A Lion's Tale_ Around the World in Spandex - Chris Jericho [118]
My music played and I was a ticking time bomb ready to explode, wearing my yellow and black Stryper tights and a black sequined disco jacket that was given to me by a sponsor. Not exactly the epitome of tough, but at least I looked sassy.
When Benoit’s music, “Jump” by Van Halen, blared through the speakers, the New Japan partisan crowd went nuts for the defending champion as he walked to the ring, nary a facial expression to be found. When he entered the ring we immediately stood face-to-face, our noses pressed uncomfortably together.
Wild Pegasus vs. Lion Hart. Benoit vs. Jericho.
This was the man I’d patterned my career after. This was the man I’d depended on for advice. This was the man whose brother I’d almost been. This was the man I was going to beat the shit out of.
The match began and I gave Benoit one of my trademark hard slaps to the face.
“Come on motherfucker!” I yelled, causing the silent crowd to react with a massive OOOOOOOHHHHHHHH!
Saying the word fuck always caused the fans to react in amazement, as if it was the most unheard of and rebellious statement you could ever make. It was a trick that I used nightly.
When I cockily smirked at Benoit, he slapped me in the face right back. If you’ve ever heard the expression “he slapped the taste out of my mouth,” you understand what happened. Except that he slapped the sight, hearing, touch and smell out of me as well. I was momentarily as knocked out as Onita was in the same ring and the same arena, a year and a half earlier.
After the match I said to Benoit, “That slap was pretty crazy.”
“Well, I don’t really throw a lot of slaps, so I’m not really good at it.”
My stinging jaw thought he was very good at it.
But I was only dazed for a few seconds and the slap was like getting doused with a bucket of water. The Shit Was On!
We took each other to the max, maneuvering in and out of European-style holds, exhibiting high-flying lucha libre moves, and beating the hell out of each other Dungeon style. After a brilliant string of false finishes that included an awesome power bomb attempt by Benoit reversed into a Frankensteiner, Chris pinned me with a piledriver off the second rope.
But we’d lived up to the expectation and put on the match of the night. Gong gave us Best Bout honors and me a trophy for Best Fighting Sprit.
Dragón booked the rest of the tournament perfectly. Gedo beat Benoit and then Liger beat Gedo in the final. New Japan won, which I’m sure was a political concession for allowing WAR to use Liger’s idea of the J Cup in the first place. But having Gedo in the final cemented him as a top junior heavyweight and gave Dragón a new top-level opponent.
Dragón also made another smart move by booking an exhibition match featuring the Japanese debut of Rey Misterio Jr., the guy Art Barr had introduced me to in Mexico a few years earlier. Since then, Rey had developed a reputation as the best high-flyer in the world.
Benoit had never seen him wrestle in person either, so we sat down in front of a backstage monitor to check him out. His match that night against Psicosis was one of the most amazing displays of athleticism that I’ve ever seen in my life. I think there were probably fifteen or twenty instances where Benoit and I looked at each other and incredulously remarked, “Holy shit. Did you see that?” or “That’s impossible!”
Rey was a real-life superhero like Jackie Chan. When Dragón first brought him into the locker room, the president of WAR complained about his size, thinking that having such a small man in the WAR ring would be an embarrassment to the company. As soon as the match was over, the same guy asked Dragón when Rey could be booked again.
All of the participants in the J Cup were required to watch