A Lion's Tale_ Around the World in Spandex - Chris Jericho [160]
I’d become Dr. Chrisenstein and I tried to reel in his ballooning ego by always referring to him by his real name of John Riker. I wanted him to understand that he wasn’t really Ralphus. But he was too far gone and, quite frankly, who could blame him? He’d gone from a truck driver hauling lighting rigs to a nationally famous TV star in the space of a month all because of the space between his teeth.
“John, get these girls out of the backstage area,” I said to him sternly.
“But they like me.”
“I don’t care. You can’t bring girls backstage.”
“But they want to hang out with me—look, they gave me flowers.”
“Wow, those are nice. Can I see them?” He handed me the tulips and I beat them over his bald head.
When the Ralphus Rats started sitting in the front row, I was sickened to know that he had more groupies than I did. Even worse, he would spend all his time talking to the girls and not paying any attention to the match. The monster was loose.
His head got bigger than the gap between his teeth and he started putting baby oil on his arms and stomach before he went to the ring. He began talking about hiring a lawyer to negotiate his new contract. New contract? The moron didn’t have an old contract! I had to go to bat to get him paid 500 bucks an appearance as it was.
Then he started showing up at house shows, “in case he was needed.” The first night, he was cheered so huge that it killed my heel heat and I had to tell him to stop coming. Sadly, Ralphus was over more than most of the babyfaces.
Meanwhile Goldberg, who was the biggest babyface in the company, had a lot of pull and decided our program would end for good in Uniondale, New York. I found out from Sullivan that I was losing to Goldberg and there would be no debate whatsoever. Of course I had zero intention of following his orders.
I tracked down Eric and before I could say a word he told me, “You’re going to lose to Goldberg and that’s it.”
I didn’t give a shit at that point because no matter what anybody else thought, the angle was a moneymaker and I was determined to live or die with it. If WCW didn’t take it as far as it could go, I might as well quit anyway. If they didn’t see this feud as a draw, then nothing I would ever do in the future would be either.
“I’m not losing tonight.”
“Go in my office right now,” Eric said angrily.
He must’ve suspected that I was going to question the match because Goldberg was already in Eric’s office along with a pissed-off Hulk Hogan. Some serious shit was about to go down.
“This has gone on too long. We’ve accommodated you long enough. Tonight you’re losing to Bill,” Eric explained.
The three of them waited for my response.
“I want to lose to Bill. I just want to do it right. People want to see him kick my ass and I believe they’ll pay to see it.”
Then I pled my case to Hogan using language I knew he’d understand.
“I thought this business was about making money. You’ve done it better than anyone, Hulk. This match will make money.”
Hogan didn’t disagree, but said, “It’s never bad to lose to the champion.”
“I’m sick of doing this comedy shit,” Goldberg jumped in. “You could never last with me in the ring. I’m the guy who stands in fire for my ring entrance. I’m the guy who beat Hulk Hogan for the title.”
“You’re the guy who would go down right now if I kicked you in the nuts,” I jackhammered back.
“Okay, okay, let’s not get carried away,” Judge Bischoff interjected. This was becoming The People’s Court in tights.
“Well, what do you want to do?” Eric demanded. “What’s your idea?”
“First of all, let us work this match at the next PPV (which was thirteen days away). Bill can squash the living hell out of me then.”
“Okay, what are we going to do tonight then?”
Before arriving at the Nassau Coliseum that day, I