Undisputed_ How to Become the World Champion in 1,372 Easy Steps - Chris Jericho [54]
“I didn’t do it, Jess! I’m innocent! Erickson did it!”
“Now you’re trying to blame Scott? Stop being such a jerk and admit that you did it already!”
Weeds sat there grinning like a badly coiffed cheshire cat as his evil plan came to fruition.
I had enough and decided to knock the smirk off his face right then and there. I reached over and took an awkward swing at him in the crowded backseat. Just as I did, the taxi hit a pothole and I ended up grazing Jess in the back of the head with a weak blow.
Sammy burst out laughing at my faux pas and I completely snapped.
“That does it! Pull this car over right now,” I screamed at the driver.
I swung open my door and ran around the side of the car to Sammy’s half-rolled-down window. I reached through and punched him in the face. Suddenly I was public enemy number one (and I ain’t talkin’ about Nikki Sixx) to everybody in the taxi.
The evidence was stacked against me, as I had sucker-punched the “innocent man.” Even though it hadn’t been much of a punch, Erickson sold it better than Shawn Michaels ever could. When we got back to the hotel neither Jessica nor Lisa would talk to me until I apologized to him. I was reminded of my forced apology to Chyna as I mumbled a few words of remorse while Erickson stood there smugly nodding his head. It was torture for me, made worse by the fact that we both knew he had won.
Damn you Badweeds! I’ll get you back someday …
The next morning, I woke up with one of the worst hangovers in the history of drunk. I had to go to an autograph signing, and when I slid out of the car in front of a long line of Jerichoholics waiting to meet their hero, I tripped and almost fell down. I started signing covered in an alcoholic sweat, and even though I felt like nauseous prison ass, I scrawled my name on picture after picture as friendly as could be. Finally I put my pen down to greet a cute little guy wearing a Y2J shirt and holding his Jericho doll.
“You’re my favorite wrestler, Chris Jericho,” he said with an adorable gap-toothed grin.
“Well thank you very much! What’s your name, little buddy?”
“Conner,” the precious little angel said shyly.
“Awwww. Well hello, Conner. Thanks for being such a big fan! Listen, can you do me a favor and hold on one second, big guy?”
Conner beamed and said, “Okay, Chris Jericho. You’re my hero.”
I smiled back and got up from the table, giving the crowd a big wave.
I made my way to the bathroom, locked the door behind me, knelt in front of the toilet, and puked my damn guts out.
After a few minutes of bapping and barfing, I splashed some cold water on my face and walked back to the signing table.
Conner was anxiously waiting and couldn’t stop grinning as I sat down.
“He’s your biggest fan,” his mother said proudly as I scribbled my name across his action figure.
“Well, thank you, very much, ma’am. By the way, do you have a mint?”
After my career-making Last Man Standing match with HHH, I had a long feud with Kane, a good worker and one of most intelligent men in the WWE. I always enjoyed wrestling him, and he’s still the only coworker with whom I’ve had an in-depth discussion about Aldous Huxley’s (not Iron Maiden’s) Brave New World. The angle started with me spilling coffee on him backstage and ended three months later with another Last Man Standing match, which I won when I pushed the set (made of dozens of barrels attached together) on top of him, apparently squashing him to death.
Then I moved on to a feud over the Intercontinental title with Benoit. It was always a war working with him, but in a good way. He worked a no-nonsense, raw-boned, strong style that meshed perfectly with mine, and with our similar backgrounds and worldwide experiences, we always had good matches. He was one of my all-time favorite opponents.
The war between the Calgary Kids (see A Lion’s Tale for an explanation) culminated with a Ladder match at the 2001 Royal