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Chapter One
Night of the Champion
The Worcester fans were on their feet, and I was on the shoulders of D-Generation X as they paraded me around the ring. Several pictures later showed the members of DX smiling broadly, and I know that the smiles were too bright to not be real. Much like the early Dude, Mankind -- or more accurately, Mick Foley -- had made the people feel good about themselves. A chant of "Foley, Foley," began, but unlike my traumatic night at King of the Ring, these chants were loud and growing louder. I was let down from the shoulders of the DX and grabbed the house mike. I first addressed Vince, who was yelling and fussing his way offstage, although secretly I suspect he was beaming. I then got down on my knees and spoke from my heart.
"At the risk of not sounding cool," I began, "I want to dedicate this belt to my two little people at home, Dewey and Noelle -- Daddy-0 did it!"
I know, I know, that's how Rocky II started, with the end of the first Rocky being shown over again. But hey, Rocky is my favorite movie of all time, and I even wrote a screenplay for Have a Nice Day! that borrows a couple of lines from Rocky II, so why not "borrow" the start of my sequel from it as well. Just for the record, I never liked the title Have a Nice Day! -- I always wanted Blood and Sweatsocks. So if my life story makes it onto the big screen, or even goes straight to video or the History Channel, then by golly, Blood and Sweatsocks it's going to be. Unless of course they pay me a lot of money. Then they can call it The Adventures of a FatGuy in Tights Pretending to Fight for all I care.
I had always tried to downplay the importance of the World Wrestling Federation title in my career. That is, of course, until I won it. Then it became the most important thing in the world -- besides my family and the log flume at Santa's Village. I was definitely feeling good when I got to the backstage area. Handshakes and hugs all around, except for Rodney of the Mean Street Posse, who I refused to let touch me. Actually, Rodney hadn't even started with the World Wrestling Federation yet, but I need someone new to pick on in this book, and I have a feeling that the Posse is going to take the brunt of it. Now, don't get the feeling that I'm tired of blasting Al Snow, because I'm not -- it's just that all my jokes about him somehow ended up actually helping his career, and I don't ever want to be responsible for something like that again.
A team of psychologists recently determined that up to 28 percent of all children under the age of twelve suffer from some type of attention deficit disorder, or ADD. They also determined that during an Al Snow match, that percentage can jump to as high as 90. Yess! Yess! All right, I lied -- of course I'm going to tear Al a new Snow in this book. I just won't do it as often.
Actually, I traveled with Al back to Boston after the match -- in a full stretch limo, no less. When I walked into Worcester that afternoon, I had no idea that I was going to leave as the champ, and during the day I had agreed to do a personal appearance in Everett, Massachusetts, as a replacement for Kane. The money wasn't good, but the owner of the store, Phil Castinetti, was a friend of mine, so I said, "What the hell." This guy Phil knew everybody; a few days ago I went to Yankee Stadium with him (my first game there in twelve years), and through his connections, ended up having my picture taken with Mayor Giuliani and eating hot dogs in Yankee owner George Steinbrenner's office. No, George wasn't present at the time,' but yes, I did pretend to be George Costanza while I was there.
As much as I liked Phil, I still contemplated holding him up for more money once I won the belt, but in the end, I realized that a deal is a deal, and did it for the original amount. Besides, what could be better than a long dark limo, soft snow flurries on a crisp winter's eve, and the company of Al Snow and the Blue Meanie. Wait a second, did I just say "the company of the Blue Meanie"? With bright blue hair and a belly that made my abs look like Jack La Lanne's, the Meanie was quite a character in the ring. He also had a ring outfit of tight "Daisy Duke" shorts and a half shirt that exposed stretch marks that, when viewed sideways, looked like a road map of upstate New York. (The Meanie has since lost over a hundred pounds and looks a lot better than me.)
The soft flurries turned into a blizzard, the one-hour trip to Boston turned into three, and by the time we finally rolled into our Holiday Inn, I was more than ready for my post-big-match ritual of a big fattening meal and a Pay-Per-View movie. The meal, which Phil had arranged to have picked up, was supplied courtesy of Kowloon's Chinese Restaurant, and I was just about to dig in when I realized that a frosty beverage had not been provided with my feast. So it was on my way to the soda machine that I saw him. The Meanie, looking forlorn in the lobby of the hotel. "Meanie, what's the matter?" I asked the rotund grappler. (Actually "rotund grappler" is one of the ways, along with "pear-shaped brawler," that the National Enquirer once...
Foley is Good. Copyright © by Mick Foley. Reprinted by permission of HarperCollins Publishers, Inc. All rights reserved. Available now wherever books are sold.
