The Three Count

by Jimmy Korderas

  I truly believe to this day that the many years of combined experience of those two pilots saved us that night. I wish I knew their real names because they saved all our lives. For now I will thank Jack Lemmon and Walter Matthau for the great job they did keeping that plane in one piece and getting us safely down. They are true heroes.

  We were on the ground for about an hour and a half. The Russian authorities would not let us off the plane for some reason. I figured it was no big deal, we could sleep on the plane and leave when the weather cleared. I was wrong again. For some unexplained reason, the local military informed us that we were not allowed to stay and had to depart as soon as we were refuelled. None of us understood why they didn’t let us wait for the storm to subside before making us take off. Well, no one was going to argue with the guys carrying the AK47s, so we prepared for takeoff.

  As you can imagine, we were all uneasy about the decision to leave but we had no choice. We were ordered to go. The pilots took us out and lined us up on the runway. As they revved up the engines, I prayed once again. With the blizzard making things that much more difficult, we started down the runway. As we picked up speed, the plane started to shake and even seemed to skid a bit on the ice. Miraculously, Jack and Walter managed to get us in the air and on our way to our next stop in Japan. Again a sigh of relief overtook the plane as the guys carried on deep discussions about our brush with death. Some made light of the experience as a way to lighten the mood. Hell, at that point we all needed a laugh or two. Once again, a huge thanks to Jack and Walter, my two favourite pilots of all time.

  Perth, Australia, was where we ended this international tour, and we once again boarded the plane and reunited with our pilots Jack and Walter. We took off without incident, and flew until we got to the eastern coast of Australia, where we made an unscheduled landing in Cairns because of a mechanical problem. This time we had no trouble landing. We got off the plane and made our way into the terminal to wait for the repairs to be done. There were two odd things about this stop. First, we found it strange that there were no people in the terminal building except for a few who were working. They opened up a coffee shop/snack bar for us, which was nice of them. Still we wondered why there were no travellers in the terminal. The funny thing was that I never bothered to find out why we were the only travellers there. I was more concerned with the mechanical status of our plane.

  The second thing I found strange was our ring announcer Justin Roberts in tears being helped into the terminal by two of the boys. As it turned out, Justin “fell” while going down the airplane stairs and sprained his ankle. At least that was the story I heard. Those steps are quite steep, and you have to be very careful when using them. Oh, enough about him, we had more important matters to deal with. We couldn’t get a straight answer from anyone about the mechanical problem. In my mind, the confidence level in our airplane was disappearing quicker than an order of red beans and rice in front of Tony Chimel. We all liked Jack and Walter but not so much the plane.

  After several hours of uncertainty, we were told that the problem with the plane had been fixed and we were again ready for the trip home. Everyone boarded including a limping ring announcer. We buckled in and off we went. With every refuelling stop on the way back to the States, we all held our collective breath and crossed our fingers that there would be no repeat of previous trouble or that new problems would arise. Thankfully, nothing like that occurred, and we made it back physically unscathed, but emotionally it was a different matter altogether. That landing and takeoff in Russia rattled the whole group. Some more than others but all of us were left with a bad taste in our mouths. If you were to ask anyone who was on that flight how bad it really was, I think they would all tell you it was the most terrifying in-flight incident they have ever been a part of. That is, with the exception of Ric Flair and JBL, who were both involved in plane crashes. I can’t imagine what it was like to have been in a plane crash, survive the ordeal, and then come so close to being in another one. One thing I did forget to mention was when we all feared the plane was going down, a lot of the guys were looking to Ric Flair to see how he was reacting. I couldn’t see Ric from my seat but I did see many looking in his direction. I kind of understand it but wondered, What can Ric do from his passenger seat? He’s not flying the darn plane. I guess if he seemed to be calm maybe they thought that would keep them calm as well. Just thought I’d throw that little tidbit in.

  When you look back at that harrowing experience, the media dubbing that other flight from the UK to the United States the “Flight from Hell” doesn’t seem appropriate. That’s the way I see it. Without a doubt, the Flight from Hell was that flight that nearly crashed in Russia.

  As bad luck would have it, that was not the only aviation incident I had the misfortune of enduring. One thing you have to learn is to try not to think that the law of averages will catch up with you. On one unforgettable flight in Europe, I thought the law of averages had indeed caught up with me and the boys. This time it was a commercial flight, not chartered. We were heading to Zurich, Switzerland, from Frankfurt, Germany, on Lufthansa Airlines. As usual, the flight was uneventful until we began our descent into Zurich. There was an abnormal amount of turbulence, which rattled many of the passengers including wrestler Jamie Noble, who was sitting across the aisle from me, and fellow referee Mickie Henson, who was seated in my row by the window.

  Jamie confided to me that he was very nervous about the excessive shaking and wondered how I was staying so calm. I had him fooled. On the inside I was having flashbacks of landing in Russia a few years before. I mentioned to Jamie that I was a little nervous but after the Russian ordeal, this was a cakewalk. I really didn’t believe that, but I was just trying to put Jamie at ease. That’s when he confessed to me that he didn’t remember the landing in Russia because he slept through the whole thing. I didn’t press the matter any further, and we sat back worrying about the situation we found ourselves in at the time.

  The plane was on its final approach and the landing gear was engaged. All of a sudden, the engines sounded like they were thrust into full throttle, and we climbed very fast. Just as that happened, Mickie pointed out the window and made us aware of another plane we had narrowly avoided while coming in for the landing. That plane banked hard to its left as we climbed hard. Apparently, that other aircraft was taking off from the very runway we were supposed to land on. After circling, we again made our approach into Zurich and landed safely, although many of us were pretty shaken up. The show went on as scheduled that night. Of course the dominant conversation for the rest of the tour was that near-miss while landing in Zurich. I could get into the semantics of the term “near-miss” but I don’t want to turn this into a George Carlin bit. Let’s just leave it at this: we had a near-collision. Bit over!

  All kidding aside, coming that close to disaster not once but twice affects people in many ways. While those two incidents were probably the most frightened I had ever been in my life, it really did not have a life-changing outcome for me. It’s hard to explain but for some unknown reason, particularly after the second near-disaster, I had no fear of flying afterwards. It was almost as if any fear I previously had of flying was scared out of me. I now possessed a strange sense of composure anytime I flew after that day. I never bothered to question why I felt that way; I just embraced it and continued living the dream.

  Travel woes were not only restricted to air travel. We drove practically every day from one town to another and sooner or later something happens that makes you think twice. Some of those moments are downright scary while others are just annoying and more of a pain in the butt than anything else. Sometimes it’s more the guys you are travelling with who get under your skin.

  One tour we were on began with a live event in Cape Girardeau, Missouri, if I’m not mistaken. It was early Saturday morning and I boarded a plane in Toronto and flew to St. Louis to meet with the guys I was travelling with on this tour. On this
trip it was me, Tony Chimel, WWE athletic trainer Larry Heck, and Hornswoggle. Yes, we added a fourth to the car. Actually, Hornswoggle made it three and a half people in the car. He hated when I would say that and he’d respond with a kick to the lower shin or a straight punch to the groin. I was not the only one who got his jabs in on the little guy. We all cracked on him but he held his own with the comebacks. Now for a smaller person, Swoggle had more luggage than both Chimel and I combined. Larry was the trainer so he had his equipment bag, which was large and took up a lot of truck space. As always, I took the initiative and started packing the rental car. I managed to get most of the bags in the trunk but a few smaller bags would have to go in the back seat with Larry and Swoggle.

  Everything was business as usual. Arguing over what radio station we were listening to, one-liners about how old Chimel and I were, short jokes, and taking shots at Larry’s ankle- and knee-taping abilities were all par for the course. We were all laughing it up pretty good when just outside St. Louis, we got a flat tire. The rear driver’s side tire just deflated, so I pulled the car over on the shoulder of the highway and we all got out of the car. Larry called the rental car company, and they said it would take several hours before they could get anyone out to where we were to help. We couldn’t wait that long so he asked them if we could put the spare on and drive back to the rental car location and get a replacement vehicle. They said no problem, so we started pulling all of our luggage out of the trunk to get to the spare.

  Larry and I thought that with the four of us assisting, it would take no time at all to change the tire. What were we thinking? As Larry and I got busy making the necessary repairs, Chimel was preoccupied with a phone call while Swoggle’s attention was directed at large trucks that were passing us on the highway and trying to get them to honk their horn. Not to mention it was cold out and our fingers were frozen and numb. We managed to put the temporary spare on, loaded the bags in the car, and drove back to exchange vehicles. All the way back Larry and I berated Chimel and Swoggle for not being any help. We might as well have been talking to the flat tire; we would’ve got a better reply. All they did was try to justify their actions by saying they just would have been in the way and that Larry and I had it handled. They probably would not have been much help anyway, but the least they could have done was offer to help. Anyhow, we got back and they upgraded us to a minivan, which gave us more room. This ordeal was minor compared to others, but I just wanted to show that not all of our travel woes that we encounter on an almost weekly basis are of a life or death nature. Some are comical while others end up being very scary. They created memories that will stay with me forever. Some have also been forgotten but with the right prodding they will be remembered as well and be told one day.

  Speaking of flat tires, I just remembered another situation travelling with the Punjabi Giant, the Great Khali. Khali was really a nice guy but the language barrier caused some problems at times. He did not drive, so every week someone would be assigned to chauffeur the big guy to get him from town to town and more importantly, to the shows on time. When Khali was on Raw, Marty Elias was assigned to him. Marty would tell us all horror stories about driving him all over town at all hours of the night. When Khali was drafted to the SmackDown brand, the office asked me if I would take on the duties of being his driver. The offer included a rental vehicle as well as the hotel all paid for by the WWE. You see, at this time I was no longer on the production/ring crew. I was now considered talent and responsible for those expenses myself, so the added perks suited me just fine. I was going to miss travelling with my regular partners. Those guys were fantastic as far as allowing me to ride with them. For example, Chimel and Larry were employees of the company and had their cars and all hotels paid for. In return for doing the driving, they let me ride with them and also stay in one of their rooms. We would play cards and usually the loser got me for a roommate.

  Anyhow, back to my new travel companion. As I said, Khali was a good guy and we got along very well. We sat down with Howard Finkel, who at this time was working in the Talent Relation department, and he thoroughly explained that my duties were only to get Khali from point A to point B and that’s it. That was nice of him but more often than not, I went a little beyond those duties. I was fine with it, plus the Great Khali paid for many of my meals so it was well worth it. He never took advantage of the situation and treated me with respect. I learned that first-hand on one particularly long drive from Las Vegas, Nevada, to San Diego, California. It was a Monday morning the day after a pay-per-view in Vegas. We had the entire day to drive to San Diego because there was no SmackDown live event scheduled for that day.

  We slept in a bit and didn’t get on the road until about 11:00 a.m. It was a nice sunny day as we headed west on I-15 towards California. Driving through the desert is boring and the big man was not very conversational so singing along with the radio was occupying my time. Then it happened: we were struck by the tire gods. The rear passenger tire was flatter than a Tony Chimel mattress. I pulled the sports utility vehicle over on the shoulder approximately 15 miles from Barstow, California, and called the rental car company, who were no help whatsoever, so we got out to change the tire. Since I had never owned an SUV, my first order of business was to locate the spare. I deduced that I would find what I was looking for under the back of the hatch. That’s exactly where it was, so we unloaded our bags, got out the lug wrench and jack, and got ready to start.

  We ran into a major snag with the spare. Since it was located on the undercarriage of the vehicle, it was bolted on and we could not for the life of us figure out how to release it. After about 15 to 20 minutes of trying to figure it out, my brain finally kicked in and I went to the glove box to find the manual. Leaning on the SUV as I thumbed through the manual, I felt the whole vehicle shaking. I walked to the back to see what was causing the trembling. As I got closer, I saw a pair of long legs protruding from under the back of the SUV. Khali had taken it upon himself to try to dislodge the spare tire forcefully. Lying flat on his back, he was pulling on the spare relentlessly, and I truly believe, given another few minutes, he would have gotten the damn thing off.

  I stopped him from causing any more damage and helped him get to his feet. We were going about this all wrong. There was a release on the inside of the storage space in the back of the SUV. With that figured out, I proceeded to change the tire. A 15- to 20-minute operation lasted over an hour, mainly because I didn’t think to read the owner’s manual from the get-go. After tightening the last lug nut, we repacked the SUV and made our way to San Diego without any further problems. It was comforting to know that my giant friend was there to help me. He was really very helpful. I didn’t get all the complaining others did when they were asked to drive him from town to town. Maybe it was because we became good friends and I actually liked riding with the big guy. There was a bit of a language barrier at first, but it wasn’t long before we understood each other. It even got to a point where guys would ask me to relay messages to Khali whenever his on-screen manager Ranjin Singh wasn’t around to translate. I didn’t speak Punjabi; I just repeated it to him in English. It may have been the delivery, I don’t know. But for some strange reason we were able to communicate with one another. Some of you may not believe it, but I miss the big guy.

  Travel woes are not reserved for cars and airplanes. There have been some real horror stories when it comes to hotel accommodations. Over the years, I have had the displeasure of staying in some really terrible dives. I could compile a list of rat traps and fleabag motels, but I would rather tell you about what Tony Chimel and I have named the worst hotel we have ever been booked in. First let me say, in this case worst doesn’t refer to cleanliness. It’s much more than that. I’m talking overall experience.

  The winner is the Owl Hotel in Saitama, Japan. The hotel was not unclean; it was a combination of things that made for a rough stay. We had travelled to Japan for the first ever Raw and SmackDown television
tapings held in the land of the rising sun. Filming took place in the Saitama Super Arena, which is a magnificent facility. When we arrived in Tokyo, we were informed by our international liaison Lynn that due to an error when booking rooms for the trip, the Tokyo Dome Hotel was filled to capacity. She had made arrangements for eight of us on the crew to stay at a hotel much closer to the venue in Saitama. It would have been nice to stay with everyone else in Tokyo, but we were fine with the plan. They loaded us and our luggage in a minibus and took us to the other hotel. Lynn had to go with the larger group to the main hotel to ensure everyone checked in without any problems.

  When we arrived at our hotel, the red flags went up almost immediately. The driver dropped us off and left without making sure we got our rooms. Then the young woman at the front desk did not speak any English. It took us awhile but we finally all got checked in and took turns taking the tiny elevators to our rooms.

  On a side note, I had lost a card game before we left the United States and because of that, I had to carry the “Bull Horns” in a makeshift case for JBL’s limousine for TV. It was kind of a rib on me as the horns were one long piece and the case was about five feet long.

  Now, back to the Owl. After squeezing into the lift with my bags and horns in tow, I got to my floor and was about to put my key in the door when Chimel popped his head out of his room. He didn’t look very happy, that’s for sure. He asked me if I had been in my room yet. I looked at him and answered sarcastically, “Yes I have, but my room is so small, my bags don’t fit in the room.”

  He laughed and said with a scowl, “So your room is like mine then?”

  What? Something was not right here. Before I could get my key in the door, Richie Posner, who was head of the “Magic” department at TV, popped his head out and surveyed the situation. Now I was curious and hurried to open the door to my room. I will say this, it wasn’t the cleanest room I’d ever stayed in but not bad. It was definitely the smallest room I would ever spend a night in. Without exaggeration, I had not enough space for my luggage. I had my smaller bag on the tiny desk and my bigger bag on the floor behind the door. There was no room for the horns so I had to try to convince the non-English-speaking lady at the front desk to lock them up in a room down there. Lucky for me there was a businessman in the lobby, and he translated for me.