Trying to put the dismal end of 2004 in the rearview mirror, I hit the road once again.
Teaming up with Eddie, I chased the belts around the waists of The Bashams. But we weren’t alone. R.V.D., Rey, Mark Jindrak, Luther Reigns, and Orlando Jordan were also in contention. To accommodate the masses, Teddy booked most of January with standard Four-Way and Six-Man Tag Matches for the titles leading up to the Royal Rumble 2005. Eddie and I failed to capitalize each week.
Royal Rumble 2005 came on January 30 in Fresno, where I entered the ruckus at number ten and immediately went after Middle Eastern sympathizer and anti-American heel Muhammad Hassan. Nobody wanted him in there, so in a group effort, he was easily tossed out to the delight of the roaring crowd in the Save Mart Center. I turned my attention to Luther Reigns and Orlando Jordan, dispatching them both from the match as well, only to be double-teamed by Rey and my own partner, Eddie.
After the Royal Rumble, I took a real leap of faith. Over the last couple of years, the more I was away from Sharmell the more it had become clear we would be together forever. On a cold but calm day in February, Sharmell and I got married in her hometown of Gary, Indiana, in an elaborate ceremony filled with our families and personal friends. My brothers, sisters, nephews, and nieces were all in attendance as I exchanged vows with the love of my life, Sharmell Sullivan-Huffman.
The ceremony was fairly big news in Sharmell’s hometown, and the local press covered it like a royal affair.
Because I had to get back on the road almost immediately, we had to postpone our getaway until later that year, when we’d fly to St. Thomas in the United States Virgin Islands and walk the crystal shores as husband and wife.
In the meantime, I went right back to work. Teddy announced he’d established yet another No. 1 Contender’s Tournament, in which the winner would face WrestleMania XXI’s WWE Champion.
Backstage I told Eddie in a taped segment it was every man for himself at the Rumble. That night, we went out heel versus heel in a contest that turned into a mockery when Eddie followed his Lie, Cheat, and Steal philosophy by faking a knee injury. But when my back was turned and I looked at the big screen, it was clear he was playing shenanigans on me. I dodged his antics and scored a victory with a quick pin.
In the second round, Cena handily destroyed Orlando Jordan and moved full speed ahead to Cleveland and directly into a semifinal match with me on February 17.
Before the night’s show got under way, however, things backstage didn’t kick off the way they normally did. I went through my pre-show rituals, jumping rope, warming up my arms and chest with rubber exercise tubes, and going for my Red Bulls. But my cooler was empty!
A slow rage steadily climbed. “Who stole my Red Bull? I want to know. Now!” I looked at everybody and everything in the locker room to find evidence.
Finally, one of The Shane Twins, a new, muscle-bound tag team on the roster recently repackaged as Gymini, sheepishly approached me. “Um, Booker, I’m Mike Shane. I’m very sorry, but my brother Todd and I drank your Red Bulls. We thought it was a community cooler for the guys in the locker room. We’re terribly sorry and meant no disrespect.”
I was holding back my anger as much as possible but looked at Mike’s brother, who was visibly shaken. “That cooler is where I store my Red Bulls. Everybody in the locker room knows that. Now I don’t have my cans to get ready for the match. I’m going to cut you some slack since you’re new. But now you know, so stay out of that cooler!”
They both apologized profusely.
The very next show on the road, the twins handed me a pack of Red Bulls and apologized again, and I let them off the hook.
Many wrestlers have pre-show rituals they do in order to help them focus on the match ahead. Although it was just two Red Bulls, for me they represented two important steps in preparing to head out to the ring.
Unfortunately, that wasn’t the last time I was a victim of a Red Bull robbery.
A couple of weeks later during a house show, I went for the cooler. Again both Red Bulls were gone. “What? This isn’t going to work, guys. Who was in the cooler?”
I looked at the Shanes, who put their hands up and shook their heads.
This time nobody came forward, so I took the cooler out into the hallway and proceeded to dump the ice and water everywhere in a big slick mess. “This is going to happen every time I come in here and find someone stole my Red Bulls and won’t come forward. Every time. Do you hear me?”
As I sat there steaming, Kurt came walking past and slowed down enough to say, “Hey, man, listen. Do you really think this is the way a professional like you, representing the WWE, should act out?”
I turned to Kurt very slowly. “Kurt, listen to me. Now’s not the time.”
He looked at me and nodded and continued on his way.
Regardless of who took them, I think my point was made loud and clear, as I never found the cooler empty of Red Bulls again.
As I put the incident behind me, my journey took me to No Way Out 2005 in Pittsburgh at the Mellon Arena, where a big and unpredictable challenge awaited me. Jon Heidenreich was six feet five and three hundred pounds of former Washington Redskins power. During our bout, he lost control of himself and attacked me with a chair, ramming it over and over into my throat for the DQ loss. I nursed the injury like an Oscar winner while being helped to the back.
Because of his vicious attack, the two of us entered a short feud over the next few weeks, but his behavior offstage was what caught me off guard. Not only did Jon enjoy sitting in the corner of the locker room playing with his own action figure, having full conversations with it in front of all of us, but he would retreat to the nearest shower or closet and refuse to get out. It would be show time, and he wouldn’t leave his dark sanctuary while officials would be banging on the door. For whatever reason, I was one of the very few people who could coax him out of his self-imposed exile.
Personally, I liked Jon and never had a problem with him. He listened to direction, and we worked well in the ring together. Our matches weren’t exactly classic masterpieces, but we both knew how to work with each other’s strengths to tell a good story.
On March 3 when we faced off in Albany, Jon went straight for a steel chair, but when he got close, I Houston Sidekicked it into his face. When I reached for the chair, the ref grabbed and dropped it, freeing me up for a quick opportunity to catch Heidenreich with a big DDT on the chair, giving me the DQ loss. I wasn’t pleased with Heidenrich getting the victory over me, but I wasn’t about to cry over spilled milk. I had an audience to entertain, and I knew my Spinarooni would dazzle the New York State Capitol.
I was able to finally lay Heidenreich to rest once and for all a week later in Roanoke, Virginia, in a No DQ Match, where I smashed Jon with a ferocious chair shot, pinning him for the victory.
Although I was enjoying my current direction working with Jon and in the main title pictures, something wasn’t right. I was burning out and felt that my fuel tanks were running on fumes. I also missed Sharmell more than ever.
I decided to go straight to the top to tell them it might be time for me to hang up my boots. After calling a brief meeting with Vince and the new WWE Talent Relations President John Laurinaitis, I put my cards on the table.
“My heart’s not in this anymore. Out of respect for the business, you, and myself, I should walk away.”
Vince and Johnny asked what had prompted my sudden decision, and I told them it was being away from Sharmell. If I weren’t ready to walk out the door, I wouldn’t have risked being so blunt. Throughout my career, I’d seen many guys issued a pink slip for letting their personal lives interfere with their careers.
Much to my surprise, Vince made a suggestion. “Well, why don’t we just hire Sharmell and bring her on the road with you? How would you like that?”
I sat up and flashed a smile of relief. “That might just work, Vince.”
With an even bigger grin, he stood, buttoned his coat, and shook my hand. “Then it’s settled. If Sharmell’s a big part of your life, than she’s a big part of ours as well.”
In that moment, I respected Vince more than I ever thought humanly possible.
Sharmell was ecstatic to hear Vince’s idea. Now we’d be together not only in Houston but also on the road.
On March 17 in Savannah, Sharmell was sitting in the front row cheering me on. I faced Luther Reigns, who I pinned after a scissor kick. Afterward, I jumped down and celebrated with my wife and all the fans at ringside.
Sharmell would begin a steady transition into a stage managerial role, becoming more and more physically involved as the weeks turned into months. We were the happiest we’d ever been. Working together brought our understanding and appreciation of each other to a level I never knew possible.
Leading up to WrestleMania XXI, I won matches over Reigns and Duprée. While creative didn’t have much for my story line, the WWE producers had something even better in mind.
Because the theme was WrestleMania Goes Hollywood, they decided to shoot elaborate commercial parodies of famous movie scenes with practically the entire roster, featuring such films as Gladiator, Forrest Gump, Basic Instinct, Dirty Harry, Braveheart, Taxi Driver, A Few Good Men, and When Harry Met Sally.
I was paired with my Rumble rival Eddie Guerrero to reenact the moment from Quentin Tarantino’s Academy Award–winning film Pulp Fiction, when Jules, played by Samuel L. Jackson, and Vincent, played by John Travolta, crash the apartment of the four young guys who stole Marsellus’s briefcase. I’d never even seen the movie, so I had some homework to do.
Watching and rewatching the entire film and my scene, I was inspired by Jackson’s performance but wondered if I’d be able to pull off anything slightly as entertaining. When we were finally on location in Los Angeles, our set was an almost identical version of the apartment in the movie.
Eddie and I met for costuming and makeup, and we were laughing at how funny the whole thing was—two WWE Superstars being made up like Jackson and Travolta for a commercial shoot. Eddie was always good company, and just a smirk or a raise of his eyebrows could crack me up. We were like little kids together.
Even though he was having a lot of fun, I’d noticed a shift throughout the last few months. He seemed tired all the time. No matter where I saw him, whether in the arena or back at the hotel, he was just drained. I attributed it to the wear and tear of the business finally catching up with him. He’d always seek out a secluded spot in the back where he could be alone in silence, usually with his Bible. By that time in his life, he was very religious. I wondered if he was trying to clean his closet of whatever skeletons may have been hiding in there. But he was always all smiles and a true friend to anyone who approached.
And rest assured, when his music hit and it was time for him to jump into yet another chopped Latino Heat–style low rider for his entrance, Eddie sprang to life for the fans. He was like a completely different person.
During our commercial shoot, Eddie set my mind at ease. As I made every attempt to deliver the long series of memorized dialogue, I was nervous. While delivering some of the lines, I’d look up at Eddie. The second we made eye contact, we’d have to cut action because we were cracking up, and it was infectious among the entire crew and other actors.
We finally wrapped shooting that day, and the team produced a truly magic moment between Eddie and me that will always be a part of WrestleMania history.
On April 4 in Los Angeles, almost twenty-one thousand people filled the Staples Center to be part of WrestleMania XXI. It seemed like every time I turned around, there was a different celebrity saying hello, including my Ready to Rumble buddy and fellow former WCW Champion David Arquette. Other visitors included Sylvester Stallone, Adam Sandler, Rob Schneider, The Black Eyed Peas, Ice Cube, Billy Corgan of The Smashing Pumpkins, and even Macaulay Culkin. It was a weird role reversal meeting film and music stars out of their natural element, much as I was on the set of Rumble.
There was no way around it; WrestleMania was the hottest ticket in Los Angeles. Having felt like a bastard stepchild of the entertainment industry for the majority of my career, that weekend I saw the international impact WWE performers really had on pop culture.
Since creative hadn’t written anything for me going into the year’s biggest event, I was left off the PPV card for the first and only time in my active WWE career. I looked at it as a low-pressure night.
It might’ve been easy for someone else in my position to approach the writing staff and complain, demanding a place on the card, but that was never in my wrestling DNA. Without saying a word about anything, I was approached by the producers themselves.
“Booker, we’ve got something interesting for you to start off the show. It won’t be part of the broadcast, but we’re going to have you be in the first WrestleMania Thirty-Man Interpromotional Battle Royal consisting of Raw and SD talent.”
It suited me just fine. “Cool. Let’s do it!”
Before I knew it, I was surrounded by twenty-nine other guys, such as The Hurricane, Gene Snitsky, Hardcore Holly, Billy Kidman, Scotty 2 Hotty, The Bashams, Heidenreich, William Regal, Paul London, and Val Venis. When it came down to it, I eliminated The Masterpiece, Chris Masters, and collected another WrestleMania win.
Since John Cena took the WWE Championship from JBL at WrestleMania XXI, he along with Eddie, Big Show, Rey, Angle, and I were the top contenders. They had Teddy announce on April 7 yet another No. 1 Contender’s Tournament starting that night in San Diego as JBL defeated Rey in the first match. Eventually Angle defeated Eddie.
That left me to take on Show at Madison Square Garden on April 21. Only a few minutes in, JBL and Angle ran in and attacked us. By having the match thrown out, they thought we would be eliminated and the tournament finale would be the two of them facing off. They were wrong.
Teddy quickly booked a Fatal 4-Way No. 1 Contender’s Match for the following week on April 28 overseas in Birmingham, England. That night JBL, Angle, and I decided to triple-team Show and remove the threat. Kurt managed to impressively get him up on his shoulders for an Olympic Slam right through the commentary table, causing our giant problem to be counted out.
I was next to be eliminated after JBL slid a chair in the ring while the ref was distracted, allowing Angle to whack me with it for the pin. In the chaos of the match, the ref was knocked out, which The Bashams took as an opportunity to come down and attack Kurt. While he was distracted with them, I took advantage by reentering the ring and returning the favor to the Olympian with a devastating chair shot of my own. JBL saw his moment and covered Angle to become the top contender to face Cena for the belt.
In Trenton, New Jersey, on May 5, Kurt sneaked up behind Sharmell backstage as she watched me destroy Orlando Jordan. Kurt told her he was challenging me for a match at Judgment Day 2005 later in the month.
A few segments later, Kurt was in the ring and demanded my reply, but I was drawn out to confront him only after he called my wife a gutter slut. No one calls my wife a gutter slut. I sprinted to the ring full of rage and furiously leveled Angle and held him as Sharmell ferociously slapped him several times to teach him some manners.
Kurt managed to wrestle free of her and uppercut me with a low blow to the crotch before giving me a devastating Olympic Slam.
Sharmell tried to run but fell and hurt her ankle. Before Angle could go after her, several WWE officials stormed the ring and saved her.
Angle had crossed the line and was going to pay.
Sharmell loved getting involved in TV segments with overinflated acting as much as I did. She was a natural at it, and we were having the time of our lives performing for the world together.
On May 12 in Reading, Pennsylvania, we decided not to wait until Judgment Day and main evented SD in a brutal match between the obsessed Olympian, Kurt Angle, and the furious husband, me. I had the upper hand initially, but Kurt eventually swarmed with a huge offensive and had me down long enough to jump out of the ring and run backstage. Like a mad stalker, he barged into my dressing room and scared the hell out of Sharmell, who started screaming like a woman possessed. By the time I came to and made it back there, Kurt jumped out from behind and knocked me out against the wall. In true over-the-top B-movie dramatics, Sharmell crawled toward my broken, unconscious body, shrieking as the camera faded to black. This twisted triangle had to be resolved once and for all at Judgment Day on May 22.
Before the match at the Target Center in Minneapolis, we agreed to put it all out there to ensure it would be an instant classic among the three of us. With that in mind, I was whacking Kurt around the ring with every punch and kick I knew and some I just made up, sending him pinwheeling around the ring with a battered and bloody face. Kurt eventually came back with a full gauntlet of stiff offense and went for an Olympic Slam, which I reversed into a roll-up pin for a three count by Charles Robinson. I had won the match and shown Kurt that you don’t mess with my family.
Only I wasn’t supposed to win just yet.
Robinson had gotten totally lost and botched the finish.
Kurt tried as hard as he could to kick out at the last second after he realized Charles was really going for the third smack on the canvas. When we both knew what had happened, Kurt yelled at Robinson, “What the fuck? What did you just do?”
Then he looked at me, and I had no choice but to keep performing and celebrate the win. But inside I was thinking the same thing he was.
We had to follow through with the events that were planned to happen about eight minutes later, after I would’ve pinned him with the scissor kick: Angle ran over me like a freight train, giving me the Angle Slam and knocking me almost unconscious. He then tossed my lifeless body out of the ring as he went after Sharmell.
Angle grabbed her by the hair and rolled into the center of the ring, where she sat in fear, yelling for me to help. In cold and calculated fashion, he then went under the ring and produced a pair of handcuffs, which he slapped on the top rope, and then attempted to secure the other end to Sharmell’s arm. Thankfully, I recovered in time and started pounding on Angle. I then dragged him over to the open handcuff and locked him onto the top rope. As Angle cowered in the corner, I gave him a justified beat-down before turning him over to Sharmell, who slapped him mercilessly over and over again. Then, for good measure, Sharmell stepped back and charged, kicking Angle square in the groin. He crumpled to the ground, a mess of blood and tears.
We celebrated and went backstage and waited to see what would happen.
As soon as they came through the curtain, Kurt was screaming at Robinson. “Did you forget your brain backstage? We rehearsed that over and over, and you messed it up?”
Charles repeatedly apologized, saying he got confused in the middle and thought it was the finish.
Angle was still huffing, not sure what he was going to do, but eventually he cooled down enough to walk away.
He and I talked about it a little later and agreed it was a disappointing end to a great angle that could’ve been our one and only chance to face each other on a WWE PPV. Now there was unfinished business to attend to with some sort of professional closure.
On June 9 in Kansas City, we transitioned into a match together to end the feud. We wrestled a battle very similar to the one planned for Judgment Day. When it was time to bring it all home, Kurt brought a chair into the ring and took a big swing as I ducked out of the way, effectively allowing it to bounce off the top rope and smash him in the face. I took full advantage and gave him the proper scissor kick finish we’d both been waiting for, and backstage we walked away happy.
On June 30 in Anaheim, Teddy once again activated me in the title landscape. During the WWE draft of 2005, the WWE Champion John Cena was drafted from SD to Raw. Raw already had Batista as the World Heavyweight Champion, so the SD brand was left without a major title. To rectify this, Teddy announced a six-man match for a newly created SmackDown Championship. The draft lasted for a month, with newly signed draftees showing up every week on both Raw and SD. It kept the fans engaged. They didn’t know who would be traded to what brand each week. Fortunately, I was booked into the Six-Way SD Championship Match for the belt with The Undertaker, JBL, Chris Benoit, Muhammad Hassan, and Christian, who’d just been drafted from Raw in exchange for Big Show.
Unfortunately, I didn’t last long after The Dead Man DQed himself by going after Hassan with a chair. Hassan eliminated himself by running out like a coward. Benoit was next to go, getting pinned by Bradshaw. When I wasn’t paying attention, Christian tagged himself in, courtesy of JBL’s turned back, and sneakily rolled me up. JBL then took advantage of the situation and took him out with a Clothesline from Hell for the win. The action was fast and furious and made JBL look strong for the title picture.
After the match, JBL was on his knees in the middle of the ring, ready to receive the new SD Championship, which Teddy brought to the ring in a black velvet bag. Eager for its unveiling, JBL smiled at Teddy and held out his hands in anticipation of his well-earned prize. With velvet bag in hand and moments away from showing the new title, Teddy looked at JBL and said, “I’ve got some good news . . . and I’ve got some bad news for ya, playa!”
The bad news was that even though JBL had won the match, he was not the new SD Champion. Because recently Teddy had found out that there was no need for the SD Championship. The good news was that JBL earned the right to be the new number-one contender to the last draft pick of SD—none other than the World Heavyweight Champion, Batista! SD had a major title, after all.
A week later in Sacramento for my No. 1 Contender’s Match for the United States Championship on SD with Benoit, I lost cleanly after tapping to the Crippler Crossface.
On July 14 in Worcester, I found myself going into a match with my old IC title nemesis Christian, but it quickly devolved when we almost got into a backstage fight.
Christian had been on the bubble as of late with little to no creative direction and was feeling the pressure. It’s the kind of situation that can easily make or break a guy if he sits back and allows himself to be vacuumed into the black hole of anonymity. When a performer in Christian’s position sees that happening, it’s important to become as proactive as possible and fire up hotter than ever in the ring. It’s all up to what a guy has inside.
Creative was well aware of all this and wanted to see Christian climb out of the mire. He’d been with the company since 1998 and worked in some revolutionary Tables, Ladders, and Chairs (TLC) Matches with The Hardys and The Dudleys.
While we were standing at The Gorilla Position, one of the producers took the opportunity to inspire him: “Christian! We want you to get down there tonight and fight for your life! Show the WWE Universe what you’re made of! We want to see you light up like the performer we all know you are! Kick some ass!”
Keep in mind he was saying this right in front of me, and I’m thinking, Okay, but let’s not get too carried away now. I’d be the one on the receiving end of this newfound motivation.
As I made my way to the ring, Christian attacked me by surprise, as planned, leaving me pretty well beaten up before the bell even rang. However, when we were in there and he was hammering away at me, Christian punched me right in the eye. Bam!
“Aw, man!” I muttered while trying to blink and rub my eye to regain focus.
Then he kept on me—bam, bam, bam—but I couldn’t focus on what was happening. My eye took me right out of the match. It was pretty much a squash for Christian as he laid me out with the Unprettier for the impressive win.
When I got to the back, the producers praised Christian on a job well done.
I gave him some space, but afterward I said, “What were you doing? You could’ve seriously messed me up. It wasn’t safe!”
Christian walked me back into the hall. “Man, what they told me really affected me before the match, and it felt like my neck was on the line or something. I panicked, and I’m sorry.”
I understood where he was coming from, but I said, “Instead of blindly tagging away, you need to channel that aggression into a fine-tuned performance. You’ll get the same results without the backstage beef.” I didn’t hold it against him, and we remained as cool as ever.