Self Help by Al Snow

Author:Al Snow
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: ECW Press
Published: 2019-05-06T16:00:00+00:00

Life Lesson

When all else fails, dress up as Leif Cassidy — people just give you stuff.

The next step towards the Kennel from Hell match was a pre-taped segment that we filmed in the back of an arena in Texas. The plan was for me to show Boss Man what he had coming at Unforgiven by letting a pair of rottweilers loose and having them tear an attack dummy apart. I had continued to reiterate to anyone who would listen, Vince McMahon included, the absolute need for us to be using trained animals in all these segments — and that went double now that we were approaching the payoff. The attack dogs they got for this segment weren’t as bad as Pepper, but they certainly weren’t what I had hoped for. It took their owner multiple attempts to get them to go after the dummy, and even then, they toyed with it more than ripped it to shreds. Once again, I made the point — with increasing vehemence — that we needed highly trained animals for the finale to this feud. Once again, I was told not to worry.

Finally, we got to Charlotte, North Carolina, for the big pay-per-view event. I was initially pretty excited to see that my match was high up on the card; it was third from last, so it was definitely the highest profile match I’d had in WWE. Then I looked around the back and noticed there were seven or eight people holding the leashes of seven or eight different dogs. My heart sank. I put my bags down in the locker room and called up Sue at the WWE TV studio to say, “There are a bunch of different dogs here.” She replied, “Yeah, we called around the local vets for them this morning. Those are the only rottweilers we could find.” Those dogs were the crux of the payoff for an angle WWE had known about for months, and they hadn’t done a thing until that morning. To top it off, none of them were trained animals. Apparently, they had found one person with a properly trained attack rottweiler, and they were going to use that one for the planned finish of the match, where he’d bite the Boss Man, but the owner pulled out because he was afraid of liability issues. I went to talk to the collection of dog owners in the back and found out that one dog out of the eight had some obedience training. The rest, nothing.

Ray and I were completely, utterly and extremely fucked, but we had to go with rule number one of professional wrestling: make shit into Shinola. The plan had been that we would be fighting in a ring with cage walls around it; then there would be a bigger cage — the cell — housing the ring, the first cage and the pack of rabid, wild dogs roaming around ringside and waiting to pounce on anyone who got near them. The dogs’ trainer

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