EPISODE 3 BOTCHFEST

There is a long-standing tradition at WWE of showing respect for those with more tenure than you. Whether that be not taking up too much space in the locker room, shaking everyone’s hand, being the last one to leave and tidy up, or making sure you watch everyone’s match on the monitor backstage, it was important to convey that you were paying homage to those who had been there longer.

Some of these traditions have fallen off in recent years, but I like the idea of paying your dues. Though at times I was a bit too timid. I wasn’t even sure if I should speak up when planning matches and stayed quiet unless asked. I was afraid to look bossy, afraid to look stupid, so instead, I stayed meek but safe.

Being sure-footed enough to speak up was one thing that I did miss about how I had grown during the end of my run in NXT. I eventually got to a comfort level where I felt like my voice mattered and I had good ideas.

I would, however, get a chance to use my voice again, as I was asked to be part of a fatal four-way match on NXT TV. This particular show was going to be taped before NXT’s first huge PPV show in Brooklyn.

It was to take place the night before SummerSlam. One of WWE’s biggest PPVs of the year.

SummerSlam was going to be the first PPV I would actually get to wrestle on on the main roster, and it would be the culmination of months of turf wars. Once and for all, we would find out who the dominant team would be.

My mom and Chris were coming over for this huge weekend too, as part of WWE’s documentary series WWE 24: Women’s Revolution.

They had never seen me wrestle live before. I was going to finally show my mom how good I was at this. How all the sacrifices had been worth it.

I saw my parents for the first time backstage at Barclays Center. Between nerves and excitement, I was yabbering on a mile a minute. Trying to make sure they were taken care of, fed, comfortable, I guided them through the backstage area into the catering area, showing off the dessert section as if I had hand-baked the cakes myself. I felt a certain kind of poise as I introduced them to colleagues. Sure, it meant nothing to them who had never watched wrestling—but being able to introduce Randy Orton and The Undertaker to them as my coworkers felt pretty badass.

I had put my mother through so much while she was raising me, but she was going to see how worth it it all was. How good I was in front of a crowd and how I was going to prove my worth to the company and the world.

We put together the four-way, which included Charlotte, Dana Brooke, and Emma, and from what we had planned, it sounded like it was going to be awesome. Charlotte was ultimately meant to come out victorious, and as we were technically teammates, there would be no hard feelings and it would all be civil and lovely.

We went out in front of the fifteen thousand fans in sold-out Barclays Center. The building was electric with energy from the fans, my mom and stepdad sitting front row full of anticipation. I locked eyes with my mom as I made my entrance. She smiled warmly, though I could tell she was worried. The idea of me getting hurt still gnaws at her. I smiled back with the undertone of I’m okay, Mom. I got this!

We got into the match and all was going great. The crowd was roaring; the false finishes were biting.

That was, until I got hit with a move by Emma in the corner, enough to jar me for a second.

As I lay there thinking, Is this where Dana comes to break it up? Where is she? I heard the referee count to three. Wait; three? I had forgotten to kick out. By the time I realized it was the wrong spot, the match was unceremoniously over. There was an audible “Eh, what?” from the audience as they realized they had witnessed a giant fuckup. No no no! Redo! Redo! I thought as I sat up, confused, but it was too late. It was over, and it was my fault. I had ruined the match with the mother of all botches. I saw Charlotte looking furious from the other side of the ring. I had also stolen her victory.

Emma looked confused as she got her hand raised.

I looked up at the full arena—fifteen thousand strong had seen me fall flat on my face—and then I saw my mom, still an encouraging shy smile on her face, but pained with sympathy. She didn’t understand wrestling but understood enough to know I did something wrong.

I wanted to crawl into a hole and die.

There would be no redos. My family was there to witness my failure and I had no one to blame but me.

When I got to the back, I was certain I’d be handed my separation papers: “Thanks for coming, you’re the shits. Now please never show your face in this company again.”

Charlotte couldn’t hide her frustration as I apologized profusely. I walked over to the desk where Vince was sitting, headset on, ready to be told he wouldn’t need me the next day for SummerSlam.

To my shock, however, he was simply worried about me.

“Are you okay?” he asked genuinely and kindly, fearing I had lost consciousness from the knock in the corner.

Stephanie, being the sweet angel that she is, did her best to comfort me with tales of her own fuckups. It didn’t help; I was too far down the well of self-loathing.

My mom and Chris were led to the back to meet me. I didn’t want to face them.

I had wanted so badly to prove to them that I had followed my own path and become a success. Instead, I was wondering if I’d be flying back to Ireland with them at the end of the weekend, unemployed.

It didn’t help that the other half of the Four Horsewomen, Sasha and Bayley, went out that night a few hours later and tore the house down in the best match I had seen two women have. It told a story; it was gripping. They pulled out moves I’d never seen before, and I watched from the back, extremely inspired as the crowd lost their minds at every pin and submission attempt but also downright jealous and full of shame.

When it was over, Bayley had now become the new NXT women’s champion and Sasha shook her hand in respect. HHH sent Charlotte and me out there for a curtain call. “The Four Horsewomen who changed the business.”

I have never felt like more of a fraud in my life. Standing in their glory, crippled with humiliation.

Charlotte, whom I had been sharing a room with, didn’t come back that night. She slept in her sister’s room, probably needing a good vent.

I didn’t sleep at all. Lying there in the small Sheraton hotel room in Brooklyn, thinking my career was over, my life was over, and that no matter my best efforts, I felt I was, and always would be, a giant fuckup.

The next day, I showed up to SummerSlam exhausted, hoping I would blend into the walls. The first person I saw was Charlotte, who had cooled off overnight and seemingly accepted my apology.

Now as long as I didn’t fuck anything up tonight we should be good.

Our producer, Fit Finlay, came and found all nine of us women at ringside in the middle of the afternoon to give us the direction of the match. We were going to do this elimination-style, with Team B.A.D. being outed first. I cocked my head to the side, confused by this seemingly tone-deaf decision, considering the night Sasha had had before.

My confusion multiplied as Fit continued. The person who would be standing tall at the end of this match, the finale of this portion of the “women’s revolution”… me?

Eh, excuse me, what? No no no, you must be mistaken? You see, I’m a fraud, and now I have proved it. My career should be over, starting at about seven fifteen pm last night, and I should be punished by a public lashing.

Which would have been much less painful than this. It didn’t make me feel better that I was winning. In fact, it made me feel worse. Clearly, whoever had made this decision had made it before the world saw me fall flat on my face and watched Sasha have a historically fantastic match.

I didn’t deserve to be there. Not in that spot, not after last night. To make matters worse, as I expected, when Team B.A.D. was eliminated, the crowd erupted in chants of “We want Sasha” for the duration of the match.

Team Bella and Team PCB powered through, and I won by pinning Brie, in a highly uneventful end to the story.

The trend kept going.… The following night at Monday Night Raw in Barclays Center after two long PPVs, it was Team PCB versus Team Bella for three segments.

And the crowd let us know how much they hated it. They did the wave, they threw beach balls, all the while yelling at the top of their lungs, “We want Sasha!” Only a couple of months after the famed hashtag of #GiveDivasAChance had broken out online, igniting all of this, the crowd was letting us know how little they cared about the rest of us.

And my mom was there to see all of it.