Forgiven: One Man's Journey from Self-Glorification to Sanctification (22 page)

Linda is one of the few people I met in the business who could exist

— and exist nicely — in the outside world if she chose to. She is an extremely intelligent woman, and the mighty Tower just wouldn’t be the same if Linda wasn’t there to anchor it.

One rumor that circulated around the office said Linda had as much, if not more, power than Vince at Titan Tower because, following the steroid trial, Linda threatened to take Vince to the cleaners if she didn’t get equal share of the company.

Now I’m not going to pretend to know if that’s true or false, because honestly I don’t have a clue. But I will say this: Linda was 152

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right there next to her husband in a federal courtroom when the whole truth came out about Vince McMahon, and let’s just say some of those “truths” were personal . . .
very
personal. Add to that the mudslinging in the media at the time, and Linda was hearing things about her husband that perhaps she wished she never had. Some things, I might add, that may indeed have been true. But Linda stood tall — for her own reasons she decided to stand by her man. Some respect her for that, others question it, but regardless, Linda McMahon is 100 percent a class act. I don’t know of any other woman who could be so poised, so classy and so strong while governing the

“Island of Misfit Gimmicks.”

I miss Linda. I miss talking with her, I miss all the McMahons.

They were all such a big part of my life. No, everything wasn’t always hunky-dory, but at the time they felt like family. Since I left . . . I don’t know, there’s just a part of me that’s missing. Every week I have dreams I’m back there — man, it’s crazy. Feeling this way you must be asking yourselves why doesn’t he just go back? There’s a reason . . .

one that I will get into later.

• • •

So somehow, some way, here I was with everything on the line, having a sit-down with Linda McMahon. You know, one of my weaknesses is that I’m such an emotional guy. Man, I wear my heart on my sleeve, my collar, my pants, my socks. . . . In other words, you are going to know how I feel. I poured my heart out to Linda.

I had nothing to gain and everything to lose. I had no idea what Linda would say, or how she would react, but it didn’t matter. All I was trying to do was the right thing. I felt it was my responsibility to let her know how I felt. There is no doubt in my mind that I could have been canned after that meeting, but the consequences didn’t matter to me. I did what I felt I had to do.

As I look back on my words and my actions — I was always about “doing the right thing.” There is no doubt, that should be attributed to God.

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Vince Russo

Even though at the time I had no idea where it was coming from, I always felt this presence of protection and guidance. I was always kept out of trouble on the road, always kept in a safe place, and always trying to do the right thing. God was there — he was present inside me from day one.

The problem? I just wasn’t paying attention. I was so wrapped up in myself that I just took my guardian angel for granted. That is, until he would no longer put up with it.

Following our discussion, Linda didn’t take long to react. Within a couple of days she pulled the plug on the plans to farm the magazine out. I don’t need to tell you that Mr. Blue and Mr. White were
fum-ing.
Not only were their plans squashed, but this was going to leave a huge blemish on their credibility as far as Linda McMahon was concerned. To be honest with you, I never thought Linda would make that decision. But give Linda credit for being a good judge of character. She knew I had nothing to gain. I made it clear to her on several occasions that I had no desire to run the magazine. My business sense stinks, because I don’t care. I hate that side of it and always have. I’m a writer, a creator, a producer, a director. Give me a spreadsheet, I’m worthless. It was obvious I wasn’t looking to take anybody’s job and she recognized that. The only motivation I had was to try to do what I thought was the best thing for business and the McMahons.

But Mr. White and Mr. Blue . . . they were hot. After Linda informed them of her decision, I was summoned to Mr. White’s office, where Mr. Blue was also there waiting for me. The message was simple, “If you ever go to Linda behind my back again, you will find your stuff out on the street.” Inside, I was cracking up. The truth was, this decision had severely scarred their reputations and their business relationship with Linda. They were scrambling, and I knew it. They could sling all the threats they wanted towards me, but what were they going to do? If they chose to fire me, Linda McMahon would know exactly why. Without ever planning it, I now clearly had the upper hand. I was getting in tighter and tighter with Prichard and Patterson, I was more visible to Vince and Linda McMahon had sided 154

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with me in what clearly was the biggest decision ever made concerning wwf publications.

About a week later, I ran into Linda backstage at one of the events.

When she asked me how things were going, it just came out: “Well, aside from being threatened. . . .” I told Linda the whole story. She took it in stride, poker-faced like she always was — but only weeks later, both Mr. Blue and Mr. White were “let go.” It went down as Black Friday, and the village people were dancing in the streets. Vince and Linda McMahon took their company back with a vengeance, and it was party time in Stamford, Connecticut.

One thing that stands out in my mind about that day was that at about 5 p.m., Mr. Blue’s assistant came into my office crying. She told me that they were taking Mr. Blue out for drinks after work, and asked if I would I like to come. Without missing a beat I said: “Would I like to come? No, I’d much rather give myself an enema!” What’s ironic is that about a year later, due to her large heart, Linda McMahon hired back Mr. Blue. At the time I was the golden boy of the company.

Man, when Mr. Blue came back, he treated me as if he was working for me! But you know what? Now that he had been humbled and his ego was swept aside — Mr. Blue wasn’t so bad a guy after all. As a matter of fact, shortly afterwards, we became friends.

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Chapter 30

I’D RATHER READ THAN WATCH TV

Man, I hate reading. Is there anything more boring? Well, maybe going to church — but that’s about it. I’m a tv guy, always have been, always will be. I love tv, my kids love tv — it’s all about the boob tube. However, there was a period of time at Titan when I’d much rather have read
Advanced Calculus
than watch the usa Network at 9

p.m. on Monday Nights.

Two years ago, I dreaded the two things that mean the most to me today, reading the Bible and going to church. What? There’s no God? Read on.

With White and Blue now gone, I was running almost all the creative aspects of the publications department. Linda handled the business side of things. At that time, we had just launched
Raw Magazine
, a cutting-edge, in-your-face, “real” look at the business of sports entertainment. Shoot interviews based on reality and not fiction laced the 156

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pages, and we were taking the fans to a place they had never gone before. During those days, I knew the business was changing. You could see it on a daily basis. People just had so many more options, and kids were more sophisticated than we ever were. You couldn’t just force that fake rasslin’ down their throats anymore, they were much smarter than that. I used to sit back and just watch my two boys at the time. They were bored with something that was blatantly fake, yet some announcer wearing a ridiculous cowboy hat would try to convince them that it was real. It was an insult to anybody watching.

Those were the days of the Goon, Freddy Joe Floyd, that crack-showing plumber (whose name escapes me) and who could forget — Who

— a story I will get into later. And, ah yes, there was Mantaur. I’m still trying to figure that mess out. Half man, half buffalo. Would you believe that when they first threw that character out there, he actually wore a pâpier maché bison head that I swear to you wasn’t an inch under five feet, and had to weigh at least 25 pounds. Unfortunately, overcome by all their excitement over the character, the brain-trust forgot one small detail: how the !@#$ was Mantaur going to get through the ropes and into the ring with a head the size of a small state? Man, you had to see this mess to believe it. The poor victim inside the costume practically tipped over trying to balance the weight of that enormous head! The television product was embarrassing to me; so outdated, so unhip — so ridiculous. This is why I sometimes chuckle when I hear and read about Vince McMahon, the
creative genius
. Who do you think was behind the buffalo? Yeah, Bruce and Pat were writing it — but Vince was approving it. So, rather than follow that cluster, I went the other way.

We started to tell the truth in the magazines — what was
really
going on behind that curtain. The meat the fans really wanted to know. We were ahead of our time, doing something that had never even been dared before. Shoot interviews, blood on top of blood, and oh, those girls in swimsuits!

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Chapter 31

SMITTEN

I’ll never forget the first time I met Rena Mero, a.k.a. Sable. I remember it so vividly. I was introduced to her by her husband Marc, someone I had formed a rapport with via the internet and telephone during my Vicious Vincent years. Rena was — and still is — the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. At first sight, I was like a wide-eyed child experiencing his first grade-school crush. She was so beautiful, I couldn’t even look her in the eyes. And those eyes . . . they sparkled like a glass of fine champagne.

What, am I a freaking poet now? Snap out of it already!

I’ll try, but it’s hard when it comes to Rena.

Even though I was only the magazine editor at the time, the moment I saw Rena, I knew she would be a huge star, and that she would become even more popular than her husband. The sports entertainment world had never seen anything like her before. Yeah, there was Precious, Baby Doll, Elizabeth and Sunny. But there had 158

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never been a Sable. God, I sound pathetic, but man she just had it.

You know it? You either have it, or you don’t.

Sable definitely had it. But there was so much more to her than that. She had a presence I’d never felt around a female performer before. She walked into a room and it not only lit up — it exploded with blinding gamma rays.

There’s so much more to get into concerning Rena, she was a huge part of my wwf history. In later chapters, I’ll explain.

The
Raw Magazine
was everything
Monday Night Raw
should have been, but wasn’t. (By the way, it just came to me, the plumber’s name was T.L. Hopper.) The magazine was
dangerous
— perhaps even a little too dangerous for my own taste.

There is one story, in particular, that stands out in my mind concerning
Raw Magazine
. Bret Hart had just announced that he was staying with the wwf, despite a lucrative offer by the vice-president of wcw, Eric Bischoff, for him to join their organization. A few days after that show, I did a shoot interview with Bret that was perhaps one of the best I’d ever done. During that sit-down we discussed many things, including wcw and Eric Bischoff, who Bret put over (talked about positively). I threw every controversial question I could think of Bret’s way, and the Hitman answered each and every one of them with nothing but pure honesty.

Knowing an interview like this had never previously appeared in any wwf publication, I showed Bruce Prichard a rough draft — to get his opinion before showing it to McMahon. Well, Bruce being Bruce, took it upon himself to show the man himself before I had the opportunity. So, I was called into Vince’s office, where he sat at one end of a table and I sat at the other.

“What are you trying to do to me!” he screamed. “Put me out of business?”

With one sweep of his right arm, Vince cleared the table that was adjacent to his desk of everything that was on it. I sat there in total shock. I wasn’t scared or intimidated, just in shock. All I was trying to do was sell magazines — a point which I tried to convey to Vince —

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but he didn’t want to hear it. I left his office asking myself only one question, if he was that hot, why wasn’t I fired?

Well, I’ll tell you why. At the time I realized Vince actually needed me, perhaps more than I needed him. Mind you, I was making 60

grand a year — as Mike Myers’ Linda Richmond would say, “Big Whoop.” I mean, the truth was I’d been making almost $50,000 with the Appliance Giant. So what would I have lost monetarily if Vince had canned me? On the other hand, Vince knew than that he needed someone like me around. He didn’t know for what — but he knew that he did. Anyone who had the spaldings to put the name Eric Bischoff on the pages of a wwf publication had to have the spaldings to do . . .
anything
. Remember, Vince was surrounded at the time by people sporting
no
spaldings, yes-men who simply told him what he wanted to hear. I won’t name them — but they’re reading this, and they know who they are. People don’t understand, but deep down, Vince really is a nice guy. He has many people on his payroll he simply keeps around and takes care of. Many of these individuals bring
nothing
to the table. Just recently, Vince let go an announcer I used to refer to as the Man from Bland, only to take him back after he submitted a novel to Vince stating what he had done throughout his career as a Titan employee. Now, Vice knew that this stickman probably wasn’t worth the paper he’d typed the letter on, but Vince being Vince he took him back. He was always generous that way, sometimes too generous. That’s why I still can’t figure out his actions toward the end of our relationship. But we’ll leave that story for later as well.