EPISODE 11 THE DEBUT

All of that good wrestling energy was working in my favor, because as soon as we pulled up to Full Sail, the home of the NXT TV tapings, Sara met me with a big smile on her face.

“You’re going to make your debut on NXT tonight!”

I looked behind to make sure she was talking to me and not one of my road-tripping partners.

“Huh?! Really? Me? Amazing!”

“Yeah, it’s you and Summer Rae, one segment. Five minutes. You over. What do you think your finisher would be?”

“Let me think,” I responded, dumbfounded.

Holy shit. Holy fucking shit. This is it. But. I didn’t have a finishing move. I had never won a match since getting to NXT. I didn’t even have a damn character.

As the excitement turned to nerves, I began to wonder if this was a shit-or-get-off-the-pot situation. But if we’re using turd references here, in this particular match, with this particular debut, I went out there and took a dump all over the ring and smeared it all over the audience.

Remember when I said I wouldn’t do a silly Irish jig on TV? Well, I lied. I lied right to your face.

I had been doing practice matches at the PC and in jest I had been doing a silly Irish jig, which delighted the crowd of other trainees with its absurdity and my utterly shameless humiliation. They even sang a little song to go along with it, which went: “Diddledy diddledy diddledy dee diddledy dee diddledy dee,” repeat.

Of course that would be my gimmick! Who wouldn’t love an overly excited Irish dancing clown dressed in shiny emerald-green spandex?

Turns out I really do have no shame. As awful as it was, turns out the crowd didn’t care. And my god was it awful. It was possibly the most shameful debut in the history of wrestling, with all due respect to the 1993 WCW debut of The Shockmaster. If mine wasn’t the all-time most humiliating debut, it was at least a contender for top three. And yet the crowd seemed to like this silly buffoon.

When we were done and the awfulness was over, oblivious to the shame I had brought upon myself, my family, my country, the company, and humankind in general, I was beside myself with happiness.

I had done it! I had wrestled on TV. I had made it!

Fellow trainees flooded gorilla, meeting me with hugs and congratulatory messages as if I were Shawn Michaels having just wrestled The Undertaker at WrestleMania 26.

Miraculously, it felt like I had earned my fellow wrestlers’ respect, clearly not through my jigging capabilities or even wrestling abilities yet, but through the work I put in and maybe the attitude I kept.

As I was leaving the building high on life and adrenaline, I ran into our big boss man, HHH.

Perfect time to talk to him and find out how great he thought I was.

“What did you think?!” I asked excitedly.

He looked at me kindly, though I’m sure scratching his head, thinking, What the fuck are you and how did you get on my TV show?

“Well, you could tell you were excited.… Excitement crack, I call it. You were nervous. That’s okay; it’s all new to you. You just have to slow down and, when you think you’re going too slow, slow down some more.”

“Okay, yeah. Yeah! Thank you, sir!” I answered, barely taking in the words and ready to do shuttle sprints in the parking lot.

I was too excited to sleep that night. Too proud of myself for getting there, for surviving.

It wasn’t until a week later when I sat straight up out of bed at 4:00 am, hair standing vertically on my head like a troll doll, that I broke into a cold sweat as I realized the embarrassment I had just brought upon myself. Everyone I had ever known, or will ever know, and the world in general, was going to witness my uncoordinated ass Irish jigging in bright green spandex and there was nothing I could do to stop it. I sent a prayer to Grandma that they wouldn’t air my segment. Maybe they’d find a package to fill up the allotted time segment. Maybe I wouldn’t have to face the humiliation of this living on for eternity on the WWE Network.

Granny must have been busy making up for lost time with Grandpa. My prayers went unanswered. It aired, to much public scrutiny.

Welp, I thought, I guess I can wave goodbye to that dream of main eventing WrestleMania. No one could rebound from such a low point. But maybe I could still make a living wrestling. Maybe they could keep me on to put women with more potential over.

Over the course of several weeks, I worked with Ryan Katz and Dusty Rhodes to try to find a more suitable character—one that had a shot at not getting fired.

Ultimately, we ventured into generic babyface territory, replacing Irish jigs with equally enthusiastic head banging. My new tactic was simply screaming at the top of my lungs at random increments or whenever I would feel the discomfort of a silent crowd, along with other nervous twitches. It was not good. Not good at all. And I quickly fell into the role of jobber, i.e., the person there to take the fall; i.e., the loser.

Despite my obvious shortcomings, the audience still somehow liked me, cheered for me, and wanted me to succeed. They were my saving grace.

That, and NXT had a supply-and-demand issue. Considering there weren’t many female wrestlers serviceable enough to be put on TV, I had the benefit of being flexible and dispensable. Certainly no one was worried about how I should be booked or protected, nor should they have been.

Even so, this “jobber” role was rather short-lived on account of the fact that they needed more heels, and I was paired with Sasha Banks, who was killing it as her newfound “The Boss” character. And, well, every boss needs a lackey. So lackey me up, honey britches!

I was going to turn on my pal and beloved babyface, Bayley. There was no one more sympathetic to the audience than sweet superfan Bayley. Bayley wasn’t your typical cookie-cutter lady either. She was an actual megafan and played her character to reflect the overwhelm of love she felt for wrestling. The audience related to her because they were her. And they hated me for betraying her.

Sure, I was relegated to the “other guy” role, but I didn’t care. I was getting television time and the opportunity to get better at the thing I loved.

Sasha and I were chalk and cheese together. She was all flash and diamonds. I was all grunge and plaid. But somehow, it worked. We gave ourselves the arrogant name of Team BAE—Best At Everything. And we were racking up wins and accomplishments promptly.

Nowadays NXT is a live two-hour show, but back then we filmed four episodes in one night. Thankfully, they were only one-hour episodes, but it meant multiple appearances, several matches a night, and pure chaos. But unlike the main roster, where shows can change the day of and even moments before, in NXT story lines had to be thought out weeks in advance. This longer lead time gave us the beautiful opportunity to develop a character, have a clear story arc, and familiarize ourselves with the audience.

I was learning and progressing rapidly and developing self-reliance along the way. I was hardly able to believe my own luck, that every twist and turn had brought me to this point. I was finally able to do what I love, with equally passionate women with the same goal. Even the fact that the food I ate, the car I drove, the roof over my head, were all paid for by wrestling felt like a dream.