A Lion's Tale_ Around the World in Spandex - Chris Jericho [123]
So I called Paul’s machine and said, “I was just wondering about my hotel expenses. We never discussed it but I assume you’ll be taking care of that. If you don’t call me back, I guess you’re covering it.” Since he was horrible at returning calls, my plan had just finagled (fun word) free rooms for my trip.
When I arrived in Philly I found that Paul had gotten the last laugh by booking me in a room with someone else. I knocked on the door a few times, but nobody answered. I kept knocking until I heard a flush and the door opened. The smell of weed and kaka wafted out, followed by my roomie, Rob Van Dam. I shook the hand of the man with whom I’d have a dozen great matches, and it was still wet from a post-dump washing.
The Whole Poop N Show.
My first match in ECW was against the Eliminators with RVD as my partner. Because of all the press and hype ECW was getting worldwide, I was expecting a big-time atmosphere. I was surprised when I walked into the dark and dingy Slammer’s Gym, which was no bigger than a community center. It felt like I was returning to the Bloodsport arena in Matamoros.
The first thing I noticed was the vibe of the fans. I wasn’t in Kansas anymore—these critters were rabid. They were very knowledgeable and could tell instantly if someone wasn’t up to snuff at their craft. You hear a lot about how certain writers or rock bands have a cult following—well, the ECW fans were a cult. They believed they were part of an uprising and had an elitist Us vs. Them mentality...with WCW and WWF being Them.
If the fans saw something they liked during the match, they would chant “ECDub, ECDub!” It was unusual for a crowd to chant the name of the company rather than the name of a wrestler, but the whole situation was unusual.
My match went well and I broke the Jericho Curse midway through when the crowd started chanting “Five-star match!” They took their wrestling seriously and knew the difference between a good and a bad match. They were like a Japanese crowd, if the Japanese crowd was on crack.
When I came through the curtain after the match, Paul E. was waiting for me with a smile on his face. He gave me a big hug and told me, “That was great! You hit the ropes harder than anybody since Steve Austin.”
That was definitely the most unique compliment I’d ever received.
It was then that I saw Paul E.’s greatest strength: He was an exceptional motivator. He made his crew feel like a million bucks even though he was only paying them a couple hundred. Paul waited for every single wrestler to come through the curtain so he could congratulate them personally for their contribution to the show.
His encouragement meant more to his crew than money. I’m sure there were guys in the WWF who would’ve given a week’s pay to get that kind of acknowledgment from Vince McMahon. Paul’s currency was compliments and he spent it freely.
He was a master of accentuating the strengths and hiding the weaknesses of his roster. This was apparent when acts like Public Enemy and the Sandman went to the big leagues and were exposed as average performers when they weren’t protected in the same way. Paul hid Sandman’s weaknesses in the ring by turning him into a beer-drinking, hard-hitting son of a bitch (sound familiar?), and Public Enemy went from a stock tag team to a pair of hot-stepping table-breaking wiggers, who became the most popular act in the company.
With his limited financial resources, Paul had to use whoever was available to the greatest of their abilities. The fans truly loved or hated every performer on the roster and if they didn’t, that wrestler wouldn’t last long.
There was a family-type atmosphere in the locker room and I didn’t sense the jealousy that usually existed toward a