At around nine o’clock on Sunday morning, my father met us at J.F.K. International Airport. Since there is a time difference between New York and San Antonio, my watch read an hour earlier. I was still pretty tired. I’d tried to sleep on the plane, but I was too excited about the trip and watching my father wrestle live at The Final Stand.
The last pay-per-view event I attended was Retribution when it was held in Atlanta, Georgia. The only reason I got to go then was because we were living in Atlanta at the time.
My father had been in New York since Friday. He, along with many of the ACW superstars, had participated in autograph signing sessions at various locations in and around the New York area to hype the show.
“I’ve got to be at Madison Square Garden by one o’clock,” my father informed us.
From the airport he took us out to eat breakfast at a small, crowded café called The Rooster’s Crow. No one recognized my father, or if they did, they didn’t bother him.
Perhaps in New York, people are more accustomed to seeing celebrities in public and it isn’t a big deal to them.
The waiter was prompt, but curt. He didn’t smile or make small talk. He simply took our order and brought out our food. Strangely, his aloof attitude was a welcomed change.
As we ate, my father went over the details of his match with us. The information was mainly for my benefit. He didn’t want me to worry about him.
I had guessed correctly. Il Gran Mephisto was going to “burn” my father’s face during his bout with Prince Romulus. The Prince would get disqualified, so my father would keep his title. But the burning episode would explain why the Angel of Death wouldn’t be seen on television for the next four weeks.
One of the reasons my father stopped taking me to watch him wrestle was because, when I was younger, I used to get so emotional whenever his opponents started beating him up.
There was the time, for example, when I almost jumped into the ring to save my father. I must’ve been about five. He was still wrestling as the Annihilator. His opponent that night was a wrestler called Cowboy Bobby Travis. Cowboy Bobby was the face in the match, and the whole arena was rooting for him to trounce the Annihilator. It didn’t matter to me that my father was playing a heel. He was still my father. Cowboy Bobby knocked him down in the corner of the ring and started stomping him with his big cowboy boots, much to the delight of the crowd. Even though I knew wrestling was scripted, watching my father get beaten up was too much to bear. I completely forgot that he really wasn’t getting hurt. With tears streaming down my face, I yelled at the top of my lungs for Cowboy Bobby to stop. Finally, I sprang from my seat and raced to the ring.
“Leave my daddy alone, you big bully!” I shouted. I was halfway inside the ring before a security guard seized me by my legs.
My mom, who had been talking to Aunt Gracie during the match, hadn’t noticed that I had left my chair. The audience began booing when the security guard grabbed me.
They thought it was funny watching a little kid trying to climb into the ring to rescue the Annihilator.
The boos grew louder. Finally, my mom turned to see what was happening. To her horror, she saw me struggling in the security guard’s arms. She flew down to ringside. The security guard, however, didn’t want to release me. He was concerned that I might jump back into the ring. My mom started hollering at him as she tried to pry me from his arms. The crowd, now ignoring the match, urged her on, loudly cheering, laughing, and applauding.
Meanwhile, my father was no longer selling Cowboy Bobby’s kicks. Through his mask, his eyes bulged out like Ping-Pong balls. His mouth hung open as he gawked at the growing chaos. Breaking out of character, he rose to his feet. He shoved Cowboy Bobby Travis out of the way and stormed up to us. He ordered the security guard to escort my mom and me to the back.
Luckily for his career, the incident occurred at a house show, and it was never aired.
When we were through eating, my father drove us around and gave us a quick tour of New York City. We walked for a while around Times Square, visiting some of the shops. We stopped briefly at the hotel where my father was staying to drop off our things. After that we headed to the arena.