The Road Warriors: Danger, Death, and the Rush of Wrestling by Joe Laurinaitis Read Free Book Online
Book: The Road Warriors: Danger, Death, and the Rush of Wrestling by Joe Laurinaitis Read Free Book Online
Authors: Joe Laurinaitis
I could get back on my feet. I imagined my father putting up job postings on the fridge again, and I shuddered. Feeling the pressure, I started doing any temporary work I could find to bring in some cash.
For a while I was loading boxes onto UPS tractor trailers from 11 p.m. to 6 a.m. Believe it or not, I even went back to my dead-end job and worked in what I called “the cave,” a dismal room where I had to assemble various high-tech machine parts. I wasn’t happy, but it was great to be back home and around Joey. Every time I looked into his eyes, though, I knew I had to get things seriously back into motion.
Back home, everyone wanted to hear about my exploits in the world of professional wrestling. I let my feelings loose and made it clear that going down to Georgia was a horrible mistake and that Ole Anderson had fed me false hopes on the way to a dead end. Word got around quickly, and there was at least one person who took offense and decided to let me know: Rick Martel.
Rick was a well-established French Canadian wrestler who eventually became the AWA World Heavyweight champion before embarking on a run in the WWF as Rick “The Model” Martel. One day while I was working out at The Gym, Rick happened to be there and approached me with his two cents. In his thick French accent, he said, “Joe, I want to give you some advice. I know you went down to Georgia and didn’t have a great experience. But you might want to watch what you say about the business. You might get hurt.”
Oh, brother. Was he kidding? I cut him off. “Rick, let me tell you something. Those guys down there have my number and address. They can find me anytime. There ain’t no one down there I can’t handle, and that goes for you, too.”
Rick jumped back, surprised.
I didn’t mince words as I told him about being shuffled around from Atlanta to the Carolinas, starving. The expression on his face made it clear he didn’t care, so I saved my breath and went about my workout.
A couple days later, I was at my parents’ house with Joey when the phone rang. I couldn’t believe it. It was Ole. I guess his ears had been ringing down in Atlanta.
“Hey, kid. How’s it going?”
I wanted to reach through the phone and wring his neck. “You’ve got a lot of balls calling this house. You brought me down there, pushed me off to Crockett, and forgot about me. I want to break your neck, man. ” I had so much pent-up frustration toward Ole that I blew up on him. I cussed him out left and right, calling him every name in the book.
To his credit, Ole listened, apologized, and explained things from his point of view. He said how his hands had been tied while fighting with Jim Barnett over GCW, but he assured me that things had been worked out and Barnett was gone. Then Ole asked me the big question: “Hey, Joe, you want to give it another try?”
Wow. I hadn’t seen that one coming. Truth was, I didn’t know. And that’s what I told him. We agreed to talk again down the road.
In the meantime, I went to work. Dropping weight had been depressing as hell. Now that I was eating and lifting normally, my body’s muscle memory kicked in and the pounds packed on. Before I knew it, I was close to 300 pounds again and feeling good.
I also got back in touch with both Rood and Mike Hegstrand. While I had been gone on my little adventures with GCW and MCW, Hegstrand and a healed up Rood had unsuccessfully gone to try their luck in Vancouver, wrestling for Al Tomko’s NWA All-Star Championship Wrestling. We exchanged stories of our less-than-stellar debuts and had a good laugh.
Mike told me that when those guys in Vancouver got a look at him, they had a revelation: “Let’s give this guy an evil German gimmick.” Mike hated it. They made him shave his head, gave him the claw as his finisher, 6 and named him Crusher Von Haig. “Aw c’mon. Not the claw.” Mike groaned. “Anything but the claw.” It was funny as hell. Crusher Von Haig was a
For a while I was loading boxes onto UPS tractor trailers from 11 p.m. to 6 a.m. Believe it or not, I even went back to my dead-end job and worked in what I called “the cave,” a dismal room where I had to assemble various high-tech machine parts. I wasn’t happy, but it was great to be back home and around Joey. Every time I looked into his eyes, though, I knew I had to get things seriously back into motion.
Back home, everyone wanted to hear about my exploits in the world of professional wrestling. I let my feelings loose and made it clear that going down to Georgia was a horrible mistake and that Ole Anderson had fed me false hopes on the way to a dead end. Word got around quickly, and there was at least one person who took offense and decided to let me know: Rick Martel.
Rick was a well-established French Canadian wrestler who eventually became the AWA World Heavyweight champion before embarking on a run in the WWF as Rick “The Model” Martel. One day while I was working out at The Gym, Rick happened to be there and approached me with his two cents. In his thick French accent, he said, “Joe, I want to give you some advice. I know you went down to Georgia and didn’t have a great experience. But you might want to watch what you say about the business. You might get hurt.”
Oh, brother. Was he kidding? I cut him off. “Rick, let me tell you something. Those guys down there have my number and address. They can find me anytime. There ain’t no one down there I can’t handle, and that goes for you, too.”
Rick jumped back, surprised.
I didn’t mince words as I told him about being shuffled around from Atlanta to the Carolinas, starving. The expression on his face made it clear he didn’t care, so I saved my breath and went about my workout.
A couple days later, I was at my parents’ house with Joey when the phone rang. I couldn’t believe it. It was Ole. I guess his ears had been ringing down in Atlanta.
“Hey, kid. How’s it going?”
I wanted to reach through the phone and wring his neck. “You’ve got a lot of balls calling this house. You brought me down there, pushed me off to Crockett, and forgot about me. I want to break your neck, man. ” I had so much pent-up frustration toward Ole that I blew up on him. I cussed him out left and right, calling him every name in the book.
To his credit, Ole listened, apologized, and explained things from his point of view. He said how his hands had been tied while fighting with Jim Barnett over GCW, but he assured me that things had been worked out and Barnett was gone. Then Ole asked me the big question: “Hey, Joe, you want to give it another try?”
Wow. I hadn’t seen that one coming. Truth was, I didn’t know. And that’s what I told him. We agreed to talk again down the road.
In the meantime, I went to work. Dropping weight had been depressing as hell. Now that I was eating and lifting normally, my body’s muscle memory kicked in and the pounds packed on. Before I knew it, I was close to 300 pounds again and feeling good.
I also got back in touch with both Rood and Mike Hegstrand. While I had been gone on my little adventures with GCW and MCW, Hegstrand and a healed up Rood had unsuccessfully gone to try their luck in Vancouver, wrestling for Al Tomko’s NWA All-Star Championship Wrestling. We exchanged stories of our less-than-stellar debuts and had a good laugh.
Mike told me that when those guys in Vancouver got a look at him, they had a revelation: “Let’s give this guy an evil German gimmick.” Mike hated it. They made him shave his head, gave him the claw as his finisher, 6 and named him Crusher Von Haig. “Aw c’mon. Not the claw.” Mike groaned. “Anything but the claw.” It was funny as hell. Crusher Von Haig was a