Iceman by Chuck Liddell Read Free Book Online

not the smartest thing, but we were just goofing off. When we passed them, they started flipping us off. Eric wanted to keep driving, but I said, “Stop the car.” There were two guys, one about 260 pounds and another about 230. When we got out, they saw our Cal Poly wrestling shirts and started talking trash about us being wrestlers and losers. I had just had stitches put in my eye because of a wrestling injury, and Eric kept telling me to get back in the car because if I opened up the stitches, I wouldn’t wrestle that weekend. He was right, so I started opening the door. Then the guy who was about 230 got in the face of Eric’s brother, who only weighed around 160. I stopped, looked up, and said, “You’re a dick.”
    The guy walked up to me and fake-head-butted me. I don’t remember my reaction, but Eric says I didn’t even flinch. Then I dropped the guy with an elbow. He went straight down, knocking his head on the bumper before crumpling into the street. We could actually see a little trickle of blood running down the gutter and into the drain. By now the bigger dude who was running with the guy I had just dropped had taken off his shirt. He had acne scars all over his back, as if he was mid–steroid cycle. He came at me and I dropped him on his ass, too. Then he looked at Eric and said, “Why don’t you guys just get out of here.” And we did.
    About a year later a teammate of ours who lived in that town was visiting home and was wearing a Cal Poly wrestling shirt. He ran into those guys we’d met on the street and they said, “Dude, there is a seriously crazy wrestler up there.”

CHAPTER 7
NO COWERING, NO SCOWLING, JUST STARING
    I DIDN’T DRINK AND I DIDN’T DO DRUGS. FIGHTING could have been considered my vice, although I’ve never viewed it that way. I don’t know how to explain the sensation of being ready to throw down anytime and anyplace. But some people talk and act tough, then when you look closely, you see in their eyes that they are scared. I’m not. Friends have told me that I get a look in my eye when I’m about to fight as if I don’t even see the guy in front of me. I’m looking right through him. There’s no cowering, no scowling, just staring. To me it’s as if I’ve already knocked the guy flat on his ass.
    Still, it’s not like I had a rep on campus as some street brawler. I was actually pretty clumsy, often tripping over painted lines and landing in the push-up position. When it happened in downtown San Luis Obispo, I’d hear people whispering, “Man, that guy’s drunk.”
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    PEOPLE WHO SCARE ME:
    Creeps on To Catch a Predator
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    If anyone knew me at all, it was as a decent wrestler. I wrestled at 177 until my senior year, when I moved up to 190. I was always really good at taking some of the best wrestlers in the country deep into a match, then losing by a point. I never gave up anything—which is why I was injured every season except freshman. I couldn’t just let a guy beat me in a position, I had to try to fight my way out, which led to an injured shoulder, a hernia, and an injured knee. I was also still in great shape. In practice we did rope drills, sprints, and iron-man wrestling, which is when one man stays in the circle for several three-minute rounds while fresh wrestlers rotate in against him. And I had a lot of strength in my arms and hands. I would shoot on an opponent’s leg, and if my fingers came anywhere near the back of his calf, I could suck that leg right in. My fingertips would creep around his calf, dig deep into the guy’s muscle, and never let go.

    As a wrestler, I’d try to pressure the guy until he’d break.
    But sometimes you make one change to your look, and it’s as if people are seeing you for the first time. During my senior year, in 1992, Eric and I were going to see a Slayer concert with a bunch of our