Death Clutch by Brock Lesnar

kept my mouth shut, and didn’t say anything to Kurt that I didn’t want anyone else to know.
    I dropped the WWE title to Eddie Guerrero at the Cow Palace in San Francisco. The whole story line was centered on Bill Goldberg getting into the ring and giving me a spear. I didn’t believe Vince wanted the title on Eddie Guerrero because he thought Eddie would draw more money than I could, or that Vince had this vision in his head about me versus Goldberg at WrestleMania . I suspected Vince made the decision to take the title off me because Kurt had told him I was thinking about leaving.
    I started to concentrate on just getting through WrestleMania , and getting my hands on that nice payday before getting out. You know it never works out that way, of course, because just as I was getting my head into survival mode, WWE pulled another bullshit move on me.
    We were scheduled to go to South Africa, and that’s just a miserable trip. It’s on the other side of the world. The food sucks. It’s a long trip to get there, and a long trip back. There’s nothing good about it except you can make some good money when you’re in the main event.
    I was scheduled to wrestle in those main events against Kurt and Eddie in Triple Threat matches for all four South Africa shows, but right before we left the United States, the WWE changed the main events to just Kurt vs. Eddie. I was told the two of them needed to get their match down for WrestleMania , which meant I was stuck wrestling Bob Holly, who I had just beat in four minutes at The Royal Rumble .
    I like Bob. He’s a good guy and he takes his shit seriously, but I didn’t want to work with him. Nothing against him, but wrestling Bob Holly wasn’t worth anything to me at the time.
    We did our match at The Royal Rumble , and that should have been the end of our story line. But now I have to travel all the way to South Africa to work with Bob Holly? Could anyone please tell me why? I knew no one would pay to see that match. Since I’m not really needed, give me some time off. I really needed the break by this time, but John Laurinaitis told me how much I’m needed on the card. AGAINST BOB HOLLY? Are you shitting me?
    I knew the truth. I was just on the card, taking up space. That’s not where I wanted to be. It’s never where I wanted to be.
    Even today, at this very moment, I’m still pissed at myself for getting on the plane to South Africa. I should have just walked. The trip sucked all around, the money wasn’t worth the time and aggravation, and I drank all the way back to the United States. I spent fifty-four miserable hours on an airplane that trip.
    When we landed at JFK Airport in New York, we got herded like cattle onto a bus over to LaGuardia Airport, where we were supposed to get on another plane and head to Atlanta. Once we get to Atlanta, we’re supposed to take this little puddle jumper to Savannah. Once the crew would get to Savannah, it’s back to the same old monotonous daily grind again. Get your bags. Grab a rental car. Find a gym. Look for something to eat. Hope for some sleep, because you have to be ready the next morning to spend your whole day taping TV.
    That’s when I snapped.
    Nathan Jones had lost his mind a month earlier, and he was just minutes away from wrestling in his hometown in Australia. But the weird thing is that, when Nathan snapped, I kept thinking that everything he was saying made sense.
    â€œNothing is worth this stress” . . . “It’s all games, but then they tell you how seriously they take their own business” . . . “I just don’t want to be here anymore.”
    So we land at JFK and get bussed over to LaGuardia, and that’s when I started drinking again. I was sitting at the airport bar, and I decided right then and there that I wasn’t going to get on yet another airplane and go all the way to Savannah. Why? So I could