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We’d rehearsed the bit earlier in the day and when the door shut behind me it had locked instantly. This time when the door shut I scrambled to pull it open and the damn thing opened easily. We were live, so I slammed my shoulder against the door and shut it again as if by mistake. The comedy continued when a curious security guard heard the noise and opened the door again to see what was going on.

Meanwhile Wrath was in the ring watching the entire spectacle on the ’Tron, and decided to come get me himself. He charged through the door and I ran from him as fast as I could until I reached my given mark. The mark guaranteed that I was out of the camera’s sightline, and I stopped as Wrath ran past me as a joke. But the joke was on me because the mark was wrong and Wrath running past me while we both burst out laughing was caught on live TV.

What had started as a homage to Spinal Tap had turned into the real thing.

I ran into Goldberg in the airport the next day and he demanded that I stop doing the angle because he didn’t do comedy.

I tried to explain to him that he wasn’t doing the comedy, I was. Besides, the fans were digging it and at every show the Jericho–Goldberg signs multiplied while the reactions got stronger. But he still didn’t understand that the more I mocked him, the more people wanted to see him destroy me.

Besides, I was having a blast with my comedy. My security force was increasing faster than the nWo: I’d sworn the Jerichoholic Ninja and Viva Las Jericho (I don’t know what the hell it means either) into active duty.

The next week Greenberg finally got involved when he hit the ring and pulverized the new members of my valiant security force. But Ralphus and I escaped, making the score Jericho—3, Goldberg—0. To keep up with the tally, I put a piece of tape over the 2 on my sweet custom-made shirt and wrote a 3 in its place. People were really getting sick of my bullshit and the fans were itching to see him tear me apart.

The next week when I showed up for Nitro in Phoenix, Eric told me I was going to be wrestling Goldberg that night. I asked Eric what the story of the match was going to be.

“Story? The same story Goldberg always tells. He beats you up and pins you with the Jackhammer in three minutes.”

I thought I’d entered the Twilight Zone, because he was talking to me like the previous six weeks of angles hadn’t happened.

“What about our angle? The fans are really into it.”

“There never was an angle. If there was, it ends tonight.”

That was enough for me. Before my match with Dwarfberg, if I’d been booked to be the next victim of Goldberg’s streak I would’ve done it, no questions asked. But the bookers got me into this and I’d made the angle work. I didn’t expect to beat Goldberg and I didn’t want to. But the Goldberg–Jericho angle was giving both of us an extra dimension and there was no way I was going to allow them to piss away all of my hard work.

“I’ve done some really strong work with this, Eric, even if it was just a throwaway. I don’t want to waste it on a three-minute squash. I really think people will pay money to see him kill me. Let me have the best squash match of all time with him on PPV. He can give me ten Jackhammers if you want. I’m not saying I don’t want him to beat me, I’m just saying that we’ve got something special here.”

I don’t know if Eric understood my point or if he just didn’t want to put up with my bullshit, but he canceled the match.

I’d avoided one monster even though I’d created another one.

Ralphus became my full-time sidekick and was absolutely hilarious in his ineptitude. He understood nothing about wrestling and I don’t think he even understood what he was doing on TV. When he escorted me to the ring I’d tell him to get mad and threaten the people who accosted me along the way, but instead he would wag his finger at them like a granny telling a five-year-old not to touch her flowers.

He tried to look menacing but with his half shirt and summer