Forgiven: One Man's Journey from Self-Glorification to Sanctification (2 page)

Chapter 58

And in the End . . .


Chapter 59

Still to Come
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Acknowledgements

First and foremost, this book is dedicated to Jesus Christ for saving my life. His love, guidance and patience are still, to this day, beyond my human comprehension. Every word written in this book is dedicated to Him and the glorification of His being and His Kingdom.

To my wife Amy: you had every reason in the world to leave me . . .

but you never did. Your unconditional love was not of this world.

Regardless of how many years I live, I will never be able to repay you for your faithfulness.

To my three kids, Will, VJ and Annie: you mean the world to me.

I hope this book serves as my legacy in an effort to show you how not to let your priorities ever get away from you as you someday raise families of your own.

To my father, Jim: to this day you have the biggest heart I have ever seen. You instilled God-like qualities in me when I was so far away from the truth.

To my sister Debbie: I apologize for not being there as much as I should have. Maybe I haven’t shown it over the years — but you are in my heart every single day.

To my niece Chloe and my nephew Greg: even though I wasn’t there physically — my spirit was always with you. I hope this book serves as an inspiration to you both — showing that through the love of Christ there is hope for us all.

To my best friend in the world, Jeff Iorio: you have been on this wild ride for almost 30 years — and you’ve never once gotten off.

From the bottom of my heart, I love you. There, I said it!

To my Sigma Tau Gamma Fraternity brothers, for being my family vi

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Forgiven

when I was a thousand miles away from home: Beans, Flounder—you will never be forgotten!

To my mother-in-law, Alta: thank you for allowing that punk kid from New Yawk to marry your daughter. I hope I’ve done good.

To ECW Press’s Michael Holmes for seeing my dream through: your patience and guidance were a true blessing. I could never thank you enough.

And, oh yeah, one last thing: no thanks goes to the San Francisco Giants for giving me a lifetime of sheer grief and disappointment.

How more loyal do I have to be in order to get just one lousy championship?

Did I forget anyone? Of course I didn’t.

Last . . . but not least . . . my mother, Terry.

I’ve kidded and teased for 44 years because the situations have just lent themselves. But with God now as my witness—there is no one else on earth that could have raised me the way you did. Are you crazy? Perhaps you had to be, in order to put up with me. But you know what, Ma? I wouldn’t have had it any other way. I love you . . .

and I thank you.

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Foreword

What you’re about to read isn’t a book about wrestling, although there’s a lot of wrestling in it. It isn’t about Christianity, either, although Christian faith plays a large part in it as well.

The book you’re holding in your hands right now is about perspective.

More than anything else, it’s about the need to take a step outside ourselves from time to time and look at our surroundings from an alien point of view. When we fail to do this, we sometimes find ourselves trapped in hostile environments — unsure of how we got there, and equally unsure as to how we might escape.

But before I go getting all heavy on you, let me back up a bit. . . .

Vince Russo and I have had a long history, and I consider him one of my oldest and dearest friends — not too shabby, considering we only met in 1998. Consider it a testament to the environment we were in at the time: the wwf.1 We were literally thrown together in a working relationship that could have ended (and, in some ways, did) in disaster. But something clicked between the two of us, almost from moment one.

Perhaps it was because we were both Italian guys from the Northeast (Vince from Long Island, myself from New Jersey). Or maybe it was that we had been wrestling fans ever since we were kids.

Or it could have been our frighteningly similar taste in just about everything: from movies (
Raging Bull
and anything with the Marx 1 Yeah, yeah, I know it’s “wwe” now . . . but I never worked for World Wrestling Entertainment. Vince and I worked for the World Wrestling Federation. Ergo, my use of “wwf” isn’t a typo. Look elsewhere, typo-geeks

— I’m not gonna make it that easy for you.

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Brothers) to television (
The Honeymooners
and
All in the Family
) to music (we’re both avowed Beatles and John Lennon freaks). My being a few years his junior didn’t stop us from both having grown up watching the same Abbott & Costello movies wpix (New York’s channel 11) would air every Sunday morning at 11:30. Similarly, the age difference didn’t stand in the way of us both knowing the sheer bliss a “Sack o’ Castles”2 would mean to a growling stomach . . . not to mention the nightmare that same bliss could become an hour after the Castles were gone (trust me, it was never pretty).

You see, we shared similar backgrounds, and that played a huge part in how quickly and intensely we bonded. At the time in the wwf, we only had each other to look out for, we only had each other to depend on, we only had each other to trust. We quickly went from acquaintances to friends and partners, only to find ourselves just as quickly on the bitter outs with one another. There was a time, shortly after our friendship and partnership dissolved in wcw, when the mere mention of Vince’s name would elicit nothing but an audible groan and look of disgust from me. And I know Vince’s feelings toward me were no different.

Needless to say, a lot of water has passed under the bridge since those dark days, and we buried the hatchet long ago. We somehow emerged from the ugliness of the wrestling business as better, happier men, and rediscovered the friendship that we once enjoyed, only to cherish it all the more.

When Vince asked me to write the foreword to his book in early 2005, I was honored. I had just finished reading a rough draft of the latest version of his manuscript, and I had been corresponding with him about it via phone and E-mail. He had taken my suggestions and criticisms with an eagerness that showed his new perspective and outlook on life. This was a different Vince Russo from the man I had 2 If you get this reference, good on ya. If you don’t, read on . . . Vince goes into more detail in the body of the book.

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Vince Russo

spent all those hours on the road with, all those hours working side-by-side with and, for a good couple of years, all those hours disliking.

Vince has always been an extremely controversial, polarizing figure — especially in the wrestling business. Whether you were a fan, a production person or one of “the boys,” you either loved him or hated him. But it’s important for me to mention, in the inimitable words of Vince McMahon no less, “
that
was yesterday.” Vinnie Ru is a changed man. I never thought I’d see the day I’d say that, but I do so today with absolute certainty. Through his faith, he has finally found the peace and happiness that has eluded him most of his adult life.

Also, in the interest of full disclosure, I should mention here that I am not a Christian. I personally don’t believe in organized religion, which I feel is a whole different ball o’ wax from spirituality. “You say heathen, I say secular humanist.”3 When Vince first told me about his awakening and rebirth, however, I couldn’t be skeptical — there was a quality in his voice that I had never before heard from him, a clar-ity and a passion in his words that dispelled any doubt I might have had. I remember telling him how happy I was for him to have finally found that missing piece to his life’s puzzle. It was a long, hard journey for Vince, but he had finally, honestly, found the peace he desperately needed. For that, I’m proud of him and I support him 100%.

And now, as promised, on to the heavy stuff. . . .

When I was in college, I was an English/Theatre double-major (a surefire double-threat to unemployment agencies across the country). At the time, I fell in love with a one-act play by Samuel Beckett called
Krapp’s Last Tape.
In the piece, we spend all of our time with the titular (and only) character — a bitter, crusty 69-year-old man named Krapp.4 In the play, we see him go about his existence as he has 3 To be (awkwardly) sung to the tune of “You Say Potato . . . ” 4 Stop snickering, kids. It’s the man’s name.

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Forgiven

every single day for the 50-plus years: he listens to journal-esque audio recordings he made in the past, when he was a younger and (presumably) more ignorant man. He takes great pleasure in scoffing at his past foolishness and naïveté as the tapes play, completely obliv-ious to the fact that his younger self is doing the exact same thing on the tapes themselves. Krapp (age 69) listens to a tape of Krapp (age 35) discussing how foolish he had been at age 19 — and, of course, Krapp–35 is aware of his past ignorance from (what else?) listening to tapes that he had made when he was 19. Krapp–69 offers a running commentary on Krapp–35’s musings that suggests the cyclical nature of his existence, believing he has grown in wisdom, and unaware that his intolerance and negativity have been the only constants in his life, stranding him in a stagnant rut he can’t escape — because he’s unaware he’s stuck in it.

What in the world does any of that have to do with Vince Russo and this book? Everything, my friends.

Forgiven
began life as a very different book, written by a completely different person. His name was Vince Russo, but he’s not the Vince Russo I know and love today. This book was originally entitled
Welcome to Bizarroland
, and it was written by an extremely bitter, angry and unhappy Vince Russo back in 2000 — whom I’ll hereafter appropriately refer to as Vince–2000. The book was a tell-all diatribe in which no one Vince ever worked with was spared his barbs. It was vicious and it was ugly. It was a product of Vince–2000’s perspective at the time.

In
Welcome to Bizarroland
, Vince looked back on the past events in his life with a jaundiced eye, and he had an extremely critical view of his naive perspective as he had embarked on his career in the wwf —

we’ll call
that
Vince Vince–’90s. As Vince–2000 looked back on the Vince–’90s, he did so with an admittedly arrogant perspective, as if to say, “If I only knew then what I know now.” Just like Krapp.

Then, before
Bizarroland
was published, Vince–2000 had a revelation. In one fell swoop, Vince–2000 died and Vince–Forgiven was born.

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Vince Russo

This book, like
Krapp’s Last Tape
, is a Chinese puzzle box of different perspectives. Vince–Forgiven took
Bizarroland
and tore it down to the foundations. Vince–Forgiven was no longer interested in attacking the people he had worked with for so many years.

Vince–Forgiven had a new outlook on life, and he wanted it to show through in his work. He was tired of contributing negativity, and wanted to pass on what he had learned.

This book, therefore, is a product of Vince–Forgiven taking extended passages from
Bizarroland
(written by Vince–2000) and commenting upon them from his newly enlightened perspective. The insight he’s gained in the relatively short time since being reborn is truly amazing, as you’ll discover for yourself as you read on. You’re in for a fascinating journey as you lose yourself in Vince–2000’s tales of Vince–’90s progression from academic textbook salesman to his role as one of the most influential figures in the history of the wrestling business . . . only to find yourself snapped out of
Bizarroland
and back to reality by the honest, wise and insightful perspective of Vince–Forgiven.

Unlike Krapp–69, however, Vince–Forgiven
has
learned from his past. That’s what gives this work the uplifting sense of closure that Beckett’s masterpiece lacks.

I truly hope you enjoy the multiple perspectives of Vince looking back on Vince looking back on Vince. I’m incredibly proud of him for arriving at the place he is now, and I couldn’t be happier for him.

There have been times when I looked up to Vince like the big brother I never had, and there were other times I wanted to put him through a freakin’ wall. But after all the ups and downs we’ve been through, both together and apart, I like Vince Russo. That’s
my
perspective. After you finish this book, I hope you’ll share it.

— Ed Ferrara

Chicago, Illinois

April, 2005

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Sometime in October, 2003...

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Chapter 1

THE DAY I DIED

I hate Jeff.

All these years thinking that he was a “true” friend . . . who was I kidding? Deep down he was always a wrestler, never caring about anybody but himself. You think by now, after being beat up in this God-forsaken business for more than 10 years, I would have learned my lesson. But, no — for some sick, demented reason I continue to believe in people — continue to believe they are honest, sincere . . .

what a schmuck.

Man, I loved the guy — from our days together in the World Wrestling Federation I thought Jeff Jarrett was the real thing — a true friend. I should have known there were no true friends in wrestling

. . . only acquaintances. To think I went to bat for this guy — I put my job on the line for him. I fought JR, Bruce Prichard and Vince himself toe-to-toe when they saw nothing in him. And this is what I get, this is what it all comes down to.

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