Chapter 9: MIC TIME
Im backstage, watching the monitors, listening to my favorite Sooner Boomer chat up the guys in the ring.
And Jeff Hardy nearly took Farooqs head off with the Poetry-In-Motion!
I get a kick out of watching those kids do their thing. Theyve got energy and spunk and they sell the hell out of everything. Chicks dig em. Guys dig em. And Litas a hottie.
Matt Hardy going for the Twist of Fate OOH! Farooq goes down! And Jeff Hardy goes to the top rope! High risk maneuver here SWANTON BOMB! He nailed it! Jeff Hardy nails it and Matt goes for the pin one-two-THREE!!
The crowd goes insane. They do so love Team Extreme.
Dillon runs up to me. Max! Good! Caught you before the promo. Ah, listen. Vince is going to play up the murder charge!
Say what?!
I wish I were kidding, Max, but Im not. And hes on his way out right now
I look at the monitor. Sure enough, the slug monkey is climbing into the ring, mic in hand. Shit.
Just didnt want it to broadside you too badly.
Right, Dillon. Wait until the last minute, wait until Vinnie is climbing into the ring and THEN tell me hes gonna lay into me like a mad dog on road kill. Thanks Dillon.
Dillon doesnt say anything. He just kind of hangs his head, stares at his shuffling feet, lets his clipboard dangle. I dont look at him. I look at the monitor and watch Vinnie Mac do his thing. The man is dangerous on the mic.
Im sure all you people here in San Francisco Huge, cheap, crowd pop. Im sure all you people are THRILLED to death that Max Carnage is your new Undisputed Champion. The pop is gigantic, humongous, overpowering. From the rafters to the foundation, the building reverberates with the echo of my name being screamed out by thousands of fans:
MAX! MAX! MAX! MAX! MAX! MAX!
Im sure youre thrilled to death that Max Carnage beat Kurt Angle for the Undisputed belt.
MAX! MAX! MAX! MAX! MAX! MAX!
Im sure youre thrilled to death that Max Carnage is going to be a thorn in my side in the future.
MAX! MAX! MAX! MAX! MAX! MAX!
Well, Im sorry. I hate to disappoint you. But Max Carnage will not be a thorn in my side.
The crowd noise got louder, if that was possible. Screams of fans and roars and yells. The crowd loves Max Carnage, and theyre expecting to see it in the ring and soon.
I hate to disappoint but somebody HAS BEEN thrilled to DEATH by Max Carnage!
And now the crowd goes a little quiet, because this is wholly unexpected. What the hell is Vinnie Mac talking about? As the Dudleys used to say, Wuzzup?
Thats right, you heard me correctly. Somebody got killed last night, after Backlash. And who was at the scene of the crime, looking guilty, acting guilty? Max Carnage!
The crowd goes nuts, with boos and yells and roars and screams. They want blood, all right. And it may be mine.
You know what I think? I think Max Carnage was out on the town and somebody thought they were tougher than Max Carnage. I think that somebody told Max Carnage they were tougher than Max Carnage. And I think Max Carnage kicked that person in the gut, stuck that persons head between his thighs, lifted him high over head, and brought him down to take a very fatal Dirt Nap.
The noise police would have a heyday with the volume jump from the crowd. They were livid. They wanted blood: Vinces, mine, didnt matter.
Crowd psychology is a funny thing. We as performers purposefully say and do things to get the crowd, the audience, to react in certain ways to us. And we are REALLY good at what we do. Some time ago, Steve Austin managed to Pavlov his entire viewing audience into saying WHAT? after every sentence Kurt Angle said during his promos. It was stupid and annoying, but effective. Vince is the master of crowd manipulation. There is no low that he wont strive to hit, provided it wont get thoroughly censored or cost him a butt load in fines. No kiddy porn, no sex with animals, no blatant evisceration for the live viewing audience, but pretty much everything else is fair game. Now an off-screen dismemberment. No, not really.
Dillon, get me a mic, I say, not turning around, just staring at the monitor. I dont hear movement. My head snaps around to where Dillon was last standing. Hes still standing there looking like hes about to piss himself. I said get me a mic, dammit! I yell at him. He disappears, almost in a puff of smoke. Dont piss me off right now, Dillon. Im in no mood.
Vince is still going off. I knew that Max Carnage was going to be trouble the moment he stepped foot in this organization. But did you fans listen to me? Did you fans listen to the voice of reason? The voice of experience? The voice of proven leadership? No!
The crowd thunders with whoops and screams and yells, raising the roof. Dillon has scurried back with a microphone. He hands it to me. I take it from him and nonchalantly put it in my back pocket, never taking my eyes off the monitor. A promo is forming in my head, one that should keep me in the good graces of the crowd for a bit yet. Dillon, go get Taker. That run-in happens in two minutes. Ninety seconds tops.
What? Dillon doesnt get it.
Dillon, that was Austins line. Now go get Taker before I kick your ass! Dillon scurries off again. I focus back on the monitor once again, listening to the master dis me something fierce. I strap the championship belt around my waist as I watch, gearing up for what is to come.
Max Carnage is nothing but street trash! Hes a hulking brute! He doesnt deserve to be Undisputed Champion! He doesnt deserve to have that belt! He doesnt deserve to be in the same ring, let alone the same ARENA, as a TRUE champion, like Kurt Angle!
Kurts music cues up. I hadnt even noticed him standing there, waiting for his entrance. He gives me a little raise of his eyebrows and a sideways head nod that says Hey, youre guess is as good as mine.
I call after him Three-on-one beatdown in fourty-five. He gives a quick nod, indicating he understands.
He heads down the ramp and the audience is screaming and shouting You Suck! when the horn riff comes up. Kurt saunters down to the ring, the patented Olympic Schmuck Smile plastered on his mug. He climbs into the ring and leans in to Vince and whispers something to him. Vince of course plays it up as just conformation of condescension, but I know better. I know Kurt has just let Vince know that Im gearing up to come out, and that Taker will do a run in on me. Which means the three on one beatdown is on. Vince hands Kurt the mic.
Mr. MacMahon, I couldnt agree with you more! Your Olympic hero, Kurt Angle, IS a MUCH better champion than that white trash scum, Max Carnage! Do you see what he did to me? Kurt shows off his shiner to the audience who gives him the mock boo-hoo. That animal nearly broke my nose with that that that MOVE of his! That thing is WAY too dangerous! That move is is well it should be made ILLEGAL! Its not a WRESTLING move! It doesnt take any skill to fling a guy into the air and land him on his face! Not like the Olympic Slam! Not like the Ankle lock! Those moves require practice and skill! And Ive got a LOT of skill! Ive got enough skill to have an Olympic gold medal! I dont see any Olympic medals around Max Carnages neck! The crowd is chanting crybaby at Kurt, who is playing it for all hes worth. I want my title back! I want it back, and I want it back NOW! The crowds chant has gone into the realm of deafening. Its quite a pop, gonna be hard to beat. I love a challenge.
Vince takes the mic back from Kurt. I have to agree with you, Kurt! That move SHOULD be illegal! And Im gonna make that move illegal! From this time forward, the Dirt Nap will be an illegal move! Any usage of the Dirt Nap will result in a disqualification!
The crowd is slathering, their howls of protest a din of unmatched proportion. And furthermore! Vince pauses, dramatically letting the crowd calm down yeah right, And furthermore, since Max Carnage used an illegal move to win I mean STEAL your title from you, Kurt Angle, I hereby STRIP Max Carnage of the World Wrestling Entertainment Undisputed Title and
My music cues up, the guys in the back proving why theyre the best in the business. My entrance music is a heavy industrial metal sound that is not unlike sending a live pig through a wood chipper. I come out on stage and the fans go ballistic. The roar is unbe-fucking-lievable. People are on their feet chanting my name again. The building is shaking, for Gods sake! Vince and Kurt are in the ring, looking like theyre worried about me coming down there, but theyre really doing a quick layout on strategy for whats about to happen. I pull the mic from my back pocket.
Um, excuse me Vince? The crowd gives off a huge Whoa! They know Vince doesnt like to be called Vince, hes Mr. MacMahon to the commoners. Vince, did I just hear you right? Did I hear you call me STREET TRASH? The pop is gigantic. Vince has that constipated diarrhea look on his face, the one where hes not sure whether hes going to let loose in his jockeys or not, but it wont be good either way.
Yeah, that was it! Street trash! A hulking brute who DOESNT DESERVE to be the UNDISPUTED CHAMPION of the dubya dubya eee! Thats what you said Vince. I slowly start walking toward the ring, talking as I go.
You wanna outlaw the Nap, thats what you said. Gonna outlaw the Nap, make it illegal. I roll under the bottom rope into the ring. Vince and Kurt back up to the far side of the ring, moving away from me. Youre gonna strip me of the title I won fair and square in THIS VERY RING. The crowd is foaming with excitement. The air is electric. We have the crowd in our palms. The crowd is our plaything and we can do with it as we please. I undo the belt from around my waist, one-handed. Youre gonna take this belt away from me because, lets face it, you dont like me. Okay, that was pretty damn lame, but hey, Im doing this off the top of my head here.
The crowd doesnt seem to mind. They pop for the lameness and Vince is yelling affirmative about him not liking me and Kurt is yelling his agreement and the crowd is yelling at everything.
Well, I got nine words for you and the Olympic Cry-Baby there. And Im gonna say them slowly so you dont misunderstand a single syllable, either one of you, because I want this as clear as mud for you two pea-brained chud munchers: You. Can. Have. My. Belt. I hold the belt out to them. Over. My. Dead. Body. With that I charge Kurt, high forearm to the chest, belt in hand, sending him flying over the top rope to land with a heavy, meaty thud on the padded floor area surrounding the ring. Vince makes as if to run, but I grab him by the back of the neck and yank him back into my world. I give him a kick to the gut, doubling him over. I toss the belt down behind him as I grab him under the armpits and slam his head between my knees, grab him around his waist and hoist and spin his body. Voila! Hes sitting on my shoulders, looking down at me wide eyed and open mouthed, knowing whats going to happen. I whisper up to him Takers in in 3, watch out for the belt, and jump up and fall back, dropping him face first onto the waiting belt plate. I spring up to my feet and start talking trash at the prone body, waiting for the Undertaker to come in.
The next thing I remember, I feel a hard sting at the back of my head and hear the crunch of metal on something solid and meaty as Taker gives me a great whap to the back, smacking me right at shoulder blade level but looking like hes just cracked me upside the head with a steel chair. I go down, selling the hell out of the shot, getting ready for another one. I dont have to wait long. Wham! Right in the back, a little stiff cause he got more of the chair on me than on the mat, but Ill live. Wham! Another one to the back, this time more chair to mat than chair to back, which suits me just fine. I figure hell give me another chair or two, then work on me with his hands, maybe bust me open. I sell the dickens out of the attack. He gives me two more head shots which sound worse than they feel, and my ears are ringing. The crowd is beyond nuts. True to form, Taker flips me over and goes to work on the forehead, popping the eyebrow just right so my face is the ever famous Crimson Mask. I can feel shoes tapping at my shoulders and legs, so I know Kurt and Vince are in on the fun. I lay there, selling my unconsciousness, and the crowd is buying it hook, line, sinker and reel. It goes on for about 45 seconds, then the ref squad comes in and breaks it up, kicking everyone out of the ring. They slap me onto a strecher and wheel me out of the main arena area, and into the back area, moving to set up for another quick promo, to give the crowd more to react to.
Vince walks up to me as I lie on the strecher, wiping blood out of my eye. Nicely done, Max. Quick thinking! Good work! I like that kind of improvisation! Shows initiative!
Vince. I sit up and look at him. He has a small scratch over his eye, but I dont give a shit. Next time, warn me a little ahead before you go shooting off your mouth.
Vince looks stunned.
Ah, Max, this is my show. If I see an opportunity to take a story line into a different direction, I have the right to do that. His voice is very firm and not at all like the man who was just on stage, but that menace was back.
No offense, Mr. MacMahon. I understand your position. I respect that. I just would like to have a little warning before you go pulling that kind of promo on me again. Dont blindside me. Ill work with you, no problem. You want me to job the belt back to Kurt, fine. You want me to job it to Taker, no problem. Just dont blindside me.
Vince paused and looked thoughtful for a moment. Youre right, Max. Im sorry. I apologize for for blindsiding you. It wasnt fair to you and Im sorry. But you have to admit, he said with a grin, that pop was pretty big. I dont think even Dwayne has gotten a pop like that.
Oh sure he has, I say, laying back down. He just hasnt had the kind of heat we just put out for awhile. Give the man some heat, hell give you pop. Dont worry.
Yeah. Dwaynes a pro.
Say, am I still on tonight? I would assume that after what just happened, the card would change some.
Yeah, the card changed. Weve got twenty minutes to see how were going to do this
Make it me versus Taker and Kurt. Triple threat. Once Earl gets knocked out of the ring, you do a run in, take a nap. Taker chokeslams me, Kurt breaks it up. Kurt slams me, Taker breaks it up. Kurt ankle locks Taker. Taker taps, but no ref. Kurt pulls a hissy fit, Taker Rides him. I manage to give Taker a nap. Earl gets back in. One two three. Shows done, everybody hit the showers.
Vince is nodding as I break it down for him. I like it. Go with it. Dillon? Let Kurt and Taker know the game play. Max? Promo in five minutes. And Max?
I look up at him again.
Good work Champ.
I grin through the Crimson Mask. Champ. I do so like that word.