On pages 83-85, Lesnar talks about his second year in the WWE where you could already see why he eventually decided to leave pro-wrestling. He details how much he enjoys his privacy, and talks about a fellow pro-wrestler he envied a bit in this chapter called "Starting Year Two":
My first year on the main roster in WWE was a blur. My second year was even worse. I was running into the grind. Same routine every day, day in and day out. The money was great, and I was buying
a lot of nice things, but I had no time to enjoy any of it. That touring schedule just eats you up. I just kept thinking that there has to be a better way to make some real money.
The one good thing—okay, great thing—that came out of my second year was that I got to meet my future wife, Rena.
I think it’s pretty common knowledge that I’m a very private man, and there’s a reason for that. When I’m on the job, in the ring, at the arena, I’m there to entertain you. I understand that. You paid to see me, and I owe it to you to make sure your money was well spent. But when I’m not on the job, I don’t think I owe anything to anybody. If you’re a plumber, and you’re out to dinner with your family, would you like it if the waiter walked up and said, "Hey, the toilet just backed up, can you come in the back and fix it?" Probably not. You are there to eat, not to fish tampons out of the drain pipe.
When I’m enjoying some time with my family, I’m not at work. I’m not "on." I’m not there to entertain anyone. I’m a husband and a father. I’m Daddy. That’s who I am, and all I want to be. So if some jackass wants to pose for pictures with me, it really burns my ass because he isn’t just imposing on me, he is imposing on my wife and my children, too.
I think everyone should have a right to privacy. Certainly, my family has a right to be left alone. My wife was on TV for a while, so she can expect some of the attention, I get that. But my children aren’t performers. What makes them fair game? What gives anyone else the right to take pictures of my children? Why does anyone think it’s okay to just walk up to me and act as if I owe them an answer to personal questions? Is it because they bought a ticket or purchased a pay-per-view? I’ve never been able to grasp that. Why can’t I just do my job? If I’m at an event, or out promoting something, that’s one thing. I expect to take pictures and sign autographs. That’s why I’m there. But I deserve a private life, too, and so does my family.
Over the years, I’m sure that being as private as I am has cost me a lot of money. I could be like one of those media whores that shows up anywhere there might be a camera just to keep my name out there, and to keep my face on the TV and in the papers so the endorsements will keep coming in. But that’s not me, and I can live with that.
I like to stay home, spend time with my family, and be left alone. My life is my life. It’s nobody’s business what goes on in my house, or with my wife or my children. I won’t intrude on your private life. Don’t intrude on mine. That’s why, in some ways, the WWE character I envied the most was Kane. He had the greatest gig ever, because he was a big star who wore a mask on TV. When he went home, he’d get to take off the mask and live a normal life. Nobody knew what he looked like, and no one ever bothered him when he went about his personal life. He must have had about as normal a life as you can have in professional wrestling. That’s probably why Glenn Jacobs (Kane) survived for so long in WWE. Maybe I should have worn a mask. I might have lasted just a little longer . . . or not.
After the jump, a few more pages from the book where he talks about various topics such as his UFC 100 bout against Frank Mir, the 'Shooting Star Press' that almost broke his neck, and the motto that helped him get through the day to day grind in the WWE.a lot of nice things, but I had no time to enjoy any of it. That touring schedule just eats you up. I just kept thinking that there has to be a better way to make some real money.
The one good thing—okay, great thing—that came out of my second year was that I got to meet my future wife, Rena.
I think it’s pretty common knowledge that I’m a very private man, and there’s a reason for that. When I’m on the job, in the ring, at the arena, I’m there to entertain you. I understand that. You paid to see me, and I owe it to you to make sure your money was well spent. But when I’m not on the job, I don’t think I owe anything to anybody. If you’re a plumber, and you’re out to dinner with your family, would you like it if the waiter walked up and said, "Hey, the toilet just backed up, can you come in the back and fix it?" Probably not. You are there to eat, not to fish tampons out of the drain pipe.
When I’m enjoying some time with my family, I’m not at work. I’m not "on." I’m not there to entertain anyone. I’m a husband and a father. I’m Daddy. That’s who I am, and all I want to be. So if some jackass wants to pose for pictures with me, it really burns my ass because he isn’t just imposing on me, he is imposing on my wife and my children, too.
I think everyone should have a right to privacy. Certainly, my family has a right to be left alone. My wife was on TV for a while, so she can expect some of the attention, I get that. But my children aren’t performers. What makes them fair game? What gives anyone else the right to take pictures of my children? Why does anyone think it’s okay to just walk up to me and act as if I owe them an answer to personal questions? Is it because they bought a ticket or purchased a pay-per-view? I’ve never been able to grasp that. Why can’t I just do my job? If I’m at an event, or out promoting something, that’s one thing. I expect to take pictures and sign autographs. That’s why I’m there. But I deserve a private life, too, and so does my family.
Over the years, I’m sure that being as private as I am has cost me a lot of money. I could be like one of those media whores that shows up anywhere there might be a camera just to keep my name out there, and to keep my face on the TV and in the papers so the endorsements will keep coming in. But that’s not me, and I can live with that.
I like to stay home, spend time with my family, and be left alone. My life is my life. It’s nobody’s business what goes on in my house, or with my wife or my children. I won’t intrude on your private life. Don’t intrude on mine. That’s why, in some ways, the WWE character I envied the most was Kane. He had the greatest gig ever, because he was a big star who wore a mask on TV. When he went home, he’d get to take off the mask and live a normal life. Nobody knew what he looked like, and no one ever bothered him when he went about his personal life. He must have had about as normal a life as you can have in professional wrestling. That’s probably why Glenn Jacobs (Kane) survived for so long in WWE. Maybe I should have worn a mask. I might have lasted just a little longer . . . or not.
On page 45, Brock talked about his motto during his WWE days in a chapter called "Curt Hennig":
While I was training with Brad, I met someone who would become another great influence in my pro wrestling career. His name was Curt Hennig, and I wish he was here today to read this chapter.
Curt was a second-generation wrestler, the son of a big time wrestler in the AWA territory named Larry "The Axe" Hennig. When the old timers all get together and start shooting the shit about "the good old days" of the AWA, they all talk about what a big tough son of a bitch Larry Hennig was in his prime. Curt’s dad smartened him up early about what the pro wrestling business had to offer, and the price you have to pay to achieve success in it.
Curt taught me something that sticks with me to this day—in the wrestling business, you have to "Get in to get out!"
Page 82, he talked about the blotched finishing move that almost broke his neck on a match against Kurt Angle:Curt was a second-generation wrestler, the son of a big time wrestler in the AWA territory named Larry "The Axe" Hennig. When the old timers all get together and start shooting the shit about "the good old days" of the AWA, they all talk about what a big tough son of a bitch Larry Hennig was in his prime. Curt’s dad smartened him up early about what the pro wrestling business had to offer, and the price you have to pay to achieve success in it.
Curt taught me something that sticks with me to this day—in the wrestling business, you have to "Get in to get out!"
There I stood, on the top rope, both arms raised in triumph, my head back, letting the crowd take it all in . . . and then I launched the Shooting Star Press.
Every wrestling fan knows what happened next. My boot slipped off the wet rope, I under-rotated, crashed in spectacular fashion, and gave myself a massive concussion. I damn near broke my neck. I still had enough sense left to know that I had to win, but I don’t remember finishing the match. I did finish, which meant I was the champion again, but I sure don’t remember it. Not at all.
Can you imagine if I had knocked myself out . . . if that "missed move" had become the finish?
The next morning, I was supposed to do a sponsor appearance, but I couldn’t get out of my hotel bed. After I received a few phone calls to rouse me, I finally crawled out and made it down to the appearance. When the sponsor’s people saw me throwing up from the aftereffects of the concussion, they sent me back to the hotel.
After you play in the Super Bowl or the World Series, you get some time to yourself, or to take your family on a vacation. Not in pro wrestling. You’re right back to work the very next day, doing live TV for Raw the first night, or taping SmackDown! two nights after WrestleMania. Kurt made it through the match, and I was lucky to "only" have suffered a concussion. Kurt went in for the alternative surgery, and I was right back on the road as WWE Champion for the second time.
Lastly, page 179 has the first few paragraphs on the chapter called "Road to Redemption", which details his UFC 100 bout against Frank Mir:Every wrestling fan knows what happened next. My boot slipped off the wet rope, I under-rotated, crashed in spectacular fashion, and gave myself a massive concussion. I damn near broke my neck. I still had enough sense left to know that I had to win, but I don’t remember finishing the match. I did finish, which meant I was the champion again, but I sure don’t remember it. Not at all.
Can you imagine if I had knocked myself out . . . if that "missed move" had become the finish?
The next morning, I was supposed to do a sponsor appearance, but I couldn’t get out of my hotel bed. After I received a few phone calls to rouse me, I finally crawled out and made it down to the appearance. When the sponsor’s people saw me throwing up from the aftereffects of the concussion, they sent me back to the hotel.
After you play in the Super Bowl or the World Series, you get some time to yourself, or to take your family on a vacation. Not in pro wrestling. You’re right back to work the very next day, doing live TV for Raw the first night, or taping SmackDown! two nights after WrestleMania. Kurt made it through the match, and I was lucky to "only" have suffered a concussion. Kurt went in for the alternative surgery, and I was right back on the road as WWE Champion for the second time.
UFC 100 was scheduled for July 11, 2009, at the Mandalay Bay Events Center in Las Vegas, and my fight with Frank Mir for the undisputed title was the main event. I kept dreaming about what was going to happen in that fight, and I knew I was going to pull that golden horseshoe right out of Frank’s ass and beat him over the head
with it.
Frank went around bragging about how he had beaten me, which was one thing. But now he was walking around like it was a foregone conclusion that he was going to beat me again, and that he was already
a champion. He’s walking around with a fake title belt, and he thinks it carries the same meaning as the real title? Frank was lucky to get a fight with Big Nog for the fake title when Nog was sick as hell.
Frank was talking about how my punches felt like the ones his little sister would land after jumping on his back when they were kids.
The book comes out on May 24, 2011.with it.
Frank went around bragging about how he had beaten me, which was one thing. But now he was walking around like it was a foregone conclusion that he was going to beat me again, and that he was already
a champion. He’s walking around with a fake title belt, and he thinks it carries the same meaning as the real title? Frank was lucky to get a fight with Big Nog for the fake title when Nog was sick as hell.
Frank was talking about how my punches felt like the ones his little sister would land after jumping on his back when they were kids.