| Dear WWF fans and Foley enthusiasts: I think I have finally realized that while I may be computer illiterate (and somewhat proud of it), a great deal of the world is not, and I may be forced to co-exist with computer people. I especially realize that some of my biggest fans are computer enthusiasts, and thus, my personal contributions to my own Web site have been a big, fat zero. Well, I'm going to try to change that by keeping fans updated on my life, career, sexual prowess and blind hatred for Al Snow. Commentary From WWF.com: Have you heard anything from some of the people you poke fun at -- Pat Patterson, the Mean Street Posse, Al Snow or Test? Foley: Pat Patterson said that he was given a chance to read a couple of pages on a plane and appreciated that he was in there. The Posse is going to be very grateful, I think, for any publicity. Al Snow has come to grips with the fact that this is the role he plays in life and actually enjoys playing that role. Foley:As soon as this promoting period is done, I'm doing to start writing my first work of fiction. It's called "Al Snow is a Hell of a Wrestler." I'm not going to try and reinvent the wheel. I'm going to write this from a first-person narrative, like the autobiographies are written. The guy whose story is being told will probably sound a lot like me. But it's about a clumsy, awkward teen-ager who comes to learn that his father is a worse man than he could have ever imaged. It has nothing to do with my own upbringing. I want to make that very clear.
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| Excerpts from "Foley is Good And The Real World Is Faker Than Wrestling" Transcribed by HEAD Co-Webmaster Indigo Now don't get the feeling that I'm tired if blasting Al Snow, because I'm not – it's just that somehow all my jokes about him actually ended up helping his career, and I don't ever want to be responsible for something like that again. A team of psychologists recently determined that up to 28 percent of all children under the age of twelve suffer from some type pf attention deficit disorder, or ADD. They also determined that during an Al Snow match, that percentage can jump to as high as 90. Yess! Yess! All right, I lied – of course I am going to tear Al a new Snow in this book. I just won't do it as often. Actually, I traveled with Al back to Boston after the match (his WWF Title match)- in a full stretch limo, no less… Personally, I hate the term "superstar", but that is our given moniker. I mean that term is inclusive of all World Wrestling Federation wrestlers. So, technically, Al Snow is a "superstar". Somehow it doesn't seem right. This term was responsible for one great moment on an airplane, when after a short conversation with me, the flight attendant got on the public-address system and cheerfully stated, "Ladies and gentlemen, American Airlines would like to welcome all the World Wrestling Federation Superstars…and Al Snow." Al refused to admit that I had scored a verbal knockout by proxy, but did admit that watching me laugh until tears came out of my eyes was somewhat amusing. The Rock, fresh from his "I Quit" victory, would find himself somehow unsatisfied with the brutal California skull crushing. No, he would want more – he would want my death. But instead of doing the deed himself, he would send an assistant or flunky to do his dirty work. Someone like Al Snow. I knew that Al would take great pleasure in killing me, even if it was a fictional scenario. …. Yeah, that's it – Al Snow would cut out part of my body and bring it back to The Rock. There was one thing The Rock couldn't count on, however. Either through a hidden warm spot in his own heart or the hope that I would one day maybe team up with him and drag his career out of the toilet, Al Snow would not be able to turn the trick. Meanwhile, The Rock, Having learned of Al's failure, and having punished Al by making him wrestle in poorly received opening matches (or pretty much letting him resume his normal duties), would swear revenge. Things were going very well- I even told an Al Snow joke that illicited a genuine laugh from Ms. Roberts, although it never made the show. The piece came on, and after a few minutes I was happy with its progress, despite the network's decision not to go with the Al Snow joke, which would have been huge and forever cemented my reputation as Sergeant Hulka to Al's John Winger. I took off my tights, and then slid down my kneepad to reveal a massive amount of swelling. I bought some ice at a convenience store to try to reduce the size, but the thing was purple and throbbing (my knee, that is) when I showed up at the arena the next day. Francois worked diligently on it, and was actually quite helpful, but I was still having difficulty in doing even the simplest things-i.e., walking, bending, making fun of Al Snow in Front of the boys. Later I watched as Al Snow and Bob Holly tried to destroy each other for fifteen minutes in a tremendous hardcore match up…. But on this night in Sin City, the curmudgeonly, non-carnival attending Holly and his opponent, Snow, were letting it all hang out. Tables, chairs and hard bumps on concrete were all enlisted to make for a very enjoyable, hard-hitting match. Then they went for the popcorn. Gimmick Infringement! As any reader of Have A Nice Day! Will tell you, the big Santa's sackful of popcorn to the head belonged to me and Owen hart, who had stunk up many a sold –out arena with it. Now here was Al bastardizing it for his own personal gain…what next? Was Al going to "borrow" my dumping of 1,000 soft drink lids, which Owen and I had invented in Los Angeles?…I told Vince's son, Shane. Al and Bob looked like hell when they walked through the curtain. Bob hits harder in a pro wrestling match than most people do in a street fight, and Al's face showed the results. His eye was slightly swollen, and a thin trail of blood trickled from his nose. Both men's chests were bruised from the brutal open-hand chops they had both endured. Despite his worn down condition, Al had a look about him that was unmistakable- a look of pride. Until, that is, Shane asked to speak to him. I was too far away to hear the conversation, but I could read Al's body language as he nodded meekly, before bowing his head and walking away dejectedly. A moment later Shane called him back, and spoke again, prompting Al to point to me and Owen, who by this point were doing our best not to bust out and yell, "You!" Al came over to us and told us Shane's talk went something like this. "Al, you know we work real hard to try and protect people's gimmick's around here, right?" Al nods. "Well, using popcorn in a match is Mick's gimmick, and we're trying to protect that. We can't have you stealing it and using it in your matches." Al walks away. "Wait Al – come back here- you know I'm kidding, don't you?" At this point Al simply says "Mick", and points to me and Owen. Later Al said, "I should have known something was up when I saw you and Owen huddled together." I took that as a huge compliment. Al was trying to explain to some of the other boys how he had not been fooled by Shane's popcorn talk, but the boys knew that he was full of Snow. I noted that it was ironic that Al had been 'selling' bags of massive amounts of popcorn, when usually it was his matches that caused popcorn vendors to do the same thing. Al admitted that the statement was clever, at which time I admitted that Al was 'Winger' to my 'Hulka', in reference to the punch thrown by Warren Oates's Sergent Hulka that doubles over Bill Murray's John Winger in the movie, 'Stripes'. I then went a step too far by saying that Al was 'Fosse' to my 'Rose', a statement that was met by the blank faces of my younger cronies like Edge and Scotty 2 Hotty. I wasn't really a Britney Spears fan, was I? Of course not. Then, in my mind, I would hear that driving backbeat and would hear Britney's sweet but not that innocent voice sing, 'In my mind, I still believe, ' before assuming the role of the chorus and loudly belting out 'still believe'. I felt so guilty leading this double life, until finally I came clean inside a rented Lumina on a road trip with Al Snow and the Blue Meanie. 'You like that song.' Al laughed disbelievingly, before quickly adding, 'Me, too.' The Meanie was even more supportive. 'I love that song--it's my favorite.' Then, as if by magic, the driving piano of the opening chords came charging forth from the Lumina's standard factory stereo system, and we fired that mother up. Dancing in the car seats and singing out loud, we barreled down Interstate 95 on the way to another sold-out show. As I hopped into my car, I saw World Wrestling Federation star Edge getting out of his. Edge and I were pretty tight, and in fact our 'white guy jumping high-five' had put the frosting on many an 'Al Snow Joke' cake! Still, despite the bond that two men feel when they share a blind hatred for Al Snow, I debated asking Edge along on this journey. We all felt a little let down as we headed for the door with our own Britney eight-by-ten autographed photos and three complimentary tickets to her show for our efforts...Then I saw him. Al. Walking down the aisle with something in his hand. When he got close to ringside, I saw them. The Britney tickets. So close that I could almost touch them, but first I had Billy Gunn to dispose of. The crowd, sensing the urgency, and knowing that Britney, along with the Britney Spears Dancers, was already in full swing, started clapping in unison. Al started waving the tickets to the rhythm of the crowd. Strangler Lewis rolled over in his grave.Sure enough, I woke up and was in great pain. But I was true to my word. Despite the pain, I somehow summoned the guts, pride, and determination to fire off a decent Al Snow joke, and suddenly I felt better. Vacations, much like wrestling matches, are a lot like Al Snow jokes. They are all a matter of timing and experience. Al Snow jokes are the same way. I know why most of you bought this book--to see me score literary knockouts on 'the Crown Prince of Hardcore'. But I can't knock him out too early--then it becomes like a Tyson comeback fight; you might get what you paid to see, but after it's over, you wish you had your money back. So I need to jab Al occasionally, throw a straight right once in a while that puts him on queer street (where I imagine he spends a lot of his time anyway), and knock him senseless in spectacular fashion when the time is right. In that way I am using Test and the Mean Street Posse as my tune-up fights. Let's put it in wrestling terms. I may give Joey Abs a literary hip toss, and I think the readers appreciate it. I may give Test a big literary boot to the face and he'll go down momentarily, and I believe the fans will enjoy that as well. I may even catch Rodney with a literary shot to the testicles that may seem hurtful and unnecessary, but I think deep down the readers will appreciate it. But Al? That's another story. What I have in mind for Al is the literary equivalent of Mr. Socko, The Worm, The Stink Face, The Ho Train, and The People's Elbow all being delivered simultaneously, and the effect will be devastating. So prepare yourself, Ray Fosse, because Pete Rose is rounding third and heading for home. (From 'Mick's Top Ten Non-Coaster Rides' List) 3. Indiana Jones Adventure--Disneyland. I had so much fun riding this with Al Snow that I temporarily forgot I hated him. (From 'Mick's Favorite Wrestling Matches' List) 10. Al Snow vs. Big Boss Man, 'Kennel form Hell' , Unforgiven -- September 1999. Just knowing that this match existed and is on video makes me happy. So bad that I opted not to make fun of Al because of it--but knowing that I could makes me smile. Dewey may be the world's biggest wrestling fan..he has an almost encyclopedic memory for wrestling's recent past. When I decided to include the Al Snow/Boss Man match on my top-ten list, I drew a blank as to when it happened. This was not totally surprising, as most people who viewed the match have blocked it out of their memories--at least on a conscious level. Lack of memory shouldn't be enough of a reason to stop an Al Snow attack, so I decided to consult the master. 'Dewey, what Pay-Per-View was Al Snow's 'Kennel' match with the Big Boss Man?' In about the time it takes for 30 percent of the viewing audience to turn the channel during a Tiger Ali Singh promo, Dewey had the answer. 'Unforgiven, September 1999'. I had to laugh. 'How did you know that?' The little guy seemed almost embarrassed over his power of recall. 'I don't know.' He shrugged before revealing his source. 'I read it in a magazine last month.' As July came to a close I began appearing at a few shows as an added bonus for the hard working fans. My first night back was at the Meadowlands in New Jersey. It was one of the few nights in my career when I became flustered in front of a crowd. I was welcomed back with a nice ovation and decided to make my first public words an Al Snow joke. I picked the wrong one. This was actually a dressing-room classic, but is humor didn't seem to translate outside those confines. 'Hello, New Jersey,' I began--always a cheap, easy way to get pop. 'You know, right before I came out here, a kid asked me if I had seen Al Snow's last match. I looked at the kid and said---'I certainly hope so!'' I waited to be bathed in wave after wave of laughter, but...nothing.
 Brian's cancer was back and had spread to the point that he was given between one week and three months to live. I broke down in the dressing room when I told the news to D'Lo, Kane, and Al, who had been among his closest friends, and together, the four of us held something of a vigil for our friend. WCW had allowed future World Wrestling Federation stars Eddie Guerrero, Dean Malenko, Perry Saturn, and Chris Benoit to come; and the World Wrestling Federation had sent Al Snow, D'Lo, Terry Taylor, Chris Jericho, and me to Rostraver, at their own expense. I had the pleasure of refereeing a great match between D'Lo and Al, but not before getting the mandatory verbal knockout on Mr. Snow. D'Lo held both the Intercontinental title and the coveted European title at the time of the show. Al had been the Hardcore champion (and a good one) until dropping the belt only five days earlier to the Big Boss Man. I decided to make him suffer, but not before paying tribute to Brian, who watched the whole show from a table set up next to the ring. Al and D'Lo followed suit with tributes of their own. Now it was time for fun. "Ladies and Gentlemen, as you know, this is a very special night. Because of that, I have decided that not only are D'Lo's European and Intercontinental titles on the line here in Rostraver, but I'm putting Al Snow's Hardcore belt up for grabs as well.' I could see Al's jaw drop. He had felt he was safe on Brian's big night, but he was wrong. I looked at Brian, and he was grinning while shaking his head in disbelief. Al was coming around now and was yelling, 'You two set me up', repeatedly. Actually, he was wrong; D'Lo hadn't been in on it, and in truth I wasn't planning on burying Al, but was merely following my own instincts. A shark swims, eats, and makes baby sharks. It's instinct. I make fun of Al--instinct. D'Lo played along, though, and pretended to 'inform' me of my mistake, while I did my best Bob Newhart imitation, using the house mike instead of a telephone. 'What, what's that? You say Al doesn't have the belt anymore. You say that ho-ha, Al lost to the ho-ho, oh-ho-ho Big Boss Man?' Then I broke into a full-blown fake laugh, and the crowd laughed along. Al, for his part (and despite what he says, he does enjoy playing his part), did the slow burn while mouthing a silent 'I hate you.' The two of them put on quite a show for Rostraver, but more so for Brian. The match culminated with Al and D'Lo bullying me, at which point I somehow managed to subdue them both with a 'Double Socko Claw', at which point I slowly lowered them to their backs. Brian seized the opportunity and made his way into the ring to make a three-count on both fallen men. D'Lo and Al were remarkably good sports about the devastating loss, and in a moment I'll never forget, the three of us paraded Brian around on our shoulders while the 2,000 in attendance chanted his name. As a matter of fact, if I had taken Have a Nice Day! and removed the graphic depictions of violence, Al Snow jokes, obscene language, sexual references, sophomoric humor, and other various offenses, about 30,000 touching words is exactly what I'd have been left with. After writing for fifteen straight hours, though, we arrived in Vancouver; and my energy fizzled out quicker than an AL Snow entrance pop. In the book, I was quite critical of a particular wrestler's talents or lack thereof. I had also made small jokes about the wrestler (let's call him what's-his-name) and his wife, who was something of a celebrity. I really didn't know what to do about this. I needed a punchline for my jokes, but already knew that I was dangerously close to overutilizing Al Snow. Remember, Al jokes were my big finishers, so I couldn't go there too often. 'Great, that's great,' The Rock sarcastically stated, 'just sign it to 'the Great One' and leave it over there.' Several minutes after this Al Snow found the book in the garbage and handed it back to me. The Connection never did what it was designed to do--sell tickets and boost buy rates. It did, however, help sell a snowload of books. I was lucky in the sense that I was in an angle that I enjoyed--the completely fictional storyline of being Al Snow's best friend. Al, you see, had been there to console me when The Rock and Sock Connection had split up, and I was likewise there to console Al when he became the focus of a national news story that resulted in the Al Snow action figure being pulled from various stores across the nation. The whole thing was preposterous beyond belief. A couple of teachers from Kennesaw State College in Marietta, Georgia, had made a stink about how Al's doll was a 'textbook for spousal abuse', due to the severed head that Al carried to the ring. So, of course, Al's action figure came with a little tiny severed head. Immediately, Al's figures were banned in many major department stores across the nation, causing them for the first time to actually be worth something. I only saw one problem with the whole situation: Al didn't carry a severed head. He carried a mannequin's head that he looked to for guidance and companionship. Yeah, I know it sounds stupid, but at the very worst, it elicited a 'we want HEAD' chant. Sure, it was a cheap pop, but it beat the pop that Al had been getting, which was close to unchartable. The truth is that Al's 'head' had never been portrayed as, nor was ever hinted as being, a severed human head. It was a sad day indeed when I proudly showed off a little tiny article about me in Time to Al and he was able to humble me by opening up to a two-page spread on his predicament in the very same issue. Didn't anyone even do any research before banning the figures, or did they figure that with Halloween on the horizon, a tribute to the Salem Witch Trial would be appropriate? What about the two teachers raising the ridiculous stink? I swear, I lived one mile from Kennesaw State for five years, and I never even considered it as being a real college. Speaking of Halloween, Dewey dressed up as Al Snow. He looked great, but looked just a little too handsome to really do Al justice. Fortunately, Al and I were able to have a lot of fun with this rather bizarre hand that paranoia and hysteria had dealt him. We were able to do some great promos about the subject, including one where Al acted so forlorn that he threatened to buy a shotgun and some live ammunition at one of the stores that wouldn't sell his figure and do himself in. In one show, I was able to serenade Al with a 15,000-strong sing-along of 'He's a Jolly Good Fellow' after yet another Snow loss. The teaming helped Al to the point that if the wind was still, and the alignment of the stars was just right, you could almost hear him get a crowd reaction. A short while later, a movie called, Sleepy Hollow was released.... Particularly memorable were the gruesome beheadings that seemed so lifelike as blood dripped and tendons hung while the demonic horseman clutched these gruesome heads in his hands. The film was expected to be a huge success, and so it was no surprise that a line of merchandise, including action figures, had been manufactured prior to its release. I was surprised, however, to see an action figure gripping severed heads, complete with dripping blood and hanging tendons, in the same stores that had banned the evil Snow dolls. With Al by my side, I shamelessly carried my book wherever I went. I took Al on a 'vacation' in Las Vegas to cheer him up, and the book went, too. UPN enjoyed our chemistry so much that they requested us to host a World Wrestling Federation's Greatest Hits show that had even my normally cranky brother John raving over our ridiculous performances. I even brought the damn thing to the premiere of Arnold Schwarzenegger's End of Days ...For the most part, Al and I stood around the party and felt like jerks. A group of women who worked for Universal Studios, which produced End of Days, approached me with reverent looks in their eyes. They were not wrestling fans, but had been touched by Beyond the Mat (which Universal had financed) and actually treated me as something even a little better than a World Wrestling Federation Superstar, as a good dad who happens to make some big mistakes. When the women left, Al and I went back to not fitting in, and after witnessing the expert schmoozing and ass-kissing for a while, Al made a stunning observation, 'And they call our business fake?' They were chanting my name as I got out of the car. A few even chanted for Dewey, who seemed overwhelmed at the mass of Foley fanatics. The little guy sat down and drew pictures of his favorite wrestlers while Dad signed away. Mankind, Kane, D'Lo, Al Snow. Al Snow? The crowd stood in hushed silence while I pulled down my son's pants and gave him his first spanking since '95. Just kidding--Dewey loves Al, and I've learned to live with it.(pp.242-243) Al and I had included a stop at the Cheetah of Showgirls fame as part of our Vegas vacation, and I didn't want to get typecast as a strip-club fanatic. On that Vegas visit, Al had hit the jackpot on a slot machine, and we had shown up at the club, ready to tip with his mountain of quarters. This had resulted in a classic moment where, after rewarding a buxom babe with a quarter for her efforts and reminding her that 'there's plenty more where that came from', the offending coin came flying back and caught me square in the eye. 'Oh, my eye,' I screamed in a manner reminiscent of Marcia Brady's 'Oh my nose' moment in that memorable episode of The Brady Bunch. Unfortunately, when I got back from the bowels of Philadelphia's entertainment district, I had to wrestle. Al no less. I barely had time to warm up when we were out for the first match of Smackdown! againsts the team of Hardcore and Crash Holly for the World Wrestling Federation Tag Team Championships. The vignettes we had just shot would be inserted into the show as if they had transpired after the match. The match had its high points. Al insisted that we debut our 'pattycake, pattycake, baker's man' double elbow, but I had questioned the move, thinking it a little too dumb. 'You don't think a sock puppet is dumb,' Al asked,' or a man talking to a mannequin head?' Both valid points. We did the move, and the crowd loved it. We even won the match--and the titles. Al Snow and Mankind, the 'Best Friends', as Kevin Kelly phrased it in the greatest exaggeration in sports-entertainment since WCW's claim of having 'close to 90,000 fans' in a nearly empty Louisiana Superdome. We even did the jumping-white-guy high five, and the fans cheered that as well. We had a locker-room celebration following the victory that included Edge, Christian, and the Blue Meanie. Al had a quart of milk and explained that he was going to dump it all over his head as a humorous variation on the victorious champagne tradition. I turned to Edge, who Al liked to refer to as my crony, and spoke disbelievingly. 'Is Al Snow really going to dump a white liquid all over his face and not expect me to say anything?' Sure enough, when the cameras rolled, Al poured the milk and I drilled him with an incredibly easy joke, but despite the laughs at Al's expense and Al's 'Okay, okay, you got me,' my heart wasn't really in it. Al and I dropped the tag belts to the New Age Outlaws that same night at Penn State and came up short in a rematch at Survivor Series, during which I dislocated my shoulder. The 'Best Friends' would never relive their glory day of November 2, when I stunk up the ring and Al Snow was foolish enough to pour white liquid over his head on-camera. Edge had been my partner in 'Al Snow crime' for quite a while before the fans really took to him, so I feel like something of a proud father when I watch him and Christian tear down the house. Nonetheless, the wheels for the match went into motion, and I've got to admit the next few weeks of television were among my all-time favorites as The Rock 'n' Sock Connection returned, despite the objections of a bitter and jealous Al Snow. The Rock, it seemed, had not thrown my book out, and his ability to quote passages from it seemed to hint that he had purchased another copy, although his pride wouldn't allow him to admit as much. So if The Rock hadn't thrown out the book, who had? Who had motive to do so? Who in the World Wrestling Federation stood to gain the most from the breakup of The Rock 'n' Sock Connection? A curious nation wanted to know. The Rock 'n' Sock Connection got back together, but Al was still my best friend..or was he? An interview for Smackdown! on November 23 was among the best of my career, and not because it was all that good or even memorable in itself. The premise was simple: Al and I could continue to be best friends, but I would no longer team up with him. This premise had Al understandably upset as the cameras rolled. 'I can't believe you're doing this,' Al said, 'turning your back on your best tag team partner.' 'Hey, that's not true,' I assured my bitter buddy. 'I've got a match with The Rock later in this show.' Al was forlorn as he said, ' I don't even know how you can stand him; he treats you like garbage.' At this point I became Al's consoling pal as I gently explained the facts of life to him. 'Al, you're still my best friend, but I just seem to get a much better reaction from the crowd when I team up with The Rock.' That's what I was supposed to say, except I couldn't get the words out. Five times I tried to finish that final sentence, and five times I failed. I couldn't stop laughing. Each time I laughed, Al got a little angrier. 'Why do you keep laughing?' he demanded. 'It's not even that funny.' 'I know,' I admitted, 'it's just that in what other business can a guy get away with telling the truth, crush his friend's feelings, and claim it's just part of the show?' I've got to give credit where it's due, and I will give Al credit for one of the classic ribs in wrestling history. While working a program that culminated in the infamous 'Kennel from Hell' match, Al's dog Pepper was kidnapped by the sinister Big Boss Man. Before I get to the rib, let me get to the 'Kennel from Hell', which turned out to be a rib in itself. During the course of the angle, the Boss Man invited Al to his room, where he would 'give Pepper to him,' but not before the thoughtful Boss Man insisted on serving Al some Chinese food. After a few bites, the Boss Man revealed that Al had actually eaten 'Pepper steak', which set the stage for the 'Kennel from Hell' at the Unforgiven Pay-Per-View in September 1999. This match employed the 'Hell in a Cell' cage which contained within it the standard steel cage that, as most fans know, is built directly onto the ring. This left a four-foot space between the two structures that would be patrolled by vicious, wild attack dogs. The object was to escape from both cages, which meant that Al and the Boss Man would be risking life and limb with these wild animals running amok. That, at least, was the theory. The truth was that the cameras could barely show the animals, which spent the match peeing and pooping and at one high-point actually humping. Yes, indeed, actual canine carnal knowledge in front of 20,000 fans. Still, even with the general consensus that it set new lows, deeper even than any Test has sunk to, the 'Kennel' match did nothing to tarnish the reputation of Al's rib. The rib took place during the 'kidnapped' part of the angle when poor Al appeared on television with a poster of the missing Pepper that featured a reward and a number to call with information on the dog's whereabouts. A bunch of the guys watched the interview from the dressing room with moderate amusement. Almost immediately, Val Venis's cell phone rang. 'Hello,' Val said, in his deep Val voice, followed by, 'Sorry, you've got the wrong number!' A moment later the phone rang again. 'Hello..sorry, wrong number.' Val seemed to be confused as he walked from the room. The next day he showed up looking for Al. 'Okay, you got me,' he said, 'but payback is going to be hell.' The number that Al had given was actually that of Val's cell phone, and apparently over the course of twenty-four hours, Val had gotten almost a hundred calls, all offering information on Pepper's whereabouts. As of this writing, no revenge has been exacted. The Al Snow jokes in Have a Nice Day! were actually my own way of reaching out to Al and attempting to mend our friendship. By 1999, our private game of insult one-upmanship from back in 1997-98 had turned ugly when we took it to the World Wrestling Federation Internet show and then made the giant leap onto World Wrestling Federation television. There, I had the clear advantage because I had the priviledge of more microphone time, and it was with that advantage that the camel's back was broken in East Lansing, Michigan. Let me tell you about the straw that did it. On one memorable occasion, however, Al sold four chairshots as if he were Superman taking a Lex Luthor punch to the solar plexis. Bam. The Road Dogg nailed Al with a chair, and down he went. Amazingly, Al was up within seconds and he was laughing. Bam--another shot, another fall, another laugh. Then another, then another. The boys in the back were irate. When Al came back, I was the first to ask him about his new superhuman powers. Amazingly, Al pleaded innocent. 'I don't remember a thing after the first one,' He said with a slight slur in his words. 'I was knocked out.' Hey, maybe he was. But that didn't stop me from ribbing him about it. I told him he should challenge the Undertaker to a 'No Sell in a Cell' match, and that he and I should shelve Kevin Kelly's ridiculous 'Best Friends' moniker for the more dynamic tag-team name of 'The Sellers, Best and No'. Unlike most of my jokes, Al didn't take these well, and asked me nicely not to rib him about the ridiculous chairshots in front of the boys. At one point he even got down on his knees and begged me. Damn, I was going to make a comment about this not being the first time that Al was on his knees, but out of respect for younger readers, I'm not going to do so. I knew Al was sensitive about the incident, but I pushed too far, and I will admit right here in print that I was out of line for burying Al in a national television interview. The scene was East Lansing, Michigan, and the event was Mr. Socko's birthday party, although in reality it was more of a 'birthplace' party, as Mr. Socko was still a few months shy of the big day. Yurple was there, and there were balloons and music as well, and amidst all the hoopla, Jim Ross stepped into the ring to congratulate me. 'Thank you, J.R., but the man who really deserves our congratulations is Al Snow, for landing a lucrative endorsement deal with the La-Z-Boy company, which is strange, because Al usually doesn't sell chairs.' Yes, it was a pretty good line and a definite one-punch knockout, but I scored the KO at the price of breaking my word. Even worse, Al felt pressured to respond, and when he did so the following night, he was not only unfunny, but was reprimanded by Vince for ruining an entire segment of the Raw show. So, yes, there was some tension there for a while, but the insults and jokes about Al in 'Have a Nice Day!' seemed to build a bridge between us, and even though Al will never publicly or even privately admit to it, deep inside his soul he knows that the book helped his career. I'm glad he and I are on good terms, or else I wouldn't dream of exposing the truth behind the Legend of the Penis Suplex!
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