Undisputed_ How to Become the World Champion in 1,372 Easy Steps - Chris Jericho [23]
“Slow down, man, you’re gonna hurt yourself,” I said as he almost bowled me over.
“Heads up, Canadian, I’m late,” he said with a laugh as he ran up the stairs into Gorilla.
A few minutes later I heard a huge cry of “Ohhhhhh” emanate from the dressing room, the kind you only hear when something has gone wrong. I hurried over to the monitor to see Droz lying motionless in the ring with the paramedics (and François) huddled around him.
He had been dropped on his head when he slipped out of an attempted Powerbomb from D-Lo Brown. His lack of movement reminded me instantly of my mom. It had been my biggest fear since her accident that something would happen to me during a match that would leave me a quadriplegic as well. Seeing Droz lying there scared the living shit out of me and I started praying.
“Please let him move, God, please let him move … an arm, a leg, anything.”
But the minutes ticked away and nothing changed.
The paramedics took about half an hour to get him onto the stretcher and out of the ring. It was a horrible feeling to see one of the brothers lying motionless in the middle of the arena.
It was an even worse feeling being thankful that it wasn’t me.
The show continued, and when it ended I drove to the hospital to see him. Vince was there and everybody was sitting around glumly not knowing what to say or to do. It was a horrible scene, but the person I felt the most sorry for was D-Lo. He sat in the corner with his head buried in his hands and tears streaming down his face. He was blaming himself for what happened, and even though it was a total accident, I felt for him and the fact that he’d have to live with the knowledge that Droz would never walk again.
Droz never blamed anyone for his injury, and as far as I know he is still on the WWE payroll to this day. Sometimes when we have a show in Philadelphia, he’ll show up in his pimped out wheelchair and is always friendly with a great attitude. He’s a big man and looks out of place in the confines of the little chair, but he always has a smile and a compliment for everyone.
But what happened to Droz serves as a reminder of how lucky I am that I’ve never been seriously injured in the ring.
It’s also a reminder how terrified I am of ending up in the same situation.
The guy in charge of tracking down talent (the fancy word used for wrestlers, the same way “fuel dispensing technician” is used for gas station attendants) to do various promos for the WWE is Steve Lombardi, a.k.a. the Brooklyn Brawler. I cut my teeth doing promos in WCW when nobody else showed up to do them and I understood how important it was to practice every chance I got. But the first couple times Lombardi asked me to do promos for the WWE, I blew him off. I became one of the guys who suddenly had more important things to do than work on my verbal skills, like Lex Luger in WCW.
Finally Lombardi cornered me and said, “I’m not asking you to do these because I want you to do them for me. You’re doing them for the company. When they ask me why you’re not doing them, it just makes you look like an asshole. If you continue to blow them off, it’s going to make you seem like you’re a prima donna and it could really hurt you.”
Once again, I wasn’t keeping my eyes on the ball when it came to the little things.
So I revived my WCW attitude and did as many pretapes, PSAs, local advertisements, and interviews for DVDs as I could. I tried to get my face on as much material as possible. It got to the point where I would do most of the material in one take. But if there was a take that I didn’t like, if I stumbled or mispronounced something, I would use a trick that Rick Rude taught me in WCW.
Swear.
“I’m the Ayatollah of Lock and Lollahh … Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!”
Voilà! A guaranteed second chance.
I had just done a promo for WWE ice cream bars when I was approached in the hallway by a kid who looked