Undisputed_ How to Become the World Champion in 1,372 Easy Steps - Chris Jericho [174]
The storyline for my return was that Randy Orton, the World Champion, had organized his own ceremony where he would demand that the torch of the WWE be literally passed on to him. Brian and I had come up with the idea of having an Olympic runner come all the way from Miami to Fort Lauderdale carrying the flame of the WWE. He would run straight into the arena, but I would get involved before he could pass the torch over to Randy. Then I’d attack the champ and hit him with my new finisher, which I had named the Codebreaker (with Lance’s approval, of course).
I spent the day driving around the arena listening to the Doors, memorizing my promo, and trying to quell my nervous energy. I was fiddling with my tie, as I’d decided as part of my new image that I would wear a suit to work every day. A few years earlier the WWE had implemented a dress code that I fought tooth and nail. I was a rock star, dammit! I didn’t dress in business casual clothes! But I had matured during my time away from the company and figured that wearing a suit wasn’t so bad. Vince dressed in a suit every day, and if it was good enough for him, it was good enough for me. So I became the dress codebreaker. Good one, eh?
(Ironic Author’s Note: It wasn’t until I arrived at the arena that I found out they had abolished the dress code a month earlier. I was back to wearing my rock-star clothes within weeks.)
I needed to find a mall though, because earlier in the day as I was getting pimped out in my fancy new Hugo Boss suit I realized that I forgot my Prada dress shoes at home. Therefore I needed to buy a new pair of shoes, but there was no rush since I wasn’t needed at the arena until after Raw started at 9 p.m., right?
As if on cue I got a call from Brian telling me I was needed at the arena immediately, because Vince wanted to explain what he wanted me to do that evening in person.
Doh! All I had to wear with my fancy new suit was a pair of cowboy boots, and I couldn’t walk into the venue wearing those.
Who was I, JBL?
I found a T.J.Maxx on the way to the building and hurriedly bought a pair of cheap dress shoes for $29.99, polishing kit included. So I walked into the arena for my first day of work wearing a thousand-dollar suit and thirty-dollar shoes.
When I arrived, Vince gave me a big hug and complimented me on my sharp new threads. Luckily he didn’t look at my feet.
Vince wanted to know what I was going to say that night, so I recited my perfectly written, well-crafted promo for him. He listened intently and promptly cut it in half.
“We don’t want to hear too much from you tonight. Less is more.”
Well the audience sure as hell wanted to hear from me, as “Y2J” chants filled the arena during the entire show. Throughout the course of the program, cutaways of the torch runner progressing toward the arena aired. Just as he was about to arrive, Orton went to the ring and began cutting a promo heralding the runner’s entrance.
The sprinter made his way off the highway, across the parking lot, through the backstage entrance, and to Randy’s bliss was about to run up the flight of steps that would bring him into the arena. Suddenly a dark figure stepped out of the shadows and leveled the poor son of a bitch with a vicious clothesline. The audience was taken by surprise and shrieked in shock at the force of the blow—I mean this guy really took the poor runner’s head off. The camera panned up from the motionless carcass to reveal a sparkly vested form with his arms held out by his side in a familiar Jesus Christ pose.
I’d been worried about how the crowd would react for my return, but my worries were for naught. The roar of the fans ignited me and I instantly transformed into Chris Jericho.
It had been a while and I missed the crazy bastard.
Becoming Jericho again was like putting on a favorite pair of jeans that I thought I had lost—a little tight at first, but within minutes it felt like I never took them off.
Orton reacted