Chapter Two
Randy Orton
My dad is "Cowboy" Bob Orton, Jr., a second generation wrestler who competed in the first three WrestleMania events. He was known for two things; being "Rowdy" Roddy Piper's lackey and for the cast he wore on his arm for a good three years. A lot of people thought he was faking his injury; that couldn't be farther from the truth. It was because of my father's strong work ethic to never miss a show that his arm never healed properly. It wasn't until he left the World Wrestling Federation in 1987 that it finally healed up, but it still gives him some problems.
My mom, Elaine, is a nurse, and a soldier if I've ever seen one. After all, she practically raised me, my brother Nate and my sister Becky all by herself, since Dad had to travel all the time. They pretty much sacrificed their marriage to give my siblings and I a stable upbringing.
I wasn't a normal kid by any stretch of the imagination. How many kids can say they had Andre the Giant join them for dinner? Or had an extensive collection of toys from places like Japan and India?
"How's it going down there in OVW, Randy?" my dad asked over dinner. My mom had gone all out, like she normally does when I come out from Kentucky. Never mind it's only a two hour drive, you'd think I was coming back from overseas. Becky was picking at her food; Nate was watching me intensely.
"Good, good. Cornette says that my last match with John was off the charts awesome for something that was only five minutes long."
"Awesome stuff. Hopefully that should mean that you'll be in WWF sooner, rather than later."
"I hope so, too. Sometimes it's hard staying patient when you see all your friends get called up to the main roster."
"I know. But some people's time comes sooner than others. You just have to keep consistently getting better, so when you finally do get called up to the main roster, you don't fizzle out." I nodded. I'm always in awe of my dad, who has always been such a fountain of wisdom for me. He's the first person I go to about any sort of problem I have. His stories on the road with guys like Ric Flair, Harley Race and the aforementioned Piper always keep me in stitches. I always wonder what my dad was really like when I was a kid, not old enough to know about the things that he was doing on the road; I always wonder about the duality in his role of being a father and being a good-time loving wrestler. It just fascinates me.
My parents weren't too impressed when I told them I wanted to be a wrestler, after my stint in the Marine Corps went to shit. Nothing like finding out the brochure is a total crock. After I finally managed to get free of that mistake, I decided to focus all my free time on wrestling, and once my parents realized that I was dead serious about it, then they were on the bandwagon. It wasn't long after I had got everything down that Dad had called up WWF to book me a tryout match. Sure, that's a perk of being a third generation Superstar, but I still had to bust my ass and look good. Thankfully, I looked good enough for Pat Patterson, who my uncle Barry is very leery of, and from there, I got signed up. Haven't looked back since.
Mom smiled at me. "How are your friends doing?"
"Good, good. Amberlea just put on a hell of a clinic with Molly Holly. Buzz going around backstage is that Vince is going to snap her up sooner rather than later. I think John's almost ready."
"That's wonderful. I'm glad you've got some great friends out there while you're not at home."
"That reminds me…we usually go out for dinner once a week, and Amberlea asked me to invite you guys, if you're up for the drive. We usually meet at six at TGI Friday's." They all nodded.
"Sure. That would be awesome. We'll finally get to meet everyone."
"Yeah. John's dad is coming out to visit him, too, so you'll get to meet him, too."
"Awesome stuff." I took a bite of my mother's amazing mashed potatoes. Sometimes it sucked being so far away from these kind of moments, but in the end it is so worth it.
In the end they are going to be so proud of me.
Amberlea Brennan
I'll never forget March 22, 2002, for as long as I live.
When I had finished my morning ritual, I found a note from Lisa Marie saying that she had gone into town to do some grocery shopping and to get herself a new pair of wrestling boots. Crumpling the paper and throwing it into recycling, I checked the clock. It was after eleven; I had slept in. I decided to straighten up the house for Lisa Marie; that way she could come home to a nice clean house and have a quiet night in when I went to work at six.
The wrestling bug hit me at a very, very young age, when my dad and I took in an independent show in Austin. Up until then, I was pretty much relegated to watching it on TV. But when I saw it live, it lit a fire in me. From then on, I spent all my time working on being flexible, using my trampoline in a lot of cases to mimic moves. I think I gave my dad quite a few coronaries over the years. He worked a lot at his bike custom shop, and from the time I was twelve, I was pretty much by myself to do whatever I wanted. Not that I ever took advantage of that; outside of wrestling, I didn't make the time for much else. Even now. Never had a boyfriend. Never been on a date. I've just been all about the business. Driven.
My dad never remarried after my mother died. Still hasn't even dated. I know some of the women at home are interested in him, but his heart truly belonged with her. A huge part of me ever wonders if I'll find somebody like that. Doesn't seem like it the way I'm going.
I still remember the night my dad found out that I'd been lying to wrestling promoters about my age in order to compete. For my eighteenth birthday, just before I graduated and left town for California on the back of my friend's flatbed truck, hidden under a tarp, my father threw me a surprise party at the show, thinking that I only hung out with them monthly. The promoter just about shot me on sight when he found out I was just turning eighteen. As mad as he was, I know he was impressed that I captured things as quickly as I did. From there, I left for California, competing for XPW where I met John, who was floored to learn about how old I was, and offered me his couch. He's been a true friend of mine since I moved out here, and for that I am eternally indebted to him.
Slipping Sevendust's Animosity album into my portable CD player, I began to vacuum and do the dishes, thinking about the match I had with Molly Holly. Where I could have improved, where I was strong. Molly had told me that I was one of the best independent matches she had ever had, which totally makes me feel good about myself. Molly, or Nora, was trained by Dean Malenko, who is considered to be one of the greatest technical wrestlers who ever lived. If Nora can give me a glowing recommendation, then I have to be pretty good at what I'm doing.
Trust slipped into Crucified when the phone rang. Wiping my hand on a dish cloth and turning down my CD player, I quickly answered the phone. "Hello?"
"Hello, I'm looking for an Amberlea Brennan."
"That would be me," I answered, taking the receiver to the table and sitting down. "May I ask who is calling?"
"My name is Jim Ross; I'm with WWF's Talent Relations department." My heart stopped; Good Ole JR sounded so different on the phone. "Anyways, the reason I'm calling is because you're being called up to the main roster. We're going to need you to get packed, get your affairs in order and be in Las Vegas, Nevada, for Monday."
My heart was in my feet. I thought I was going to scream. My throat was suddenly dry; I couldn't speak. My dream was about to start coming true. "Hello?" JR's voice cut into my moment. "Ms. Brennan, are you still there?"
"Yes, yes. I will be there," I told him, trying to keep the giddiness out of my voice.
"That's terrific. We will be booking you in a tag match with Trish Stratus. Can't wait to see what you can do. Have a great day, Ms. Brennan."
"You, too," I answered. I hung up the phone, sitting for a few minutes, trying to take it all in. This was it; I was officially becoming a WWF Diva, with the likes of Trish Stratus, Molly Holly, Lita. Then, something inside me broke and I started jumping and screaming like a total mark in the middle of my living room. "Oh, my God. Oh, my God. Oh, my God!" I shrieked. I picked up the phone again. I had a few very important calls to make.
John Cena
"Yeah?"
"John, it's Lea."
"What's up? I was just heading to the airport to go pick up my pops," I informed her, sliding a Red Sox cap on over my head. "Everything good? Someone at work giving you trouble?"
"No, no - I still have to quit…John…I got the call like an hour ago."
"What?" A wide beam broke across my face; I couldn't stop it from spreading. "Lea, that's amazing. What…details. Details!"
"I have to be in Las Vegas for Monday. I'm going to be tag teaming with Trish Stratus, John! This is so incredible. It hasn't sunk in…I think I'm in shock…so much to do…this is insanity! Oh, God, what if I prove them wrong?"
"Get out of here, Lea. Quit selling yourself short. You have what it takes to hang with the best. Don't second guess it." I slid my keys into my pocket. "Now, I really hate to do this, Lea, but I really have to go to the airport and get my dad. I'll catch you later."
"Okay."
"Congratulations. Now we have something to celebrate at dinner tomorrow." She laughed; music to my ears. "I will catch you later, Lea. Remember to breathe."
"Working on it. Catch you later, John." I hung up the phone and made it out the door, going down to the lobby and to my car. I was going to have to haul ass double time if I hoped to make it to the airport on time. Not that it's Amberlea's fault; I took my sweet ass time a bit too much this morning.
I couldn't keep the smile off my face knowing full well that Amberlea was having the greatest day of her life, and that she was going to quit that god-awful cage dancing job that she had picked up to help support herself. It's a miracle that it never got dangerous for her, but she is a tough girl; I know she can handle her business if shit got thick.
My love for wrestling has gone back to when I was kid, watching it with my dad and my brothers. As the second oldest of five boys, we were always fucking around, locking up in different holds and seeing who could make the other one pass out. Typical kid stuff. Hulk Hogan was always my favorite when I was a kid, somebody who I always felt like I could get behind. I was seven years old when Hulkamania swept through America, and I hopped on the bandwagon with ferocity.
When I went to Springfield College, I was a well-decorated offensive lineman, though I knew when college was over, so was my football career. After a few ho-hum jobs that I fucked up, I decided to bite the bullet and follow my dreams. And I've never looked back, no matter how hard things get. One day, I know I will be one of the best the industry has to offer, and I'll look back on these days and remember how great they were, but how tough they were at the same time and how much stronger they made me.
My parents are pretty proud of me, though I know they're unsure of my career choice. Every parent wants to see their kid succeed and this is a tough business to hack it in. So far I've done pretty well, though it's been tight and it's been an adventure. But it's all worth it to be able to pursue my dream. Amberlea is the first of us three to leave OVW, but I know Randy and I won't be far behind.