli, Sambo Asako, Rio Lord of the Jungle Rick Williams, Hiromichi Fuyuki, Bam Bam Bigelow, Johnny Grunge, Teddy Petty, Big Dick Dudley, Harry Boatswain, Terry Gordy, Pitbull #2 Anthony Durante, Road Warrior Hawk, the Gladiator Mike Awesome, PeeWee Anderson, John Kronus, Bad News Allen Coage, Curt Hennig, Black Cat Victor Mar, Bobby Duncum Jr., the Big Bossman Ray Traylor, and Woman Nancy Benoit.

God bless you guys and thank you.

CJ