Death Clutch - Brock Lesnar [27]
Over the years, I’m sure that being as private as I am has cost me a lot of money. I could be like one of those media whores that shows up anywhere there might be a camera just to keep my name out there, and to keep my face on the TV and in the papers so the endorsements will keep coming in. But that’s not me, and I can live with that.
I like to stay home, spend time with my family, and be left alone. My life is my life. It’s nobody’s business what goes on in my house, or with my wife or my children. I won’t intrude on your private life. Don’t intrude on mine.
That’s why, in some ways, the WWE character I envied the most was Kane. He had the greatest gig ever, because he was a big star who wore a mask on TV. When he went home, he’d get to take off the mask and live a normal life. Nobody knew what he looked like, and no one ever bothered him when he went about his personal life. He must have had about as normal a life as you can have in professional wrestling. That’s probably why Glenn Jacobs (Kane) survived for so long in WWE. Maybe I should have worn a mask. I might have lasted just a little longer . . . or not.
THE GRIND
When people talk to me about 2003, they talk about my match with Kurt at WrestleMania; my matches with John Cena and Big Show; the Iron Man Match (most falls in sixty minutes) I had with Kurt on SmackDown!; or me beating Kurt for the title and turning heel again.
Financially, that was also my best year in WWE. I was made champion so fast, Vince never even got around to giving me a new contract. I was on the road so much, we never had the time to discuss a new deal. Even by the time I was already a two-time champion, I was still working under the “developmental contract” I signed when I was recruited to train in OVW. Finally, we got around to discussing a new contract, and I signed a major deal with WWE on July 1, 2003.
Jim Ross kept telling me I had joined the millionaire’s club faster than anyone else in the history of the business. That may be true, but I’ll have to take his word for it because I didn’t pay much attention to what the other guys were making. They all lied anyway, so who really knew?
I was making a shitload of money, but I just couldn’t imagine being on the road for another fifteen years or so. I really liked the boys, but I didn’t want to be like them. It didn’t take me long to figure that out.
It’s so hard to even imagine being thirty-five to forty years old, working matches four nights a week in four different cities. When those wrestlers get home for a day or two, they are too tired and banged up to do anything. The few who still have families try to give their loved ones a little quality time, but when they arrive at home tired, hurt, and probably hungover, they end up spending the first day just decompressing. Then they use the next day to catch up on the mail, the bills, and chores around the house. Once they’ve had a night or two in their own beds, they are packed and off to the airport piss-early the next morning. Their wives and kids get to see them on TV. So what? That’s no substitute for being there.
It makes no difference where the plane lands, because all the cities look the same. It bears repeating. All the hotel rooms look the same. All the locker rooms, rental car return lots, shuttle buses, they all look the same. You’re on autopilot all the time. Then you go home, but before you know it, you’re