Ted DiBiase (28 page)

The nWo was Eric Bischoff's idea. Although Paul Orndorff and Terry Taylor helped polish up the particulars, Eric deserves credit for the idea. But the nWo was his only idea. What Eric couldn't do was what Vince McMahon could, create stars. Eric didn't have the experience, savvy, or pedigree to do what Vince did with wrestling talent. When Eric was put in charge of WCW, he simply signed a stable of guys, for huge amounts of money, that Vince had already made famous. Unquestionably, Eric Bischoff was no Vince McMahon.

While Paul Orndorff did play a role in the training of Bill Goldberg—at the WCW's Power Plant—Bill was the only wrestler that Eric somewhat developed. Although he had a great look, his wrestling skills were limited. To get Bill over with the crowd, they put him on an unbelievable winning streak: 173 consecutive victories. However, when Kevin Nash beat Goldberg, ending the streak, they didn't know what to do with him.

When I first met Goldberg, we got along. He was nice and a very personable guy. Some guys have told me that Bill let his success go to his head. But he always seemed to have respect for the business. He held numerous titles, including the Heavyweight Championship for about three months back in 1993. Currently retired from wrestling, Bill hosted a reality television series called
Bullrun
, where twelve teams compete in a four-thousand-mile road rally.

My character and role in WCW was affected because of all the internal problems. I was signed by Eric to serve as the manager and mouthpiece of the nWo. As the nWo's popularity started to grow, Eric decided that he wanted to be that mouthpiece. So he took himself out of television commentating and put himself into my role.

I continued to be part of the show and walked into the ring with the nWo, but basically got shelved. It got to the point where I went to Eric and said, “Look, Eric, nothing personal, but I didn't spend twenty-plus years of my life building a name and a career to end up being Hulk Hogan's belt bearer.
The only thing I'm doing is walking to the ring carrying Hogan's belt. In reality, you have taken over my role. Well, it is your company and of course you can do what you want. But if I am not going to play a bigger part in what is going on here, or if you have nothing else for me to do, why don't you just send me home until you figure out what you want to do with me.” Eric agreed and sent me home.

Eric Bischoff had some initial success as the head of WCW, but he eventually became a tyrant. He was cocky and brash. He let the success go to his head. I didn't dislike Eric, but I wasn't crazy about him. I saw him as a guy trying to run a big and growing company, but he lacked the background or knowledge to do so. He also spent way too much money on his number one objective: putting Vince McMahon out of business.

One night after a show, in which we tore the house down and had record attendance, Eric said, “I'm going to put Vince out of business.”

“Eric, that will never happen. Vince might retreat to the East Coast or downsize, but let me tell you something, he is never going away. Wrestling is in his blood and it is a part of who he is and his life. He will fight tooth and nail to win.” I could tell Eric was angered by my comments. The grinding of his teeth and facial expressions told me that he didn't want to hear what I had to say. Yet, I continued, “Eric, I can assure you of this, and I will say it one more time, Vince is not going away.”

Eventually, Vince McMahon won the Monday Night Wars and he bought WCW. Vince now controls the largest wrestling company in the world. Eric Bischoff, who vowed to put Vince out of business, soon became an employee of his. He served as the general manager of
Raw
. I'm sure Eric had to eat a lot of crow.

I got paid to do absolutely nothing for two years. I just sat at home and watched the checks come in the mail every two weeks. Eric sent me out a couple of times to make appearances. One time, he sent me out to promote the nWo's NASCAR race car. I went to the track to commentate and cover the race. The WCW sponsored the nWo car that raced in the Busch Series. For a while, the driver of the car was Kyle Petty, son of NASCAR legend Richard Petty.

I also did color commentating one time at a Pay-Per-View with Eric in
Des Moines. When I commentated with World Wrestling Federation, I thoroughly prepared for the event, and all the announcers had notes. I can recall going to a two-hour live taping of
Nitro
. As the show was about to go on the air, they still had no idea what they were going to do at the end of the night. At that Pay-Per-View, nothing had changed; Eric and I didn't prepare and it showed. Without any notes or practice takes, we winged the whole show. We were both color commentators and kept overlapping and cutting each other off. We missed cues and messed up names. In short, we totally stunk!

BOBBY “THE BRAIN” HEENAN:

WCW wasn't really a wrestling company. It was one of the many television programs that Ted Turner had on his network. Turner made a lot of money and cut big deals, but he couldn't run a TV station by himself. So he hired people to run the various stations, such as the Cartoon Network, CNN, TBS, which aired the Atlanta Hawks and the Atlanta Braves games, et cetera. He put people in charge of WCW that didn't know how to run a wrestling show and draw money. He didn't hire any wrestling people. Eric Bischoff isn't a wrestling person. Vince Russo even tried to bring in Hollywood actors and have them wrestle. There were seven to fourteen different writers and bookers while I was there. Nobody knew each other, nobody knew what was going on, and nobody cared. It wasn't run professionally.

There were too many bosses and nobody knew what to do. There was one lady who worked in production that was a total idiot and I have no idea how she was ever involved in the television industry. She couldn't even properly put a staple on a piece of paper. And you wonder why the company went under?

We were doing 7 and 8 in the ratings, whereas the Braves were only doing a 1. Turner didn't want the public to know that wrestling was doing a major portion of their network's business. If Turner wanted to, he could have put us on CNN or do anything he wanted with the company. Yes, they were doing excellent in the
ratings for more than a year. But that didn't necessarily mean they were good. It just meant they were lucky.

While I was at home, my faith in God was growing. I was asked by several organizations and churches to make appearances and give presentations. They wanted me to share my experiences. In November of 1996, I appeared on
The 700 Club
, the news talk show of the Christian Broadcasting Network (CBN), hosted by the Reverend Pat Robertson. We had a great discussion about my life, the wrestling business, and my salvation. Near the end of the interview I said to Pat, “Fans ask me all the time about which was my toughest match.”

“What was your answer?”

“I tell them that my toughest match was with God.”

“Did God pin you?”

“No, Pat, I gave up.”

Since I was getting paid for doing nothing for WCW, I came up with an idea. I contacted Eric. “Wrestling fans aren't stupid. With the hundreds of wrestling websites that are pumping out information about the business by the hour, as well as 900 hotlines, I think it would be best if you turned me babyface. Since I am a Christian, it doesn't make sense for me to be a heel.”

Eric replied, “Ted, you're right. Let's do it.”

Eric brought me back on TV as a babyface manager for the Steiner Brothers and Ray Traylor. Although it didn't make sense, I turned face by way of an interview. It also didn't make sense to have me manage the Steiners or Ray. Scott and Ric didn't need a manager, nor did Ray. Neither of these angles ended up going anywhere, so I eventually ended up back home doing nothing but collecting my check.

When I was managing the Steiners, I was sitting by myself in the dining room of the Marriott hotel in Atlanta. I looked into the lounge area and saw many of the guys drinking and flirting with the ladies. For the first time, I saw the game in which I had been a major player. I thought to myself, “Man, that used to be me. What was I thinking? How stupid was I?”

Because of all of WCW's disorganization and incompetence, my desire for the business dwindled. My life had changed and my focus was now clearly
on my family and my faith. I wanted to be on the road sharing my testimony rather than in the wrestling ring. I enjoyed going to various high schools throughout the country and talking to kids about the dangers of alcohol and drug abuse.

Over the last decade, I have seen many of my friends in the wrestling business die. Guys like Terry Gordy, Rick Rude, Big Boss Man, Bam Bam Bigelow, JYD, Road Warrior Hawk, Brian Pillman, Hercules Hernandez, Miss Elizabeth, Kerry Von Erich, and Louie Spicolli.

Kerry Von Erich was a great guy and everybody loved him, including me. He had a great heart and had a tremendous respect for the business. He was a second-generation wrestler and the son of Fritz Von Erich. He and his four brothers were icons in the state of Texas. The female fans simply adored him. He held numerous titles, including the NWA Heavyweight Championship and the World Wrestling Federation Intercontinental title.

I believe Kerry was also addicted to drugs. He started by getting hooked on painkillers, then mixing them with alcohol. As he was riding his motorcycle, he got into an accident and his right foot was severed. Amazingly, Kerry continued to wrestle. The pain was obviously unbearable and he was eventually arrested for writing prescriptions for himself. For twenty-something years, the Dallas–Fort Worth police let Kerry off because of his name. He should have been sent for counseling, but the justice system had him pay a fine and placed him on probation. It all came to an end when he was arrested in 1993 at his apartment for possession of cocaine. Since he was on probation, he was going to spend time in a federal prison. He was upset about having to serve jail time. After being released on bond, Kerry went out to his father's property. He took a .44 magnum, placed it over his heart, and pulled the trigger. I miss my friend Kerry.

Louie Spicolli is another guy who I got to know when we worked together in WCW. At the time, he wasn't used that much by the creative team, but he was starting to get a push. One night after a
Nitro
show in Macon, I drove back to Atlanta to spend the night at the Airport Marriott. While eating in the hotel restaurant, Louie asked to join me. He had a beer in each hand. After about thirty minutes, his speech started to become slurred. I said, “Louie, are you okay?”

“Yeah, I'm fine.” The next thing you know, Louie was passed out right at the table. Along with some help, I took Louie up to his room.

At the show the next day, I saw Louie. I went up to him. “Louie, can I share something with you?”

“Sure.”

“It's none of my business and you can do whatever you want to do, but I know you are taking sleeping pills. But if you don't stop, you'll end up being one of those guys we read about in the paper. It may not be tomorrow, next month, or even next year. But somewhere down the road it will all come to an end. If you want me to help you or get you some help, please tell me.”

“I'm okay, Ted. I'm not that bad. I don't do it all the time. I have it all under control.”

“You know what, Louie, that is what all those who are now dead used to say!”

About a month or so later, Louie was a no-show at a
Nitro
event. The next day I got a phone call from one of the boys telling me that Louie had died. They found him in his Los Angeles apartment. He had overdosed on Somas and had drowned in his own vomit.

After my contract with WCW expired in 1999, I retired from wrestling. It was time that I focused full-time on my family and ministry. For the last three years, I'd felt a calling to share my testimony with others. I traveled throughout the country and Canada to help other people overcome their demons and lead them to eternal life through the blood of Jesus. For the next five years, I spent all my time and energy with my family and ministry.

The family and I were now living in Clinton, Mississippi. It was the perfect location for us, with Melanie's parents living ten minutes down the road. For the past six years, I was enjoying my life as a minister and watching Brett and Teddy grow up. Both boys were very athletic and I really enjoyed going to Brett's high school soccer games. But in December of 2004, I received a phone call from Arn Anderson that once again led me back to WWE.

Arn's call was from out of the blue. I'd had zero communication
with anyone regarding my return to professional wrestling. I hadn't heard from him since my final days in WCW. Arn and I are very good friends. I have known him since my days in Bill Watts's Mid-South territory. He was a great worker and, like me, retired from wrestling in the late 1990s because of extensive neck and upper back injuries. He is most famous in wrestling for his role as the enforcer with the legendary Four Horsemen. Arn is now a producer for WWE.

After exchanging pleasantries, we talked about the current state of WWE. He said, “John Laurinaitis [the director of talent relations for WWE], Michael Hayes, and others in the company brought your name up and wanted me to give you a call.”

“Sure, what's up?”

“Teddy, WWE wants to know if you are interested in coming back to work for the company in a creative capacity. In other words, to be a part of the creative team and help to lay out the game plan for the wrestlers.”

I was silent. To say I was shocked would be an understatement. Then I replied, “Arn, aren't they aware that because of my faith I've spoken out against some of the WWE programming—too much flesh, sexual innuendos, and violence. I can't believe that they would think I have any interest.”

Arn added, “They know how you feel and respect your opinion. Because of your work in the ministry, do you think that you would still be interested in working in this capacity?”