Forgiven: One Man's Journey from Self-Glorification to Sanctification (18 page)

pound, genetic freaks. Shawn was under six feet, and less than 200

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pounds soaking wet on days he ate potato chips and Scooter Pies.

(Man, if you don’t know what a Scooter Pie is, I feel your pain!) Physically, his chances weren’t good. But wow, did he have heart.

• • •

Before I begin my assessment of certain wwf superstars, let me first say that the views expressed throughout this book are simply my opinion. These are my personal views, based on the time I spent with the individuals I’m talking about. It is neither fact nor fiction — simply my impressions.

Now then, about Shawn. . . . I’ve always felt a special bond with Shawn Michaels, maybe because it all really started with him that day in Poughkeepsie.

Shawn and I had a love/hate relationship from the beginning. My impression? He was probably a bit spoiled growing up, as many of us were. Shawn had a close-knit relationship with his parents — especially his mother. Mrs. Hickenbottom cherished the ground Shawn walked on, and he in turn treated her like a queen. Whenever I saw Shawn around his parents, he treated them both with the utmost respect and for that I applaud him, loudly. However, as an adult, if Shawn Michaels didn’t get his way, he was difficult to deal with at times. And when he wasn’t happy with something, he let you know.

On more occasions than one I witnessed Shawn standing up to Vince

— with Vince completely backing down. Now whether it was a case of Vince just not wanting to deal with him, I don’t know, but nine out of ten times Shawn got his way with the boss. I never saw anybody else confront Vince the way Shawn did —
ever
. You’ve got to admit, the guy had a pair of brass spaldings on him. Deep down, I guess that’s what I admired the most about him — he wasn’t afraid to say anything to anybody. As a matter of fact, he was the only wrestler to ever physically threaten me — a story I’ll get into later.

During Shawn’s run as wwf Champion, I wrote many of his in-ring promos (the monologues he would cut) and almost every one of his pre-tapes (a taped promo that would be used at a later time) in 123

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which he would hawk tickets to the next “show nearest you.” Now, don’t misunderstand me, it wasn’t that Shawn wasn’t capable of writing his own schtick, because he was. It was just that Shawn wasn’t capable of coming up with the verbiage Vince wanted him to say. At the time, Vince wanted Shawn to be this sappy, make-you-want-to-puke babyface — the total opposite of who he was. Shawn was a rebel inside and outside the ring — but Vince wanted him to be George Clooney. I had to write such vanilla promos for Shawn — we both questioned it, but Vince was the boss. No offense intended, but at the time, Vince seemed so far out of date it wasn’t even funny. Eighties wrestling just wasn’t working. All the old rules were breaking down day-by-day.

Rocky times would come between Shawn and Vince over the idea of him dropping the wwf title to Stone Cold Steve Austin at WrestleMania xiv. At that time, Austin had become the golden boy, and Shawn felt as if Vince was just kicking him to the curb. Shawn became real bitter, real fast. And I can’t say that I blame him. Vince did, and still does have a tendency to go from project to project. Well, weeks before the WrestleMania match, Shawn wouldn’t even speak to McMahon. And of course, Vince didn’t want to deal with the Heartbreak Kid either. I was made the go-between for a few weeks. Man, it got stone cold ugly! Not only was Shawn threatening not to drop the strap to Austin at WrestleMania, but he told me, and I quote, “Tell Vince the belt will be at home on my mantle if he wants it.” Then, about a week from the Granddaddy of Them All, Shawn cut a scathing promo on the boss on
Raw
that I will never forget. Every word was unscripted, with Shawn basically telling Vince — in front of a national audience — how he truly felt about him. But in the end, Shawn, being a professional, laid down for Austin in the middle of the ring at Mania.

Personally, though others have had their problems with Michaels, I really admired him. While he may have been difficult to deal with at times, I must say this: for starters, no question, Shawn was the best in-ring performer I had ever seen. Night after night he put his body 124

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on the line, not caring about the consequences. Unfortunately that would catch up with him later, as a severe back injury, along with some personal demons, would fatally stifle his career. Yeah, personal demons

— something else we will get into later, because Shawn wasn’t the only victim of his environment.

Looking back, Shawn Michaels may have been the first true sports entertainer. The guy had it all — the wrestling ability, the look, the jive — he just dripped charisma.

Currently, Shawn is once again back in the wwe fold. Only this time, something is very different — Shawn is a born-again Christian and a devout follower of Jesus Christ. I can’t begin to tell you how happy I am for him. Following much different paths, both Shawn and I had many heartaches in the business. On two different levels, we were both becoming something that we were not. There is no question that we both could have been headed for disaster, and then the guiding light was cast upon us; the light that led us out of our physical, emotional and mental darkness and changed both our lives forever.

Where was I? Oh yeah, Poughkeepsie.

I couldn’t say, “Screw Ricciuti,” because to this day I love the guy.

He actually gave me my break in the business. The guy could easily have been intimidated by me and buried me with Linda McMahon.

I mean, that’s the way things often work in the business. But not Ed; he did the opposite. The man put me over like a father selling his son to the little-league coach. But on this day, I said, “Screw Ricciuti!” The bald man threw me to the wolves! Here I am, a mark, greener than Herman Munster, and I’m just going to walk backstage into their world because I have a backstage pass glued to my chest? Was I nervous? I was staining my drawers! But I had to get the story. I learned that in Journalism 101 — get the story at any expense.

So I walk into the back like I’m somebody, chest puffed out, the whole deal. What? Was I trying to be like one of the boys? I probably was, but regardless —
I was in
. Aside from the backstage area of the 125

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Poughkeepsie Civic Center being a dive, to this day I’ll never forget the first thing I saw — the babyfaces, playing cards with the heels. Of course I knew wrestling was fake, but to see it with your own two eyes

— what a trip the first time around. I remember the babyface was Hacksaw Jim Duggan, a legend at the time. And there he was playing poker with a no-good heel! They were all there, from Yokozuna to Doink the Clown. Like a bolt of lightning it struck me — I was in Bizarroland! This was straight out of a Saturday morning cartoon.

Grown men dressed up in Halloween costumes, all eating together like one big happy family. For a second I was a 12-year-old kid again.

The excitement of the moment began to drain the nervousness out of me — that is, until someone grabbed me by the arm.

“Who the !@#$% are you?” asked this Crocodile Dundee–sounding gentleman.

Wait a minute — that was no gentlemen — that was Tony Gerea, former wwf superstar! I grew up on Tony Gerea and his tag team partner, the Happy Hawaiian, Dean Ho! Now the guy was yelling at me! What an honor!

“I’m Vince Russo,” I answered back. “I’m a freelance writer for the
wwf Magazine
. I’m here to interview Shawn Michaels.”

“Wait a minute, I’ll get him,” said Tony.

Now forget the excitement, it was back to extreme nervousness. In a few minutes I was going to be face-to-face with the Heartbreak Kid himself. At this point, all I could think about was Vicious Vincent —

the master plan to get my foot in the door. All those times my own wife had doubted me, never understanding my vision, my dream. I was on the inside — I was on my way.

The interview with Shawn went exceptionally well. I don’t know, once he was sitting there right in front of me I just felt totally comfortable. The reality had sunk in, and at that point I was just doing my job. Maybe I just felt like I belonged in this world. Maybe it was because it was a land of misfits, a subculture of human beings who didn’t subscribe to everyday, normal life. My whole life I had felt that way, I had felt different — like there was just something else out there 126

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for me. Was this it? Was the world of sports entertainment my Mecca?

Following that memorable night in Poughkeepsie, it was back to the real world at the Appliance Giant. Without breaking a sweat, I continued to exceed the other salesmen by leaps and bounds. I was now a man on a mission, clearly seeing the road ahead of me. This job was merely a bridge to my future.

Seeing the light at the end of the tunnel is what continues to get me through life, day by day. You’ve got to have a game plan. You’ve got to know where you’re going and envision yourself there. There have been so many times in my life where I was close to falling into a deep depression because of what I was doing at the time. Come on, even if you hate me, you’ve got to admit that I’m better than a tv salesman.

But I had to do it. I had to suck it up to get to that next place. I always kept myself positive. I kept reminding myself why I was doing this.

Again — you’ve just got to have the utmost confidence in yourself. It’s mind over matter, plain and simple. Right now, I’m in a place I don’t particularly want to be in, but again, it’s a stepping stone, something I need to do right now. Tomorrow? That’s a whole other book.

Seeing the light at the end of the tunnel is what continues to get me through life, day by day. . . .

I wrote that two years ago, and just looking closely at those words, it’s evident what I was experiencing not only at that time, but since I graduated college.

Before I was saved, my life was a chase. I was always going after the next thing because I was never satisfied. No matter what I did, no matter what I accomplished, there was this constant void that remained empty, hungry. Just look at my life, where I’ve brought you thus far — it was always on to the next thing, the next thing, the next thing. It was the amazing race, and the destination was unknown. I was that gerbil we’ve all seen running around on a steel wheel, always finishing where I started. I was in constant search of something. I thought it was a lot of things: fame, money, success. However each and every time a hurdle was jumped, I still felt the same.

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The only one who could change that, was my savior and friend. In Jesus I found peace, contentment,
full
satisfaction. The looking stopped and the living began. Unless you’ve experienced it, it’s hard to understand. But it’s real. Read my words. Look at me then, and look at me now.

You’re not looking at the same person.

That was the purpose of this book, and I thank God that he blessed me by letting me write it over two years ago, only to comment on it in a new light. It was his way of showing you what he does to a life once he is allowed to take over.

I am a walking, talking, living, breathing testament.

Day by day, my motivation remained that next call from Ed, that next assignment. I must have told the guy a 100 times over how I wanted to work full-time for the Federation. At the time there was just nothing available, so I continued to freelance. I can remember those Saturday afternoons like they were yesterday. I’d be doing a monster day at the Appliance Giant, 9 a.m. to 10 p.m., but when the wwf came on all the tvs at noon — I would stop, look and know I would be there someday. Little did I know it would be sooner rather than later.

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Chapter 25

RICCIUTI OUSTED!

It was like any other normal day at the Appliance Giant —
brutal
—

when I was paged with a phone call. It was Ed. I was always so pumped up to hear from him, as his voice always reminded me of why I was hawking cd players at this lowly place.

“Vince . . . Vince fired me. I’m no longer editor of the magazine.” My first reaction was shock. I mean, how do you fire a guy like Ed Ricciuti? The guy was, and still is, one of the best on the planet, a true gentleman who always looks out for everyone else before himself. I just didn’t get it. Ed was such a likeable guy . . . how do you fire him?

“Vince . . . you should apply for my job.”

“what?”

I had only been freelancing for some eight months. I never expected this to happen — not this quickly. I wasn’t even over the fact that Ed had been fired. But there he was, thinking about me before he’d even made it to the unemployment line. I’ve got to tell you, people like Ed 129

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Ricciuti are few and far between, especially in the wrestling business.

Again, I’m sure part of it went back to that Italian thing — we always look out for each other. But in writing this book, I’ve realized that if it weren’t for Ed I would
never
have had the opportunity to achieve what I did in the wwf. Ed was my mentor, and I will never forget what he did for me.

So here it was — my shot. It had taken me well over two years to finally get the break I’d been looking for. There was no doubt that the table was now set — all I needed to do was serve up the White Castles!

For those of you who don’t know what they are, you’ve again been cheated. I first discovered the Castle some time in the late ’60s or early

’70s, during the routine Sunday trips to my grandparents’ house.

Now keep in mind, White Castle was supposed to be a white, shiny, sparkling, bright, gleaming eating establishment. But inside, it was filthier than my son VJ’s room. I mean an eatery — filthy, dirty?