Another bite. This time he wasn’t even looking at me. Holy crap! I have had a long history with Vince, much of it smooth, some of it great, some of it a bit tumultuous, but I’d never before been made to feel second best to a protein bar.
It was at this point in the proceedings that I first thought of taking my ball and going home. Just saying, “This isn’t what I came back for,” and leaving. Sure, it wasn’t a very mature thought, but as you can surely tell by reading this book, not all of my thoughts are. But Vince with his damn protein bar was really getting to me.
I tried to plead my case for Vince’s involvement in our angle. He understood my concerns, but didn’t agree with them, stating the need for him to not spread himself too thin by getting physically involved in two angles.
I went for broke. “Vince, you know this whole thing hinged on your willingness to get physically involved. Without you, and without the ‘Kiss My Ass Club,’ there’s no angle. I don’t want to go out there and give tough-guy promos. I’m not that guy anymore. I wanted to create something great. I don’t want to come back and give up all the credibility I’ve earned with the fans, just to get involved in something half-assed. Hell, maybe you guys should just do this show without me.”
I was officially in the process of taking my ball and going home, when I thought about my book, this book, The Hardcore Diaries, and how badly the book would suck if it just kind of ended here. I went home. The end. Not very captivating, right? Not to mention it would be the shortest book since The Wit and Wisdom of Test.
It did cross my mind that a plot twist such as this, however damaging to my visions of wrestling immortality it might be, could make for good reading. For some reason I thought immediately of the Bob Dylan line, “You’d better start swimming, or you’ll sink like a stone.” Did I really want to sink? Was this book really reason enough to participate in something half-assed, something that had just been ordered to take a detour on the road to wrestling immortality? A detour, or a dead end? Was it possible to still get there, albeit in a roundabout way, with the estimated arrival time pushed months into the future?
By the time you read this book, all of the events that I am documenting will have unfolded. Hopefully, it will have been responsible for great, if not immortal, wrestling memories. If so, thank Melina.
Up until that moment, I had not had a single guilty thought about Melina. After all, I’d had no need to—she’s like a little sister to me. I know it doesn’t make sense, but I swear I have never had a single indecent thought about her. I just can’t see her that way.
But as I contemplated leaving, a tidal wave of guilt crashed into me. I just imagined her little voice on the phone, and how excited she was about the idea. This angle would be a big deal for her, probably the biggest break of her WWE career. It would give me great happiness to be responsible for such a break occurring. Likewise, it would cause me a great deal of sadness and guilt to be responsible for such a potential career break not occurring.
“Oh, that’s awesome,” my mind heard her say. “Thank you so much for thinking of me.”
What was I going to tell her? “Oh, that idea I spent three hours telling you about? Yeah, that’s not going to happen. Why? Oh, because I walked out on WWE when I didn’t get my way on the ECW program. Sorry to get your hopes up. Talk to you soon. Okay, bye.”
I couldn’t do it. I just wouldn’t be able to live with the guilt.
So I did my best to invoke the spirit of Monte Hall. “Vince, let’s make a deal.”
Thankfully, Vince was done with his damn protein bar. And in truth, somewhere in the proceedings he offered me one, which I graciously accepted.
“A deal,” Vince said, his businessman’s instincts showing signs of perking up. “What kind of deal?”
I thought back to Dylan,
It was at this point in the proceedings that I first thought of taking my ball and going home. Just saying, “This isn’t what I came back for,” and leaving. Sure, it wasn’t a very mature thought, but as you can surely tell by reading this book, not all of my thoughts are. But Vince with his damn protein bar was really getting to me.
I tried to plead my case for Vince’s involvement in our angle. He understood my concerns, but didn’t agree with them, stating the need for him to not spread himself too thin by getting physically involved in two angles.
I went for broke. “Vince, you know this whole thing hinged on your willingness to get physically involved. Without you, and without the ‘Kiss My Ass Club,’ there’s no angle. I don’t want to go out there and give tough-guy promos. I’m not that guy anymore. I wanted to create something great. I don’t want to come back and give up all the credibility I’ve earned with the fans, just to get involved in something half-assed. Hell, maybe you guys should just do this show without me.”
I was officially in the process of taking my ball and going home, when I thought about my book, this book, The Hardcore Diaries, and how badly the book would suck if it just kind of ended here. I went home. The end. Not very captivating, right? Not to mention it would be the shortest book since The Wit and Wisdom of Test.
It did cross my mind that a plot twist such as this, however damaging to my visions of wrestling immortality it might be, could make for good reading. For some reason I thought immediately of the Bob Dylan line, “You’d better start swimming, or you’ll sink like a stone.” Did I really want to sink? Was this book really reason enough to participate in something half-assed, something that had just been ordered to take a detour on the road to wrestling immortality? A detour, or a dead end? Was it possible to still get there, albeit in a roundabout way, with the estimated arrival time pushed months into the future?
By the time you read this book, all of the events that I am documenting will have unfolded. Hopefully, it will have been responsible for great, if not immortal, wrestling memories. If so, thank Melina.
Up until that moment, I had not had a single guilty thought about Melina. After all, I’d had no need to—she’s like a little sister to me. I know it doesn’t make sense, but I swear I have never had a single indecent thought about her. I just can’t see her that way.
But as I contemplated leaving, a tidal wave of guilt crashed into me. I just imagined her little voice on the phone, and how excited she was about the idea. This angle would be a big deal for her, probably the biggest break of her WWE career. It would give me great happiness to be responsible for such a break occurring. Likewise, it would cause me a great deal of sadness and guilt to be responsible for such a potential career break not occurring.
“Oh, that’s awesome,” my mind heard her say. “Thank you so much for thinking of me.”
What was I going to tell her? “Oh, that idea I spent three hours telling you about? Yeah, that’s not going to happen. Why? Oh, because I walked out on WWE when I didn’t get my way on the ECW program. Sorry to get your hopes up. Talk to you soon. Okay, bye.”
I couldn’t do it. I just wouldn’t be able to live with the guilt.
So I did my best to invoke the spirit of Monte Hall. “Vince, let’s make a deal.”
Thankfully, Vince was done with his damn protein bar. And in truth, somewhere in the proceedings he offered me one, which I graciously accepted.
“A deal,” Vince said, his businessman’s instincts showing signs of perking up. “What kind of deal?”
I thought back to Dylan,
Similar Books
