A Lion's Tale_ Around the World in Spandex - Chris Jericho [156]
The main event of the PPV that year involved the fierce Jay Leno. Eric was on a stunt casting kick and surprisingly Leno was better in his match than Dennis Rodman was in his. Rodman (who made around $3 million for the match) showed up an hour before his tag match and fell asleep on the apron while waiting for a tag. But since he’s had sex with Carmen Electra and I haven’t, he’s the better man.
The night before Road Wild we went to see a Lynyrd Skynyrd concert. Skynyrd were big WCW fans and invited us to watch the show from the photo pit (free beer included) in front of 20,000 loaded bikers.
It was one of the best times in my life, seeing Skynyrd throw down “That Smell” and “Free Bird,” with my closest friends jamming out beside me. Brian had just beaten cancer and as a huge fan of 1970s music, he was having a blast. Eddy had stopped drinking and was playing air guitar on a water bottle, while Dean, Chavito, and I picked up the slack and were hammered. Dean peed on the ground of the pit and Chavo’s leg got caught in the crossfire. Hilarious for us, wet for Chavo.
I wish I could’ve bottled that night to carry around in my pocket forever. Being in the wrestling business is like fighting in a war: Some of your unit make it and some of them don’t. It brings a tear to my eye to know that I’ll never enjoy a night like that with those guys ever again.
There were still other guys in the company that I could’ve done without; Scott Hall seemed like a nice guy deep down inside, but the combination of power and substance had turned him into a real asshole.
For some reason he set his sights on me. He made me feel like I did when I was in the seventh grade receiving a daily beating from the school bully, Chuck Fontaine. I’d like to meet Chuck in a dark alley now...so I could run away screaming.
It was no secret that Hall enjoyed being a dick and he said on more than one occasion, “They pay me to wrestle, not to make friends” and “It doesn’t say anywhere in my contract that I have to be nice to anyone. This is the wrestling business not the friendship business.” He sure practiced what he preached.
One night after Hall’s constant badgering, I got sick of it and finally stood up for myself. “You got something to say, Jericho? Don’t sing it, bring it,” he taunted. “I’ll put an end to your little Terry Taylor push.”
That pissed me off huge, because I’d worked my ass off for my little Terry Taylor push and I’d be damned if he was going to mock me about it. But I was intimidated by him and the nWo’s influence within the company, so I held my tongue, much to the chagrin of my old pal Scott Norton.
Norton had taught me the fail-safe arm wrestling trick years earlier and we’d become friends while touring Japan. He let me escape with minimal injuries after he drunkenly dared me to rub Yaku Yaku (Japanese Icy Hot) in his eyes...and I did. He was blind for fifteen minutes, although I’m sure the multiple shots of straight tequila had something to do with it.
Norton looked me in the eye, man to man, and said, “You better shut his mouth right now. Because if you don’t stand up to him I will and you’ll look like a pussy.”
Norton weighed about 350 pounds and looked like he could Hulk-smash his way through a wall, so hearing his words gave me all the backup I needed. I walked up to Hall and got right into his face.
“Leave me the fuck alone. Next time you mess with me, I’m coming at you. Understand?”
Hall looked at me in disbelief and said, “I don’t have a problem with you. Come on, man, everything’s cool.” In classic bully fashion, as soon I stood up to him he left me alone. He was really friendly to me after that. Where was Norton when Chuck Fontaine was on my case?
The nWo had expanded to ridiculous proportions from its origins as a three-piece. How many of you remember Virgil, Ted DiBiase, and Mike Rotunda as nWo members? How about Horace Hogan (Boulder), Buff Bagwell, and Bryan Adams?
Most of the