Countdown To Lockdown (24 page)

Abdul-Jabbar’s reaction had struck me as harsh back then. How, I wondered, could that one comment have forever changed a
relationship that had been forged over such a long period of time, that had seen them both accomplish so much?

In San Diego, I finally got it. Even as I sat at that table, doing my best to call the match at hand, I thought of Alcindor and Donohue, and really felt that my relationship with Vince McMahon had changed forever. It wasn’t just the F-bombs. Those I could live with. It was instead the total disdain that accompanied them. I didn’t let Vince McMahon ruin my Disneyland trip, but I did wonder why I had let
anyone
, even a larger-than-life billionaire, speak to me in a way that was simply unacceptable. Even during early morning Magic Kingdom Matterhorn Mountain coaster runs, or while rocketing through Space Mountain, I was visualizing the way things should have been — removing my headset in the middle of the match, calmly walking up that ramp, getting closer to that man behind the curtain with each step. Then stepping through that curtain, calmly looking at the shocked billionaire and saying, “You’ll never talk to me that way again,” before exiting to an ovation not seen since Richard Gere came back to the factory to literally sweep Debra Winger off her feet in
An Officer and a Gentleman
— an ending so thick with good oldfashioned love syrup that even finding out Gere and Winger couldn’t stand each other in real life didn’t diminish the taste of the treat.

So, I didn’t do it. At least I thought about it, seriously thought about it. Besides, such an act would never be cheered by the guys — at least not outwardly.

Still, those few days in Disneyland weren’t all preoccupied by images of the great walk-off. I was also giving great thought to the opportunity at Spike. What could it be? I had returned Fish’s call and agreed to a meeting, but was told nothing else, except that it was a big deal.

About a week later, I walked into the Spike offices in New York and met with the network’s president, Kevin Kay, and its senior vice president of sports and specials, Brian Diamond. In all my years at WWE, I’d never met with any type of television executive. Then again, unlike
many top WWE stars, I’d never even been invited to the McMahon house. Kevin Kay gave me a one-sentence synopsis of their plans. True to Fish’s word, it
was
a big deal. Done right, this idea could be huge.
^*

I spoke with TNA founder Jeff Jarrett and Fishman on conference phone and assured them I was interested. I told them that I knew they probably felt that I’d played TNA and WWE off each other three years earlier, and that they’d probably been right. Things would be different this time, I assured them.

I told them if we arrived at a deal we were happy with, I’d take it, provided the WWE atmosphere didn’t magically improve.

Actually, for a while, the atmosphere did improve. I had yet to be paid for announcing, and so I had no idea how to gauge how they valued my work, but from all indications they were happy with my contributions as a broadcaster. Besides, I was told, being yelled at in demeaning fashion by Vince was apparently no big deal. Everyone went through it. It was just the way Vince did things.

For a while, those F-bomb clouds disappeared. Look at the rainbow, Mick. I only had to work one day a week, not including the two travel days to get to and from work. I no longer took notes or talked to the guys as much about their matches, but it didn’t seem to hurt; I knew the business and could ad-lib my way through just about anything. Plus, Vince would always offer suggestions (which weren’t really suggestions), some of them more helpful than others. And there was always the chance that a big, fat announcing check was going to show up at my house and make me feel foolish for ever finding Vince’s big bowl of bile so unappetizing.

A few weeks had gone by with no further word from TNA. Maybe
I would just stay put with WWE. This was my home, after all. And those F-bombs weren’t really
that
bad, were they? I didn’t get hit with them
that
often, did I? So what if he didn’t say he was sorry — a few weeks later, when it happened a second time. It wouldn’t happen
that
much, would it?

Even then, I realized I sounded something like an abused spouse, rationalizing the behavior of the abuser, accepting it, condoning it.

June 23, 2008, was the big draft — the yearly extravaganza where all three WWE brands (
Raw
,
SmackDown
, ECW) had their rosters shaken up. This year, we were told, even the announcers would be eligible for rebranding. I began joking with Michael Cole regularly, talking about what an honor it would be to work with Jim Ross, neither of us thinking for a moment that Vince would mess with the Monday night institution that J.R. and Lawler had become.

At one point, I thanked Cole for all his help, noting that even if we were to part ways, I still considered the opportunity to work with him to be one of the greatest of my life. “Thanks, Mick,” Cole said — waiting, I think, for the zinger that never came. Even then, the remark was more of a possible good-bye to broadcasting than it was a good-bye to
SmackDown.
For with or without TNA, I had come to the realization that this broadcasting thing just wasn’t for me.

Oddly, WWE did make a big move at the draft, sending J.R. to
SmackDown
and sending Michael Cole to
Raw
, effectively shaking the foundations of the shows in a way that none of us had anticipated. We were all in something like shock when the switch was made. None of us knew, or else we certainly would have been animated in our surprise — maybe not to the point of popping classic J.B. “Furley” eyes, but certainly doing more than just sitting like mourners at a funeral, the broadcast tables our own unique pews.

J.R. was livid afterward, thinking that the switch had been made just to mess with him, which in my opinion has been the impetus for many an on-air decision over the years. In retrospect, I really think that WWE was showing great faith in the
SmackDown
brand. Unlike
most draft years, in which
Raw
cleans up on these talent exchanges,
SmackDown
had really had a banner evening, picking up Triple H, Rey Mysterio, and Batista, as well as good ol’ J.R. behind the desk. A lot of people saw it as a sign of faith in me as well — that WWE saw great potential in a J.R./Mick Foley announce team.

But for me, on that night, I was looking at the move as my ticket out. “Listen, J.R.,” I said after the show, “the announcing really isn’t for me. I don’t know how much longer I’m going to do it. If you want to walk out now, I’ll go with you.”

J.R. thanked me for the offer but told me not to worry. He was going to cool off for a while before making any kind of decision.

He was back at work the next day, emotionally hurt but professionally unfazed, the consummate wrestling announcer, just doing what he does better than anyone else.

Would it really have taken so much away from the element of surprise for Vince to have sat J.R. down and explained the reasons why he
might
be moved to
SmackDown
?

So it was me and J.R. on
SmackDown
— a team that drew immediate praise from wrestlers and fans alike. If my heart had been into it, I have no doubt that we really could have been good. But I no longer did the research; I no longer thought of things to say when I was on my own time. I just tuned it out Wednesday through Monday, did the best I could on Tuesday, and upon completion of the show, dealt with the most profound feeling of emptiness. Profound emptiness — like announcing was the least important thing I’d ever been involved with.

At one point, I received a call from Kevin Dunn, asking how I liked the job, wondering if I wanted to commit to it, past the expiration of my contract on September 1.

“Kevin, I like it, but I don’t love it,” I said, before suggesting that we try a one-year contract.

That type of talk should have raised a red flag (and probably did). In a business where everybody aims for the longest possible contract,
aimed at generating the maximum amount of dollars, someone looking for a one-year deal would be something of an anomaly, practically an abomination.

Even so, I regretted my answer to Kevin, knowing it was a whopper of Pinocchio-sized proportions. Because I definitely did not
like
announcing.

A few days later, while waiting at WWE’s Stamford headquarters (I was several minutes early for a voice-over session), I asked if I could speak to one of WWE’s top producers, a woman I’d been friends with for several years, even talked literature with every now and then.

“You know a few days ago, Kevin asked me how I liked announcing, and I told him that I liked it, but didn’t love it,” I said.

She nodded.

“I think it would be closer to the truth to say I don’t like it and sometimes I
really
don’t like it.”

At our next
SmackDown
, I spoke to Kevin Dunn, and we agreed to part ways amicably when my contract expired.

“I want to leave while I’ve still got all of my good memories,” I told Kevin. “I want to look back and laugh at the idea of Vince yelling at me over the headsets, not worry about it happening every week.”

I told Kevin that I would be open to doing some kind of big angle to explain my departure — some way of building up one of the wrestlers for his upcoming match at
SummerSlam.
Something memorable.

On July 10, 2008, I broadcast my last WWE Pay-Per-View,
The Great American Bash
, at the Nassau Coliseum, forty minutes from my home. With all four of my kids looking on from the second row, I turned in what I thought was my top announcing performance. I hadn’t seen Vince McMahon at all and was more than happy to keep it that way, even after the show went off the air. I was easing my way out of the backstage area when little Mickey spotted several boxes of cereal at the craft services table — the go-to place for junk food and quick pick-me-ups in just about every form of entertainment — television, movies, news, wrestling, opera, politics.

Yeah, if only Mickey hadn’t needed, absolutely
needed
, those Cheerios, I’d have escaped Vince-free. But as it happened, craft services was directly in front of Vince’s office, and when Vince walked out, he essentially walked right into me.

“I know you’re not happy with me,” Vince said. “But I want you to know that the last match you called with J.R. [Triple H versus Edge] was as good a call as I’ve ever heard.”

“Well thank you, Vince,” I said. “I thought it was good, too, but the problem is, I never know when you’re going to —”

“Jump your shit?” Vince interjected. Not the way I would have phrased it, but eerily accurate.

We talked for about twenty minutes, the conversation intense but never heated, until I implied that WWE hadn’t treated J.R. with the respect I thought they should have.

“You think I’ve treated him bad?” Vince said.

“Vince, I think you’ve made his life a lot more difficult than it’s needed to be,” I said, holding my ground in the face of a guy who’s fairly difficult to hold one’s ground with.

And that was pretty much the end of any attempt at broadcast reconciliation. My older kids never said anything about it, but I think they were proud of me for the way I handled myself in the wake of the bellicose billionaire.

Meanwhile, the numbers were lining up nicely at TNA. I had told them that if the deal was right, I wouldn’t play TNA’s offer off of WWE’s, but in the end, there was no need. WWE never once spoke to me about any potential role I might want to pursue outside of broadcasting. I’d been performing my announcing duties in good faith for thirteen weeks and had still not been paid.

On August 1, 2008, I took part in my last WWE show, doing a big angle with Edge to explain my exit from the broadcast position. I hadn’t given a real honest-to-goodness promo in almost eighteen months. And I think I made the most of it. In fact, I think the back-and-forth with Edge was one of the best promos I’d ever been a part
of. In the end, I was speared into a set of stairs and put through a table, which merited a unique last moment in the company; a stretcher ride through the curtain, content with the knowledge that my last night with WWE had also been of my favorites.

I finally did get paid for my announcing duties. John Laurinaitis was given the duty of explaining to me that since I had only recently started as an announcer, I would be paid what starting announcers got. I wish they would have let me know earlier — it would have saved everyone a lot of trouble. It’s too bad Vince didn’t tell me about the starting announcer’s money when he offered me the job; I never would have taken it. It’s too bad I didn’t get paid after the first week; I would have given two weeks’ notice immediately and left before the first F-bomb landed. In the end, I broadcast fifteen episodes of
SmackDown
and five Pay-Per-View shows, and made less than I would have for that one-week tour of Ireland.

Looking back, however, I believe Vince McMahon did me a favor. Because I still think I would have made the move to TNA. Less days on the road, considerably more money, and the opportunity to once again make a difference.

But I may have felt guilty about it. My experience as an announcer, and the money that accompanied it, made the move guilt free. Absolutely, positively, guilt free.