EPISODE 13 THE PROMO

By the time SmackDown rolled around two days later, it was official. The turn was a success. But in reality, I hadn’t turned into a heel; I had transformed into a bigger babyface.

“You’re going to need to turn on the audience,” I was told by writers.

“What would I say? It’s obvious that they were the ones that supported me the whole way. To say they didn’t is foolish.”

“It’s the only way they’ll boo you.”

“Look, if we do this, we have to play the long game. They’re not going to boo me tonight, but I know I can get them there over time.”

“I hear what you’re saying.” While I’m thinking, You might hear me, but you’re not listening to me.

“But we really just need you to turn on them.”

“But it’s so obvious and desperate. They were clearly behind me the whole time.”

“Can we compromise?” they asked.

I didn’t want to, but I relented. “Okay, I’ll figure it out.”

I got with a writer and worked on something that reflected all I had gone through and the conclusions I had come to in the last few years. And of course threw in how the audience hadn’t always been there for me (which they had). It was imperative that this maiden voyage promo for this new character be a success and serve as my mission statement, which was that I was tired of playing nice and waiting my turn. I was not only going to be the face of the women’s division; I was going to be the face of the whole company.

It was about having the balls, for lack of a better term, to take what you want in life and no longer settling for second best.

I went out there, marinated in all my pent-up resentment, anger pouring out in every word. Maybe too much at times, but I wanted it to feel real. The anger was more at me doubting myself than at anyone else.

Then it was time to bash the audience, but the only thing I could say with a hint of realism to it was “You say that you support me. But when Charlotte won, you stood up and you cheered a new champion, so did you really care?” But they didn’t buy me turning on them. It felt like bullshit to all of us.

There was an uproar online about the ridiculousness of me turning on the audience. WWE bowed to the public’s pressure, immediately erasing that section of the promo from all platforms.

Rolling over and squinting in my Residence Inn hotel room, I woke up the next day to a text from a writer: “Mr. McMahon doesn’t want Becky to put the audience down. Her character is similar to ‘Stone Cold’ Steve Austin. The look she gave proved she could draw money.”

I kicked my legs under the thin blanket like a five-year-old. Money? Vince thinks I’m money?! Hell yeah, I’m money!

After years of my trying to prove myself, Vince believed in me. More importantly, I finally believed in myself.

I was still being booked as a heel. But I was a big ol’ renegade babyface. And it wasn’t just in Brooklyn either. A few weeks later, we were in Mississippi, and the “Becky” chants were as loud as they had been in Brooklyn.

Charlotte was having a hard time with this angle and our relationship was becoming strained. We had already agreed to start driving separately to keep kayfabe (the act of preserving the story line as authentic) alive. But when we did see each other, things were tense, often leaving awkward silences in the locker room and having the other members of the roster be our mediators. Charlotte wasn’t happy with things I had said in interviews—for example, calling out WWE’s historical preferential treatment of buxom blondes, thinking I was taking digs at her in real life, or social media posts I made. While I was trying to make this story as realistic as possible and go as far as I could with it. Which, admittedly, was often too far.

I never apologized for it or tried to squash the matter. I admittedly was rejoicing in my newfound success and thought she was being a baby. In hindsight, I could have been more sensitive, or more forthcoming.

In retaliation, however, I took her offense as a personal attack, thinking that she wasn’t happy for my success and instead felt it was at the expense of her own. Business and friendship is a tough thing. All of this, I’m sure, could have been resolved with a conversation, but now we were in the midst of a power struggle. Neither of us was willing to yield control. We both wanted to be at the very top.

So much for “never let wrestling come between us.”

Even as our friendship sadly started to deteriorate, with fake life causing real-life animosity, for me work had never been better. I was having a blast.

Every arena was filled with “We want Becky” chants. The creative team wrote me as though I was unstoppable. Having been on the opposite end of the spectrum, a babyface who was constantly getting her ass kicked and not following up on promises, I never wanted to go back. But also, I was being a badass at the expense of some poor good-guy shlub. I would justify that “Well, when I was in my shitty position no one was trying to look out for me,” and that was enough for me to sleep at night with a big happy head on me.

It was all building to a title match at Hell in a Cell, where it became evident that I was ready to hold that championship.

There was no more “I just want everyone to succeed.” I was the one now.

Since losing my title after my very unfortunate run in 2016, I watched everyone who held it carry it with confidence, with self-assuredness. They didn’t care about everyone else’s turn or how it affected the whole locker room, or if they did, they didn’t show it as they went about making the most out of their run. Which they absolutely should have. You worry about you and let everyone else figure their own stuff out.