Batista Unleashed (33 page)

Some of my most touching moments have come while I was working with the USO. I went down to Walter Reed Army Medical Center in Maryland and the Bethesda Naval Hospital in Maryland to visit with soldiers and sailors who’d been wounded. It was humbling to walk in there. These guys have shrapnel in them, or they’re missing a limb, but they were all smiles when I walked in.

Now, to me they’re the real heroes. They put their lives on the line for us, protecting our freedom. There’s no way to repay them. But they were so happy to see me and tell me what big fans they were. It was just awesome.

BEYOND WORDS

There are times when being a wrestler touches you so deeply you can’t put it into words.

There was this one kid in Tampa. His name was Alex. He was seven years old. Fit Finlay called me and told me that this little boy had terminal cancer and the doctors had really given up hope. He didn’t have all that long to live.

All the kid wanted out of the rest of his life was to meet me.

The funny thing is, he lived about a mile down the road. So I went over to see him.

I was dreading it the whole day. I was thinking,
I’m going to go over there, and this kid’s going to have tubes in him, and he’s dying, and it’s going to break my heart.

But they had him outside the house. His whole family was there, and they were playing and having a good time. He knew he was sick, but he was happy. He wasn’t down and depressed.

A few weeks later, I took my truck over. He wasn’t in as good shape, but he was still happy to see me, and he was real impressed with the truck. We had a good time talking, and I really enjoyed being with him.

I told him that the next time I came, I was bringing my motorcycle and we’d have a ride.

I guess if I was a real superhero, I’d’ve found some way to cure his cancer. The best I could do was make him smile.

And he did.

I was looking forward to coming back with the motorcycle. Unfortunately, Alex died a few days later.

I still remember his smile. For a guy who was once pretty much nothing but a street thug, a guy who’s made his living by beating up people and being beaten up himself, it was something like a gift from God.

Photo 8

SmackDown
!
over, I head out
into the parking garage at the back of the stage area. A couple of production guys look like they need a lift to the hotel, so I have them hop in with me. We thread our way through the traffic and get over to the Doubletree hotel, where most of the WWE contingent is staying. Some of the production people end up down at the bar, but I go straight up to my room. I order a room service meal, have something to eat, and then work for a bit on this book.

Remembering all of these things has really put my life in perspective, even made me a little philosophical, I guess. Here’s a poor kid who had to eat burnt bean soup all week, a guy who up until eight years ago didn’t have two nickels to rub together. Now he’s doing things like getting a police escort in Bangkok, motorcycle cops kicking cars out of the way, sirens blaring…or going to the Pentagon as the honored guest of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, eating with all these four-and five-star generals—it’s just unbelievable.

I’ve traveled the world and entertained millions of people. In Europe, where I’ll be flying to in a few weeks, I’ll be working the crowds like I’m a conductor. They’re really big on participation. You point at one side of the audience and they roar, then the other and they roar louder. Sometimes I’ll stand in the corner of the ring and realize the crowd is singing. I just watch them. It’s like I’m in a dream. And I wonder how I got to be there.

The past four years have been just amazing. The places I’ve been and the experiences I’ve had, with bigwigs, dignitaries—it’s just amazing for a guy who didn’t even finish high school.

People look at the financial success, but that’s probably the smallest part of it. It does let me do one thing I really, really love: I always wanted to spoil people. Now I can.

So how did I get here?

There were tons of components, but it started with people believing in me: Angie, Richard Salas, Jonathan Meisner. The list goes on and on. Afa, Jim Cornette, Fit Finlay, Ric, Hunter, and Vince.

And I believed in myself. There were times when I was down, a lot of times, but I dug in. Some of it was out of fear that if I didn’t make it, I didn’t know what else I would do. But it was more than that. A lot of people were depending on me. I had to do it.

In my heart, I’ll always be that poor kid from D.C. At least I hope I will. Because I don’t think there’s anything wrong with that—I wouldn’t want to be anyone else.

But tonight, I’m so tired that my eyes are just about hanging out of my head. This has been a typical, exhausting week. All I really want to do is get on the plane tomorrow and go home. My mom will be there, and most likely she’ll have spent the day cooking. She makes these great oatmeal raisin cookies, cakes, you name it. Her meatloaf is great, too.

Finally, I’m done for the night. I close down the laptop. My eyes have shut before I hit the pillow.