CONTROL ME
Chapter 1
The Era of Awesome
... 1! ... 2! ... 3!
I couldn't believe my eyes. I had successfully defended my WWE Championship at WrestleMania. Against John Cena, no less! Whether the Universe likes it or not, I can now join the ranks of other superstars that have entered the grandest stage of 'em all and have left as champions. Hulk Hogan, Triple H, Chris Jericho… Suck it in, ladies and gentlemen. I am now one of them.
The memory of the end of my match was a bit of a blur. See, before The Rock came in and – as he would say – "laid the smackdown" on John, we were caught up on the barricade and my head landed pretty hard on the concrete floor after he crashed into me. Next thing I knew, I was being dragged out into the ring. As I tried to recuperate and struggled with a throbbing headache, I heard a slam nearby and there was John Cena, laid out on the mat. There was no time for me to think about what the hell just happened. A guy was lying perfectly still in the middle of the ring! What idiot wouldn't put his arm over that lifeless body to score a pinfall? Certainly, not I!
When the referee slammed his hand on the mat for the third time, it was all over. At Wrestlemania XXVII, on the night of April 3rd, 2011, in the Atlanta Georgia Dome, I came out on top. And no, shut up, I did not get beaten down by The Rock.
After the show, my good buddy, A-Ry (that's Alex Riley for you NXT nerds), escorted me out of the ring and into the back. It was a long walk but at least I was in good company. Amidst all the cheers and jeers, I started getting a bit teary-eyed. In my head, I was like, "Pull it together, man! No tears! No tears!" But when I saw the look on A-Ry's face, mouthing the words, "You won!"… Nothing else mattered.
I descended the stairs and walked through the curtains to the sound of applause. Mr. McMahon shook my hand, rather vigorously if I may add, and congratulated me on retaining the title. Michael Cole was bowing down to me like I was some sort of god; it was flattering with a side of weird. I received a surprisingly warm reception from my former bro, Morrison. And I think I stared Steve Austin in the eyes for like, four or five seconds. I don't know. The concussion was getting to me.
I couldn't let go of A-Ry. If I were asked to do a sobriety test right on the spot, even if I was sober, I'd probably end up in the slammer. The journey through the arena was hellish but extremely gratifying. The trainer's room felt so far away. Reminds me of the time I played Rey Mysterio's Road to WrestleMania in the last SmackDown! game and he walked so slow because of a headache. Yeah, how stupid was that?
Any negative thought that worsened my condition seemed to stop entering my mind when I heard the voice of an angel cry out my name.
"Michael!" she said.
And there she was. The most beautiful woman that I have ever laid my eyes on attempted to run up to me in her delicate heels. She was, as she would say, "the sexiest of the sexy." She placed her soft hands on my cheeks and started talking to herself in French.
I didn't understand a word she said but she looked at me with a caring smile and told me, "Let's get you to the trainer."
For quite some time, Maryse has had the privilege of calling me her boyfriend as I have had the same privilege to call her my girl. Despite the concussion, I did remember that night. She and A-Ry were in the room, watching the trainer run through tests with me. In between these tests, I couldn't help but stare at my French angel. I'm gonna sound like a total sap right now but when I looked at her, I saw green grass and white picket fences. The longer we went out together, the more I saw those images. I thought of popping the question right there in the room because I was awesome like that but a girl like her deserved more than that. Way more than that…
Welcome to the Era of Awesome. I was the WWE Champion, the company poster-child, the new go-to guy for all the media tours… And to top it all off, I had the most gorgeous girlfriend in the world. Every guy in the locker room was willing to kill me for my spot. They watch me strut through the locker room and I could hear them whining, "This guy's an idiot! A total loser! Why is he the champion?" Jealousy reared its ugly head like a bunch of daisies in the spring whenever I entered and all they could do is sit back and keep their mouths shut in the presence of my awesomeness. As you can see, everything was going great for me.
But believe it or not, things did start to get a bit ugly. There was a point in my life where all the attention I was given, all the accolades I kept getting…
It all kinda just… stopped.
Buckle up, kids. This is the true story of how The Miz lost the limelight to a six-foot-something British nobody and eventually – nay, inevitably – fought his way back to the top.
How?
I'm The Miz.
That's how.
Now shut up and pay attention…