their hard-earned money.
To me, that idea would be made almost unrecognizable without the storyline presence of Vince McMahon.
As I was about to vent my frustration, Vince received a message that a road agent had just been informed of a very serious family matter. Although I’m in the middle of criticizing him here, and will undoubtedly continue to do so over the course of Hardcore Diaries, Vince does possess a big heart (I’m not kidding), and he and his daughter Stephanie rushed out immediately to console his distraught employee.
As a result, Brian Gewirtz caught my initial verbal onslaught. “Goddammit, Brian,” I said. I very rarely take God’s name in vain, or curse at all, for that matter, but I did indeed begin this particular conversation by breaking one of the Ten Commandments, Commandment Number Two, to be exact. “If I’d known you guys were going to water this thing down, I wouldn’t have volunteered. You were at the meeting [the one in Stamford]. You know the ‘Kiss My Ass Club’ was the centerpiece of the whole damn thing. Otherwise, it’s just another angle, and I didn’t volunteer to turn heel and sacrifice seven years of goodwill with the fans to turn heel for a second-rate show.”
“Second-rate show” might seem a little harsh, but I truly felt that without the angle being done properly, the show would indeed be second-rate.
Would I sacrifice seven years of goodwill for a huge show, a WrestleMania, with the potential for considerable compensation? Maybe. But for the ECW show? Not likely. Especially because I would be turning on a segment of our audience that had followed me the longest, and supported me the most.
Thankfully, Vince came back in before I could berate Gewirtz any longer.
I should probably also give thanks for the returning presence of Stephanie McMahon. You see, while I have no problem yelling at Vince, I would indeed have a problem yelling in front of Stephanie. First of all, she’s seven months pregnant. Secondly, she’s just really, really…nice. And she’s my friend. Several years ago, before she took on much more responsibility in WWE, she was someone I spoke to all the time. Someone I felt pretty close to. Even though we’ve drifted a little over the years, I have occasionally found my day brightened by a card or call from Steph. No business mentions, just genuine small acts of kindness.
One of my most treasured gifts was a small replica of the WWE hardcore title belt that Steph had put together for the occasion of little Mick’s birth in 2001. As many of you know, the original hardcore belt was rather unsightly. Its collection of broken, jagged pieces of metal held together with duct tape represented a genuine case of beauty being in the eye of the beholder, because to those who earned the right to hold the belt, it truly was a thing of beauty.
I realize I’m talking about a championship belt that was held by Test and various members of the Mean Street Posse, but try to work with me a little here.
Apparently, little Mick was not aware of either the origin of the belt or the origin of the gift a couple months ago when he approached me with a gleam in his bright blue eyes. “Daddy, I fixed it,” he said, holding out his little hand to reveal…oh no, that he had taken off every piece of duct tape and broken metal, leaving only a tiny, clean piece of black leather.
Okay, okay, I’ll get back to Vince, but let me just state my genuine belief that my whole ECW adventure was salvaged by two women and a book.
Vince sat down, ready to tackle the monumental importance of my concerns, which were apparently not as monumental as the importance of the protein bar he was in the process of opening.
“Vince, you know how passionate I was about this angle, right?”
Vince took a bite of the bar. “Uh-huh,” he mumbled.
“I remember how Steph said she was so glad to see me thinking of ideas again because my heart wasn’t into WrestleMania. ”
“Uh-huh.”
To me, that idea would be made almost unrecognizable without the storyline presence of Vince McMahon.
As I was about to vent my frustration, Vince received a message that a road agent had just been informed of a very serious family matter. Although I’m in the middle of criticizing him here, and will undoubtedly continue to do so over the course of Hardcore Diaries, Vince does possess a big heart (I’m not kidding), and he and his daughter Stephanie rushed out immediately to console his distraught employee.
As a result, Brian Gewirtz caught my initial verbal onslaught. “Goddammit, Brian,” I said. I very rarely take God’s name in vain, or curse at all, for that matter, but I did indeed begin this particular conversation by breaking one of the Ten Commandments, Commandment Number Two, to be exact. “If I’d known you guys were going to water this thing down, I wouldn’t have volunteered. You were at the meeting [the one in Stamford]. You know the ‘Kiss My Ass Club’ was the centerpiece of the whole damn thing. Otherwise, it’s just another angle, and I didn’t volunteer to turn heel and sacrifice seven years of goodwill with the fans to turn heel for a second-rate show.”
“Second-rate show” might seem a little harsh, but I truly felt that without the angle being done properly, the show would indeed be second-rate.
Would I sacrifice seven years of goodwill for a huge show, a WrestleMania, with the potential for considerable compensation? Maybe. But for the ECW show? Not likely. Especially because I would be turning on a segment of our audience that had followed me the longest, and supported me the most.
Thankfully, Vince came back in before I could berate Gewirtz any longer.
I should probably also give thanks for the returning presence of Stephanie McMahon. You see, while I have no problem yelling at Vince, I would indeed have a problem yelling in front of Stephanie. First of all, she’s seven months pregnant. Secondly, she’s just really, really…nice. And she’s my friend. Several years ago, before she took on much more responsibility in WWE, she was someone I spoke to all the time. Someone I felt pretty close to. Even though we’ve drifted a little over the years, I have occasionally found my day brightened by a card or call from Steph. No business mentions, just genuine small acts of kindness.
One of my most treasured gifts was a small replica of the WWE hardcore title belt that Steph had put together for the occasion of little Mick’s birth in 2001. As many of you know, the original hardcore belt was rather unsightly. Its collection of broken, jagged pieces of metal held together with duct tape represented a genuine case of beauty being in the eye of the beholder, because to those who earned the right to hold the belt, it truly was a thing of beauty.
I realize I’m talking about a championship belt that was held by Test and various members of the Mean Street Posse, but try to work with me a little here.
Apparently, little Mick was not aware of either the origin of the belt or the origin of the gift a couple months ago when he approached me with a gleam in his bright blue eyes. “Daddy, I fixed it,” he said, holding out his little hand to reveal…oh no, that he had taken off every piece of duct tape and broken metal, leaving only a tiny, clean piece of black leather.
Okay, okay, I’ll get back to Vince, but let me just state my genuine belief that my whole ECW adventure was salvaged by two women and a book.
Vince sat down, ready to tackle the monumental importance of my concerns, which were apparently not as monumental as the importance of the protein bar he was in the process of opening.
“Vince, you know how passionate I was about this angle, right?”
Vince took a bite of the bar. “Uh-huh,” he mumbled.
“I remember how Steph said she was so glad to see me thinking of ideas again because my heart wasn’t into WrestleMania. ”
“Uh-huh.”
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