Forgiven: One Man's Journey from Self-Glorification to Sanctification (40 page)

Hunter became a star only after
he
began to weave elements of his own personality into the stodgy, snooty aristocrat from Greenwich.

If my kids ever wanted an example of drive and determination, I would tell them the story of Triple H. It’s a long one, but I’ve got some time — nobody’s in the store right now.

Early on in his tenure with the wwf, Hunter was befriended by the

“Kliq” — the group of Shawn Michaels, Kevin Nash and Scott Hall.

The threesome took Hunter under their wing and more or less taught him the ways of the road. At the time, the “Kliq” had a lot of heat in the locker room — and as the saying goes, if you sleep with the dogs, you’re gonna wake up with fleas. But Hunter didn’t care. These guys were true friends and if he was guilty by association, so be it.

Well, days before Hall and Nash were to go to wcw, they were booked at New York’s Madison Square Garden. After the matches were over, Shawn, Hunter, Kevin and Scott went back out, then climbed to the top of ropes (inside a steel cage) in separate corners as a symbol of friendship and to say goodbye.

Keep in mind — this is back in the mid-’90s when babyfaces and heels still weren’t supposed to be seen together, let alone be seen cele-brating together. At the time, I believe Scott and Shawn were babyfaces and Triple H and Kevin were heels.

Oh my God —
they broke the code!
The president’s been shot! The president’s been shot!

The next day, I was at Bruce Prichard’s house and he was livid! He 288

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must have been on the phone with a hundred different people. Man, what these guys had done — I swear, it was as if they had raped someone. And in the eyes of Prichard and Cornette, they had — the rasslin’

business. Well, now Kevin and Scott were gone. And Shawn, I believe, was the champion at the time. So what were they going to do to him?

Hunter was the new guy who was no doubt going to take all the heat.

For the next six months — or however long it was until I started booking — the office buried Hunter. They punished him like a third-grader who’d been caught wearing shoe mirrors to school. But that’s the way the business was back then — the office punished you, tried to “teach you a lesson,” when you did something they didn’t agree with. I can tell you that wasn’t my way of handling things when I came along. I didn’t believe in those ancient “ways of the business.” If somebody screwed up — tell them, correct it and move on. If they needed to be reprimanded a second time — then act accordingly —

but to their face. Don’t screw with them and keep them in the dark about what’s going on.

So Hunter was in the doghouse. They tested him on every level to see if he was going to gut it out. And he did — he shoved it straight up their tails. What’s even funnier is that the guy who, along with his three friends, almost ruined the business one night at Madison Square Garden is today married to the boss’s daughter. We’ve come a long way baby!

Yeah, Hunter prevailed, and in the end became one of the biggest draws in the wwf. I spent a lot of time with him, talking over every match and every promo after it happened. He wanted to know what went right or what went wrong. He wanted every time out to be better

. . . no, not better, perfect. In my opinion, Hunter deserves every penny and every accolade he receives.

• • •

If we’re talking about Triple H, I must also give Joanie Laurer, a.k.a.

Chyna, her due. Hunter and Joanie were dating when I was in the 289

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wwf, and I must say they were one of the classiest couples I’ve ever met. Funny thing is, the first time I ever saw Joanie I swear to God I wasn’t so sure she wasn’t a man. I’m both ashamed and embarrassed to say that, because I would soon find out that Ms. Laurer was 100

percent woman. Joanie, in my opinion, truly was the “Ninth Wonder of the World” — as a matter of fact, I gave her that moniker. She could go toe-to-toe with any man on the roster, and often did. At the time she was taking close direction from Hunter; when I laid out a story for Chyna — Hunter had to be present.

Occasionally, that made things difficult, because at times Triple H

was a bit overprotective — understandably so. But you have to wonder — how does Joanie feel about that today? Hunter is no longer a part of her life. Would Chyna’s career have gone in a different direction if she had taken more control of it? The answer is we’ll never know.

But I will tell you this — the bigger Joanie got, the less opportunity she was going to get. Again, it was the “Sable Syndrome.” In this business, a woman is only going to be allowed to go so far. I kept wanting to push Joanie — I wanted to push her to the moon — but there was this underlying force that prevented me from doing so. Isn’t it ironic how both Rena and Joanie had to take the same path — leaving the wwf — just so they could attempt to realize their full potential.

• • •

I admit it — I love reality tv, from
Survivor
to
The Real World
and everything in between. But last night I saw the best reality show to ever take over my boob tube. mtv’s
The Osbournes
is hands-down the best thing to hit the airwaves since Goldie Hawn on
Laugh-In
. Whoever had the idea of putting a camera in Ozzy Osbourne’s house while he plays Daddy is a genius. Watching the “Blizzard of Oz” try to turn on a vacuum cleaner when he doesn’t have a clue is priceless.

That’s the problem with tv execs today — they think too much for their own good. They have no idea how to determine what’s good 290

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and what’s bad, because they get so wrapped up in numbers and focus groups they lose sight of the objective — which is to entertain the audience. Give them something they can understand and relate to. It’s such an easy formula. I’ve dabbled in Hollywood, writing a pilot for Fox — and the process was so unreal I thought I was starring in a bad sitcom. I’ll get more into that later on.

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Chapter 50

FROM THE FINK TO THE WARRIOR

I’ve got to say a few words about a couple of guys who remain in my thoughts even though I haven’t been active in the business for a while: wwf ring announcer Howard Finkel and, perhaps the most intriguing player to ever hit the ring, the Ultimate Warrior.

Early in my wwf career, Howard Finkel was my traveling buddy.

See, when you work the road, you usually travel up and down the highway with someone you like and can relate to. Okay, let’s get this straight — I couldn’t
relate
to Howard, but the truth is I loved the guy. You see, Howard is your perfect example of a “wwf lifer” —

once you get the job, you’re in for life. I’ve said on many occasions that when you work for Vince McMahon you are expected to hand him your life on a silver platter — that is the reality. I did just that for five years until I just couldn’t do it anymore. Well “the Fink” has done that for over 20 years. How? I have no clue. But Howard lives and dies for Vince. On one hand, you have to admire his loyalty —

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but on the other, you have to ask, “Why?” But I could never bad-mouth Howard — I mean, he’s just “the Fink.” I spent so many road trips just bending his ear and telling him what a better job I could do of writing television than those who were writing at the time. Howard was a phenomenal sounding board as he searched the fm radio dial for classic rock stations — his passion.

When he couldn’t find classic rock, he would listen to the
Fabulous
Sports Babe
— which drove me nuts. How in God’s name can you listen to some broad do sports — especially when that broad not only isn’t hot, but is the size of a house?

I never realized how much fun it was to travel with the Fink —

who, I might add, introduced me to the Dairy Queen Blizzard — until my position forced me to travel with Vince. That was brutal. When we were on the road, I was attached to Vince’s hip 24/7. Don’t get me wrong — I’m not trying to paint a negative picture of the boss here —

but it was taxing. You’d be working every passing minute, from the second you got in the car. Whether it was a 30-minute drive, or a four-hour road trip — you were talking wrestling. Not the wife, not the kids — they didn’t matter. All that mattered was “the show.” And the minute you fell asleep — the very second — he would take great joy in waking you up. At the end of every trip Vince would turn to me and ask, “Did I get it all?” (referring to my energy, my creativity — my entire life force). And I used to answer, “Every drop.” In essence, Vince was the vampire and I was the poor, pale victim laying on the floor with the blood sucked out of his neck. The humor of it is that people actually used to envy me because I rode with Vince.
Envy me
? They could have him!

One of my funniest Fink moments came when we were doing a show in Detroit. Bruce Prichard — who always ribbed the Fink —

sent referee Jack Doan out to the ring and instructed Jack to just take Howard down to the mat without warning. Well Jack, who knows some wrestling himself, took Howard down. Usually when something unexpected like this happens, when someone is the subject of a rib or practical joke, they don’t sell it. The last thing the victim ever 293

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wants is to give the ribber the satisfaction of success. Well, Howard not only sold it — he sold it like Alec Baldwin in
Glengarry Glen Ross
.

Like Jello in a tux, a wobbly Fink had to be helped to the back. Once backstage, Howard collapsed into a chair — I swear, you’d have thought he was
Scarface
after his last stand. Howard was sobbing —

not crying, but sobbing. A grown man, sobbing. I went over to check to make sure he was all right, and I struggled to keep a straight face.

Here’s a grown man in a tuxedo sobbing because someone tackled him. Then Jerry “the King” Lawler came over. Lawler started to rub Howard’s shoulders in an effort to console him. Howard’s face was buried in his hands. Every few seconds, Lawler would look over at me with that !@#$-eating grin on his face, and every time I would lose it, blowing snot with every laugh.

After pulling myself together, I had to take care of Howard because we were traveling together. We’re in the middle of downtown Detroit and Howard wants to go to the emergency room. I don’t even know what hurts him at this point! So I take Howard to the emergency room — and there we are at 12:30 at night, the only white people in the joint. The guy to my left’s been shot, the guy to my right has been stabbed, the guy across from me next to the water fountain is tripping on something and I’m sitting next to a grown man in a tuxedo, sobbing. Luckily I talked Howard into letting me bring him back to the hotel.

After picking up a bottle of Advil for the Fink on the way home, we drove back to our hotel and I walked Howard up to his room.

Once inside Howard collapsed on his bed like Felix Unger after being dumped by Gloria. That sight has never left my mind. But hand it to the Fink, for everything they’ve put him through, to this day the guy remains loyal to the boss.

One of my other favorite people is the Ultimate Warrior.

“Warrior” (now his legal name) may be
the
most intelligent person I’ve ever come across — in my life. Like Kevin Nash, even though Warrior is street-smart, he’s also book-smart. He’s on a different intellectual plane — and most of his knowledge is self-taught, from 294

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everything he can get his hands on. The writings of Warrior, based on his beliefs, are both enlightening and motivational. The man is not only a modern day poet, he’s a genius. I’ve never met anyone with such strong ethical values and beliefs. And Warrior doesn’t just talk a good game — he lives it every day.

Warrior bases his entire life on raw truth: calling a spade a spade, regardless of the consequences. I guess that’s what drew me to him

— his brutal, raw honesty. In a world laced with utter bs, Warrior stands tall, true in his beliefs and true to his word. Many people in the business call the Warrior a “freak,” or even a “goof,” and the simple reason is he plays on a different field than everyone else. They can’t understand where he comes from because so many of them come from a plastic, phony world based on lies and deceit. My goal has always been to one day work with the Warrior and assist him in getting his word out. He is an individual who needs to be heard.

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Chapter 51

OKLAHOMA

This is going to be a very interesting chapter, because I’m probably going to find out things about myself as we go along.

Jim Ross. Good ol’ JR.

Man, I could use a shrink to help me write this, because after being removed from Titan Sports for a few years — I still don’t know.

Either JR is an !@#$% — or I’m an arrogant !@#$%. Or maybe it’s a little bit of both.

Let’s start at the beginning. I don’t want to say I don’t like Jim Ross, because I think I really do. I believe that my opinion of him has nothing to do with personal feelings — but rather professional experience.

I did have some issues with JR and I believe those issues were due to what I believed were his shortcomings as head of talent relations.

You see, JR’s role in the wwf was no different than the role a general manager plays for any professional sports team. I’m sorry, but I just can’t see JR as the gm of the Dallas Stars. In my humble opinion, 296

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he may have been a little out of his league in his position, much like I may have been when I was hired as “editor” of the magazine. I just don’t believe JR handled talent well. There was a difference in the way he treated rookies, mid-carders and main-eventers, and whether that’s what that position calls for or not, I just didn’t agree with it. He wouldn’t give a D-Lo Brown the time of day, but he would have Stone Cold Steve Austin over his house for barbeques. . . .