Undisputed_ How to Become the World Champion in 1,372 Easy Steps - Chris Jericho [137]
Dinkus was sitting in the corner, a dumpy little guy with tattoos and a bull piercing through his nose. “Oh, we’re getting around to it.”
Getting around to it? That really pissed me off.
“How about you get around to it right now?”
“I told you we’ll get around to it,” Dinkus said with an attitude.
I got right in his face like he was the drunk on the red-eye to Philly and growled, “Listen, if you don’t go apologize to that girl right now we’re gonna have a serious fucking problem. And the first thing I’m doing is ripping out that stupid nose ring.”
Suddenly he had a total eclipse of the heart and went and apologized immediately. I haven’t heard from Dinkus or his band since.
After the girl was whisked away in the back of an ambulance, the promoter informed me that his festival insurance stated if anybody got hurt and went to the hospital, the rest of the show had to be canceled. “You guys are on next but the cops are on the way. Play as long as you can, but when they get here you’re going to have to announce that the show is over.”
I thought it was lame that the promoter wanted me to be his harvester of sorrow, but we took the stage and steamrolled through “To Kill a Stranger,” “Enemy,” and “Eat the Rich.” We were soaking in the adulation of 147 fans when out of the horizon came a battalion of cops in full riot gear. They spread out the length of the field until they surrounded the entire (lack of) crowd. The promoter gave me the sign from the side of the stage to make the big announcement, and it was time to become the surrogate heel of the festival. No big deal, I’d been booed a time or two before.
D-Rox, 2006. We called our touring drummer, Eric Sanders (second from right), “Rainman,” due to his ridiculous knowledge of metal trivia. It actually got quite annoying, especially when I found out he knew more than me.
“Sorry, guys, I hate to tell you this, but the show is over. If it was up to me, we’d play for you all night, but it’s not. It’s up to them.” I pointed at the perimeter of police who had assembled themselves around the outskirts. “The festival is finished. Sorry, guys.”
“Sorry, guys” was the same thing the promoter said a few minutes later when we asked him to pay us in cash as per our contract. “The crowd wasn’t what I hoped, and having to cancel the rest of the festival really hurt me as well. But I’ll wire the money to your account first thing Monday morning.” Of course when Rich went to the bank first thing Monday morning, the wire hadn’t arrived. We’re still waiting, and I’m confident we’ll get it sometime in the next googol. (Educated Author’s Note: Google googol to find out what it means.)
Fozzy’s next appearance was much more positive than D-Rox, as we were asked to appear and sign autographs for the troops at Fort Benning in Columbus, Georgia, for their annual “Troops Appreciation Day.” The soldiers turned out in full force to meet us and it was a humbling experience. Most of the troops were younger guys who were into both wrestling and heavy metal, and being around them and hearing their stories made me understand how much of an honor it was to do something like this for them and their families. These men and women, some of them mere teenagers, were about to go to war in Iraq, leaving their wives and kids at home for the next eighteen months. (I met babies who still hadn’t met their fathers.) I never realized that their call of duty was that long, and being with them helped me appreciate the sacrifice they were making. It was the least I could do to spend a few hours entertaining them. After signing for one particularly charismatic private, I asked, “Hey man, can I wear your helmet?”
“Well, I’m really not supposed to, but okay.”
I pressed my luck and asked, “Can I wear your jacket too?”
“I’m really not supposed to do that either, but okay.”
I put it on and wandered around pretending to be an army man.
“Look at me!” I said, cupping my junk in my hand. “I’m Private Jericho and I’ve got my hand on my privates!” Brutal I know, but I never claimed to be Bob Hope.