Forgiven: One Man's Journey from Self-Glorification to Sanctification (20 page)

I felt like Alice in Wonderland. The morals were different, the values were different and the language was different. The jargon used when two guys are going over a match . . . I don’t care how long you get hooked on phonics — you just weren’t going to understand it. And
trust?
You can throw trust down a New York City street sewer. In this world, nobody trusts anybody. If you’re not paranoid and constantly looking over your shoulder, you will get zoomed, and zoomed hard.

No matter what anybody else tells you — it’s a cutthroat business, a sports-entertainer-eat-sports-entertainer world. Like I said earlier, there are no morals — none. If you’re the spouse of a sports entertainer and you’re reading this book, I’m sorry. The chances are high that your husband or wife is cheating on you. As a matter of fact —

just bet the house on it! It’s the nature of the beast, kids — life on the road, living out of a suitcase, yadda yadda yadda.

The self-contained subculture of the business is what fascinated me.

I’d always made an effort to look at things from the outside-in. It was mind-blowing, and the part of the business that still intrigues me the most. You’d have to have lived it to truly understand. So many of these guys couldn’t exist in the “real” world. For many of them, wrestling is all they have ever known. They’ve spent more time in a locker room than they have in their own homes — and the wrestling world becomes their norm. But it never was for me. I hated life on the road.

Every minute of the day I thought about Amy, Annie, Will and VJ. I always wanted to be back home with them. Each night after the show, when everybody would go down to the hotel bar, I just went up to my room to count down the hours before I would once again be home.

That’s why I’ve said it so many times — you couldn’t be a normal guy and exist in this business. The boys loved life on the road. The cama-raderie, the alcohol, the women, the pills, it was their way of life. For many, it’s what they lived for. For me, it was the hardest part of the job.

While Louie was educating me in the business, Tom Emanuel was teaching me the ropes of publishing. Tom was open to new ideas concerning the magazine and I had about a million of them. With Tom’s 138

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approval, I incorporated many new features into the mag, many which are still around today. Cliff ’em all, Vince Russo did leave his mark on the rag. During that time I also had to go over to the tv facility once a week and sit through voice-overs (when the announcers put their dialogue over an event that had already been taped). It was all part of the education, but man that was tough. Sometimes you’d sit there for five, six hours at a pop while the announcers would voice-over the same match — again and again and again. At the time, Shane McMahon, Vince’s son, was going through a similar education, and many times when I was at the studio Shane was appointed to produce the announcers.

• • •

Next to his father, and perhaps
Raw
executive producer Kevin Dunn, Shane McMahon is the third hardest-working man in sports entertainment today. With youth on his side, Shane has an energy that can only be compared to a blaring K-Mart blue light, racing from department to department to promote the next sale, running 24/7

and juiced by 100,000 watts! This kid has more drive than I’ve ever seen — he’s simply a machine. The guy can’t stand still. I swear to you, while he’s standing in one spot he jumps in place just to keep moving!

From day one, I admired him. Just imagine what he must have gone through growing up. I know personally from working for Vince McMahon, he expects
everything
from you — not just 100 percent, but every ounce of energy in your body, every single day. When you work for Vince McMahon, you are expected to hand him your life on a silver platter. I did, but just had nothing left to give after five years.

Now multiply that by six, and you have Shane McMahon.

I don’t think Shane will ever live up to his father’s expectations —

nobody could — but that doesn’t mean the kid won’t die trying. What he may have lacked in book smarts and common sense, Shane makes up for 10 times over in street smarts, heart, hard work and determination. But you just have the feeling that, in his father’s eyes, Shane is 139

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Vince Russo

always going to come up just a little bit short. I’m not saying Vince isn’t proud of Shane — he is. I’m just saying that Vince may just expect too much from him.

It was my idea to put Shane McMahon on television. On one hand, I knew he was a natural performer — he’s got charisma. On the other hand, I wanted to give him the opportunity to prove to Vince that when that red light came on, he could go toe-to-toe with the old man. And Shane didn’t disappoint. To this day I’d say he is one of the top-five talents in the World Wrestling Federation. Right now, they’re not even using him. Why? You tell me and we’ll both know.

Who will ever forget Shane’s first pay-per-view match against X-Pac (Sean Waltman) at WrestleMania xv? (Shane wrote the entire match out on paper and handed it to Sean weeks before the event.

Needless to say, the ring veteran wasn’t happy.) You’ve got to be kidding me! The guy went bell-to-bell like he’d been doing it his whole life. He was flat-out unbelievable. He not only stole the show . . . he made it. Shane never disappointed me; whatever I asked him to do in front of the camera he did, and did it like a pro.

I’m no psychiatrist, but sometimes I still have to wonder what’s going on in Shane’s head. There’s a big part of me that just feels sorry for him. On the outside, a McMahon will never let you know that they’re hurting, but on the inside . . . I have to wonder. Can anyone be happy with all that pressure, all those expectations? In my opinion, Shane should just concentrate on doing what he does best —

being Shane McMahon.

• • •

So everything was going hunky-dory — right? I had the dream job, I was working with people I liked, I was pulling in 60k — what more could a man ask for? Well, buckle up for the next chapter. Little did I realize that I was smack in the middle of the calm before the not-so-perfect storm.

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Chapter 28

I SHOULD HAVE TAKEN HEED IN WHAT

JOHN MELLENCAMP WAS SAYING; OR,

“WHEN THE WALLS COME CRUMBLIN’ DOWN”

One of my all-time favorite songs is, “Crumblin’ Down.” To this day, John Mellencamp is just one of the coolest cats I’ve ever seen. And I hate to use the word “cat” — what am I, a black jazz legend? But no other word can describe him — the guy’s a . . . well . . .
cat!
He’s the guy that, deep down inside, I wanted to be. The guy is just so cool, especially when he’s up on that stage. I’ve always fantasized about being a rock star. Can you imagine being up on a stage in a sold-out Madison Square Garden, with 20,000 females screaming at your every move? Is there anything more powerful than that? That’s the ticket, man. Forget everybody and everything — I want to be Angus Young!

But anyway, you must be asking yourself, “Self — what do John Mellencamp and ‘Crumblin’ Down’ have to do with this story?” Read on.

Some time, just months into my tenure at Titan, Vince hired some foreign guru “genius” to head the International Department. It seemed 141

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like every time Vince had a little bit of money to play with, or just got bored, he would add five or six new vps to the payroll. All of which, I might add, in my opinion, may not have been worth the money he paid them. These guys appeared to talk a good game — but they rarely seemed to deliver. I don’t know where Vince found this particular guy (whose name I won’t mention, so from here on in I will borrow from Quentin Tarantino and refer to him as Mr. White), but maybe the “Human Mask” (this woman made Tammy Faye Baker look like the Ivory Snow girl) who headed up the human resources department was getting monetarily greased. Who knows, but every few months these holier-than-thou “leaders” would show up in their Armani suits, their heads nuzzled neatly against Vince’s bosom. The sad thing was that Vince and Linda bought their goods hook, line, sinker and the whole pole! Clearly, this was none of my business —

it wasn’t my company — but I did find myself involved when Vince, for whatever reason, turned the publishing division over to Don Juan the Mark-o!

Reworking this book has been tough. Today, as opposed to before I was saved, I try my best not to gossip about or judge people. But in writing this — you must understand who I was, where I was and the conditions I was working under. I’ve left in some of the language of the old Vince, simply to paint a picture of then versus now. You can’t truly understand who I’ve become without taking into account who I was.

Back then, when I felt as if somebody had crossed me, there just was no forgiveness. Put in that same situation today, I pray for the person.

Gossip and judgement are handled a bit differently. I believe gossip is saying something behind somebody’s back that you wouldn’t say to their face. But as far as judging goes, I feel I can call you out on the carpet, as long as I am living up to the standards I am questioning you about. If you’re cheating on your wife and you claim to be a Christian, I’ll call you out on that. If you drink or take drugs, as a Christian — I’ll call you out on that. I recently called somebody out claiming to be a Christian, who wrote a book totally burying and discrediting me. Did I 142

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have the right? Absolutely. Why? Because my book, this book, was just like his book — I shoveled dirt on a lot of people. But due to my new spirit, my new life, my new being, I completely reworked things, because hurting others was no longer a part of my nature.

This is where Mr. Blue comes in. Not having a clue, there were some rumblings that Mr. White might have been thinking about shaking up the publishing division. Tom Emanuel catches wind of this and he’s gone. Tom was never one to play political games. He was way beyond that. Tom was the publisher because he excelled at what he did — he was a pro. So now, with Tom having left, Mr. White replaces him with Mr. Blue, an accountant. Do you get that? A bean counter was now going to play the role of Joe Publisher. So, let me tell you the supposed reason Mr. White hired Mr. Blue. . . .

I guess during his downtime — when he wasn’t counting his change — Mr. Blue came up with this great publishing concept: “Let’s develop a series of
children’s books
based on the WWF Superstars.” Mr. Blue even went as far as to actually have drawings made up presenting his ideas. Do you get the full picture here folks? Some accountant who has a drawing of the Undertaker offering some little girl a fistful of caramels is now actually running the magazine! What’s the deal? The deal was this — politics, plain and simple. A nasty little game played by those who are incapable of getting the job done —

those that don’t want to get ahead through hard work, but rather by putting their snouts where no
real
man dares to go in order to find a shortcut to the top. The truth is, in the long run, there are no shortcuts. Sooner or later, they will have their judgement day — when they’ll stand alone. Whether it’s in this life or another — every one has his or her day.

How scary is that? I wrote about judgement day two years ago, with no worries I’d ever come face-to-face with my maker. Was I kidding myself or what? I was saying that everyone else was going to have to answer to God — but what about me? My maker would have had a blast with me 143

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Vince Russo

back then: “Hey, Vince — when’s the last time you came over to the house [church]? When’s the last time we talked [prayed]? When’s the last time you told me you loved me and thanked me for everything you have

[never]”? I thank God that he saved me in time!

Writing this in my back office, I’m listening to “An Evening with John Denver.” I tell you, when I hit 40, a lot of things changed. For one, I started listening to John Denver, and have become a big fan. You know, you get so wrapped up in the day-to-day “noise” that you forget about the things that really do matter. This book — everything in it — in the end doesn’t matter. But, John Denver . . . man, John Denver. Take three minutes out of your day and listen to the words of “Rocky Mountain High.” I swear to God, when all is said and done, I’m retiring to Colorado. Listen to the words — so much meaning, so much emotion, so much truth. I guess I’m just growing older and wiser.

When I hit the big four-oh, I was also suddenly overcome with a fascination for cats. Yeah, kittens. My whole life I despised them, the way they hunch up their backs to scare you. . . . Curse them, and curse their leader, Garfield. But now I love cats. For one, they don’t mess the carpet. The first day you bring one home — even if they are only a week old — the first time they have to whiz they head straight for the litter box. To me, it’s unbelievable. How do they know to go to the litter box right out of the womb? Does their mother tell them? And here’s the great thing — unlike dogs, they decide when they want attention. Dogs pee all over themselves when you come home, lick you, want their bellies scratched — they’re idiots. But cats? They won’t give you the time of day until they decide to — which, I might add, is usually in the middle of the night, while you’re sleeping. I respect that. Right now I have two cats, Crystal and Rainbow. I’m looking to add a third, but again, Amy thinks I’m nuts!

Back to Mr. Blue and Mr. White. So now Mr. Blue moves into Tom’s office. Yes, he put the children’s drawings up on his wall. I knew this was bad, I just didn’t know
how
bad. The most dangerous thing for anybody is trying to be something they’re not. It’s another big pet 144

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peeve. When you try to be something you’re not, it eventually catches up with you. One way or another, it will get you. You can make believe you’re that person all you want, but if you’re not, the truth will eventually come out and expose you to the world. Mr. Blue was an accountant. Always was, always will be. He was as far from being a publisher as I am from being a redneck! But in his own little mind, he actually thought he was a publisher. Or rather, I think the title they gave him was “general manager.” Regardless, my opinion didn’t matter. Remember, I was just a few months into my tenure, and I didn’t mean zip.