Let’s Get It On! by Big John McCarthy, Bas Rutten Loretta Hunt, Bas Rutten Read Free Book Online Page B
altogether. I guess I was lucky she was into the rebellious type, because I had plenty of that to go around.
I was a big, immature twenty-year-old powerlifter who thought he could handle just about anyone. I know now there were plenty of people who could’ve handed me my ass, but back then I was a six-feet-four, 300-pound guy who thought he was invincible.
At the time, I was driving a Jeep CJ-7. I was so big the back of the seat had broken off at its hinge and I couldn’t sit in it anymore. I started driving Elaine’s car, a tiny Datsun truck, with the window rolled down so my arm and shoulder could hang out to give me more room.
One night, I was driving Elaine home so she could change for a party. When I slowed down at a stoplight, I saw a green MG compact sports car ahead of us with its top up and the rear window open. Then I caught the driver’s eyes.
“What the hell is that guy winking at?” I asked.
“Certainly not at you,” Elaine said.
That was it. I snapped. I pulled up behind Mr. Green MG, honking my horn and flashing my lights to get him to pull over.
Instead, he turned in to a McDonald’s drive-thru, where I boxed him in from behind. Then I jumped out of the truck, went up to the driver’s door, and told the guy to get out of his car.
He looked at me as if he’d just dropped his grandmother off at church. “What’s the problem, buddy?” he asked innocently.
Wrong answer, buddy. I tried to rip his locked door off its hinge, and when I remembered the open back window, I fished inside, tearing out a big piece of his shirt and then a clump of his hair.
The guy was grabbing as much floorboard as he could, screaming for help while this big lunatic attacked him.
“Get out of the car, or I’ll crush it around you,” I said, and when he didn’t obey, I hoisted the tail end repeatedly as if I could shake him out.
Meanwhile, I was vaguely aware of Elaine standing there calling me every name in the book, which only enraged me more.
I beat the soft top down flat and jumped on the hood and trunk, denting both ends beyond recognition. I picked up the back of the car again and bounced it off the ground, bottoming out the suspension and crushing the underside. I was out of control and breath when I finally realized I had an audience. As the sirens gained, I jumped into the truck with Elaine and drove off.
“You’re a psycho,” she yelled.
She was right.
I was lucky I didn’t get caught.
Of all the times for me to go off the deep end, this wasn’t the best. You see, I had planned to propose to Elaine that night.
So I did the one thing I could think of to right this sinking ship. I bribed her.
Leaving her huffing away in the parking lot of an ice cream parlor, I went inside. A few minutes later, I reappeared with a tub of peppermint ice cream. It was Swensen’s, her favorite, and these 5 gallons would go a long way with a girl who weighed only about 115 pounds.
At least it was enough to get Elaine to agree to come to the party.
Outside of the house full of partygoers, I stopped her. “You have every reason in the world to turn me down, but if you would like to, I want to marry you.”
It was the worst proposal in the history of mankind. 2 Still she said yes, and for that I am eternally grateful.
Looking back on that day, I realize I felt as if that stranger had spit in my face right in front of the girl I was going to marry. I couldn’t let that happen. But my behavior spoke to a larger issue. I was heading down the wrong road.
I wouldn’t say I looked for fights, but I certainly didn’t back down when they fell in my lap. For some reason, they did a lot. It was probably because I was now bouncing in nightclubs and country bars.
My dad saw the writing on the wall. He knew I’d been doing steroids off and on the last two years, and it scared him because it fueled my aggressive tendencies when people pushed my buttons just right. “You’re going to kill yourself one of two
I was a big, immature twenty-year-old powerlifter who thought he could handle just about anyone. I know now there were plenty of people who could’ve handed me my ass, but back then I was a six-feet-four, 300-pound guy who thought he was invincible.
At the time, I was driving a Jeep CJ-7. I was so big the back of the seat had broken off at its hinge and I couldn’t sit in it anymore. I started driving Elaine’s car, a tiny Datsun truck, with the window rolled down so my arm and shoulder could hang out to give me more room.
One night, I was driving Elaine home so she could change for a party. When I slowed down at a stoplight, I saw a green MG compact sports car ahead of us with its top up and the rear window open. Then I caught the driver’s eyes.
“What the hell is that guy winking at?” I asked.
“Certainly not at you,” Elaine said.
That was it. I snapped. I pulled up behind Mr. Green MG, honking my horn and flashing my lights to get him to pull over.
Instead, he turned in to a McDonald’s drive-thru, where I boxed him in from behind. Then I jumped out of the truck, went up to the driver’s door, and told the guy to get out of his car.
He looked at me as if he’d just dropped his grandmother off at church. “What’s the problem, buddy?” he asked innocently.
Wrong answer, buddy. I tried to rip his locked door off its hinge, and when I remembered the open back window, I fished inside, tearing out a big piece of his shirt and then a clump of his hair.
The guy was grabbing as much floorboard as he could, screaming for help while this big lunatic attacked him.
“Get out of the car, or I’ll crush it around you,” I said, and when he didn’t obey, I hoisted the tail end repeatedly as if I could shake him out.
Meanwhile, I was vaguely aware of Elaine standing there calling me every name in the book, which only enraged me more.
I beat the soft top down flat and jumped on the hood and trunk, denting both ends beyond recognition. I picked up the back of the car again and bounced it off the ground, bottoming out the suspension and crushing the underside. I was out of control and breath when I finally realized I had an audience. As the sirens gained, I jumped into the truck with Elaine and drove off.
“You’re a psycho,” she yelled.
She was right.
I was lucky I didn’t get caught.
Of all the times for me to go off the deep end, this wasn’t the best. You see, I had planned to propose to Elaine that night.
So I did the one thing I could think of to right this sinking ship. I bribed her.
Leaving her huffing away in the parking lot of an ice cream parlor, I went inside. A few minutes later, I reappeared with a tub of peppermint ice cream. It was Swensen’s, her favorite, and these 5 gallons would go a long way with a girl who weighed only about 115 pounds.
At least it was enough to get Elaine to agree to come to the party.
Outside of the house full of partygoers, I stopped her. “You have every reason in the world to turn me down, but if you would like to, I want to marry you.”
It was the worst proposal in the history of mankind. 2 Still she said yes, and for that I am eternally grateful.
Looking back on that day, I realize I felt as if that stranger had spit in my face right in front of the girl I was going to marry. I couldn’t let that happen. But my behavior spoke to a larger issue. I was heading down the wrong road.
I wouldn’t say I looked for fights, but I certainly didn’t back down when they fell in my lap. For some reason, they did a lot. It was probably because I was now bouncing in nightclubs and country bars.
My dad saw the writing on the wall. He knew I’d been doing steroids off and on the last two years, and it scared him because it fueled my aggressive tendencies when people pushed my buttons just right. “You’re going to kill yourself one of two
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