Wrestling for My Life: The Legend, the Reality, and the Faith of a WWE Superstar

by Shawn Michaels

  I would occasionally hear of something Bret had said about me in an interview, and none of it was good. Later, Bret was one of those who questioned my Christianity when I got back into the sport. (I became a Christian five years after our rivalry reached its climax.)

  My anger over what took place in Montreal didn’t last nearly as long as Bret’s, which was understandable, because Bret was the one who felt that he had been wronged.

  The path toward our reconciliation probably began in 2006 when Bret was inducted into the WWE Hall of Fame. By that point, I was over everything and ready to put the situation behind us. I didn’t think he was ready for that, though, because of what I was hearing him say in interviews.

  I can’t remember who it was, but someone told me that Bret wouldn’t want me to attend the Hall of Fame induction. But I was going. He was one of seven inductees that year, including my former manager Sensational Sherrie and my friend Eddie Guerrero, who had passed away five months earlier.

  I insisted I would go. It was suggested that I not sit front and center during the ceremony. I was fine with that. Just to tell you how crazy it got over our feud, there were numerous reports that I left before Bret was inducted. Some reports said I walked out; others said I was told to leave. All were untrue. I stayed for the entire ceremony; it’s just that I wasn’t in a visible spot.

  After the final induction, I was leaving when I came upon some of Bret’s family. I talked briefly with the family, and they were all very nice and pleasant to me.

  One of Bret’s nieces, Nattie Niedhart, was working in WWE and later became well known as one of WWE’s Divas. Oddly enough, she had been a Shawn Michaels fan when she was younger. Nattie and I would talk from time to time, and I got to know her boyfriend, Tyson Kidd. Tyson had been trained by Bret and came to WWE in 2009 as part of The Hart Dynasty. Nattie was Tyson’s manager, and they were a really sweet couple who wound up marrying in 2013.

  As Nattie and Tyson became more active in WWE, we talked more frequently. In one conversation, Bret’s name came up, and I said that I wished we could put everything behind us someday. That was the extent of it.

  Then several weeks later, out of the blue, Tyson said that Bret had told him that he was ready to hash things out too. Tyson said Bret had asked him to give me Bret’s phone number in case I ever wanted to talk to him.

  That was probably in late summer of 2009. About that same time, we began to hear rumblings of Bret possibly returning to WWE in some regard. Every time that possibility came up, I was asked if I thought it would work for both of us to be in WWE together.

  I always answered that it would be fine with me. I was willing to do whatever I could to help if he and WWE both wanted to get back together. He could have beaten me up and put me in his Sharpshooter, whatever they wanted. Heck, I would have screamed like a little girl if they asked me to. That’s one of those changes resulting from becoming a Christian. I’d previously had strong opinions about how I should have been used on the television shows, but by then I didn’t really care. They could have put me in diapers and made me suck my thumb. If that was the role they wanted me to play that week because that was the best thing for the company, I’d happily do it and the next morning take my flight home.

  I want to give Bret credit for reaching out to me. He texted me first, and that started an open line of texting between us. We didn’t talk over the phone, but we did start communicating. I expressed my willingness to do what I could to help make his comeback better. At one point I told Bret that I would love to talk to him, but if he didn’t want to, I would understand. He responded that it would be a good idea for us to get together when we could.

  I think it was December 2009 when Bret re-signed with WWE, and they planned to bring him back as part of a feud with Vince and have him make his return in the first Monday night Raw of the new year. We knew we would have our first chance to talk that Monday.

  A lot of time had passed since Montreal — a little more than twelve years — and I could sense a little something there in advance of meeting with Bret. I couldn’t precisely identify what it was. Maybe “discomfort” is the best way to describe it. I think most of that stemmed from not knowing how Bret was going to respond, but I knew for sure I was ready to finally find closure.

  The first time I saw Bret was in the large lunch room that Monday in Dayton, Ohio. There were a number of people there, but when I entered the room, I spotted Bret eating at a table with his back to me. If I remember correctly, Nattie and Tyson were sitting with him.

  I wasn’t nervous at all as I made my way across the room toward Bret. I was hopeful that our conversation would go well based on the tone of our texts, but I was curious about how he would respond to seeing me, considering how long it had been since we had last been in the same room together.

  I walked up behind Bret, placed my hand on his shoulder, and said hello to him.

  “Hey, Shawn,” he said, and we shook hands. It was nice and felt good.

  The lunch room wasn’t the place for us to have our talk, and I told Bret I would like to meet when we could. He said he didn’t want to talk about the TV segment for that night.

  “No, no,” I said. “Just you and me. I just want us to be able to sit and talk.”

  Bret said that was a good idea and suggested we talk after I had eaten.

  After lunch we went off to Vince’s office, and I apologized for the Montreal incident. The best I can recall, I told Bret, “I understand that you have heard about all the stuff that has gone on with me. Whether you believe it or you don’t, I want you to know that I get how difficult that was for you, and I’m sorry for it. I hope you can forgive me. Even if you don’t, I will go out there and try to make this the best segment I can. I will do absolutely anything you want. We don’t have to be best friends. We don’t have to be anything if you want, but I want you to know that I take responsibility for all the stuff that I put you through, and I am sorry for it and do hope that you can forgive me.”

  Bret then talked for a couple of minutes and took responsibility for his role in the situation. It was a really nice conversation. We spent probably an hour together. We didn’t discuss Montreal all that time, because we would trail off into other subjects like our families as we caught up from our twelve years of separation.

  One topic neither of us wanted to talk about, however, was the segment. We didn’t want to plan anything beyond the basics of who would be where and when. We both wanted to wing it so that it could come across as real of a moment as possible.

  We did, though, assure each other that we both were on the up and up. That was important, because we had a long history of jabbing each other and neither of us would give an inch back in those days. But we both were crystal clear that none of that was going to happen this time. We had to trust each other, and I think both of us communicating that our intentions were pure put us in a good place before that night’s meeting on TV.

  The segment began with Bret in the ring. He addressed the fans for a bit and then asked for me to come from backstage to the ring. We stood almost toe-to-toe, and Bret told me he wanted to bury the hatchet and offer a truce. I turned and walked around the ring to contemplate Bret’s offer. I walked back so that we were looking each other in the eyes again and could tell from the crowd’s response that the fans were really eating this up.

  I told Bret that he deserved what he got in Montreal and admitted I was in on Vince’s swerve. I don’t think the fans knew what to expect at that point. When I said, “And there’s a part of me — there’s a big part of me — that doesn’t regret a bit of it,” that elicited a loud chorus of boos along with some cheers. But then I started to soften my tone, leading to my telling Bret that he wasn’t the only one who wanted to bury the hatchet.

  “I guess all I have to say,” I concluded, “is are you sure? And are you ready?”

  Bret played it up very well for the crowd, said some nice things about me, and then offered his right hand in friendship. I thought
for a few seconds and then extended my hand to his. We shook hands, and the fans went berserk.

  The handshake was planned. Beyond that, we were going to play off the crowd’s reaction and do what felt right to us in the ring. I started to leave the ring, but stopped and looked to the crowd. Out of the corner of my eyes, I could see Bret, to the right, turn to face me. I spun on my heels, quickly walked to Bret, and gave him one of those one-arm dude hugs. He embraced me also, with both of us patting the other on the back.

  “The Hug” was real and heartfelt.

  The most important thing to me has been our level of communication since that night. Bret and I are not best friends; we never were. But from that night on, we’ve continued to communicate with each other. We text each other frequently. Around the holidays, we will text each other Christmas greetings. Bret came to my last match, and we talked there. It meant a lot to me that he came to be a part of that night. We have made a few joint appearances, participated in a number of interviews and Q&As together, and we were part of a DVD about WWE’s greatest rivalries.

  “Cathartic” is the word Bret has often used to describe our reconciliation. That’s a good summary, I think, not only for me, but also for fans. There was deep anger and bitterness from fans on both sides. That night in Dayton, I couldn’t help but once again picture myself as a fifteen-year-old wrestling fan. There were fans in the arena and watching all around the world on television who were about fifteen years old when they watched the Montreal Screwjob take place. It staggered me to think that some of those fans were dads now, watching with their sons and telling them about the legend of Montreal, and how we had hated each other and were becoming friends again.

  That night was one moment when real life and wrestling merged in a powerful manner. And if the story of Bret Hart and Shawn Michaels — in real life and in the ring — is not the epitome of forgiveness and what forgiveness brings, I don’t know what is.

  That storyline featured drama and emotions that we rarely aimed for in wrestling because it was risky. It was part of that depth of story I was able to bring to wrestling after becoming a Christian. That came from having an ability to think and feel in ways I didn’t have before.

  As a result, the make-believe world of wrestling, with all its Spandex and hair spray, served as the stage for the real-life story of two guys who had a bitter rivalry wrestling hadn’t seen before and hasn’t seen since. Then our story came full circle, and we became friends again.

  Untold numbers of fans were touched by our story of forgiveness because Bret and I were sincerely touched in our lives.

  I don’t know how anyone could argue that the Almighty God was not working in that.

  Forgiveness brings freedom.

  I choke up when I think about the depth of forgiveness God has given me. I was a sinner, born into sin. I turned into someone who, for all intents and purposes, I probably shouldn’t have become. I was raised pretty well in a good, loving family — all of whom now are Christians. I was taught right from wrong.

  My downward spiral began with curiosity. I was the good boy wondering what the other way of living was like, and the opportunity to find out came when I was on my own in a business that has its own unique seductive nature. That was a bad combination.

  It all started out as having fun. Like all sin, before I knew it, I was in so deep that I couldn’t remember how I had gotten there or how to get out. I could make a lot of excuses, but the truth is that I didn’t recognize my life as sinful. “Sin” wasn’t a word I would have used to describe what I was doing.

  In my mind, it was my life and I wasn’t hurting anyone else. That was incorrect, of course, but that’s what I believed. I knew I was hurting myself, but because I didn’t like myself, it didn’t matter. My wife, my parents, my family, my friends — they were all hurt by what I was doing. I just didn’t recognize it. When people are in the middle of following a life of sin, I’m not sure they can. They need some type of external jolt to wake them up. My jolt came that Friday night on the couch, when my son crawled up on me and said, “Daddy’s tired.” For the first time, I realized my potential to hurt others.

  Sometimes I hear that people reject God out of fear of what they would have to give up. When I look at my life back then through the perspective of my life now, how could I not want to give up that death-dealing way of living?

  There are two types of freedom, the way I see it.

  The first freedom — the one that some don’t want to give up — is the freedom that says, “God gave me a free will. I’m an American citizen, and I have the right to [fill in the blank].”

  I’ll be honest: Becoming a Christian requires giving up some rights. It requires giving up some freedom. And that’s where that second type of freedom comes in.

  The second kind of freedom — the one that only God can provide — brings the most liberating feeling a person can experience. I’ve lived under my freedom, and I’ve lived under God’s freedom, and there is no comparison.

  My freedom could have cost me my life. It probably should have. I very easily could have been one of those wrestlers who overdosed in a lonely hotel room.

  I never appreciated life until I accepted Jesus Christ as my Savior. Until then, I never understood the paradox that the key to living a life of freedom is to give up freedom.

  There is freedom, I learned, in not thinking I can go out and do anything I want. I’ve given up some of my rights. It requires humility to serve a holy God. It takes choosing to obey without feeling like you’re a child.

  The reward is freedom — freedom from the guilt and shame of knowing you weren’t the best you could be. It’s liberating to comprehend that nothing can separate me from the love of God. That’s not a get-out-of-jail-free card, but the forgiveness that God gives — one rooted in mercy and grace — makes you aware that you can’t keep doing what you did before. Actually, God’s forgiveness transforms you so that you don’t keep doing what you did before.

  It’s an amazing feeling to know that the Creator of the universe is pleased with you.

  I know how happy it makes my kids to know that their dad is pleased with them. Who doesn’t want that feeling? I have that same feeling, but with greater magnitude, with my heavenly Father.

  If I could pick one group of people I would most like to talk to, it would be those who struggle in living the Christian life. Hey, eternity is going to be great! I look forward to it every day. But Christians face problems every day in the here and now. We do go through difficult times. We do get hurt.

  Sometimes, to help us grow in our faith, God chooses to be silent for a short time. I know, it may not seem like a short time, but in the big picture, it really is. Yet, because God seems to be silent doesn’t mean He isn’t there. He is with us every step of the way, drawing us closer in relationship to Him because He knows that the absolute best thing for us is to put our trust completely in Him. Not partially, but completely. If it takes getting a scar for us to understand what God intends for us, so be it.

  It pains me to think about kids who get beaten down on a daily basis, as by school classmates, for being a Christian. Peer pressure is vicious. It’s cruel. The battering can be nonstop. I’ve been there, too, as a public personality and made it through by relying on knowing who I am in Christ and who He has made me to be. I’ve learned to place more value in what God thinks of me than what other people think of me.

  Being a Christian can be difficult. That’s not a theory or something I’ve read about. I know that from personal experience. But I also can offer this encouragement: No matter what we go through, there is something good on the other side to look forward to.

  When I wrestled, I didn’t like to train and diet. If another wrestler asked if I wanted to go to the gym with him, I needed to know how long we would be there. I needed to know the end was in sight.

  I loved my chocolate chip cookies too. That’s one reason my family always celebrated the completion of WrestleManias with pizza and cookies. I h
ad to diet and work out so I would be in good shape and put on a good show. But in the gym I pictured the tasty batch of chocolate chip cookies on the other side of WrestleMania.

  I’m an athlete. I’m goal-oriented. I need to have a purpose, even for working out and dieting.

  After I got saved, I discovered Christians have a beautiful word for that on-the-other-side mentality: hope.

  Tests, trials, and tribulations are only for a season. They never have the final say. Even death doesn’t have the final say. I don’t fear dying. I don’t mean that I want to die. I don’t want to leave this earth, because I love being with my wife, I enjoy being a part of my children’s lives and watching them grow up. But I know where I am headed after I die. I know where I will be for eternity.

  When I returned to wrestling, I went back a changed man, able to tell stories at deeper levels than I had before because I had adopted a new way of thinking. I went back into a world where thinking about Jesus was way down toward the bottom of the list of priorities.

  I never walked through that curtain on the path to the ring without first getting on my knees and praying to ask God what He wanted me to do to glorify Him. I also would kneel and pray out in the arena or stadium as a way of shining my light in the darkness. I was asked many times what I prayed. I didn’t have a standard prayer, but often it was something along the lines of “Lord, help me.” That simple. All I wanted was for God to help me be a good witness on the platform He had brought me back to.

  Then after the match, it was back through that curtain and into the locker room. Where before, cocky and out of control, I would challenge the other wrestlers to “Follow that!” I now returned in a different way. There were no arrogant declarations or challenges. Instead, I wanted the others, some of whom doubted my salvation was for real, to see a humbled man whose changed life boldly declared, “Follow Christ!”