At the beginning of 2002, I returned to New York City for Raw on January 7 at Madison Square Garden, where Boss Man and I lost a tag match to Austin and The Rock.
On January 10 on SD, also at the Garden, Rikishi introduced me to his horrendous trademark Stinkface. The dreaded finisher came as an opponent was downed in one of the corners in a seated position and the big man would pull his tights way up until they were wedged into his butt crack, turn around, and bury his giant backside into his opponent’s face. It wasn’t a pretty sight from a distance, much less when you were the victim.
That night I brawled with the four hundred pounder and took the Stinkface for the first and only time. As Rikishi was just about to sit on me, I exaggerated a look of panic. I held my breath and tried to keep my eyes closed and head turned. It was brutal, but I took one for the team in the rite of passage, then bailed, holding my stomach and dry heaving.
I barreled over to Michael Cole across the table and vomited all over him and his white shirt. The Stinkface was so awful I probably could’ve managed to vomit without the special effects.
His commentary partner, Jerry “The King” Lawler, jumped, pointing and laughing. The segment came off great.
After the match, Rikishi was pretty hot at me in the back. “What’s up with all those stiff shots? You were way too aggressive.”
I wasn’t even aware of it while we were in there, but when performing on TV, you go the extra mile. Red light fever is what they call it. In those early days, fresh from WCW, I was pretty intense and didn’t hold back.
I let Rikishi know it wasn’t purposeful, and we shook hands. But he was pretty pissed about it for a while.
On January 20, I entered the Philips Arena in Atlanta for my first Royal Rumble in WCW country. It felt a little odd stepping into a WWF ring on those once-hallowed grounds of my former company.
When my number was called, I ran into the chaotic turbulence of WWF Superstars and tried to make the best of it. R.V.D. became my target, and I tossed him over the top and followed up with a celebratory Spinarooni only to be greeted by Austin and a Stone Cold Stunner, which vaulted me out of there. My night was already over.
Continuing their power struggle over the fifty-fifty ownership of the WWF, Vince and Flair met each other in a Street Fight Match. Flair scored the victory in classic style with the figure four.
Another highlight for me was to see my friend Curt Hennig make his WWF return in the Rumble as Mr. Perfect. He made it to the final four in the match before Triple H eliminated him. It was great to have the jokester back around.
Four days later on SD, Austin and I squared off again in my losing effort for the WWF Undisputed Championship. That pretty much put an end to our feud, as he’d now focus on Jericho’s title.
The big news that night came at the end of the broadcast when Vince cut a promo. He stared into a mirror and ranted about how he never intended for the company he built into an empire to be ruined by someone like Ric Flair. With his hands together, as if in a deranged prayer, he said the WWF was dying and had cancer. Since he was the one who created it, he said it was up to him to inject the Federation with “a lethal dose of poison. If anyone’s going to destroy my creation, I’m going to do it!” He hammed it up brilliantly, weeping, grimacing, gripping his fists, and raging.
As he finished, Vince swiveled his black leather chair around to stare at the camera, which pulled out in a long shot. McMahon thrust a thumb back toward the mirror, revealing the infamous nWo logo painted in white shoe polish on the back of his chair. “The nWo!”
Hollywood Hulk Hogan, Scott Hall, and Kevin Nash were on their way back to the WWF.
At the January 31 SD, the WWF was doing a promotional angle with a new movie called Rollerball, starring LL Cool J, Rebecca Romijn-Stamos, and Chris Klein. I’d been a fan of LL’s during the eighties, and since the creative guys knew that, they produced a backstage segment between the two of us.
In the spot, I confronted him and asked why he didn’t invite me to the film premiere. He shot back that it was no place for a guy who got beaten up in a grocery store and left me hanging.
Meeting LL was funny because we were both street-savvy tough guys. He was my size, and I could tell he’d been in some fights just by the way he carried himself, but he was down-to-earth and cool.
That night, I teamed up with Test again versus The Acolytes. We lost after Bradshaw knocked Test out with his Clothesline from Hell, which was a big shooting draw back and swing from the right arm of a guy who was about six feet five, three hundred pounds. I was glad it was Test and not me; that’s for sure.
At No Way Out in Milwaukee on February 17, Hogan, Hall, and Nash made their in-ring debut.
When the three first started showing up backstage, they came in without any attitude. It was like seeing old pals. Many of the boys, like The Undertaker and Hunter, were nothing but gracious with the infamous trio. The only questions remaining were how they’d perform, how the crowd would react, and how they’d conduct themselves behind the curtain.
At No Way Out, the three walked out to the old nWo theme song and cut a promo about how they were back in the WWF not to kill it off but to make it better. They were met with a mixed reaction of cheers and boos, yet there was still something electric about Hogan being in the ring after nine years.
In general, the guys were quiet and kept off to the side, not stirring up any kind of trouble and arriving on time. Their vibe was totally different than it had been in the WCW. They didn’t have the same carefree disposition.
Hogan was on another plane and was almost untouchable. He even had his own dressing room. He was simply coming to work to reestablish himself with the company that had put him permanently on the professional wrestling map.
I quietly wondered if the rumors were true that Vince had sent them all to WCW. During the original nWo invasion beginning in 1996, people said Hogan, Hall, and Nash were in the company as legitimate saboteurs in a secret pact and when the master plan had been carried out, they’d come back home to Vince.
However, those guys had almost literally put Vince out of business. Through it all, he was willing to bury the hatchet for business with no personal resentment attached. It didn’t add up. It reminded me of a story Vince once told me backstage.
It was about his father, Vince Sr., who’d run the World Wide Wrestling Federation since before Vince Jr. was conceived. When Vince Jr. was growing up in the business, his dad was embroiled in a bitter feud with another territorial promoter with a bad reputation. The guy was trying to drive him out of business, and one day Vince Jr. walked into the TV studio in Stamford and was shocked to find his father sitting with the very promoter they were at war with.
Later on when they were alone, Vince said, “Dad, what’s going on? You hate that guy. Everyone says he’s an asshole.”
His father leaned back and said, “Son, I bought him out, and now he’s my asshole.”
And that is probably the only way to explain Vince’s philosophy in the world of sports entertainment. No matter what you hear, if a performer leaves the WWF, if it’s good for Vince’s business, you’ll see them on the next Raw.
At the actual No Way Out 2002 PPV, Test and I were at the end of a losing effort at the hands of the WWF Tag Team Champions Tazz and Spike Dudley. Test ate the finisher when he lost his cool and shoved referee Jack Doan, who then shoved him right into Tazz’s Tazzmission for the tap out.
For the next few weeks, I separated from Test and went on the road wrestling R.V.D. in singles matches, usually getting the clean win with the Houston Sidekick or a Book End. I liked working with Rob, and he became a true friend. He’s a hardworking performer who clicked with me in the ring due to our acrobatic repertoire. We’d both try to steal the show, which made our matches even more explosive. I could always count on a ton of stiff kicks and shins to my mouth and face, and I’d respond in kind.
The first time we ever saw each other outside of the business, we met up in Venice Beach, California, and he showed me all the sights and sounds: street performers, artists, old beatniks and hippies, people rollerblading by. He also took me to one of his favorite smoke shops and showed me the digs around there.
R.V.D. is all about intensity and innovation in the ring, but once he’s out of it, wrestling’s the last thing on his mind. We’d talk about creative ventures both of us saw ourselves getting into. He was interested in getting into action movies, opening up his own comic bookstore, and even producing his own brand of comics.
I’d contemplate opening a wrestling school one day and maybe getting behind the camera and producing TV shows or movies and getting involved in charitable causes.
R.V.D. and I both knew there’d be a day beyond wrestling, and it was all about planning and setting those ideas in motion. Since day one, Rob and I have remained confidants in a world where trust is a rare gift.
On March 4 in Austin, Texas, on Raw, Stone Cold and I had yet another rematch early in the show. Just a couple of minutes in, Hogan, Hall, and Nash, in old-school nWo form, ran down and attacked The Texas Rattlesnake. Hall went after Austin with a wrench and beat him into a bloody mess before they all started laying in with the boots. After they left the ring, Scott turned around and went back to give Stone Cold his own Stunner. It made me remember my match with Bagwell when Austin interfered and physically threw me out of the building.
Backstage, Vince was pleased with the reaction. I’m sure he saw dollar signs for the foreseeable future. The only problem with the nWo was that once they got going and felt the popularity soaring as it once had, the guys could be hard to control. Each of them wanted to take his role further, and it was evident the ego factor could build until it ruined the whole arrangement. Vince was obviously willing to make it work, but everyone knew if needed he’d pull the plug without thinking twice. I also thought if any single member would blow it up for the trio, it would be Hall, whose personal demons, which had resulted in his firing from WCW less than a year before, clearly still tormented him.
Finally that month, I completed my first Road to WrestleMania when the WWF took the Super Bowl of professional wrestling back to the Toronto SkyDome, the site of WrestleMania VI in 1990, where The Ultimate Warrior had unified his Intercontinental title with Hogan’s WWF Championship. Now it was WrestleMania X8, and I was booked for the sixth match on the card against Edge in front of nearly seventy thousand of his fellow Canadians and fans from across the globe.
This was it—the big stage every wrestler dreams of performing on at least once. It was the most mainstream event I’d ever been a part of. There were festivities for days in Toronto before WrestleMania even happened, including the WWF Fan Axxess at the Canadian National Exhibition’s Automotive Building, where fans could meet performers and see WWF memorabilia and staging. It was pretty easy to get caught up in the hype, and I found myself again fighting nervous energy.
When they put the undercard together and decided to pair me with Edge for the show, one of the WWF agents initially wanted a Hair vs. Hair Match, which would’ve resulted in me losing my prized locks.
“No way,” I said. I was in the early stages of growing out braids and wasn’t about to let anyone take liberties with my hair. However, hair would end up playing a big part in our feud.
In the few weeks before WrestleMania, Edge cut promos questioning my intelligence. As part of the story line, he stole my role in a Japanese shampoo endorsement deal I’d been working hard to secure.
The shampoo angle gave me yet another great opportunity to flex my comedic muscles, and as with everything in this business, I threw myself into it 100 percent.
In one segment I was backstage in front of a blue backdrop, doing a run-through to a small off-camera audience of how my shampoo commercial would go.
“Yo! Japanese people. What’s the deal which yo’ nasty hair? Just because you know kung fu doesn’t mean you know shaum-poo.”
I mimed my best kung fu moves as I smiled and continued, “But that’s all about to change thanks to new Yak-ah-moe-she Shaum-poo.” Again, I paused to grin from ear to ear.
“It won’t make your hair look as good as mine”—I shook my hair like a head banger at a metal concert—“but you gotta start somewhere!”
Standing there in my pride, I looked off camera and said, “Whatchu think of that?”
As the camera panned around, it revealed Japanese wrestler Taijiri sitting in a director’s chair, along with the beautiful Torrie Wilson at his side.
Taijiri said something in Japanese, which Torrie translated, “He said, ‘Huh . . . it’s very offensive.’”
I was shocked and hurt. My eyes got wide with anger as I replied, “Very offensive? Hey, I wrote this myself! You ask that sucka what’s wrong with it.”
Taijiri replied again in Japanese, which Torrie translated, “He said he wants to know why you make fun of his people’s hair when your hair looks like . . .”
“Bad weave on crack,” Taijiri finished in English.
I stared him down and said, “You didn’t say that . . . Tell me you didn’t just say that! You know what? I don’t know why I asked for your advice anyway, sucka!”
And I stormed off set, fuming.
Although it was humorous, it also added another level of entertainment to our story line.
On the night of WrestleMania, just before going out to my match, I wore a pair of glasses to cut a promo with Michael Cole. When Cole mentioned Edge’s insults about my intelligence, I retorted about how smart I was because I wore glasses, aced my SATs, and won an award for my thesis on Einstein’s theory of relatives. My eyes were bulging with seriousness.
Cole said, “You mean the theory of relativity, right?”
I snatched the glasses off my face and barked, “Shut up, sucka! He had two theories.”
That night, while I waited for Edge to make his way down to the ring, I looked at the ground section of fans that stretched for a mile before even hitting the upper sections. “Damn,” I muttered, “this definitely is WrestleMania.”
When Edge got there, as always, we matched up well due to his height and speed. Looking around at the packed stadium, I thought it was funny to see a sign in the crowd that said, They Are Fighting Over Shampoo. We ran the ropes, took it outside, and hit plenty of high-impact moves, including Edge flipping me in a nasty hurricanrana from the top.
In just under seven minutes, we’d hit each other with every crowd-pleasing maneuver in our repertoires. When it was time for the finish, I whacked him with a Houston Sidekick, gave a dramatic WrestleMania Spinarooni to a flood of camera flashes, and hit him with the scissor kick. But Edge made a comeback, mocked me with an Edgearooni, kicked me in the stomach, delivered his Edgecution DDT, and covered me for the win.
I was happy with the entire performance, and afterward we hugged each other.
“That’s how it’s done at WrestleMania,” Vince said. “Well done, boys.”
At WrestleMania, Vince is Santa Claus on Christmas morning watching everybody around the world open their presents to see if he pulled it off successfully for another consecutive year. There was no coal in my stocking for my first WrestleMania. I kept thinking, I can’t wait until next year! I’ll do it even bigger and better!
Also at WrestleMania X8, Hollywood Hulk Hogan would contend with The Rock. They’d been building up to it ever since the nWo returned to the company with The Rock confronting Hogan, Hall, and Nash, posing with Hulk for a picture, and then verbally destroying all three of them.
I’m sure Vince saw huge revenue potential in placing two kings on opposite sides of the WrestleMania chessboard. It was to be Hogan as the dreaded heel versus the biggest babyface in the company. What transpired in the SkyDome was a perfect storm that developed without warning: Hulkamania.
Hogan, probably assuming he’d be on the receiving end of the entire crowd’s wrath for leaving the WWF so long before, was instead greeted with a standing ovation, the loudest pop I’ve ever heard in the business. Huge signs were emblazoned with Hulk’s face. He was visibly stunned and stopped dead in his tracks, frozen by emotion. The bad-guy scowl turned into an ear-to-ear smile as nostalgia turned longtime fans back into ten-year-old kids and brought The Hulkster home where he belonged on a red-carpeted time machine in Toronto.
When The Rock came out, he too was completely taken aback by the reaction of boos and jeers. The People’s Champion was overtaken by Hulkamania, a crowd reaction unparalleled in the business.
I sat in the back, thinking, For one night, the prayers, vitamins, and vintage Hulk Hogan are back!
It was an unforgettable moment in our industry.
Pandemonium ensued as the two squared off, Hogan circling the ring, stalking The Rock, even saying, “Come on, meatball,” his classic line from Rocky III.
When they locked up, Hogan kept throwing The Rock, who’d stumble backward into the corner as Hulk hit his famous muscular poses as if he’d stepped out of 1985. He even started twirling his right hand before cupping it to his ear, his cue for the people to give him some noise, and they couldn’t have been happier to indulge him.
The SkyDome was about to shake itself to the foundations from the thunder of the audience. Even JR on the microphone was having difficulty explaining what was transpiring in Toronto as the crowd booed everything The Rock did.
Hogan played all his Hollywood Hogan tactics—poking the eyes, raking the back, and whipping with his leather Hollywood weight lifting belt—but he could do no wrong. The nastier he was, the more people ate it up, but he knew he had a job to do, and that was to lie down for The Rock.
After The Rock took Hogan’s trademark three punches to the face, the big boot, and the iconic leg drop, The Rock kicked out and Rock Bottomed Hogan twice before pinning him after The People’s Elbow.
Hogan, defeated, really sold his dejection and started to leave the ring only to be beckoned back by The Rock, who shook his hand.
The torch was passed, and The Rock demanded The Hulkster give the people what they wanted. Hogan spent the next few minutes hitting every single one of his Mr. Olympia bodybuilding poses: the double biceps, the arms to the side, and the double-most muscular.
I’m positive both Hogan and The Rock consider that night one of the highlights of their careers. It was a great event for the WWF and the world of professional wrestling.
After that night, there was no returning to heel status for Hogan. The fans wouldn’t allow it. The nWo reunion didn’t stand a chance. Hogan, Hall, and Nash were destined to part ways.
Hogan went into business for himself, understanding the power of Hulkamania, which the fans and Vince couldn’t deny. Not long after that, Hogan returned to a Hollywood Hogan version of the yellow and red, with tie-dyed leggings and a feather boa, looking like a combination of vintage “Superstar” Billy Graham and Jesse “The Body” Ventura.
The nWo moved on without Hogan. Hall and Nash came out and cut a promo on him, asking who he thought he was and what was he was doing. The nWo soon became just the old faction in WCW, with new members like X-Pac, Big Show, and even the returning Shawn Michaels. However, without Hogan, it lost steam.
If Hall and Nash could’ve abandoned the nWo altogether and returned to their original Razor Ramon and Diesel characters to relive their own nostalgic golden days, maybe things would’ve been better for them, but it never happened.
Sadly, Hall would be around only a couple more months. His demons kept their chains around him, and he would lose the biggest comeback opportunity he would ever have for the rest of his career.
Two weeks later at the SD taping in Philly on March 26, I was in a match with DDP when only a couple of minutes in, newcomer monster Brock Lesnar came out of the crowd. Brock was the latest powerhouse to be called up from the WWF’s developmental promotion in Louisville: Ohio Valley Wrestling (OVW). He was a former NCAA Division I Heavyweight Champion. Clocking in at six feet three and around 290 pounds, he was an unstoppable force of lightning-fast power.
Much like Kurt Angle, the former Olympic wrestling gold medalist, Brock had all the tools to make it. He perfectly transitioned into professional wrestling, being billed as The Next Big Thing by his manager Paul Heyman.
For the previous few months, beginning in late 2001, Lesnar had been wrestling dark matches before Raw and SD. During the beginning months of 2002, he routinely came down to the ring, impressively interrupting the action and obliterating whoever was in his way. One night he ran in on The Hardy Boyz and destroyed both of them with ease, even triple powerbombing Jeff. It was a mind-boggling feat.
Due to his style, size, and all-black gear, the crowd started chanting Goldberg’s name from Lesnar’s first day in the ring. Soon he’d gain his own identity and leave that comparison in the dust.
That night at SD, he chose DDP as his victim, picking him up for a brutal spinebuster followed up by the F5, a finisher no one had seen before, where he tossed Dallas up and across his back, as if he were a lumberjack squatting a giant log. Then in one swift, graceful move, Brock put a hand on DDP’s right leg, helicopter spun him around ninety degrees over his head, and pancaked his face and sternum onto the mat.
The demolition was awesome, and I stood there, unsure what to make of the interference but mostly happy it wasn’t me. I was smart enough to take a powder and rolled out of the ring to watch with a smile from the ground position.
Having seen Vince pushing Brock since his arrival, I anticipated standing across the ring from Brock one-on-one.