EPISODE 13 THE UPPERCUT

NXT had just begun to expand outside the state of Florida for shows, and the first “road show” was at the Arnold Classic in Columbus, Ohio. I wasn’t invited. It was back to feeling like an outcast no matter how much ground I had been breaking lately.

“Why am I not on this?” I asked Bill DeMott.

“It’s either that or WrestleMania Axxess, and I know which one I’d prefer to be on,” he said with a smirk.

Okay, that was some relief… but wait, why couldn’t I do both? The other Four Horsewomen were on both. Fergal and Kevin, who just got there, were on both. I had proved myself. Was I still secretly on the chopping block again? I had so many questions. People who hadn’t done anything on TV were going. It was a reminder that I was still the Performance Center’s redheaded stepchild. I was a weedy flower that had broken through the cracks to see the light, but it felt like I was never going to get watered so I could fully bloom.

I couldn’t look at social media that weekend, feeling like the ugly duckling that never got invited to join the flock.

But while everyone was away having the time of their lives like the stars they might become, news came in that would change the dynamic of the PC forever—a slew of bullying and abuse allegations came out about Bill DeMott. He firmly denied the allegations and a WWE investigation found no wrongdoing, but he resigned from WWE.

The entire energy at the PC shifted. Whether it was by accident or design, everyone felt like they were walking on eggshells with DeMott, and once he was gone there was a newfound sense of safety and freedom in the air. Bill had an almost stereotypical drill sergeant roughness to him and was a throwback to harsher times, throwing obstacles in our direction. In a way, though, if you got through it, it made you tougher.

Regardless, I was going to WrestleMania 31 in San Jose. My first experience of the “showcase of the immortals” and I was going to get to wrestle in the thick of it.

I wasn’t actually wrestling at Mania, but at their annual convention that surrounded the event called Axxess, which had everything from merchandise to memorabilia, autograph signings, and wrestling matches. Starting as early as 8:00 am.

That’s where I came in. We were having matches all day long in front of the excitable foreign audience. And for the first time since I got to NXT I realized that wrestling could be fun. With Bill gone, we could let loose and experiment in our matches, see what worked and what didn’t.

What I learned was that when you’re having fun the audience is too.

When Mania day arrived, we got dressed up to the nines and arrived at the arena early. All the wrestlers were abuzz with nervous energy, wearing their best new ring gear.

Sasha and I snuck away and got a prime spot on the floor that gave us an amazing view of the ring and I got to witness my first WrestleMania live among the tens of thousands of rambunctious fans, all of whom were losing their minds as the people I knew came to the ring. Friends like Nattie, TJ, and Paige. Colby having the biggest night of his life. Having a banger of a match at the beginning of the show and cashing in his Money in the Bank contract at the end, leaving as WWE champion. I was there to witness it all.

I vowed that by next year I would be performing in that very ring. And it reaffirmed, stronger than ever, that, come hell or high water, I would main event WrestleMania.

I came back to the PC with a new fire in my belly. I was determined to get my own spotlight and time to shine.

Sasha was now NXT women’s champion, and I would be her first opponent. I naturally shifted into the role of babyface, what with being a big ol’ underdog and all.

At long last I got the chance to cut promos and tell the world how much this business meant to me and let the world know who I was. Even if I was still figuring it out. I really hadn’t nailed down any character per se. But I felt like I needed a definable look. Something people could look at and say, “That’s Becky Lynch!” Something kids might want to dress up as for Halloween. But what?

I came across a picture on a Pinterest board of a lady in steampunk attire. Bright orange hair, quirky clothes, and welding goggles. Something about the quirkiness of the attire matched the quirkiness of my personality. I sat down with Dusty and Katz and showed them what I was thinking. We were all in agreement: this look, a new attitude, it would make me stand out.

Becky Lynch 2.0 was incoming, complete with a supercool trench coat. But the thing I loved about this more than just feeling like I had a cool look was that I could be whoever I wanted behind it. It didn’t require me to be “badass” or “crazy” or “mean”—I could just be me, without the doubt and insecurity, and turn it up to 11. In turn, it gave me more self-assurance in the ring as a whole.

The build had been working. The wrestling world was talking and I wanted them to keep talking.

In fact, my hero Mick Foley was so invested in the story that he promised to drive twelve hours to come watch the match, which, like the legend he is, he did. I had met Mick briefly at a small house show in Florida several months earlier and told him how much his career meant to me. Whoever said “Never meet your heroes ’cause you’ll only be disappointed” never met Mick. Or idolized Mick.

My point is, just a year earlier I was desperately clinging to my job. Now the person who made me want to do this in the first place was driving half a day to come see me wrestle. Life had done a 180.

I rocked up to Full Sail in my brand-new look, feeling like I was about to unleash something special. Only the message that I was changing my appearance never reached HHH and word got back to me that he was less than enthused.

“She’s not winning. She comes out with this new look, which is cool, but just to lose? She should lose and then come back with this.”

It was too late, though. I was committed. Win or lose, it didn’t matter. This was my opportunity to claim my spot as a top player. Better to beg for forgiveness than ask for permission.

I went from feeling like I was king shit to being back on the edge. Taking a risk like this, I had to pull through. If I fell flat, I might not get another chance. I’d prove that I couldn’t be trusted. Everything had to be perfect.

When I walked into the arena, one of the stagehands grabbed me. “We’re going to give you steam on your entrance,” he said.

“Are you serious?” I responded in awe.

“Sure am. Come on, let’s go test it out.”

I was trying to remain calm, but inside I was freaking out.

I still wasn’t cool, but I looked cool and my entrance was cool, so it was only a matter of time before it permeated the rest of me, right? Or until HHH fired me for changing my look without asking. Either way, if I was going down, at least I was going down in a blaze of glory.

When the time came for the match, nervous as I was, I was full of fortitude. I looked different, I had a brand-new entrance with steam, and it was all, sigh, full steam ahead.

As I ran through the billows of vaporized water, my illuminous orange hair beaming in the black arena, I could feel a shift in the energy. There was an “oooooh, ahhhhhh” factor, a certain je ne sais quoi about me. A statement of sorts had been made. And I hadn’t even done anything yet. Wait until they saw this fantastic match that we had concocted and all the new maneuvers I was about to pull out.

Except, of course, in the first minute I fucked up a pin that Norman Smiley had shown me. No one else might have noticed except me—and Norman.

For the rest of the match, I proceeded to mentally berate myself for being a big ol’ classical fuckup. Imagining Norman backstage, shaking his head from side to side. Probably letting out a “tsk tsk tsk” for good measure.

I could hear chants in the crowd, but I was too in my own head to make out what they were. Was it “This is awesome”? Or “This is awful”?

At one stage Sasha had me in a hold and whispered, “I’m having so much fun.”

Oh, goooooood for you, I thought in my best Christian Bale voice.

I was not having any fun. I was trying for the life of me to get through this and keep my damn job.

In my mind I could vividly see Norman and HHH having a proper bitching session about me in the back.

“You know that’s not how I taught her how to do that pin,” Norman would say.

“You know I never approved that new look,” HHH would chime in.

At last, the match was over and I tapped out to Sasha, relieved. Ready for the misery to be over. As I’m sure the crowd was.

I sat back on the ropes overcome with emotion. This was my biggest opportunity to show that I could be a player and I failed.

When all of a sudden the crowd broke into song, singing my music. As I looked around they all stood up and started chanting my name in what I assumed to be appreciation. Surely it wasn’t irony?

But for what?

What was wrong with these people? Were they being facetious? Didn’t they know I’d messed up a pin at second 56 in the match?

I slumped back through the curtain, bewildered to find Sasha smiling and hugging Hunter. Wrestlers and producers were all standing around, clapping in appreciation.

I was so confused.

“Was that okay?” I asked Hunter nervously.

“That was awesome,” he said as he gave me a big warm hug. “I’m so proud of you,” he added.

I started weeping uncontrollably. When I got signed, I wanted to make them proud they took a chance on me.

One of the writers approached me and said, “I think that’s one of the best women’s matches we’ve ever had in WWE.” I wasn’t sure I believed him, but me and “best” in the same sentence felt like we were off to a good start.

Just then, Norman turned the corner, approaching with a big smile on his face.

“That was great,” he said as he shook my hand.

“Phew.”

“But you messed up the pin at the beginning!”

I laughed. I knew he’d be fixated on that.

“I know!! I was worried about that the whole damn match!”

“The leg goes to the inside, not the outside,” he continued.

“Yeah, yeah, I know, I know.”

“Well, good job anyway.”

I’d take it. It was my biggest win to date.