“Sir, you’re going to have to get off that car right now,” one of them said forebodingly, “or I’m calling the police!”
I doubted that he was going to be ringing Stewart Copeland, so I put my pride aside and backed down because I knew if I didn’t, I’d probably spend the night in jail, miss my flight to Phoenix and my chance to be the secret entrant in the Royal Rumble, and probably lose my job to boot(s). I slid off the hood, bashfully telling the rapidly multiplying security force, “I was only kidding,” and got back into the car. Graham quickly pulled out of the lot wearing the exact same facial expression he’d sported all night.
—
My facial expression was one of panic, however, when I woke up late the next morning and had to rush to the airport to catch my flight, only to find to my relief that it had been delayed.
Finally the plane was ready and it was time to shock the world with the surprise return of the century (that still hadn’t been leaked). I was starting to feel the adrenaline and a flock of seagulls flew around in my stomach when I thought about walking through that WWE curtain in just a few short hours. But I was paranoid that a fan was going to spot me and ruin the surprise by posting a picture of me online like they had the last time. I had a nervous feeling and hoped I wouldn’t be sitting next to anybody who was going to recognize me . . . but it was just the opposite. I wiggled my way into my window seat and realized I was sitting next to Joe Walsh.
We shared a glance of recognition and exchanged greetings. He was wearing a blue nylon sweat suit and a big grin and as we were visiting (Auntie Bev TM), a lady walked down the aisle, holding a plastic pillbox in her hand, the kind that has a compartment for every day of the week. As she was maneuvering between the two aisles of seats, she bumped into an errant elbow and spilled the tablets all over the floor.
“My cranberry pills!” she yelped in dismay as they bounced off the carpet. I glanced beside me and saw an empty seat, so I looked down and saw Walsh crawling on his hands and knees, feverishly picking up the pills as fast as he could.
He looked up at me sheepishly and said, “Old habits die hard, brother.”
Favorite Moment of My Career
I landed in Phoenix and crept off the jetway, half expecting a group of fans to be waiting there yelling, “Gotcha!” and snapping pictures to send directly to wrestlingobserver.com. But there was nobody there, so my delayed flight from Anaheim had turned out to be a blessing. Since I’d landed almost two hours late, the fans were already at the arena for the five P.M. start time.
The plan was for me go to the building and head into an underground parking lot, where I would once again hide on a crew bus (like I had in 2012) until it was time for my appearance. The airport limo with the tinted windows maneuvered through the mobs of fans milling about the arena, none of them aware that Y2J was inside. We drove down the rampway, and one of the heads of talent relations, Mark Carrano, scurried me onto the bus and told me to sit tight. The show started and I kept checking online to see if I’d been spotted, but unbelievably, there still wasn’t one mention of Y2J.
Dean Malenko came onto the bus and, after a quick reunion, told me I was going to be the number two entrant in the Rumble, which I thought was a stroke of genius. Having me appear right off the bat would blow the roof off the proverbial joint and create a buzz that would last for the entire sixty-minute match. The first entrant would be Dolph Ziggler, the man responsible for my firing, so it made perfect sense from an angle perspective to have me come out next.
I was feeling great until I was told I was needed in a meeting with the other twenty-nine Rumble participants to discuss the match. OK, the jig was up. There was no way that many wrestlers could keep their mouths shut about my return, but almost none of them knew I was in the building and were legitimately surprised to see me. I shook hands, busted Santino’s balls, and shared a quick nod of respect with Cena as we hadn’t seen each other for a while.
We went over the plan for the Rumble and it was decided I was going to be one of the final five, which meant I was going to be out there for a while and that’s the way I liked it. I’ve always been a pressure player; the more responsibility I have in a match, the better.
With the order of the Rumble finalized, I went to get a tune-up for my blue light-up jacket from WWE’s master prop guy, Mark Shilstone, whose repairs had saved my jacket from ruin dozens of times.
Finally the pre-Rumble package played and it was time for me to make my way to the ring. Right before I left the sanctity of the bus, I Googled “Chris Jericho Royal Rumble 2013” for the last time and once again saw nothing. We’d pulled off the impossible in these social media crazy times and kept a secret; not one fan in the world knew I was in that building.
I walked through Gorilla, shocking the superstars who hadn’t yet heard the news, and gave Vince a big hug.
“Thanks for coming back,” he said. “I’m really glad you’re here.”
I was glad to be there as well and happy to hear the solid reaction of boos Ziggler got when he was announced. He sauntered to the ring and grabbed the mic, challenging anybody from the back to come out as the second entrant. He didn’t care who it was, as he was ready to beat up anybody.
The arena buzzed with anticipation over who was going to answer Dolph’s challenge, and Kevin Dunn kept the audience waiting (and waiting) until they were ready to burst. Finally he hit the music and out boomed my familiar war cry at fifty thousand decibels.
“BREAK THE WALLS DOWN!”
I’ve always said that the biggest reaction of my career was for my 1999 debut against The Rock in Chicago. But as amazing as that one was, the reaction I received right then in Phoenix blew it away. While the fans might’ve suspected it was me in ’99, they had absolutely no idea this time, and because it was a total surprise, they went absolutely WILD as a result.
It was such a thrill to see the fans, MY fans, jump up on their feet and lose their minds when JERICHO flashed across the Tron. It was the loudest ovation I ever received in my twenty-two years of wrestling and could be the favorite moment of my career . . . something I’ll never EEEVVVEEERRR forget.
With the roar of the crowd ringing in my ears and my amazing fans awaiting, I adjusted my trunks, touched my toes with a yoga stretch, got a thumbs-up from Vince, and strutted through the curtain to do what I do best.
Entertain all of you.
August 2, 2013–February 28, 2014
Thanks to God and Jesus Christ for allowing me to write book number three and for guiding and protecting me as I continue down this long and winding road. I don’t always make the right decisions, but I know when I don’t, you’ll always be there to let me know and forgive me! JESUS ROCKS!!
Thanks to all of YOU who are reading this! The fact you have stuck with me for twenty four years and three books worth of experiences and continue to support me in everything I do means the WORLD to me! That ain’t no cliché, that’s the truth! It’s no secret that I have the greatest fans EEVVEERR, because JERICHOHOLICS really are the BEST IN THE WORLD AT WHAT YOU DO!!
For those about to Jericho . . . I salute you!
To everybody mentioned in this book, thanks for your love and friendship and for allowing me to occupy a small space in your life. I have the most amazing friends, colleagues and family and I LOVE YOU ALL!
Thanks to my partner Pete Fornatale for dragging another excellent tome out of me and for getting all of my pop culture references, no matter how obscure or ridiculous they may be! Here’s one more for ya: “Whatsamatter wit chu, boy?”
Pete would also like to thank Ron Epstein for transcribing and editing assistance along with general encouragement.
Big thanks to everyone at my new home at Gotham Books and the Penguin Group, including Charlie Conrad, Leslie Hansen, and Lindsay Gordon. Let’s knock this bad boy out of the park!
I’d also like to thank the auteurs who took the phot
os included in this book: Jessica Irvine, Scott Superka, Dave Spivak, John Howarth, Eli Roth, Brian Gewertz, Lance Storm, Barry Bloom, Brian Beasley, Stephanie Cabral, Random Brazilian Airport Cop, Jack Slade, Paul Gargano, Angie Bubley, Oliver Gestin, Some Weirdo on the Sunset Strip, and the fine folks at WWE Entertainment.
Mike Chioda raises my hand after I become the World Champion for the fourth time in Cleveland. My arm was sliced open during the previous match against HBK and wouldn’t stop bleeding the whole night.
Hustling through the ruins of Tarmiyah, Iraq, with Dean Malenko behind me and Ron Simmons in the lead.
Sierra, Ash, and Cheyenne make war faces with Daddy. Being the cutest kids in the world, they’re used to my constant group selfies. I was the one who chopped their bangs so badly, by the way.
Photograph © 2014 World Wrestling Entertainment, Inc.
Amazing shot of Shawn’s head smashing through the obscenely expensive JeriTron 5000. One of my favorite moments, from the best angle of my career.
Photograph © 2014 World Wrestling Entertainment, Inc.
Vince and Steph look on bemusedly as I apologize to them after the Chicago crowd demanded I get on my knees. Steph’s leather pants rock.
Hanging with James Hetfield backstage in Chicago. My Cheshire cat smile is completely legit. I went tanning earlier in the day, which explains the major difference in our skin tones.
I asked Ozzy Osbourne for a picture after our pretape in Worcester, Massachusetts, and he started throttling me. My face is screaming, but my heart is over the mountain.
Photograph © 2014 World Wrestling Entertainment, Inc.
This reminds me of the cover of Pantera’s Vulgar Display of Power. Iron Mike threw the best working punch ever and didn’t touch me, but it still scared the crap out of me to have to stand there and take it. One of my favorite pictures EEVVEERR.
Photograph © 2014 World Wrestling Entertainment, Inc.
This picture is pretty self-explanatory, but I’ll give you a description anyway: me dressed as Santa, ready to rumble with a posse of little people wearing full camo. By far, the most bizarre picture in this book.
Rybo and I photo bomb Steve and Lars backstage in Los Angeles. If you look closely, you can see Kerry King in the mirror behind us.
Photograph © 2014 World Wrestling Entertainment, Inc.
Unlike Tyson, Mickey Rourke actually connected with this punch . . . to the back of my head. It still looked good, and Mickey finally got his revenge for my Larry King smear job.
Brian Gewirtz took this pic of Jason Sudeikis, Will Forte, and me roaming the streets of Manhattan. I suggested the “Rat Pack” photo, where everybody laughs at something off camera. Will’s face is the best.
My gorgeous wife, Jessica, and I pose after my first DWTS performance. Every week after the show, there was a massive press scrum in the ballroom. You can see the various cameras and interviewers in the background as a result.
Best picture in the whole book—Shads and Ash playing Call of Duty with the exact same zombie face. My son was so impressed with Matt that he went and got tattoos the next day.
ABC via Getty Images
Cheryl and I kill the Viennese Waltz on American Night, which was the best of our DWTS performances, and earned us the highest scores of the competition. I was kicked off the show a week later.
FYI—I’m wearing Sea-Bands under my jacket to keep from getting nauseous.
NBC via Getty Images
Working the crowd on The Tonight Show as Jay Leno waits to get a word in edgewise and Diane Lane wonders who the hell I am.
Slash, fellow Winnipeggers Geoff Loughery and Brent Fitz, and I have a chat about Canadian rock music behind the scenes at the Golden Gods. Slash’s shirt says it all.
Cousin Chad and I share a wise laugh on the eve of my fortieth birthday. My hat rules. PS: This is the third picture of Abbey Road in this book.
Here I am in my “Fat Jericho” phase, although standing next to Orton ain’t helping me much. Sad thing is, I thought I looked svelte (great word) at the time.
In the parking garage underneath the Nokia Theatre, Josh Bernstein and I explain to Joe Perry why I want him to call me a douche, as he stares off into space wondering what the hell we’re talking about. But he is wearing a rad scarf.
There’s a great picture in A Lion’s Tale of me, Dean, Eddy, Benoit, and Brian Hildebrand (my WCW gang) in 1998. There’s another one in Undisputed of the surviving four of us after Brian passed away. Now only Dean and I remain. Hopefully there will be another picture of the two of us in my next book.
After DDP Yoga and the Hetfield diet, I lost thirty pounds, and I included this picture solely because of how ripped I am. A second later, Kane lifted me up by my head and threw me back into the ring.
Photograph © 2014 World Wrestling Entertainment, Inc.
CM Punk hits me with a top rope flying clothesline at WrestleMania 28. Such a great picture, as you can see both the intensity in our faces and the expansiveness of the stadium filled with 75,000 fans.
One of my favorite pictures ever, and the looks on our faces explain the reason why: a triumphant band, an amazing gig, and a massive crowd. Fozzy Is Download!
My back, sporting the ugly welts from Punk’s kendo stick shots at Extreme Rules. It ain’t ballet, baby.
Fozzy explodes onstage at the Gramercy Theatre in New York City. Premature Announce-ulation indeed.
Sporting white contacts to signify my possession in the “Sandpaper” video. I guess becoming a demon gives you giant bags under your eyes as well.
My beautiful rock ’n’ roll family backstage at the Uproar Festival in Tampa in 2012. Ash and Chey loved the show, but SiSi was staring at me from the side of the stage the whole time like I was completely insane. I guess I kinda am.
The end of a Fozzy show is always chaotic, exciting, and acrobatic. Here, the Duke and I have a contest over who can do the best David Lee Roth jump off the riser. Obviously he wins. Frank’s Peter Criss stick pose is awesome too.
Three generations of Irvines. My dad is holding one of Ash’s Animorph books, which my son read in just three hours. All of my kids are avid readers, just like me.
Right before I hit the stage with Stryper in Anaheim. It was such an honor to sing with them after dreaming about it for more than twenty years. I still kick myself for wearing a black and blue shirt, though.
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