I don't know about you guys but I love hearing stores from the world of wrestling. And I don't mean the stories that okay out on our screen for 7-8 hours a week from the WWE.
No, I mean the stories that you're not supposed to see. The stories that every wrestler worth their salt have hundreds of. For me, road stories from wrestlers are both a mix of good natured comedy and intrigue - the likes of which only a peak begin the curtain can do.
In this thread, I want to hear about some of your favourite backstage, in-ring or road stories that you've come across.
I like to read and I like to read books written by wrestlers more than that. I've read a whole host of books from wrestlers and the best parts are always when they retell something that has happened to them whilst they tried to make their mark in the industry.
The first story that jumps out at me is from Edge's book "Adam Copeland on Edge".
Long story short, Edge would do a death tour every winter across the very boundaries of Canada. The weather was treacherous and the conditions were terrible. They barely ate and lived in school gyms when they weren't performing. Having had enough of the life on the road, they wanted to get back to civilised Canada ASAP. They left after their tour in the middle of the night. They drove across frozen lakes to get home and, at one point, came across a massive hole in the ice on their only path home. It was 4 in the morning and there was genuine panic.
I'll let Edge take over from here...
No, I mean the stories that you're not supposed to see. The stories that every wrestler worth their salt have hundreds of. For me, road stories from wrestlers are both a mix of good natured comedy and intrigue - the likes of which only a peak begin the curtain can do.
In this thread, I want to hear about some of your favourite backstage, in-ring or road stories that you've come across.
I like to read and I like to read books written by wrestlers more than that. I've read a whole host of books from wrestlers and the best parts are always when they retell something that has happened to them whilst they tried to make their mark in the industry.
The first story that jumps out at me is from Edge's book "Adam Copeland on Edge".
Long story short, Edge would do a death tour every winter across the very boundaries of Canada. The weather was treacherous and the conditions were terrible. They barely ate and lived in school gyms when they weren't performing. Having had enough of the life on the road, they wanted to get back to civilised Canada ASAP. They left after their tour in the middle of the night. They drove across frozen lakes to get home and, at one point, came across a massive hole in the ice on their only path home. It was 4 in the morning and there was genuine panic.
I'll let Edge take over from here...
Later, at about four A.M., I was drowsy, even with Pantera blaring from the speakers to keep me awake. Just about this time, I noticed that we were approaching our last lake to cross. There was only one problem: a football field-size hole filled with water between us and the shore! I shook my head to clear the cobwebs and hoped I was seeing things. I wasn’t. I pumped the brakes while screaming every expletive known to man. Before I got the van stopped, my full load of suddenly awake wrestlers were piling out onto the ice. The ring van behind us—still carrying the ring, our clothes, and three wrestlers—was able to stop before hitting us. Now, besides a troupe of wrestlers, no one is stupid enough to be on these “roads,” quite possibly for the entire winter, so we found ourselves in some major trouble (as in “possible death”).
We all stood on the partially frozen lake at four A.M. in minus-fifty-degree-Celsius weather looking on in slack-jawed shock at this gaping hole. Finally, Tony, in his infinite wisdom, decided it would be safe to drive across. He found a stick, jammed it in the icy water, and it was only about a foot deep. Only my ass! It could drop off at any point! That was enough for me, so I tossed the keys to Tony and said, “Go crazy, boss,” although I thought he was already there. Rhyno, Jay, Rob, and I all jammed back in the van while Tony acted like he had the situation firmly under control. Suddenly, wham! He gunned it, and we were off, at about two miles per hour. We dropped into the hole and set off about as fast as a flock of turtles. The water was freezing and hitting the bottom of the van. We were redlining and about to stall. All of us were screaming in Tony’s ears, while Pantera still screamed from the speakers, but I’ll hand it to the little Italian bastard, he got us across the hundred yards or so. I think Rhyno actually got out and kissed the snow-covered ground.
This brought us to our next dilemma: the much heavier ring van. It was being driven by a wrestler named Brian Jewel, and his plan was different from Tony’s. There was actually a small, clear path to the shore beside the hole, and he decided that was the way to go. By this point we had all walked along the path back to the ring van in case they needed any help. Tony tried to tell Brian it was the wrong way to go, to no avail. He got about two feet and dropped through the ice up to the wheel wells, while still driving forward, deeper and deeper. Water was shooting everywhere, and it was damn cold. We’re talking hypothermia cold. So Keith, Joe, and Cheech all scrambled out of the ring van, trying to dodge the water. Just then, something even more surreal happened.
I was standing next to Jay, when suddenly he just dropped, like someone had cut his legs off. At first, I thought he slipped on the ice. Nope, he fell through the ice up to his thighs and that’s when all hell really broke loose! Now I can look back at this and laugh my ass off, but at the time it was pretty scary (although the heel in me was still laughing). Seeing this finally sent Rhyno over the edge (bad pun intended). He saw Jay go through and hightailed it. He looked like Roadrunner, his thick, stumpy legs were spinning so fast. The only problem was, in his Tasmanian Devil-like panic, he took off in the wrong direction, back to God’s Lake Narrow. By the time he got his mental compass back and realized his mistake, Jay was pulling himself out of the murky depths. As we got Jay to his feet, Rhyno stampeded by us and knocked him on his soaked ass again. I think that was the birth of the Gore. It was a comedy of errors. Rhyno weighed three hundred twenty-five pounds at the time. I’ve never seen a man so thick move so fast. As Jay spun around like a frozen top, Rhyno blazed back to the safe van.
Jay walked back to the van while his pants and boots quickly froze to his legs. The rest of us got footholds on what ice was left and, while still dodging geysers of water, tried to push the ring van back the ten feet to solid ice. Finally, between Joe, Rob, Keith, Cheech, and I, we were able to get it back to the point where it first broke through. Now we had to try and push it up about two feet onto solid ice again. By now, it was 4:30 A.M. We were tired and frozen and we just couldn’t do it. This is where the tag line “Get the Rhyno” came from. He was the strongest dude on the tour, so I went to fetch the mangy Man-Beast.
When I got back to the safe van I found Jay with his bare feet on the heating vents, teeth chattering away, while his boots and socks sat on the floor, frozen straight up. Rhyno was in the middle row of seats, swaying back and forth and muttering like Dustin Hoffman in Rain Man. His muttering was actually praying. He honestly thought we were going to die on this frozen lake in the middle of a forest in northern Manitoba. He was the only American on the trip, so he wasn’t quite used to this. Finally, I got him to let go of his death grip on the seat and walked him back to the lake, arm in arm like a little old lady crossing the street. Once I got him down there the Man-Beast kicked in and helped us push that bad boy out. By now the sun was starting to peek over the trees. The ring van took Tony’s route and made it through. We were back on our way by 5:30 A.M., de-thawing all the way to Winnipeg.
I’d like to say that this was my last winter death tour, but it wasn’t. All in all, I did about twenty of these trips, but it was all worth it. It’s where I cut my teeth in this business and I made some great friends along the way. Tony, Don Callis, Bad News Brown, Gerry Morrow, Johnny Smith, Cheech, Lenny, and my first meeting with two fellas by the names of Chris Jericho and Lance Storm. Most of these guys were smart and only did Tony’s TV tapings. What can I say? I’m a glutton for punishment.”
We all stood on the partially frozen lake at four A.M. in minus-fifty-degree-Celsius weather looking on in slack-jawed shock at this gaping hole. Finally, Tony, in his infinite wisdom, decided it would be safe to drive across. He found a stick, jammed it in the icy water, and it was only about a foot deep. Only my ass! It could drop off at any point! That was enough for me, so I tossed the keys to Tony and said, “Go crazy, boss,” although I thought he was already there. Rhyno, Jay, Rob, and I all jammed back in the van while Tony acted like he had the situation firmly under control. Suddenly, wham! He gunned it, and we were off, at about two miles per hour. We dropped into the hole and set off about as fast as a flock of turtles. The water was freezing and hitting the bottom of the van. We were redlining and about to stall. All of us were screaming in Tony’s ears, while Pantera still screamed from the speakers, but I’ll hand it to the little Italian bastard, he got us across the hundred yards or so. I think Rhyno actually got out and kissed the snow-covered ground.
This brought us to our next dilemma: the much heavier ring van. It was being driven by a wrestler named Brian Jewel, and his plan was different from Tony’s. There was actually a small, clear path to the shore beside the hole, and he decided that was the way to go. By this point we had all walked along the path back to the ring van in case they needed any help. Tony tried to tell Brian it was the wrong way to go, to no avail. He got about two feet and dropped through the ice up to the wheel wells, while still driving forward, deeper and deeper. Water was shooting everywhere, and it was damn cold. We’re talking hypothermia cold. So Keith, Joe, and Cheech all scrambled out of the ring van, trying to dodge the water. Just then, something even more surreal happened.
I was standing next to Jay, when suddenly he just dropped, like someone had cut his legs off. At first, I thought he slipped on the ice. Nope, he fell through the ice up to his thighs and that’s when all hell really broke loose! Now I can look back at this and laugh my ass off, but at the time it was pretty scary (although the heel in me was still laughing). Seeing this finally sent Rhyno over the edge (bad pun intended). He saw Jay go through and hightailed it. He looked like Roadrunner, his thick, stumpy legs were spinning so fast. The only problem was, in his Tasmanian Devil-like panic, he took off in the wrong direction, back to God’s Lake Narrow. By the time he got his mental compass back and realized his mistake, Jay was pulling himself out of the murky depths. As we got Jay to his feet, Rhyno stampeded by us and knocked him on his soaked ass again. I think that was the birth of the Gore. It was a comedy of errors. Rhyno weighed three hundred twenty-five pounds at the time. I’ve never seen a man so thick move so fast. As Jay spun around like a frozen top, Rhyno blazed back to the safe van.
Jay walked back to the van while his pants and boots quickly froze to his legs. The rest of us got footholds on what ice was left and, while still dodging geysers of water, tried to push the ring van back the ten feet to solid ice. Finally, between Joe, Rob, Keith, Cheech, and I, we were able to get it back to the point where it first broke through. Now we had to try and push it up about two feet onto solid ice again. By now, it was 4:30 A.M. We were tired and frozen and we just couldn’t do it. This is where the tag line “Get the Rhyno” came from. He was the strongest dude on the tour, so I went to fetch the mangy Man-Beast.
When I got back to the safe van I found Jay with his bare feet on the heating vents, teeth chattering away, while his boots and socks sat on the floor, frozen straight up. Rhyno was in the middle row of seats, swaying back and forth and muttering like Dustin Hoffman in Rain Man. His muttering was actually praying. He honestly thought we were going to die on this frozen lake in the middle of a forest in northern Manitoba. He was the only American on the trip, so he wasn’t quite used to this. Finally, I got him to let go of his death grip on the seat and walked him back to the lake, arm in arm like a little old lady crossing the street. Once I got him down there the Man-Beast kicked in and helped us push that bad boy out. By now the sun was starting to peek over the trees. The ring van took Tony’s route and made it through. We were back on our way by 5:30 A.M., de-thawing all the way to Winnipeg.
I’d like to say that this was my last winter death tour, but it wasn’t. All in all, I did about twenty of these trips, but it was all worth it. It’s where I cut my teeth in this business and I made some great friends along the way. Tony, Don Callis, Bad News Brown, Gerry Morrow, Johnny Smith, Cheech, Lenny, and my first meeting with two fellas by the names of Chris Jericho and Lance Storm. Most of these guys were smart and only did Tony’s TV tapings. What can I say? I’m a glutton for punishment.”