Quoted By:
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We’d been building Loch Ness into a monster heel. He’d had
nothing but short, decisive wins and was now beating two
wrestlers at a time in handicap matches. He was over with
the fans, but not with the wrestlers. A couple of French
Canadians griped that they didn’t want to work with him
because he was too stiff, too clumsy and he smelled bad. I
tried to reason with them, explaining that we were short on
talent and we’d paid a lot to bring him in, but then had no
choice but to tell them if they didn’t work with him, they
could finish up. I gambled that a hard line would put an end
to their complaints—we couldn’t afford to lose them either—
and it did.
Loch Ness
was stiff, and he did smell a bit ripe, but it
didn’t make things any easier when he was constantly
beaned with gum wrappers and bottle caps by the wrestlers
seated behind him on the long rides. He’d sit there steaming
mad, smoking his cigarettes right down to the filter; I felt
like a school-bus driver hopelessly trying to keep the kiddies
in line.
At one point Loch Ness finally snapped. “I’ll kick the shit
out of the whole lot of you,” he threatened, and he turned,
pointing his huge fat finger at everyone in the back row. The
Cuban, who hadn’t done anything, quickly had his knife out
and ordered the van to a stop. In the nick of time, Loch Ness
apologized to The Cuban, and that was the end of it.
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From Bret's book
