Death Clutch - Brock Lesnar [47]
I was having what is called “strong style” matches against all the top guys New Japan had to offer. In WWE, everyone performs a very “safe” style, or as safe as professional wrestling can be, given that the company is built on the name “Entertainment.” In New Japan Pro Wrestling, the wrestlers go out of their way to try to convince the audience that pro wrestling is still somewhat for real. The office actually encourages the wrestlers to go out there and beat the hell out of each other. If someone gets hurt, it’s considered “good for the business.”
I didn’t mind wrestling “strong style,” but doing it with two ruptured vertebrae was just plain stupid of me. I’d get back into my locker room with Brad and just collapse from the pain. I wasn’t about to let anyone know how I was really feeling, so the only way to mask it all was to swallow more Vicodins and wash them down with more vodka.
I’m so blessed that I’m alive to tell this story, because there are a lot of people who went through the same thing as me who aren’t around today.
Thank God I woke up one morning and decided that enough was enough. I knew if I kept on living this way, I would one day just stop living. Eventually, the odds catch up to you. There’s no escaping the inevitability that something will go wrong. Whether it’s choking on your own vomit while you’re sleeping, or falling down when you’re all messed up and smashing your head, there’s too many ways to screw up when you’ve dulled your own senses to the point that you’re numb to everything.
So I just stopped, cold turkey. I didn’t stop because I went to some WWE-sponsored rehab. I didn’t stop because I went into therapy, or counseling, or anything like that. I stopped because I wanted to see my daughter, Mya, grow up, and I knew I wasn’t going to be there for her if I kept going in the wrong direction.
My timing couldn’t have been better. The Inokis were having a lot of internal problems with their company, and I knew that New Japan was on a downswing. My time in their organization was quickly coming to an end, but I wanted to go out with a bang. That’s where Akebono comes into the picture.
Akebono was a big-time national superstar in Japan. Even though he was originally from Hawaii and not Japan, he was respected as a legitimate sports icon, a folk hero, because he was a dominant Japanese sumo champion. I was happy when the Inokis told me they wanted me to do a match with him, because I knew we could build it up as the great big American heel champion against the even bigger Japanese sumo legend. I saw big dollar signs in that matchup.
Akebono is another giant of a man who has a great big heart. I believe we could have drawn big money against each other if the Inokis had played their cards right. I called Akebono “Big Chad,” and he was one of the few guys in the wrestling business I considered to be a friend. I wanted to make our matchup mean something so that we could enjoy a long program and make a lot of money with each other.
But the Inokis had no long-term vision for Brock Lesnar vs. Akebono. They wanted me to beat him, right on television. I couldn’t believe it. Why would they want me to kill what could be a great feud with one match on free TV?
Now I understood one of the reasons why Steve Austin had been so angry that day in Atlanta when WWE wanted to hotshot our first match on Monday Night Raw.
Because I’m a stubborn bastard, I demanded that we do what’s called a “fuck finish,” so we could come back with a rematch down the road. I had this idea about me and Big Chad doing all these big-man spots, and at the right time I’d smack him in the head with the IWGP title belt. The Inokis kept wanting me to just beat Big Chad, but I wore them down until they agreed to do the finish my way.
So Big Chad and I go out to the ring, and we’re doing all the typical spots big powerful guys do against each other. We do the shoulder tackle attempts where no one budges, the spot where I run into the ropes and collide with Big Chad, or he comes