Summerslam

August 22nd, 1999

"You asked Chyna not be involved in this interview. Why?" Jim Ross asked, looking confused as he reclined comfortably on a couch adjacent to Hunter.

"Why?" Hunter repeated the question as if it were something of an insult. "Everybody wants to know why. Why? You know what? Because this one is about me, J.R. It's not about Chyna, or anybody else. It's about four hours from now. It's about 11:00 PM tonight. It's about me getting out what I've always wanted in this business, and that is me becoming the WWF Champion."

"So you're saying tonight at Summerslam, in roughly four hours, you will be WWF Champion without Chyna's help?" Ross questioned as Hunter's face began to grimace in utter annoyance.

"You're God damn right! I don't need anybody else, J.R.," Hunter declared angrily. "This goes back to The Kliq. This goes back to New York City, Madison Square Garden. Me walking in the ring and saying goodbye to my friends..."

He was interrupted by Ross which did not please him to say the least, "That's four years ago..."

"You're damn right it's four years ago," Hunter snapped at Ross, interrupting him in turn. "Every day it's eating a hole in my fucking stomach J.R.! Every single day!"

"Watch your language," J.R. urged, seemingly puzzled and frightened at Hunter's rage, especially so early on in the interview.

"What? You want me to shoot with this interview, I'm going to fucking shoot with it! I'm going to tell you how I feel whether you like it or not! It's about four years ago. Madison Square Garden, I walk to the ring to say goodbye to my friends: Kevin Nash, Scott Hall, Shawn Michaels."

Jim Ross looked on intently. He could tell that Hunter was far from finished, and if both of them wanted to attend the actual pay-per-view later in the evening, he needed to let Hunter continue letting off some steam.

"Who got punished for that J.R.?" he asked rhetorically. "Me! I did. You know why? Cause you didn't have the balls! Nobody in the office had the balls to do that to anybody else! They did it to me. Why? Because I was the easy one. I was the one that would take it. Good old Triple H. He'll rise to the occasion later on. Don't worry about it. He'll come through. We can take care of that now. Punish him, get rid of that, he'll come back later."

Jim Ross began to adjust himself again in his seat growing more uncomfortable the more menacing Hunter's presence and tone became. He was an announcer, not a physician, but it looked to him like Hunter's face was so red with anger that he could burst a blood vessel at any second.

"Well you know what? That makes me sick in my stomach! Every time I look at you guys it makes me sick to think of what you did to me, holding me back. You guys talk about being students of the game? I am the fucking game, J.R.! There is nobody that eats, sleeps, or breathes this business more than me! And now it's my time to prove that to the world. Summerslam is my time to take what is mine and that is becoming the WWF Champion"

"You know Hunter," Ross remarked noting Hunter's pause as a sign he was a tiny bit calmer. "Summerslam is about a lot more than just you. It's about the WWF title. It's about Mankind and Stone Cold Steve Austin."

Hunter's temper exploded once, more not simply due to the fact that J.R. did not actually ask a question, but because of the names he mentioned. "To hell with Austin! To hell with The Rock! To hell with The Undertaker! I own all their asses! Mankind? I could care less! You want to promote Summerslam around them? Go right ahead. But when it's all said and done, Summerslam is about me! It's about nobody else, it's about me! It's about me getting what I deserve in this business and that is becoming the WWF Champion."

The WWF taped a show called Sunday Night Heat which aired an hour before every pay-per-view. It was usually a few matches, promo packages for ongoing feuds, and sometimes interviews. I was sitting in my office, busy with my work, with Heat on my monitor, but I hadn't bothered to watch anything on tonight's episode as Summerslam was my priority, specifically the main event. Near the end of the episode, I heard Jim Ross' annoying voice and was mere seconds away from getting up and muting the monitor before I heard who his guest for the evening was. The man who had thanked me two weeks earlier. The man who had smirked at me just six days earlier. The man I kissed six days earlier. It didn't matter that it was only on the cheek, we'd both enjoyed the moment. J.R. was speaking to Hunter, who was wearing his signature Harley-Davidson leather cap, leather jacket, and blue jeans. It amused me how uncomfortable and frightened Hunter made J.R. as he talked about his frustrations in the company. Not surprisingly, Hunter's anger grew by the minute the more redundant J.R. became not really asking questions, but blatantly pushing his buttons. I could totally understand why Hunter showed bitterness to many of the people who helped to run the company, or had done in the past, other than myself of course.

Hunter didn't deserve to be treated the way he had been. And how dare Shawn Michaels, Hunter's supposed friend not support him, but out of his own jealousy and insecurity at no longer being The Man, instead weasel his way into the WWF Commissioner position? "I would never hold you back from greatness, Hunter," I mumbled. I was the one in the office anyway, as the stooges, Test and Kenny were stuffing their faces in catering.

I instinctively leaned forward in my seat, closer to the monitor, when Hunter had raised his voice and almost yelled, "I am the fucking game, J.R.!" I don't know if it was what he said or the way he said it that made me tingle so much. It was serious. It was intense. It was sexy. Hunter was The Game and I was ready to play it. Very much like last week, I was about to get lost in my thoughts about the future that lay ahead of Hunter and I, when I was suddenly knocked back to the present. There was a live shot with Hunter walking through the arena pulling his luggage along behind him, taking occasional sips from a bottle of water. The heat interview had obviously been taped earlier. Leave it to Jim Ross to rush Hunter and request an interview on a night where Hunter needed all of his focus and concentration on his match. Damn him.

"Yes folks, Triple H is here. He is ready, and by God, is hell-bent on leaving Minnesota with the championship," I heard Ross saying, continuing to hype up the featured match of the evening.

"You forgot the most important thing J.R.! Not only is he here! Not only is he ready to be champion! He is 'The Game' J.R.," Lawler emphasized with obvious bias.

It was time to reassure my champion on the plans for the match, so I decided to go see him in his locker room.

A couple of minutes later I knocked on his door. Breathe Steph, I thought to myself as I waited. Inhale and Exhale. Please God, don't let him open the door seeing me do these ridiculous breathing exercises like I'm some kind of yoga instructor.

"Hey you," he replied with a smirk when he open the door and saw me. I certainly wasn't expecting that. I mean, I loved it, but it was almost as if he expected it to be me at the door. He no longer had on his blue jeans or leather cap, or jacket. He was now wearing black track pants and a dark crew neck t-shirt, tucked neatly inside his pants. His hair was now in a ponytail. In an effort to avoid his gaze, fearing I would blush, I began to scan his body. It was truly incredible how every part of his body was proportional. I knew most athletes, the great ones anyway, considered themselves gym rats. Hunter was no gym rat. He was an artist. Thankfully, he hadn't answered the door in a towel, dripping wet from a shower. I would've probably died on the spot. I certainly wouldn't have been able to deliver the message I had for him. Before he got the idea that this little visit was just an excuse for me to stalk him, my eyes finally met his. As his large hand clinched the top of the door frame his bicep flexed, almost teasing me to squeeze it.

"Hi," I smiled. "I know I'm probably not the person you want to see…" He cut me off.

"That's not true, Steph," he said. That's like the fourth time he's called me Steph. "A lot of people pissed me off. Mankind, Austin, Chyna, well at least your father is no longer around."

I couldn't agree more, I thought.

"Come in," Hunter said, gesturing into the locker room with his hand.

A warm reaction and an invitation to go inside? Oh my God.

"Listen Hunter," I made sure to speak fractionally softer than usual. I was hoping he'd like that. "I'm not going to take too much of your valuable time. I came to reassure you that what I said two weeks ago is still valid. I've got you tonight."

Hunter crossed his massive arms on his chest looking intently at me. "What's that supposed to mean?" he asked raising an eyebrow as he did so. It didn't look anything like as ridiculous as the way The Rock did it.

""I have your back. I know you're good enough to beat those clowns by yourself, like you said, but even so, I have your back," I said proudly, temporarily forgetting my infatuation with Hunter and getting back to business. "You're leaving here as the WWF Champion, one way or another."

"Damn straight I am!" Hunter shouted. And there's that temper that I find incredibly hot. "I've busted my ass too hard and for too long to be denied tonight!"

There was nothing more to say. I wasn't going to let him know any details of what I had in mind. I needed him to be focused on his own game plan, just in case shit hit the fan and he had to do it all on his own after all. I certainly didn't doubt his abilities, but for some reason, he seemed to be on the wrong side of luck as of late, with my plans for him being thwarted or disrupted and him loosing several matches to weaker opponents.

"Well, I'll leave you to your preparations," I said as I headed towards the door. He followed behind me, placing his huge hand against the door, essentially pinning me between his chest and forearm. I actually could feel his chest against my back and him breathe a little into the back of my neck. If anyone ever told me before that moment that inadvertent foreplay could be torturous, I would had never believed them. This was definitely torture.

"Why Steph?" Hunter spoke into my ear. He didn't try to whisper but given how I wasn't that much shorter than him with my heels on, that was the bitter-sweet position I was in.

"Because…" I faltered. I was getting lost in the smell of his cologne. I needed to figure out what scent it was and buy him a bottle as a gift. "You're not the only one who has become an enemy of Austin's." I said Stone Cold's name with as much of evil conviction as Hunter did earlier tonight with J.R.

"Well it's a good thing I have lady's luck then," Hunter said before backing away from me and opening the door.

I could certainly take the hint and left his locker room. A second or two longer in there with him and I would have to change my underwear for sure. I turned back to face him as I walked into the hallway. "I thought you said you didn't need luck?" I asked, wondering if this was him trying to impress me with his memory skills, or if he was flirting with me.

"I don't," Hunter quickly snapped. He then traced my chin line with his index finger. "But I love insurance policies." He winked at me as he finished the sentence.

I had gotten my answer. He was definitely flirting with me.

The main event had been fast paced and action packed so far. I had no idea how long it had been in progress for, but I had to give all three men credit because no quarter was being given or asked for. I was literally on the edge of my seat as I watched my monitor.

"All three men are bringing the action outside folks and it's all for the WWF Championship!" J.R. had just exclaimed. "Look at Austin and Triple H each taking turns smashing Mankind's skull into the steel steps. And now they're dragging him by our announce desk. Look out King."

"I'm perfectly fine," Lawler assured Ross. "They're laying it all on the line tonight. Oh no! Punch to the gut on Helmsley by Mankind! Head-butt by Mankind on Austin."

"Hunter rushes back to Mankind and Oh! Double-armed DDT on Helmsley! That's three times in three weeks!" Ross yelled. "Austin tries for a clothesline! Mankind ducks and mandible claw! It's the mandible claw as Mr. Socko catches Austin. The champion is down on the floor and fading away!"

To celebrate his achievement, Mankind walked over to the barricade near the fans and formed his fingers into the shape of a gun, shouting, "Bang-bang!"

"This is terrible, J.R.!" Lawler complained. "It's bad enough that we're this close to that smelly sock, but apparently Mankind invited Cactus Jack to join the match!"

Seeing both of his opponents recovering, Mankind charged toward them both at full speed, only to be caught by Hunter and Austin, who send him through the Spanish announce table with a double-flap jack face buster. Austin and Hunter both collapsed back to the floor.

"Again, all men are down!" shouted Ross. "What's it going to take for someone to win the damn title?"

A "This is Awesome!' chant broke out in the crowd. In the ring, referee Earl Hebner finally started his ten count. Hunter and Austin both managed to slide in the ring at seven, while Mankind remained outside, out cold. It was impossible to call a winner even if Mankind was counted out, with the other two men are already back in the ring and able to continue.

Hunter and Austin were now on their feet and were standing nose to nose, yelling what looked like obscenities at each other. "What's going on King?' Ross inquired. "Did Austin and Helmsley form an alliance to take Mankind out of the picture, so they can battle for the title between themselves?"

"I think they took out the trash," Lawler said, showing disdain for Mankind. "This is the cream of the crop here. Austin may not have the class of Helmsley, but he too, is a former King of the Ring Winner and Intercontinental champion. That idiot Mankind didn't belong in this match anyway."

"Oh Triple H with the waist lock on Austin," J.R. interrupted. "Could he spin him into the spine buster? No! Austin escaped from his grip, Stunner! Stunner! Stunner on The Game! But the referee got hit by Triple H's arm on the way down!" Austin crawled over to Hunter and hooked his leg. The crowd counted loudly, eventually giving up at five.

"Count all you want, there's no referee," Lawler said, clearly relieved by the fact.

Austin gave up and the cover and went over to try and get Hebner back in the action. Hunter started to recover and nailed Stone Cold with a spinning spine buster as he turned back around. Hunter rolled out of the ring and shouted at Howard Finkel, the WWF pay-per-view announcer, "Give me the damn title!" Finkel obliged him without any resistance. Suddenly, a tall man with short sandy coloured hair and a ten gallon cowboy hat marched to the ring with a menacing grimace on his face.

"Who the hell is that? What is he doing here?" Ross demanded. "Oh, he's going after Triple H who has the championship!"

"Where's security?" Lawler complained. "Who let him in the building? Whoever you are, Triple H has no issue with you. What are you doing?"

The man, unknown to everyone aside from me, was Mr. Layfield. And he had a job to do. He noticed that Austin was about to reach his feet when he tugged on the other end of the WWF Championship title with Hunter. Hunter was trying not to show it, but I could tell that he was confident that this was indeed the plan. The timing worked out perfectly, as at the very last possible second, Hunter released his grip on the belt and ducked as Layfield swung, nailing Austin square in the face. Hunter shoved JBL on his ass trying to sell the frustration of getting unwanted assistance. Again, it was perfect.

"No! It can't be," Ross cried out. "Helmsley raises Austin up, hooks both his arms. Pedigree. Damn it! The referee is recovering a crawling over there. One... Two... Three! Helmsley is the champion. I can't believe this, this crap!"

"Here is your winner, and new World Wrestling Federation Champion, The Game, Triple H!" Howard Finkel announced as Our Time, Hunter's theme music played. The title was now very poignant indeed.

"Wooo!" Lawler shouted like a school child. "He did it! The Game did it! I told you he'd do it, J.R.!"

After Hunter got the victory, Layfield had quickly vanished through the crowd. Earl Hebner was still a bit groggy from Hunter taking him out in the match as he handed the title belt over. Taking even me by surprise, Hunter took another cheap shot and nailed Hebner square in the jaw. The crowd erupted in boos as the music quickly faded out.

Next, Hunter slid out of the ring and grabbed Finkel's now empty steel chair. He returned to the ring with it, where Austin was still lying flat on his back, having not moved since taking the Pedigree. Quickly, Hunter removed both of the knee braces from Austin's legs. Showing the ruthless streak that I loved so much, Hunter began to hammer away at Austin's already weak knees. He was clearly intending to cripple him for good and finish their rivalry right then and there.

"What's he doing?" Ross yelped. "He already won the damn title! Why is he committing this heinous attack on Austin's surgically repaired knees? Damn you Helmsley! Damn you to hell!"

Jim Ross, who was a great friend of Stone Cold Steve Austin, was clearly livid of Hunter's attack, which I guessed was why Hunter slid out of the ring on his side on purpose to retrieve the only tag-team partner he loved more than The Kliq: The Sledgehammer. I wondered if maybe Hunter had heard J.R. shouting.

"You want some, fat man, huh?" Hunter shouted at J.R. who shook his head in fear.

Hunter re-entered the ring, staring at the sledgehammer intently for a few seconds as though he was in love with it, before raising it above his head repeatedly smashing Austin's knees. It was a brutal beating the likes of which I had never seen before, but still he wasn't finished. He dropped the sledgehammer in the middle of the ring and dragged Austin's battered legs to one of the turnbuckles before locking him into the figure four leg lock on the turnbuckle ring post.

I was no fan of Stone Cold by any means, but the sound of him screaming in pain shocked me. Like him or not, he was one of the toughest guys on the roster. Hunter kept the hold in for a full sixty seconds before releasing it. He climbed back in the ring, grabbed the sledgehammer with his right hand and championship title with the left. He raised his arms in the air before his theme music played again, and looked into the main camera, pouting his lips in a quick kissing motion that many wouldn't notice. He had obviously hoped that I would notice it, and of course I had.

"What the hell is his problem? What a no good, ruthless, sick, self-righteous son of a bitch!" Ross said angrily. It wasn't good enough that he won the championship? He had to possibly end a man's career too!"

"Whoah, whoah, whoah, J.R." Lawler began to defend Hunter. "That's called making a statement. All of you people doubted what Triple H was capable of. He's not just a champion, but The Game!"

"The Game, my ass! He's a sadistic bastard and one day he's going to get what's coming to him! Thank you for tuning into Summerslam, ladies and gentlemen. Goodnight!"

I couldn't have imagined a more excellent way to finish a pay-per-view if I had tried. Everything went according to plan. No Chyna. No Jericho. No Daddy. And Hunter was the champion, as I promised him, and as he deserved to be. That would teach Austin for making me the enemy. I'd had no idea that he had that little extra demolition job planned after the match, crushing both of Austin's knees. Good job, baby. I wasn't expecting it, but I'd loved every second of it. I imagined that Austin probably has one of those ACL/MCL injuries now, whatever they were called. It didn't really matter what the medical terminology was, he's out of our lives, hopefully forever, that was what mattered. I didn't miss Hunter kiss me through the camera either. It was subtle, barely noticeable, but I saw it. I hear you Hunter, loud and clear. You are most certainly welcome.

While I was extremely happy at this moment, I was reminded that Shawn Michaels had suddenly found himself a lot admiration for The Great One, The Rock, for some reason. He'd called me during one of the matches earlier on the card, stating that he'd booked the winner of tonight's championship match to defend the title in the main event of the WWF's debut episode of Thursday Night Smackdown! on UPN, which was now just days away, against The Rock. This was something I was not pleased about at all. It was most certainly something Hunter wouldn't be pleased to hear either. I'd have to figure out a way to get Michaels' grubby little hands away from my power and out of my company for good, but right now, it didn't matter. Hunter was the WWF champion. My Champion.

END