The Hardcore Diaries

by Foley, Mick

  Yeah, I know I just talked about making a perfect pitch, right before talking about hitting a home run. So what? Why can’t I write conflicting sports analogies? Because in a way, I was attempting to save my ECW idea by simultaneously scoring runs for my future project. The one involving Melina. The one involving the total humiliation of Mick Foley.

  I know I wrote earlier about not fully spelling out this second idea, about trying to keep some of the mystique alive. But hell, I think our fans will find this stuff captivating. And its not as if we haven’t revealed as much or more on our own television shows, Web sites, and outside media projects. Besides, it’s not as if I’ll be revealing an upcoming storyline. By the time the book’s out, it will be part of wrestling history. So here it is—a Hardcore Diaries exclusive—the Foley/McMahon conversation that salvaged it all.

  Back to Vince, saying, “A deal, what type of deal?”

  Come on, Monte. Make this deal work. “I’ll agree to do the ECW show, if you will do my angle with Melina.”

  “Okay, let’s hear it,” Vince said.

  “Well, when I initially heard that there were some reservations about Terry Funk taking a chunk out of your ass, because it would destroy the ‘Kiss My Ass Club,’ I did my best to think of a way it could come back stronger than ever.”

  Vince nodded. He was actually looking at me, not a protein bar in sight.

  I continued. “Now, what if we found a way for us to do the voluntary ass-kissing segment at a later time, when it wouldn’t conflict with your deal with DX? As long as we can establish that I volunteered to do it, and then establish a reason why it doesn’t get done, we could always go back to it, right?”

  “I guess that’s true,” Vince said.

  “So maybe after a couple weeks or months, you can call me out to the ring and say, ‘You know, Mick Foley, you claim to be a man of your word, and as far as I’m concerned, you broke your word.’

  “So I would act like I have no idea what you’re talking about, prompting you to say, ‘You came out here and volunteered to kiss my ass, and dammit, I expect you to keep your word.’”

  Vince seemed intrigued.

  “At which point, Vince, I would say that I wouldn’t kiss your ass in a million years, and launch into a promo about why that was so.”

  “Okay,” Vince said. “I like it so far.”

  “Then you would say, ‘Either you kiss my ass, or someone’s going to get fired,’ which would cause me to go off on a diatribe about how I didn’t need your job, look at me, I wear fifteen-dollar sweatpants, drive a used minivan, and haven’t paid for a haircut in years. So you want to fire me, go ahead. Do it. Do it!”

  Vince was all smiles. I could tell he really liked it.

  “But then you’d say, ‘Mick, you misunderstood me. I didn’t say if you don’t kiss my ass, you’re getting fired. I said, if you don’t kiss my ass, someone’s getting fired.’ Then up on the big screen we see Melina. Then you’d say, ‘Look at her, Mick, she’s like a sister to you. You’d do anything for her, wouldn’t you? Well, you’d better figure out just how far you’re willing to go, because if you don’t kiss my ass on Raw next week, right here in the middle of this ring, then she’s…FIIIIRED!’”

  I knew this point of the idea would be subject to doubt, and I was ready for the inevitable questions.

  “I’m not sure this fits into any storyline,” Vince said.

  “Yeah,” Steph added. “How do we explain a SmackDown! talent suddenly showing on Raw for no apparent reason?”

  “We give them a reason,” I said. “I mean, that’s what we do, we’re storytellers. So let’s start dropping little clues over the next few months, so that when her picture goes up on the screen, it makes perfect sense.”

  “What kind of clues?” Gewirtz asked.

  “Well, we’ve got the history of her showing up on my Web site. Have Michael Cole [ SmackDown!announcer] bring it up every once in a while during an MNM [Melina’s tag team] match. Like, you know, saying, ‘What is the deal with Melina constantly showing up on Mick Foley’s Web site?’ And then Tazz [color commentator] would say, like, ‘Hey, Cole, they happen to be friends, Mick Foley has good taste, unlike you!’”

  “We can do that,” Vince said.

  “Okay, great.” Man, I was starting to see light at the end of this creative tunnel. The tunnel leading to…wrestling immortality? “And like tonight,” I continued. “At Kane’s movie premiere, get a shot of me and Melina hanging out on the red carpet, for no apparent reason. But if we do things like this a handful of times over the next few months, it will make perfect sense to our fans when her picture goes up on the screen.”

  “Okay,” Vince said. “Where do we go from there?”

  “Well, say, we do this at the beginning of Raw —that way we have almost two hours to create interest. Then we go to SmackDown! , where we make it a big deal. Get comments from SmackDown! guys. A few guys understand. Maybe Batista warns me that she’s not worth it. Then you do a pretaped sit-down interview with Melina. I’m telling you, Vince, you wouldn’t even have to give her any lines. Just let her say what she really feels about me.” I was half-joking here, but I do firmly believe that she’ll need only to tell the truth to make our fans think that she really likes me.

  “So when we get to Raw, assuming this segment is at the end of the show, we’ve got almost another two hours to really get people into it. Meanwhile, Vince, you’re in the middle of putting together an incredible spectacular to complement the spectacle of me possibly kissing your ass in the ring. Dancing girls, maybe a choir.”

  Vince seemed to like it, he really seemed to like it.

  “So when it’s time for the ceremony, you come on out to your music, doing the walk.”

  If you are not familiar with “the walk,” look it up under the definition “ludicrous,” where there should be a photo of Vince doing it. Or think back to my AC/DC journal entry, and try to think of that same dance only slightly modified, done on an entrance ramp in front of millions of people.

  “I come out to my music, obviously concerned about the decision I’ve got to make. Maybe have J.R. make a Sophie’s Choice reference. Then, maybe you bring out the Spirit Squad to do a ‘Kiss My Ass’ cheer. Finally you play Melina’s music, but she’s not doing the sexy walk, she certainly doesn’t do the sexy entrance. Maybe she gets on the mike and tells me how sad she is, how terrible she feels, how she never meant for our friendship to cause this type of pain. Maybe she’s even crying.

  “But I would say, ‘Hey, listen, Melina, I’ve had my time. Things worked out for me better than I ever dreamed. But your time is now. You’re on your way to being one of the biggest Superstars the world has ever seen. I can’t deprive you of that, and I can’t deprive our fans of watching you do just that.’

  “But when I kneel down, and my face gets perilously close to your ass, she’s going to grab that mike and literally scream, ‘No, don’t do it, please don’t do it.’ Tears and all.

  “So I get up and go over to her. She’s sobbing her eyes out. I lift her chin and gently say, ‘Listen, Melina, this is what’s going to happen. I’m going to go over there, get down on my knees, and for about one full second, I’m going to kiss that miserable son of a bitch’s ass. Then I’m going to walk out here with my head held high, go home and watch as you show everyone every Friday night on SmackDown! why you are the top Diva in WWE.’

  “And then, Vince, I’m actually going to kiss your ass.”

  Vince liked this. I’ve seen him smile when he was showing off pictures of his grandson. This was the exact same smile. He was really, really proud. Proud of his club, proud of me, proud of his ass.

  But I wasn’t through yet. I was almost done with my massive home-run swing. I just needed to follow through.

  “Vince, it would seem like the time to gloat. But you wouldn’t. You would be almost befuddled. Like you couldn’t believe the lengths that someone would go to help out a friend. You’d slowly pull up your pants. You
’d shake your head. You’d say, ‘You know, I never really understood platonic friendship. Quite frankly, I couldn’t understand why it would even be necessary. What good it could do. But now, as I look at you, I have to say, I respect the incredible sacrifice you made on behalf of your friend Melina. And I bet Melina has a few words for you.’

  “At this point, Melina would be sobbing, barely able to speak. She’d try, but fail after only a couple of garbled words. Finally, she’d gather herself together enough to say, ‘Mick, I just want to say…I just want to say…I just want to say…’

  “And then she’d get this devious, wicked smile on her face and say, ‘I just want to say…you’re FIIIIRED.’”

  Vince let out a yell. I knew he loved it. I saw that idea sailing back, back, back, back. It was…outta here. A home run for Foley. Now I merely had to recap the advantages of my idea, savoring the moment like a ballplayer taking his celebratory jog around the bases.

  “Look at the heat it will put on you, Vince. It will make you the biggest S.O.B. you’ve ever been—and that’s saying something. It will shine a huge light on Melina, one I’m sure you will take full advantage of. And it will make me incredibly sympathetic, and give me a ready-made angle when I return.”

  Vince was still beaming. He laughed and said, “And it will give us a chance to finally have that match together.”

  “You’re damn right it will, Vince, you’re damn right it will!” Now, actually, the thought of working a big match with Vince is absolutely terrifying, as it could be a major fiasco. Shawn Michaels pulled it off, but I’m not exactly Shawn Michaels. Cactus Jack could have pulled it off eight years ago, but I’m not exactly Cactus Jack anymore, either. But I wasn’t about to ruin the mood with a little thing like honesty. Not while my idea was still soaring majestically through a purple twilight sky, hit so incredibly well that it might well continue its flight until landing firmly in a land called…wrestling immortality.

  May 10, 2006

  Dear Hardcore Diary,

  I should probably mention what actually happened at Raw, as it was a very eventful program for me. A week earlier, Edge and I had set up a hardcore WrestleMania rematch. In our promo, which was done under the guise of a “Cutting Edge” interview segment, we had both continued with our practice of referring to our match as “the greatest hardcore match of all time.” Sure, it was a little bit of a stretch, but not a complete whopper. Maybe like a whopper of a different sort, the fast-food sort, as it was a claim that would be readily consumed by our fans around the world. Hey, if the president can make the public think he is a great leader just because he continually says it’s so, then certainly we can take a really good match and claim it was the all-time best.

  In the interview, I said that I wondered where I had gone wrong in the ’Mania match, but upon further examination, I realized that my one mistake lay in not realizing that on that one night, April 2, 2006, I would be face-to-face with the toughest S.O.B. in wrestling.

  I don’t like when WWE Superstars publicly run down each other’s in-ring skills. To me, it cheapens the product, making our fans feel like they’re watching a cavalcade of no-talent stiffs, instead of world-class sports entertainers.

  For example, in the buildup to ’Mania, Triple H voiced his opinion that John Cena was “not a very good wrestler.” Then why exactly is Cena our world champion? And how did that comment make Triple H look when he lost to someone who wasn’t very good? Like someone who was a little worse than not very good? Which would be what…lousy? Or even if he’d won, who would he have beaten? A guy who was “not a very good wrestler,” which would make Triple H what—a little better than not very good? Or average?

  Not me. No, if someone is going to beat me, he’d better be damn good, or at the very least someone I can claim is damn good. Which reminds me of one of the all-time great wrestling boasts, one which I’ve utilized occasionally over the years. “It takes a good man to beat me, but it doesn’t take him very long.”

  During the buildup to that match, Edge had continually pointed to the fact that I’d never really stolen the show at WrestleMania, never had that “defining WrestleMania moment.” Which was actually true. I have somehow managed to be seen as a legend in pro wrestling without ever truly stealing the show at the biggest showcase in our industry— WrestleMania.

  So here’s the Raw promo where I refute Edge’s charge, and set up the WrestleMania rematch (or at least the promise of one) that will get our ECW ball rolling.

  MICK FOLEY:Don’t get me wrong, just because I lost the match doesn’t mean that I didn’t get that defining WrestleMania moment that you spoke so often of, because I did. Let’s take a look at it right now…[ We see an image of a bloodied Edge, seemingly in shock.]

  MICK FOLEY:There, there it is, ladies and gentlemen, my defining WrestleMania moment. Looking at your eyes and knowing you’d never be the same again. Looking in your eyes and knowing that you knew from then on it was all downhill for Edge, knowing that I had taken years off your life, knowing that you would never want to go thru that type of hell again. And you see, that’s where you and I differ, Edge, because I do want to go through that type of hell again, and I want to go through it tonight. So what I’m saying, it’s you and me, WrestleMania rematch, right here in Columbus, Ohio.

  EDGE:You’re on crack. I’m not wrestling you in a match, I’m not fighting you tonight, no way, not gonna happen. But I tell you what, because you were stupid enough to come in here and challenge me, next week, just out of principle, I’ll take you on in any match that you want.

  I felt like there was a great deal of interest in this rematch, just based on the feedback I received from our fans over the course of the past week. Everyone seemed to know about the match, and everyone seemed excited. Maybe they were already buying into our “greatest hardcore match of all time” collaborative conspiracy, because they all seemed to be under the impression that they were in for a hell of a match. Boy, were they going to be disappointed.

  With my production room meeting home run still in flight, I felt free to enjoy the five hours before going live at 6:00P .M. Pacific Time. Going live on the West Coast always seems a little strange, as like most actors or athletes, WWE performers are creatures of habit, each one with their own way of getting motivated or physically prepared for the unique experience that is live television. The earlier start time just feels a little…different.

  I was introduced to Rick Rubin, a legend in the music production business, who has helped shape the sounds of legendary albums by a who’s-who of rap and heavy metal royalty, including Run-D.M.C., Limp Bizkit, and the Red Hot Chili Peppers. But the man I was interested in talking about was Johnny Cash. Rubin had been largely responsible for engineering Cash’s unlikely comeback in the 1990s, helping endear “the man in black” to a whole new generation, and putting a final emphatic exclamation point on Cash’s phenomenal career.

  I had to ask him about “Hurt,” the Nine Inch Nails song that an ailing Cash somehow made his own; a haunting, unforgettable hunk of raw emotion that gives me goose bumps every time I hear it—even now as I write this, I see and hear it in my mind.

  “No,” Rubin said. “We didn’t know it would have the type of effect it had. We knew it was special as we were doing it. But we had no idea how special until the music video was done.”

  I agreed. It’s not often that a video can actually enhance a song—it often takes away from it. But it would take a tougher man than me not to feel something while watching that one.

  My mother is absolutely crazy about Johnny Cash, and will probably love to hear my story about meeting Rubin.

  I also met a legend of another type, a certain hardcore legend in his own right—longtime porno mainstay Ed Powers. Powers, who apparently specializes in a variety of acts that are not in most people’s sexual repertoires, is a huge wrestling fan, and seemed genuinely sad upon finding out that I was not familiar with his work.

  But my father is absolutely crazy about Ed Powers
and will probably love to hear my story about…What the hell? Yes, I am just kidding.

  Hitting the ring with Tommy Dreamer, who is in for a heck of a surprise.

  I did want to ask for a couple pointers for my upcoming Christy Canyon interview, but alas, Ted DiBiase, a WWE legend/road agent/ordained minister, was nearby, and I feared insulting him should he find out that I was indeed somewhat familiar with Ms. Canyon’s body of work.

  Match time. Another piece in the puzzle. Although I’m still not happy about the absence of the ass chunk in my life, I’m still savoring that talk with Vince. I’ve also heard a rumor that I might wrestle John Cena for the WWE Championship at SummerSlam . I’m not sure if my body will ever be up for a singles match of that caliber, but I’ll sure as hell try. I’ll tell you one thing though—win or lose, I won’t be entering that ring with a guy who’s “not a very good wrestler.” He’ll be a warrior, a gladiator, a god. Now if I only have Triple H’s talent once I actually get in there.

  Edge and I have talked, and we can both see the positive side of the creative shake-up. It will give us a chance to really tell our story in Lubbock, as opposed to creating a huge spectacle with the Ass Club segment. Both of us are swimmers. We’ll keep our heads above water in a way that would make Bob Dylan proud.

  Edge heads to the ring with Lita in tow. I may have felt bad about the real-life soap opera involving Edge, Lita, and Matt Hardy, but there’s no denying that the two of them (Lita and Edge) have been box office and ratings magic ever since.

  They cut a little promo on me—just a way to draw up a little last-second interest. I hear the telltale car-crash sound, followed by the three-chord guitar riff that sends me through the curtain, onto the entrance ramp, barbed-wire bat held aloft, taking in the unmistakable sound of 15,000 fans giving mea…surprisingly lackluster response. Hey, I don’t know why—I could have sworn I was popular with the fans. Sure, the audience had seemed slightly subdued through the show—California fans can be that way—but I thought that surely I’d be the guy to change all that.