Have a Nice Day (70 page)

With Shane at my mercy, I called out, “Vince, I want a title shot, and I want it tonight,” while Shane moaned in displeasure. “Give it to me, or I’ll break his goddamn shoulder.”

I then put the mike to Shane’s face so that he could say a few words. “Oww, oww, oww,” was all he could manage. With his own flesh and blood in peril, Vince almost immediately gave The Rock up, and agreed to the big showdown. The Rock was displeased, but the crowd was not, as they prepped for an epic battle.

I almost didn’t make the epic. I decided to take off through the people as I’d seen so many wrestlers do before. I almost didn’t get out in one piece. I had neglected to tell security of my grand exit scheme, and as a result, there was no one to block the fans from reaching out and touching me. And slapping me. And tearing off my clothes. For anyone who wondered why I showed up for battle with a shredded garment, now you know. What scared me is that these people liked me and they nearly killed me. If they hadn’t, I might have had to no-show my date with destiny.

I got back to the dressing room with almost no time to prepare. I knew Vince’s Corporation and DX, who had kind of taken me in as their “little buddy,” would be surrounding the ring. I wanted to make sure they didn’t fight until the time was right. I had seen way too many similar situations end up in disaster because of overzealous ringside onlookers and I wanted to make sure that momentous occasion didn’t suffer a similar fate. I barely had even a chance to wish The Rock luck when his music played. Although the situations were completely different, I felt just like I had before my King of the Death Match finale in Japan. I just wanted to get through it.

Fortunately, we did much more than that. We had engaged in a better bouts before, and we would engage in better in the future, but this night was special. Too many wrestlers think the secret of a great match is to line up as many great moves as possible, and run them off from A to Z. That may be great for them, but it takes out the factors that make the match turn into magic-emotion and spontaneity. Our title match may have been lacking in choreography, but it was filled with emotion and spontaneity, and as a result, felt magical as it unfolded.

I was “Rock Bottomed” on a table, which was a first, and as a result, was on the defensive as The Rock began kicking my “rooty poo, candy ass” all over the Worcester Centrum. Time and again, the “great one” fired away, but I waited for a mistake, and with my white shirt in tatters, mounted a small offensive. I stunned The Rock with a suplex and then slowly got to my feet. As the Corporate Champion gained his bearings, I took off for the ropes, but was unable to spring off due to the Big Boss Man’s interference. I pulled Boss Man up to the ring apron and fired a punch, which set off a chain reaction of Corporation and DX fisticuffs. With the referee’s attention on the ringside melee, young Shane, who was still selling his sore shoulder, slid the championship belt in to The Rock. I turned around, and WHAM, The Rock caught me on the head with a shot so hard that you could hear the heavy belt dong off my skull. The referee turned around to see the “great one” going for the cover. In the closest of counts, I kicked out on two and twenty-seven twenty-eighths for a huge “ooh” from the frantic fans.

The Rock was irate, but the readied himself quickly for a second belt shot that would surely allow him to walk out of Worcester still wearing ten pounds of gold. He swung mightily, but just like Casey of Mudville fame, struck out, and I was there to benefit from his mistake. One boot to the stomach and a double arm DDT later, and both of us were lying on the ground in a weakened state. The DX-Corporation battle was really picking up outside, and the referee headed out to restore order. Amazingly, none of the combatants heard the gigantic sound of glass breaking or the thunderous 9vation that came with it as Stone Cold made his way to the ring, brandishing a steel chair.

Austin had not been heard from since his December 13 injury, and the absence had served only to make the fans’ hearts grow fonder. As The Rock was recovering, Stone Cold slid into the ring and caught the rising champion with a nice chair shot to the top of the People’s Skull. Klong! The champ wasn’t rising anymore. The referee looked up to see me just barely covering The Rock and slid in to make the count that would list my name forever in the annals of sports-entertainment history. One, two, three. The bell rang, and it was one of the sweetest sounds I’d ever heard.

For years, I had never believed this could happen. I had been respected by my peers and even idolized by certain fans, as witnessed by the “Foley Is God” signs that were gracing the Centrum in Worcester. I had shed blood on five different continents and had taken part in what were arguably some of the finest matches ever seen. Still, I had wrestled for fifteen years with the knowledge that I didn’t look like a star, let alone a champion. I had learned to accept and even love my role as the lovable loser who somehow never wins the big one, and I can honestly say that before that day of December 29, 1998, I never believed that it would happen. But it had happened, and the reaction was heartwarming.

The Worcester fans were on their feet, and I was on the shoulders of D-Generation X as they paraded me around the ring. Several pictures later showed the members of DX smiling broadly, and I know that the smiles were too bright to not be real. Much like the early Dude, Mankind-or more accurately, Mick Foley-had made the people feel good about themselves. A chant of “Foley, Foley,” began, but unlike my traumatic night at King of the Ring, these chants were loud and growing louder. I was let down from the shoulders of the D X and grabbed the house mike. I first addressed Vince, who was yelling and fussing his way off stage, although secretly I suspect he was beaming. I then got down on my knees and spoke from my heart.

“At the risk of not sounding cool,” I began, “I want to dedicate this belt to my two little people at home, Dewey and Noelle-Daddy-O did it!”

I lost the belt at the Royal Rumble in an emotional and brutal bout only twenty-six days later. But if you want to read about that, you can buy The Rock’s damn book.

The End