Accepted

by Pat Patterson

  Sometimes Foley did interviews that had nothing to do with me and then end them by saying, “I know Pat Patterson would say this place is going to go banana tonight.”

  I had to rephrase some things so we could get some work done back in the days. Now it’s funny; back then they were the only two laughing. So, if you’ve noticed there isn’t an “s” after the word banana or nut in my book, now you know why. At least I know it’ll make two people smile.

  The Rock and I have a special relationship — I have been friends with his family for so long, and I’ve known him forever. I will always remember when he first got in touch with me about wrestling and said, “It’s Dwayne Johnson.”

  “Who?”

  “Rocky Johnson’s son.”

  “Holy shit.” I had not seen him in over ten years.

  “I would like to meet with you. I’m in Tampa.”

  I had no idea Rocky Johnson lived in Tampa, or that Dwayne’s parents didn’t want him in the business. He had an in at the FBI but wanted to try wrestling first. When I saw him in action, I called Vince and told him he wanted to see this kid, not tomorrow but yesterday. They brought him to the office and he had a meeting with Vince and he was hired. His career was out of my hands from that point forward. I didn’t exactly give him a job, but part of what I did was let the office know who I thought we should look at. And in Dwayne, I really saw something special.

  When Rock was on his way out, leaving the business for Hollywood, he headlined a house show in Hawaii, the island that was his home for many years. He picked Chris Jericho as his opponent and they had a great match in a sold-out venue. After the show, we could not find The Rock anywhere. We finally discovered him under the bleachers, crying tears of joy. I am telling you: it was real emotion. We couldn’t find him before the show, either. I finally discovered him outside, speaking to a guy dressed like a bum. It turned out that man was the actor Bruce Willis. We went to a party with him later that night — amazing things like that happened to me all the time.

  One thing I want to say about The Rock: he flew me in for the premiere of one of his movies and I walked the red carpet with him. I can’t even describe how special that was, or what it meant to me that he wanted me to hang with him while he was doing interviews. In the theater, I was sitting on one side of his mother, Ata. Then he came in and he sat on the other side of her and the movie started. After there was a wonderful party with food and booze. I barely saw him there — he had all of these movie people around him, talking about his new life in Hollywood. I gave him one final piece of advice that night: “Make sure you enjoy it.”

  With some guys, like The Rock, you only had to explain the essence of the business once, and they get it instinctively, and go on to enhance your vision. But on the other hand, there are guys you can explain it to a million times and you’re never really going to get what you need. But it’s your job as a producer to make sure the company’s vision comes across anyway.

  There are very good wrestlers who are never going to be the performer that Vince sees as the guy. The reality is: you have to convince the director of the movie that you’re right for the part. Some guys are just not good enough for WWE. It’s hard to meet with so many aspiring Superstars without letting down a few people along the way. I always liked to help the new guys. But I’m never personally on a mission, because if Vince doesn’t hire them, there’s not much I can do.

  Over the years, I’ve just ignored all casting-couch innuendo made toward me and my work at WWE. I was smarter than that. It still hurts, but there was really no way for me to defend myself. I became the disappointed wannabe wrestler’s ultimate excuse for why they weren’t offered a contract. And that’s just silly. People who were unhappy used the fact that I am gay to get back at WWE. To all the people who have ever said they weren’t hired because they were not gay, I can only say, “Guys, I’m sorry. You were just not good enough.”

  On the other hand, just about everyone who ever made money with WWE loves working with me. And yes, even Sylvain Grenier made it on his own; he did not receive special treatment because of our friendship. In fact, it was in a segment where Sylvain was getting beat up by Chris Jericho that Vince noticed him.

  Still, it always makes me feel good to speak with the kids training in Orlando with NXT. Can you imagine what a few words of encouragement can do? It’s no different from when Kowalski or Maurice told me I was a good wrestler. We were all in their shoes once, and I remember what that was like. At the same time, I don’t play favorites and I don’t hesitate to tell someone when they’re making mistakes. Everybody needs to hear the truth — even a WWE Champion.

  I remember a time, years ago, when Hulk Hogan’s punches were . . . the shits. He was leaving town for a show and I was not on the road with him, so I left him a message. “Terry, when you throw your punch, you need to put everything you’ve got into it. Know what I’m trying to say?” I left it at that. Apparently he received the message in the dressing room and told the guys, “There is nobody better than Pat Patterson. I wish he was here.”

  Everybody needs to be produced, and main-event guys appreciate when you take the time to tell them if something is not working. That’s what made them main-event talent in the first place. When Shawn Michaels finally grasped everything I was trying to teach him, he said it changed his entire perspective on how a match works. It really clicked one night, when I told him to listen to and feed off the crowd. Next thing I knew, he was doing that every night, waiting for the crowd to cheer him back to life when he seemed beaten.

  I fondly remember asking Vince about putting together an old-timer battle royal. He was sure no one would come because he felt they all hated him. They all came at my request. I caught some flak because I forgot about Angelo Poffo. A few days after the show, Vince told me Macho Man was going crazy because I didn’t invite his father to participate. But before the show, he never said anything to me. If he had, I would have invited him without hesitation. The truth is his dad’s name just didn’t cross my mind. I called Randy and told him I simply forgot. He wouldn’t listen to reason. So I said, “You’re still mad? I’m flying to goddamn Tampa and I will meet you face-to-face. We’ll settle this.”

  “I will be waiting for you,” he said in his wrestling voice.

  I told Vince where I was going. “Vince, if he wants to fight, he’ll get a fight, because this is bullshit.”

  When I got there and saw him, before anything else, I said, “Randy, let’s get a beer. How’s that sound?” We went to a bar and started to talk. “Randy, I have so much respect for you and I also respect your dad. I guess I just didn’t think your dad could still do it, so his name never crossed my mind. And nobody brought his name up. It’s my fault, my mistake. But it’s not because I didn’t want your dad in there. Let’s just shake hands.”

  He did some Macho Man stuff and then he “brother-ed” me and we shook hands — and that was the end of it. I never heard about it again in thirty years.

  There is something else I need to get off my chest before I’m finished with this book. When Sylvain Grenier was let go, I was hurt. Sylvain is like a son to me. Some people believe I got him hired, but he went through the same process as everybody else, and I was not the only one who was in favor of him getting a contract. I don’t bullshit Vince, I don’t play politics, and I don’t kiss ass. I’ve never told any of the talent “I will talk to Vince about you.” I don’t care if you like me or not, if you’re good in the ring, nothing else matters at the end of the day.

  But I do think Sylvain was put in a bad situation because of me. He was stamped as my guy, and that hurt him; he wasn’t treated impartially. It stings. Over the years I’ve made my point often enough, and I’ve been proven right on more than a few occasions. I think my track record speaks for itself when you consider the Superstars I’ve believed in: men like Bret Hart, Shawn Michaels, The Rock, Rey Mysterio, and, even more recently, Dani
el Bryan.

  I’ve always believed that I have a responsibility to the company to say how I feel about something or someone and why. But I am not going to fight and fight for an idea to make it a much bigger deal than it should be. Even if my gut tells me we need to go in a certain direction, once I said my piece, Vince could decide whatever he wanted and I would respect that decision. But there are some wrestlers who have a hard time seeing the business like that. They find it hard to accept that we work toward one man’s vision and, good or bad, this is the vision for the whole company. It’s up to the rest of us to play our role. That’s it. That’s how The Rock made a name for himself in Hollywood, because he was so easy to work with. He understood his role in the production of a movie. Know your role is not just a catchphrase, you know?

  Working with Daniel Bryan is always fun, even with the pressure of WrestleMania.

  It’s taken me an entire career to understand that I would be a part of this business forever. In 2004, my last night was scheduled to take place in Milwaukee. I was burned out once more. And no, there is no truth to all those bullshit rumors that say I was fighting against Triple H being allowed to work behind the scenes. I swear, I’ll never understand how that got started. That night, everyone had a big party for me, and Vince even had me sing “My Way.” Shane and Stephanie came out, too, and I started crying. They gave me a big send-off — even Shawn Michaels, who was hurt, had a great match, just for me. I got a big ovation from all of the talent and staff. When I went back to the hotel afterward, I found myself sitting at the bar all by myself and that’s when I started to cry like a baby. What was I going to do now?

  I think I realized my life as I knew it was over. I don’t remember precisely how it happened, but I was brought back a few years later after a health scare. (More on that in a bit — keep reading.) Somehow, they found a way to pull me back in. Vince’s good at doing that — he had me come to see him at a show and he simply never let me leave again.

  “I quit so many times and you always get me back,” I said to him. “You’re going to kill me, you know.”

  “Patrick, I’m going to get everything I can out of you. Even if you are on a goddamn oxygen tank, I will make sure to check to see what you think about our plans for the next week.”

  And you know, I wouldn’t want it any other way.

  Today I still work in the office as a consultant. I get angry when I see some of our television matches, and I think that’s why they still want me there, to give them a point of view from the outside. And I understand how hard it is because I’ve been there. (Mind you, I’ve never had to write three hours of television for every Monday and then another two hours for the next day . . .) I understand the pressure. I know there’s a lot to think about and that not everything is going to be perfect all the time. I think they appreciate my honesty, and the fact that I don’t take it personally when my ideas are not included in a show. That doesn’t mean I won’t take five minutes to let Vince know what I think, straight from the heart, as always. I told Vince, the day he says, “Patrick, we’re done,” I’m going to ask him to stand and drop his pants, so I can kiss his ass and say thank you very much. Obviously, I’m playing a Jedi mind trick so I can stay as long as possible. Still, when he feels I can no longer contribute, I won’t be bitter and I won’t be mad. I’ll be happy to have been part of that team for so long.

  And sometimes I honestly don’t know why he likes keeping me around. There’s nothing for me to do because they’re talking about stuff I know nothing about. And he just says, “Don’t worry about it, Patrick. I always feel better when I have you around.” I feel lucky when Vince says things like that. But he’s also said, “You’re not lucky; you deserve it.”

  Vince’s mind is always busy. I don’t think he has an off mode, not even when he’s sleeping. If I were an asshole, or if I caused trouble, I would not be around. I’m that little devil or little angel on his shoulder who’s there to point out the obvious. The things that, because he’s so busy with other aspects of the business, he sometimes misses or doesn’t completely realize we shouldn’t be doing. I see the little things. Overall, I believe our show is very good, but I can still pinpoint some little things we need to improve. I know I’m not going to get an answer from him right away. I also know that just getting him thinking is the first part of the process. Once he’s aware of a problem, he will take care of it. Some people think Vince is blinded by our successes, and that can’t see when stuff is bad. But believe me, he always knows. He just won’t discuss it with everyone.

  He even appreciates it when I’m upset about a direction we are pursuing. But that’s because I know I need to accept it, and because I make sure to help with all of my ability, even if I don’t feel something’s right. I make my point and then I move on. In fact, he’d get more upset if I told him about a reservation after the fact.

  “Pat, I need your feedback. It doesn’t matter if I’m busy. Just tell me.”

  And so that’s what I try to do.

  Everything is so hectic when we’re working on our television programming that sometimes we just don’t have the time to make sure all the producers and talent understand exactly what we need out of them. And so sometimes what gets translated from paper to reality is not quite what we had in mind. I’ve never been afraid to go straight to the talent and explain what was going on without sugar-coating things. I think the Superstars appreciate when you respect them by not trying to put a spin on something bad.

  The whole family is there with me: Stephanie, Paul, Shane, Vince and Linda.

  Like Michael Corleone, somehow they keep pulling me back in. I’m usually at television the week of a PPV and whenever else I feel like it.

  And hopefully, I will be able to do this until I die.

  THE FRUITS OF MY LABOR

  “And now, the end is near;

  And so I face the final curtain.”

  Each year, after a few winter months in Florida, I begin to miss Montréal and am eager to go home and recharge my batteries. After all these years of living elsewhere, it’s still my home, and it is very important for me to go back and spend the summer there. I drop by Montréal from time to time even when it’s cold as hell — I love that city.

  Early on in my career, I realized you have to take life seriously, because if you don’t, you won’t end up where you want to be. You have to be careful — if you start doing something like taking drugs, you’re going to fuck everything up. That’s why I never took drugs: I was in charge of my life. I quickly learned that nothing lasts forever, especially not a wrestling career. I don’t know how long I’m going to live, or even if I am going to be healthy in a few years. I don’t want to end up in a home and rot away all alone, so I always keep an eye on the future. I didn’t think Louie would go first. And with all the travel I did, I could have died in a car accident on almost any given day. Still, as you know, that doesn’t mean I didn’t have fun along the way . . . And I still have fun today.

  I play golf a lot with friends, and I enjoy spending time with the likes of Sylvain Grenier, Stéphane Levasseur, and Frédéric Dumoulin. (I even sang at their weddings.) Don’t worry, ladies, Sylvain is not married yet.

  If I had not found wrestling, I might have become a comedian. Here in Québec, there was a guy named Gilles Latulippe who became really famous doing vaudeville, burlesque, television, and theater. After meeting on the golf course, we became good friends. If we had met when we were young, we could have become quite the funny pair. Strangely we were brought up in the same neighborhood — his dad owned the local hardware store. But he was almost four years older than me, and we didn’t meet until decades later. When we played golf, we’d never stop telling jokes. During the summer, I sometimes went to Gilles’s shows. He was amazing onstage, exactly what I think comedy should be. When he passed away in 2014, Gilles’s widow and son made sure to let me know he appreciated my friendship. We laughed our asses off togeth
er, that’s for sure, and it makes me wonder about roads not taken.

  Another person I got to know at Le Mirage — the golf club owned by René Angélil, Céline Dion’s husband and former manager — said to me when we first met, “Mr. Patterson, I know you very well and I know your real name. It’s Pierre Clermont.”

  I thought, What’s the big deal? You’re not the only one, buddy. “Yeah, so?”

  “I know everything about your whole career.”

  He introduced himself as Rodger Brulotte, but I still had no idea who he was. He said he knew many of my uncles, and that he’d been brought up in the same neighborhood, too. Well, it turned out that Rodger has been a Montréal journalist since forever. He was the French voice of the Expos and Major League Baseball when Montréal had a team. I didn’t know that, I guess, because I had spent so little time at home during my career. He now works for some of the biggest television and radio stations and with the most-read newspaper in the city. We started to play golf together after that, and we’ve become friends. He’s introduced me to a lot of the hockey players and other celebrities in the city.

  I love to enjoy the simple pleasures of life and getting out for fun things like golf. But unless I’m performing in front of a crowd, I somehow always feel there is something missing.

  One day, after finishing on the golf course, I joined the guys I’d been playing with for a beer at the clubhouse. I was a mess after a few hours on the course, so I just wanted a quick drink. I really looked terrible.

  At Le Mirage that day, they were hosting an amateur singing event and the place was jam-packed. We went in and sat at the bar — but the thing was no one would volunteer to sing. It wasn’t karaoke; you had to sing and people were intimidated. The manager started teasing me about going onstage, but in those days I hadn’t really started to sing publicly. He offered to pay for all of my drinks if I got up. To make a long story short, you know wrestlers and their freebies. I got a standing ovation and after that two more people volunteered. I received a second ovation for my encore. It became a regular thing at Le Mirage and they always made sure I was going to attend on those nights. People tell me during the week that when I am singing on Fridays, they have to be there because their wives would not have it any other way. This really is how I got started and now people can usually find me at my favorite karaoke bar in Montréal or in one in just about any city I visit with WWE. There are even videos of me singing posted on YouTube — performing like this fills a void.