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I was a little concerned with my entrance music though. After meticulously choosing such heavy songs as “Over the Mountain” by Ozzy, “Electric Head Pt. 2” by White Zombie, and “Silent Jealousy” by X, my new music was a synthesizer-drenched, castrated rip-off of “Only the Young” by Journey.

I’ve always put major thought into my intro music, as it sets the tone for my attitude and character in the ring. This song failed miserably in both cases. It might’ve been okay if used for a montage in a 1980s teen comedy but it was awful for a rocker wrestler with big energy. Even worse, I was watching basketball highlights on TBS one night and heard my ring music playing in the background. My oh-so-important intro song was actually a generic track from the TBS music library.

“Jericho needs ring music? Okay, give him Basketball Highlights #12.”

In a way the intro song choice was perfect, because it was just as boring as my character was. I was a generic good guy with no discernible charisma, who won some and lost some. It was a dangerous place to be.

I’d been sheltered by the canned World Wide crowds but when I wrestled on my first Monday Nitro in front of actual paying fans, I didn’t fare as well.

Nitro was Bischoff’s answer to the WWF’s Monday Night Raw and his idea to air it head-to-head against Raw in the same time slot sparked one of the biggest boom periods in wrestling history. It was an exciting time for fans and wrestlers alike and was one of the reasons why Eric had hired me in the first place. He wanted to scarf up as much available talent as possible and worry about how to use them afterward.

It hit me just how much talent he’d signed when I went into the arena in Palmetto, Florida, for my first Nitro. Unlike the World Wide tapings, all the big stars were there.

I walked into one dressing room and saw Ric Flair, Sting, and Lex Luger playing cards. I went into another dressing room and saw Randy Savage talking to Scott Steiner. I turned the corner and saw Hulk Hogan walking out of his private dressing room with Jimmy Hart.

I took a moment for myself and completely marked out. I’d followed Flair in my mom’s car, waited in the Polo Park Inn for Hogan’s autograph, jumped out of my chair when Savage won the WWF title.

Now I was working in the same company!

I took a deep breath of professional and exhaled the mark. The heroes from my childhood were now my peers and I was going to act accordingly.

At Chris’s suggestion, I’d gone out and bought some nice clothes, or at least I thought I had. I couldn’t find proper dress pants, so I purchased a pair of ill-fitting tan jeans and a wrinkled, black button-up shirt. I looked like a five-year-old kid who’d dressed himself for Sunday school and the shorts and tank top were probably a better look.

I made a point of introducing myself to as many people in the locker room as possible, as I’d been taught in wrestling school. Most of the guys were cordial, but had no idea who I was. I approached Lex Luger and figured that talking to him about the gym he owned in Atlanta where I worked out would be a great icebreaker.

“Hey Lex, I’m Chris Jericho and I just wanted to say that I think you’ve got a kick-ass gym. How long have you had it?”

He looked at me with an annoyed face and said, “Who are you again?”

It didn’t take long to find out that his pompous attitude was shared by most of the big names in the locker room.

My first Nitro match was against Alex Wright, a young high-flyer from Germany. We were given eight minutes for the match (including entrances), and since it was my live prime-time national TV debut, my mind was racing with all of the cool spots and moves I wanted to do.

I gave Alex all of my awesome ideas and he nodded.

“Out of those ten things you want to do, pick your best three because that’s all we’re gonna have time for.” He was now Dick Murdoch and I was the Japanese young boy. He wasn’t being a jerk, just a realist.

By the way the match was booked it wouldn’t have mattered what I did, I was still screwed.