The “Highlight Reel” in Nottingham was the first time I’d worked with Eric since his big debut, and it was a blast. Eric, Steve, and I knew we could carry our weight on the mic, and we decided to do the whole thing unscripted and improvised—the way I had envisioned the Reel to be in the first place.
Stephanie was producing the segment, and it was really bothering her that we had no specific script to run past her. She kept asking us what our verbiage would be, and finally Steve said, “No offense, Steph, but between the three of us it’s safe to say we’ve made a few dollars over the years doing promos. Just trust us, we’ll come up with something.” She agreed to give us some space and we had a fantastic segment.
I was on a high as I got on the bus, and I smiled when I saw a fan through the window jumping up and down on the street, mouthing that he was my biggest fan. As we pulled away he began running beside the bus screaming, “Jericho! Jericho!” I was impressed with his foot speed and gave him the thumbs-up as he struggled to keep up with the us. He returned the gesture, smiling from ear to ear at his hero’s acknowledgment—and ran straight into a stop sign.
He went down like a ton of bricks and I saw him stagger to his feet holding his face in his hands as the bus left him in the dust. Sorry, mate.
Later that night before we left, I saw Steve and Eric drinking at the airport bar. When Bischoff got on the plane, I asked Steve, “What are you doing drinking beer with Bischoff? Isn’t he still the asshole who fired you?” Steve said, “Not at all, he’s pretty cool now actually.” Years earlier Bischoff had terminated Steve from WCW via FedEx, and I figured if he could let bygones be bygones then it was time for me to do the same.
I wasn’t sure why I still held a grudge against him anyway. Things had worked out pretty well for me after I left WCW. Besides, Eric had been nothing but froot to me since he made his debut in the WWE.
I approached him on the plane back to the U.S. and asked if I could talk to him. “Listen, man,” I said, “I hope there isn’t any heat between us from the WCW days.”
He looked genuinely surprised and said, “I don’t have any heat with you at all. As a matter of fact, didn’t you send me—like a fax or something—thanking me for everything I did for you?”
I told him I did and was happy he got it and even more impressed that he remembered. We had a few beers and that was that. The great Bischoff-Jericho feud was over faster than Spencer Pratt’s career.
Over the next few years we had some great conversations, and I found out we had a lot in common. He had overachieved his entire life because of his immense passion and drive just as I had. He might have made some bad decisions as the boss of WCW, but in the end I found him to be a pretty good guy.
Plus he created Scott Baio Is 45 and Single, and that alone is enough to earn my praise.
Kevin Nash had to get his hair cut for a role in the Punisher movie, and it was decided that I would beat him in a hair vs. hair match. It was the first time we’d ever worked together in any capacity and it was actually a lot of fun. The build for the match was strong, including me nicknaming him Nashhole. (Rocky called me and told me it was the funniest thing he’d seen on Raw in months.) Both of us were known for our manes and the fans really had no idea who was going to win, which added to the intrigue. Not adding to it was Nash’s decision to dye his hair a brutal shade of jaundice the day before the match. When he showed up at the arena in Grand Rapids, he looked like he was wearing a straw hat. When I asked him why he’d done it, he said, “Well, I thought if I dyed my hair, people would think there’s no way I’m going to lose and cut it off.”
The problem was, he dyed it such a terrible color there was no way he couldn’t cut it off.
We had a really good match, one of the best he had during his WWE comeback. We led the crowd through a heap of false finishes before I finally beat him with the dreaded brass knuckles.
Nash enjoyed working with me and wanted to continue doing so, albeit (bitchin’ word) in a different way. He discussed the idea of becoming my bodyguard (or slackey, as he put it), similar to what he did with Shawn Michaels in 1993. I wasn’t sold on it. I was hungry to regain the World Championship, but it seemed there were no plans to go in that direction. I approached Vince a few times to tell him I was ready to be the top guy again, and he humored me, but I could tell he wasn’t into it. He still had a bad taste in his mouth from my first reign. But I was building myself back up and I felt that unless having Nash as my bodyguard was going to lead to another championship reign, it would be better to stay on my own.
My concern was moot, as Vince told me he wasn’t considering the bodyguard idea anyway. A few months later, Hall and Nash were gone, with Hogan following soon after, and that was the end of the NWO in the WWE.
Talk about in like a lion and out like a lamb—brother.
CHAPTER 30
AO Jericho
Raw was coming to Winnipeg for the first time since I’d joined the company. I was excited to be the conquering hero returning home for my first TV taping since I’d wrestled at the Diamond Club for Tony Condello thirteen years earlier. What made things even more exciting was that Benoit had just won the World Championship in one of the greatest matches of all time against HHH and Shawn at WrestleMania XX. (It’s unfortunate that it has been buried forever and technically doesn’t exist anymore.)
So even though we were both babyfaces, I figured it was a no-brainer that I’d get a title shot in my hometown, so Chris and I could tear the house down. We hadn’t wrestled each other since he’d been champion, and I felt we could have a classic with the boisterous Winnipeg fans behind us, but it wasn’t to be. It was decided I’d face Randy Orton for the Intercontinental title instead, and even though I lost that match, I added another accolade to my résumé that night.
I became the first and only WWE Musical Chairs Champion.
Yeahhhhh boyeeee.
The special guest GM that night was Eugene, Bischoff’s mentally challenged nephew. He booked a batch of curious matches for the show and then decided that he wanted to see a game of musical chairs. He corralled Stacy Keibler (still one of the hottest divas to ever grace the WWE), Tyson Tomko, Tajiri, Jerry Lawler, Jonathan Coachman, and me and told us that whoever won the game of musical chairs would get a championship match that night. When I was announced and sauntered to the ring in a vintage (sorry, Cole) Jets T-shirt, the Peg faithful blew the roof off the old barn (even when Lilian Garcia announced me as from Winnitoba, Manitoba).
It was such a waste that the astounding crowd reaction was squandered on a kid’s party game and not a match for the world title. But as I learned in WCW, you make the best of what you’re given, and I did.
A cheesy rendition of “Pop Goes the Weasel” began playing and the game was on. Tajiri was quickly eliminated and then spewed his green mist into the Coach’s face, which got rid of him. Lawler failed to take a seat in time, as he was too busy staring at Stacy’s seat. Flair, (who stole the show during the segment), started stylin’ and profilin’ around the ring, then pushed Stacy to the ground the next time the Weasel stopped.
Keep in mind that the whole time the crowd was going berserk and chanting “Y2J” at the top of their lungs.
Tomko and I were the sole survivors, and when the music stopped again I pulled the chair out of the way as he sat down. Then I rammed it into his gut and parked myself, becoming the first ever Musical Chairs Champion. The crowd erupted as if Dale Hawerchuk had just scored the game-winning goal to finally get the Jets into the third round of the playoffs.
It was one of the biggest reactions I received during my entire career and it ended up being a tremendous segment. I apologized to Brian afterwards for being against the idea when he first told me about it—proof once again that you just never know what’s going to work in this business. It’s all in the excellence of the execution.
JR once told me that I was only one of three Grand Slam Champions in the history of the WWE (meaning that I had won every possible title
), along with HHH and Shawn Michaels. However, since I’m the first and only WWE Musical Chairs Champion, it obviously means that I’m better than those guys, right?
Now I’m anxiously awaiting the first ever WWE Pin the Tail on the Donkey derby.
The Winnipeg faithful weren’t just proud of my musical chairs accomplishments, they took great pride in all that I had done. It wasn’t too often that a kid from St. James became an international superstar, and now that Raw was in town, the city was ready to roll out the red carpet for me. The day of the show I was given the key to the city by Mayor Sam Katz, which I think means that I’m allowed to walk into any house or place of business within the city limits of Winnipeg and make myself at home. Drink a beer, eat some soup, take a dumpski, whatever I want. I’m still waiting for the actual key, though.
After that, Gary Doer, the premier of Manitoba, awarded me with the Order of the Buffalo Hunt, which was the province’s highest honor. It was quite the prestigious prize, which had been given to such dignitaries as Mother Teresa, Desmond Tutu, Jimmy Carter, Pope John Paul II, and now Chris Jericho. Which one of these people doesn’t belong, huh?
Obviously it’s the pope, that son of a bitch.
There was a WWE camera crew filming the presentations for the various syndicated TV shows and the website. When I saw Vince at the building, I suggested that we show some of the ceremony on Raw, and he started laughing.
“The Order of the Buffalo Hunt? That’s a pretty dumb name. Sounds like something Fred Flintstone would get.”
Then I informed him of the impressive list of VIPs with whom I shared the award and he begrudgingly agreed to mention it.
A few months later, Vince decided that if a babyface was billed as being from Canada, it would impede his popularity in the United States. Despite the fact that I’d been announced as being from Winnipeg for the past five years and everyone knew I was Canadian, I was suddenly being introduced “from Tampa, Florida.”
Manitoba premier Gary Doer presents me with the Order of the Buffalo Hunt, along with a tiny bronze buffalo. I’m thinking, “That’s all I get?”
It drove me nuts, because even though I live in Tampa and it’s a nice city, it’s not where I grew up. Vince finally compromised and I was introduced “from Manhasset, New York,” which is where I was born when my dad was playing for the Rangers. But I am no more a New Yorker than Funaki is a Texan. I didn’t understand Vince’s logic; I believe you could be billed from Timbuktu and people will still cheer for you if you’re good. But he’s the boss and they’re his rules.
However, just for the record, I’m from Winnipeg. Always have been, always will be. If you wanna discuss further, I’ll meet you at the Salisbury House on the corner of Portage and Main and we can head over to Kern-Hill Furniture beside Eaton Place and buy a Hunky Bill pierogi maker to feed everyone at the Monterey social.
At SummerSlam 2004 in Toronto, I faced Batista and Edge in a three-way match for the Intercontinental Championship. I couldn’t seem to break out of the middle of the pack, and it was starting to affect my attitude about the business. Holding the world title was addictive, and like Seinfeld said about air travel, once you fly first class, it’s hard to go back to coach. But I was stuck in middle-seat smoking and it was starting to really frustrate me.
Adding to my dilemma was that even though SummerSlam turned out okay, I wasn’t booked on Raw the next day in Kitchener, Ontario. No match, no run-in, no promo, no musical chairs—nothing. It felt like 1999 again when I wasn’t booked for the No Mercy PPV in Cleveland. I didn’t feel that there was enough talent on the roster to where they could afford to leave me off, and it really bothered me.
I instantly went on a manhunt for the boss, and when I found him I got straight to the point.
“Vince, I just heard I wasn’t on the show tonight and I was wondering why.”
His reaction took me aback. “You’re upset you’re not on the show? Why don’t you grow up? A lot of people aren’t on the show!”
I stood there in stunned silence. Grow up? But Vince was incensed and the blitzkrieg continued.
“You know what the problem with you is? You’ve got a gigantic chip on your shoulder. You think you’re an accomplished wrestler, but you’re not! You think you know everything and you’re getting the reputation of being hard to work with.”
Wow, where did all of this come from?
I didn’t feel that I was hard to work with, I just had a lot of confidence and the courage to stand up for what I believed in. Chris Kanyon had given me the nickname AO Jericho when we worked together in WCW, which stood for Always Opinionated, and it fit me perfectly. Being AO was what helped me make it as far as I had, but AO also bit me in the ass at times.
Vince told me to suck it up and stormed away, leaving me baffled. His words really pissed me off, and for the first time since I walked through the doors of the WWE, I began to wonder if I really wanted to be there. I was having serious doubts about my position in the company as it was, and being told to “grow up” by the boss certainly didn’t help my disposition. After fourteen years on the job, maybe it was time to take a step back.
Even though the front office of the WWE didn’t feel the same way, I began dubbing myself “the Larger than Life Living Legend.” I’d been using the nickname for a few months and was getting some good mileage with it, when I got a call from my lawyer, John Taylor. John had been instrumental in getting me out of WCW in ’99, and he had since started working for the WWE. I was flabbergasted (kooky word) when he told me the purpose of his call: I was being sued by Larry Zbyszko.
Larry Zbyszko? I hadn’t heard his name in years, not since he was the single worst commentator in wrestling history. He would sit at the desk in WCW and talk in the most sarcastic, patronizing voice with the sole purpose of getting himself over, which was the exact opposite of what he was supposed to do. He would bash wrestlers for using high-flying moves and make fun of their costumes or hairstyles or body types or their taste in pistachio brands, whatever he could find to amuse himself. He didn’t do it in a froot Jesse Ventura heel-announcer way either, he did it in a smarmy way that down played the product. The only time he showed any emotion whatsoever was when he mentioned his golf game.
His biggest claim to fame was a great angle where he turned on his mentor, Bruno Sammartino, and began claiming that he, not Bruno, was the Living Legend. Now a quarter of a century later he was suing me, Vince, and the entire WWE for stealing his nickname, demanding restitution. Whatever his motive, it didn’t seem to concern Vince, as when I mentioned the lawsuit to him, he didn’t even know about it. Why would he? Larry’s claim was lame.
But even so, I still had to waste an entire day of my life giving a deposition in a room full of Zbyszko’s lawyers. It was quite outlandish as he had a whole team of them, like this was Roe v. Jericho. I had to sit there as his legal beagles asked me if I knew that Larry had received the rights to use the name Living Legend from beating Bruno in a match. I asked them if they knew that wrestling was show business and Larry beat Bruno because that’s how it was booked. Then they submitted a copy of Pro Wrestling Illustrated which had an interview saying I was the true living legend in wrestling.
One of his lawyers said, “These magazines prove that you violated the trademark.”
I said, “You do realize that those magazines are semi-fictional? I wasn’t even interviewed for that article!”
The fact that Luscious Lawrence had submitted the fabricated magazines as evidence in the first place, made me want to countersue him for perjury, especially when it came out that he didn’t even have a trademark on the epithet. The whole suit was a bigger joke than Larryland, only succeeding in wasting my time and stopping the production of a really froot “Chris Jericho: Living Legend” T-shirt that was mere days away from hitting the stands. It was instead replaced with an awful-looking “Larger than Life” tee that ended up being my worst-selling shirt of all time.
What kind of a name is Zbyszko anyway?
CHAPTER 31
Tonight Fozzy Gay
When the Happenstance tour ended on The Howard Stern Show in 2003, it was the official end of the Fozzy gimmick. Rich and I felt that it was time to stand on our own and Happenstance was a great indication of what we could do as an original band. So we dropped the covers, the storyline, the pseudonyms, and the wigs. We debated changing our name to Walls of Jericho, Jericho Siren, Kajagoogootwo, something more “serious,” then we started thinking about some of the biggest bands on the planet and how awful their names sound initially. Limp Bizkit, the Red Hot Chili Peppers, Korn, Toad the Wet Sprocket, Hoobastank, the Queens of the Stone Age, Pink Floyd, Kiss, Helloween— and the worst of them all, Def Leppard (just think about that one for a second). All of them are silly if taken literally, but when you hear them over and over again the silliness wears off and they become iconic over time. Rich and I decided that with all of the work and touring we’d done that it would be one step forward and two steps back to start from scratch with a different name. For better or worse, Fozzy was our name and that was that.
We knew we’d have our work cut out for us recording an all-original album. We were under the microscope more than ever, and the only way to combat that was to record the absolute best record possible. Every song had to be good—we couldn’t afford to have any filler material whatsoever. With that edict in mind, the Duke put his cock to the grindstone and wrote some of the best songs of his life. He came up with all of the music and the melodies, while I wrote the lyrics with Ed Aborn, our friend and the visual timekeeper of Fozzy. Once we were ready, we set up shop at Treesound Studios in Atlanta, using the same soundboard that was used on the Police’s Synchronicity and Rush’s Moving Pictures albums. The studio was huge with a killer ambience and reinforced the idea that we were playing with the big boys now.
Undisputed: How to Become World Champion in 1,372 Easy Steps Page 25
