Forgiven: One Man's Journey from Self-Glorification to Sanctification (45 page)

That last line is exactly what I was talking about in my last “revelation.” I had been in that office so many times before — same 42nd Street red, same zebra stripes. For whatever reason, my mind flashed back to the first time Tom Emanuel had brought me there. Man, I’d been so nervous, sitting there in my little black suit, voice trembling like a timid child. Who was that? Vince and I had come so far in just over two years, it was odd to think I was once nervous talking to him. But wait, this feeling
was
familiar. It was as if I was back at the beginning again. I don’t know, in my mind I just felt as if this could be it. The laughter, the heartache, the good times, the bad, mocking JR . . . was this the way it was going to end?

In opening the conversation, I expressed my concern about my hectic schedule: I was never at home anymore, and Amy was more or less raising the kids on her own. I then told Vince that I wanted the option to be able to move, so that Amy could at least be closer to her family. Being on the road so much now with the two shows, I would see Vince at least three days a week anyway. If it had to be more than that, fine. I would fly in and out of Stamford, but I had to think about Amy and the kids — she was miserable.

After giving it a moment’s thought, Vince looked me dead in the eye and said something I’ll never forget, “Vince, I don’t know what 328

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the problem is. You make enough money now. Why don’t you just hire a nanny?”

That was it — all those times I was wondering if Vince truly cared about me — I was just given my answer. With such a cold, callous response I knew that he didn’t give a !@#$ about Vince Russo or his family — all he cared about was his ratings, his money and his company. I was crushed. My feelings towards Vince and his family were always sincere. I truly cared about them. They had become a part of my life . . . a part of me. It used to really bother me not knowing how Vince felt — but now I knew.

After that, I just didn’t care. I knew in my heart that it was over.

Amy, Will, VJ and now Annie had paid enough. And for what? For me to be sitting at a table with a guy who is telling me to hire a nanny to raise my kids? That’s what it all came down to. Reading this you may think it was no big deal, but to me it was. How can you bs somebody into thinking you’re sincere for so long? How can all that matters to you in your life be money, greed and power? I’m sorry — I just can’t relate to that. As I’ve said 100 times, my real motivation was to help the McMahons because of my sincere feelings for them. If it were all about money would I have been sitting there in Vince McMahon’s office increasing my chances of losing this God-forsaken job by the second?

But if Vince wanted to make it about money, then I’d make it about money. So from there, I steered the conversation toward the almighty greenback.

“Vince,” I said, “in 15 months I am going to be 40 years old. I promised myself and my family that at 40, I was walking away from this business. The past five years have taken 10 off my life. I knew when I first got into this that it was going to have a shelf life. Well, the clock is ticking. For the next 15 months I want . . . one million dollars, then after that, I’m done.”

As much as he always protects his hand, Vince couldn’t this time.

His facial expression dropped his cards all over the table. He was shocked.

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Vince Russo

“Well, that’s an awful lot of money,” he said.

“Is it, Vince?” I answered. “You think I don’t know what my creative contributions have meant to this company financially? You think I don’t know what this company makes? What Steve Austin makes?”

“Well, that just seems like an astronomical amount of money,” he said.

“Vince — I know what I’m worth. That’s what I want.” I left Vince’s office with him telling me he’d “think about it.” Almost two weeks passed — I didn’t hear a word. During those two weeks nothing had changed — it was the same old bs. I was still working around the clock and there was still no motivation for me, not even the money. I knew in my heart that even if Vince came back with the million dollars, it wasn’t going to matter. I was spent on all levels. Forget my kids — I was the one who needed a nanny!

Well, I’m not one to wait around. I’m one to make things happen.

Knowing Eric Bischoff had just recently been released from his duties, and knowing what my value would have been to wcw — it was a no-brainer. But even more appealing to me was the challenge. At the time wcw was foundering — they had hit rock bottom, much like we had only two and a half years earlier. This was my chance to prove myself all over again — only this time without Vince McMahon.

So I made the call to wcw. Two days later I had the job.

You know, in going to wcw, a lot of people have said to me, “But Vince, what was the difference? You were going to have to put the same amount of time in.” The difference was:
there was no Vince
.

Again, I’m not running down the boss in any way, but unless you’d been in my shoes you just couldn’t fathom how taxing it was. Monday ran into Sunday and every day was more stressful than the last. At wcw, there’d be no more trips to the salon in the city, no more phone calls on Saturday afternoon, and no more 7:30 a.m. meetings the morning following
Raw
. On top of that, I was also allowed to sleep in the car, I didn’t have to miss any more Giants playoff games — and yes, it was okay to be sick!

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In coming to an agreement, I informed wcw that I was going to put a staff in place —so that my actual presence wouldn’t be needed 100 percent of the time. In other words, if I was to miss a
Nitro
or
Thunder
taping, the earth wasn’t going to come crashing down.

Another key factor in the negotiations was that the wcw would allow me to go through with my
Rope Opera
deal. That was really the key for me. Even though at that point I knew I’d had my fill of wrestling, at least now I had the freedom to work on outside projects.

But let’s be real — I was jumping from the fire into the towering inferno, and I knew it. My objective was to hold on for two more years. And I almost did . . . but that’s a story for another book.

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Chapter 57

SAYING GOODBYE

I accepted the job as wcw’s Creative Director on Sunday night, October 2, 1999. Vince was expecting me at the Meadowlands in New Jersey for
Raw
the following morning. I flew out of Atlanta that night and had to change planes in Philadelphia. It was about 10:30 p.m. —

this was my only opportunity to call.

I dialed Vince at home in Stamford, Connecticut, and he answered the phone. When he realized it was me he gave me his familiar, “Hey pal, how’s it going?”

My heart was wedged so tightly in my throat, I thought I was going to gag. With my voice cracking I said, “Vince . . . I just accepted an offer from wcw. I’m starting with them next week.”

“What?” Vince answered — so I repeated myself.

“You’re ribbing me, right? This is a rib?”

“No, Vince,” I said. “I just got back from Atlanta.”

“Why, Vince? Why?” he asked.

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“I have nothing left to give you, Vince,” I said. “You took everything I had.”

Now that it was starting to sink in, Vince became hot. “You know I’m going to go after them?” he said. “You know I’m going to come after you!”

“Vince — there’s nothing to come after. I never had a contract with you. I’m sorry, Vince.”

Vince then said some things in an attempt to make the conversation ugly. He wasn’t anticipating this and he didn’t quite know how to deal with it. He never saw it coming. At one point he fired me up a bit, and I think I rambled on about not getting any credit for the success of the wwf. But then I caught myself. It was pointless . . . it was over. I wasn’t going to let my last conversation with a man who was an idol to me when I was younger — and later, a mentor — end in an argument. I told Vince I wasn’t going to allow him to make our last conversation an ugly one. I’d simply made the best decision that I could for me and my family. With my parents living in Florida and Amy’s in Indiana, Atlanta was smack in the middle. If nothing else —

Amy would be able to see her parents more and the kids, their grandparents.

“I didn’t know I was such a bad person, Vince,” McMahon then said.

“You’re not Vince — I never said that. I just have nothing left to give you. I love you and I love your family, but my tank is on empty.”

“Vince . . . this is the most devastating phone call I’ve ever received,” he said. “I just want you to know, I was going to give you the money.”

“It was never about the money,” I said.

The last thing I said to Vince was that everything was in place. He clearly had momentum and was riding a wave he could coast for at least a year. I assured him that I had done all I could, and it was just time for me to move on.

Vince’s last words to me were, “I hope one day our paths will cross again.”

To this day I’ve never forgotten those words.

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You know, after writing nearly 100,000 words, I’ve come up with the same answer — I still don’t know. . . . Part of me really hopes our paths do cross again, while another part of me says, “Thanks, but no thanks.” It was just that statement about my kids and the nanny. In just eight words Vince told me exactly what our relationship had meant to him — what I’d meant to him. It was all about
his
company,
his
greed,
his
success and
his
money. To this day that rips my heart out. My feelings towards the McMahon family never had a single thing to do with how much money they were paying me.

But in hindsight, I’m a different animal. I’m not from that world, and I never was. I was just a man trying to make a living to support his family. Nothing else ever really mattered.

Wow, wow and wow again. I don’t even remember writing that sentence. . . .

“But in hindsight, I’m a different animal. I’m not from that world, and I never was.”

Wow. What world was I talking about? Was I talking about the world of sports entertainment, or was I talking about “the world”? I am so blessed that I have these words to go back to. How many of us have the opportunity to look at our lives through a microscope prior to being saved by the Lord, Jesus Christ. Those words I wrote two short years ago provide so much insight into what was going on at my very core: some sort of a transformation that I wasn’t even privy to at the time. This book has such purpose — such meaning for those who are now at the place where I had lived. A place with no God — nothing.

Lord, I give you absolute praise in enabling me to share this story with others. In enabling me to show firsthand who I was . . . and what I have become.

• • •

It’s October 15, 2004. What I’m writing now, I’m writing for the first time. Certain circumstances arose after I wrote the original manuscript — circumstances that are pertinent to this book. . . .

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It’s so difficult to assess Vince McMahon — maybe because you just can’t. I sit here listening to, and drawing inspiration from, the television — yes it still inspires me, only differently. (What would once have been Howard Stern, is now Joel Osteen, an extremely gifted pas-tor from Houston.) But there is one thing that remains precisely the same. I still don’t know the real Vince.

Without going into detail (I will in the next saga), I had the opportunity to meet with Vince one last time in July, 2003. There was just something calling me back to him — a sense of unfinished business.

I flew to Stamford for the encounter I’d known one day would come.

I’ll never forget the feeling of going back to the house; it was just so surreal. As I sat waiting for Vince, every part of my relationship with him passed through my mind in vibrant colors — from the laughter, to the tears, to that final phone call. Sitting there, I felt like I had never left.

But I had, and though I was now a different person, in my heart I knew I was still looking for the answer to the question that continues to haunt me to this very day — did Vince, or did he not, really care about Vince Russo, the human being? Still living in “this world” at that time, his acceptance, or approval, was just so important. Ironically, in a lot of ways I must have been feeling like Shane — just wanting to see Vince’s soft side, his human side. I needed that.

When Vince finally came down the stairs, I’d be lying if I said I didn’t get choked up. I was happy to see him. I needed to see him.

After a friendly embrace, Vince and I sat down and began to talk.

In what was a long time coming, I finally got the chance to explain to Vince face-to-face why I left. I hadn’t really had the opportunity before and I was grateful to have it now. I told Vince that I was troubled because in my heart I really cared about him, and after working closely with him for more than two years — I’d never known if the feeling was mutual. Vince looked at me and said, “Vince, when you work that closely with someone, you
have to
care about them.” Fourteen words and twenty-three months later — I still knew nothing more — or less.

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I haven’t seen Vince since, and I’d be lying to you if I said I didn’t miss him. The funny thing is, I really don’t know why. For some reason beyond my comprehension, there has been a sense of unfinished business since I left. I don’t know what the connection is. I have to believe that God does; I have to believe that he brought these two individuals together, from two completely different worlds, to reach great levels of professional success for a reason — a reason that to this day I’ve yet to understand.