The Three Count

by Jimmy Korderas

  On the night before the big event, I experienced one of the coolest moments in my life. Let me begin by saying that when the United States Army is stationed on foreign land, they abide by the laws of the country they are in. For example, while in Iraq, the men and women of the U.S. military could not drink alcohol because it was illegal for Iraqi citizens at that time. Booze was available for civilians; you just had to go back to the airport to buy it. Chimel and Hebner got a ride to the airport and picked up two cases of Corona and some Cuban cigars. That evening, Chimel and I, flanked by an armed staff sergeant, stood outside of Saddam’s palace, sipping a Corona and smoking a Cuban cigar while in the far distance we could hear gun and mortar fire. It was a surreal moment that neither one of us will ever forgot. For us, it was too cool to put into words. A definite highlight of the trip for sure.

  It was now show day and all of us were pumped for it. That was until we got some last-minute instructions from the special ops people. They gave us a crash course in what to do in the unlikely event of an attack by insurgents. Everyone kind of went numb for a few seconds. We could not believe what we were hearing. There was a chance we might get attacked? As much as the special ops guy tried to assure us that the chances of an attack during the show were slim to none, the thought of it would not go away for a while. As I got to the ring and looked out into the sea of soldiers, any fear I had going out there quickly disappeared, at least for a few minutes.

  During the match between Eddie Guerrero and Chris Benoit, two helicopters flew directly over us in the middle of the match. All three of us stopped dead in out tracks, not knowing that the stunt was planned by our director. Unbeknownst to any of us, he arranged for the Hueys to do a fly-by during the match. It gave us a bit of a scare, but we got back to business. The troops loved every minute of it, and we were all proud to bring a small piece of home over to them.

  After the show was over, the boys hung around, greeting as many of the soldiers as they could. We on the crew went to work tearing down the set and packing it all on pallets to be loaded on the plane. We were leaving that night and had a timeline we had to follow. With so many of the troops pitching in to help, we were done very quickly and went over to a nearby building to shower and prepare for the flight back stateside. I can’t begin to describe what an honour and a privilege it was to take part in such a worthwhile venture. To this day, there are a few servicemen I still keep in contact with whom I met on that three-day trip to Baghdad. Those memories will certainly last a lifetime, not to mention the chance I got to pick up some souvenirs along the way. Among the trinkets I brought back with me was Iraqi money with Saddam’s face on it, a couple of commemorative coins given to me by the troops, a camouflage bucket hat, and the piece de resistance, a bayonet knife from a Russian-made rifle that was taken from an Iraqi insurgent. I was afraid I would not be able to get that last item back home, but somehow the weapon went undetected by baggage handlers at Atlanta’s Hartsfield airport and I managed to bring the keepsake home with me.

  The two items that I treasure most from this trip came to me a few weeks after returning from this life-altering experience. I received two letters, including one from the Chairman himself. Vince McMahon thanked me for my participation on the gruelling tour. He mentioned in the letter that the joy we brought and the smiles we put on the faces of the soldiers made the trip worth every minute we spent there. He was absolutely right.

  The second letter that arrived at my home was from the United States Military. The return address on the envelope was USAF and said Pentagon OFFICIAL BUSINESS. My first thought was that it had something to do with the souvenirs I brought home from the trip. I was worried that I had broken some kind of international law and the United States government was coming for me. It was actually a personal thank-you note from Arthur J. Myers, Director of Services. He was the man in charge of bringing the WWE to Iraq. At first I felt relief and then pride. It was a commendation letter thanking me for my involvement. It is something I value greatly and it continues to hang on my office wall.

  On a side note, I also got to go on the second annual WWE Tribute to the Troops, this time at Camp Speicher in Tikrit, Iraq. That second trip to Iraq was just as rewarding as the first. There were two main differences on this trip. First the weather. A misconception about Iraq is that it is always warm there. That couldn’t be further from the truth. The temperature at night dipped to 20 degrees Fahrenheit. It may have been chillier than that, which is far too cold, even for a Canadian.

  The other major difference from the previous year was the accommodations. This time around, we stayed in a large tent. We slept on cots just like in 2003. Thank goodness they gave us space heaters. Another small change this year was the toilet and shower building. It was a bit of a walk over to the where the head (toilet) and shower facilities were located. Not a big deal. At least there was running hot water. It may sound like I wasn’t happy to be there, but nothing could be further from the truth. I was glad to make a second trip to entertain the troops and would have gone every year if asked. I have been very lucky throughout my career to be able to take part in some timeless moments in WWE history. My two trips to Iraq to take part in the Tribute shows were by far two of the most fulfilling events I have been blessed to do.

  Thank you to the WWE for allowing me to experience these life-changing trips and a special thank you to every single man and woman who puts on a uniform in service of their country.

  Chapter 10

  Tales from Inside the Ring

  It has been said many times, especially by people in the wrestling business: what happens on the road stays on the road. That’s where Chimel and I adopted our car rule from. Not every road story is a dirty secret that becomes a skeleton hiding in someone’s closet. The vast majority of these tall tales are really quite harmless and actually pretty funny. I may not recall every tiny detail but I’ll do my best. They say the mind is the first thing to go — sounds about right to me, but here goes in no particular order.

  Where do I begin? Do I start with stories from inside the ring or outside the ring? I’ve talked about out of ring stuff so far, so let me give you some of my accounts from inside the ring. I will give you more from outside the ring but for now, let’s focus on mishaps and fun from between the ropes.

  One of the things I get asked about a lot is my time as a “scab” referee. Let me start from the beginning. Prior to getting married, I spoke with Jim Ross about taking time off for my honeymoon. JR, who was head of Talent Relations at that time, was my direct boss for my refereeing duties. Steve Taylor was the ring crew boss and I had to get clearance from him as well. They were both very receptive to the request and gave me two weeks off. They told me to relax and enjoy my time off. So, in September 1999, I married my wife, Audra, in Toronto.

  We spent two amazing weeks in Spain on our honeymoon. Even more amazing to me was that I wasn’t thinking about wrestling. No TV, no Internet — I was wrestling-free for the whole trip.

  When I returned to work, I had no idea about what had transpired while I was away. Apparently all the other referees had gone on “strike” in protest of being abused and taken for granted by the wrestlers. As soon as I arrived at the arena, the jokes began. My co-workers were greeting me with cries of welcome back, followed by, “Why are you here? Aren’t you on strike?”

  Confused, I went into the production office to get to the bottom of this. That is where I learned about the most recent storyline involving all the regular WWF referees. Tom Prichard, Harvey Whippleman, and Steve Lombardi were handling the referee chores while the labour dispute was ongoing. Not for long as a brief exchange between Triple H and me sparked a chain of events that would put me in the forefront of this angle as far as the refs were concerned.

  Here’s how it happened. As I was walking down the hall towards catering, I bumped into Hunter and he said, “Hey, Corduroy, welcome back!” Corduroy was his nickname for me. “Too bad you’re out a j
ob with this strike. I guess you picked a bad time to come back.” Then he chuckled at the joke.

  I laughed and replied, “Yeah, wouldn’t it be funny if when they show the other refs picketing outside the arena, I come strolling up unaware of the strike and ask what’s going on?” Hunter looked interested, so I continued, “The other refs explain the situation and I tell them I just got married and can’t afford to go on strike and try to walk into the building. Just then, the refs stop me and beat me with their signs and the next time they show the striking refs, I’m looking a little worse for wear and have reluctantly joined the rest of them in protest.”

  After hearing me out and finding my little scenario funny, Hunter turned to JR, who was walking down the same hall, and said to him, “Hey, JR, listen to this idea Korderas has.” He then repeated the scene I had just told him to JR, who thought there was something there that could be used on TV. Then they both said they would talk to me later and walked off. I wasn’t sure where this was leading but a storyline idea had been sparked by me.

  Later on that day, I was filled in on the newest development in the referee strike. I would be the only regular referee to cross the picket line and would continue to officiate matches, much to the ire of my compatriots. This would go on for a week or two with everything coming to a head at the Unforgiven pay-per-view event. I would referee as if nothing was amiss. The main event (at the PPV) was a six-pack challenge match for the WWF championship featuring Triple H, Mick Foley, the British Bulldog, Kane, the Rock, and the Big Show. I would be the assigned official for the match and Stone Cold Steve Austin was designated the special enforcer on the outside keeping an eye on the proceedings. What was even cooler was that I got to do my first interview on Sunday Night Heat right before the PPV. Lillian Garcia asked me why I didn’t join my fellow refs and strike with them and how I felt about reffing the six-pack challenge. That one-minute bit made me more nervous than being in the ring in front of 70,000 people. This was different because when you are a referee in a match, you are not the focus of the match. The referee is important but he is invisible in the ring. My explaining why I was not out there picketing with the rest of them made me appreciate the good talkers that much more than I already did.

  It was now match time and all was going smoothly. Stone Cold was keeping a careful eye on the match from the announcer’s table while sipping a “Steveweiser.” The six men in the match were giving their all as the live crowd was very much into the match. As the match was winding down, the striking referees entered the arena, walked down to ringside, and began to berate yours truly. I was somewhat distracted by the shouting but kept my composure and reffed on. After a flurry of activity, Big Show gave Mick Foley a choke slam and covered him in a pin attempt. Like any good referee would, I slid into position and began to count. The crowd counted along: “One, two —” Before I could hit the canvas for a three count, the striking referees grabbed my legs and dragged me out of the ring. An argument ensued; then, suddenly, Earl Hebner threw a punch at me. It was a working punch, but I think Earl was being a little too nice because the blow landed squarely on my chest and nowhere near my face. I bumped anyways as the remaining officials pummelled me while I was on the ground.

  It really wasn’t that bad until one referee decided to go into business for himself by kicking me as hard as he could in the back, in the butt, and even dropping down and punching me in the groin area. I was genuinely hurting, all from one individual. None of the other punches or kicks thrown by the other refs even registered. I didn’t know at the time who the culprit was, but I was going to find out. In the meantime, Stone Cold came to my defense and beat up the refs who took out their frustration on me. Austin cleaned house, as they say, and took over for me as the official of the match.

  The next day, we were in Greensboro, North Carolina, for Monday Night Raw. As is customary, the day after a pay-per-view, the tape of the previous night’s event was available for viewing. I couldn’t wait to check out the footage to see who the culprit was who had left me bruised and hurting. I popped in the tape and fast-forwarded to the moment in question. There he was! Busted! Playing it back, I was more surprised that Mike Chioda didn’t break his foot from kicking me so hard. At one point he was kicking so hard that he nearly fell over as he whaled away. I knew right there and then that a “receipt” was coming his way. I wasn’t sure when but one was coming.

  That night’s Raw proved to be a challenging one for me. Before the show, all the referees were called into Vince’s office. We were not in any kind of trouble or anything like that. We were shooting a pre-taped segment for the show. The premise of the pre-tape was that Mr. McMahon had settled the dispute between the striking referees and the talent. After the first take, Vince looked at me and said to writer Vince Russo, “Didn’t he get beat up by all the other refs last night? He doesn’t look beat up to me.”

  Russo said that we didn’t have time to alter my appearance to look beat up. The solution, they decided, was to put my left arm in a sling. That was suggested by Vince McMahon and would end up being the extent of my injuries. I guess he thought it would be funny to have me referee a match on Raw that night while in the sling. I was assigned to D-Lo Brown versus Chaz and when they found out I was wearing a sling on my arm, they changed up the match a little bit. Suddenly there were many more pin attempts added, which meant I would have to get up and down on the mat frequently and quickly, all the while selling my left arm. They were getting such a kick out of watching me struggle to get up and down, they were almost laughing during the match. They later confessed to me that they purposely added those extra near-falls as a rib on me. But the real rib had begun a few hours earlier when McMahon had me wear that damn thing. They all got me on this night but that’s all right. I don’t mind harmless pranks being played on me and if can make people laugh in the process, that makes it even more worth a minor inconvenience.

  Before I forget to mention it, I did get Chioda back a few months later. It was during Monday Night Raw. All the referees had to run down to the ring to break up a brawl. When we got the cue to go to the ring, I let the other refs go first through the curtain. I then strategically positioned myself behind Chioda as we ran down the ramp. Once we got to the point of no return, I made my move. Everything had to be timed just right. The second Mike was about to dive under the bottom rope and enter the ring in dramatic fashion, I gave him a little nudge from behind, sending him crashing chest first into the side of the ring. Not only was I laughing at this point, but one of the cameramen found humour in it as well. Chioda was so mad and he shot me the dirtiest look imaginable. It didn’t bother me in the least; I got me some payback for Unforgiven. Now I was a happy camper.

  Playing an important role in the referee strike angle was a great thrill for me. Two years prior to this storyline, I almost became a prominent figure in a scenario that would have had me side with a fellow Canadian. It was shortly after the infamous “Montreal Screwjob.” The Survivor Series 1997 was without a doubt one of the most unforgettable in modern wrestling history. I was there and witnessed it first hand. I’ll get to that topic later.

  After Bret “The Hitman” Hart left the company, the fate of the remaining members of the Hart Foundation was in doubt. Davey Boy Smith followed his brother-in-law Bret to WCW. Jim Neidhart also departed the WWF. Owen Hart stayed behind. It was rumoured that Vince would not grant Owen Hart his release. Whether that is true or not only they knew for sure. What I do know is that Owen made his shocking return at the In Your House DX pay-per-view the month after Montreal. Owen appeared almost out of nowhere and attacked the Heartbreak Kid, Shawn Michaels. Before Triple H or anyone else from D-Generation X or security could intervene and help Shawn by stopping the onslaught, Owen escaped through the crowd and vanished. The live audience was going nuts. They could not believe what they had just seen. Bret’s younger brother was back and on a mission.

  The plan was for Owen to take out his frustration with
the way his family had been treated on the ones responsible, DX. Attacking Shawn was the first shot taken in the war. The next step for Owen was that he was going to try to capture Triple H’s newly acquired European championship. He wasn’t going to do it alone either. The idea was for Owen to have his title match with Hunter. Earl Hebner, the infamous referee from the “Montreal Screwjob,” was to start the match as the official. Somewhere in the match, and it wasn’t discussed how, I would run down and cause Hunter to lose the European title. Essentially, I would be a willing accomplice in restoring the Hart family name, with Owen leading the charge.

  Sometimes, ideas do not go as planned, and this one got derailed before it had a chance to get rolling. To backtrack a little, Commissioner Sgt. Slaughter forced Shawn to defend the European title against Hunter. Shawn let Hunter pin him, thus becoming Euro champ. This took place on the December 22, 1997, edition of Raw from Lowell, Massachusetts. The January 26, 1998, Raw emanating from the Nassau Coliseum in Long Island, New York, was where the master plan would unfold. That was the starting date and location for the Canadian Invasion. That wasn’t really what it was called — Canadian Invasion just has a cool ring to it. The plan was made, everything was set in motion, and then it happened. Two days before all this was scheduled to go down, Triple H suffered an injury at a live event in Hamilton, Ontario. Somehow, Hunter dislocated his patella. I didn’t see it, but he said it occurred when his and Mick Foley’s knees collided and his kneecap ended up on the side of his leg.