Typical Day
At 5:00AM, Russell Mania wakes up to Guns N' Roses' "Welcome to the Jungle." It's been his alarm clock tone since 1987, when he was first starting out, doing unpaid gigs in underground rings. Now it's his lucky ritual.
Russell grabs a banana and hits his own in-house weight room for a full hour and a half of weight lifting. Since he has a match today, he spends another half hour with stretches and rehabilitative work. By 7:15AM, Russell is showered and guzzling a monstrous, twenty-four-ounce protein shake on his way out the door.
He takes a private car (he has several) and is dropped off at the airport's departures gate by 8:00AM. Tonight he has a match in Long Island, but he's currently in Sacramento, California. As a big-name wrestler, Russell flies first class. And what a relief it is to have the extra leg room. It's his third city this week and he needs some shut-eye.
"Ladies and gentlemen, the captain has turned on the fasten your seatbelt sign...."
Russell's phone buzzes. Pulling it out of his pocket, he spots the name "Anna May." His wife.
"At this time, we request that all mobile phones, pagers, radios, and all other electronic devices be switched off."
Crap. He'll have to answer later. That's okay. His wife and family are used to this by now. He'll give them a call after they land...if there's time. Russell takes some anti-inflammatory meds to speed his recovery from his workout that morning, puts on an eye mask, and dozes the flight away.
At 3:00PM, Russell's flight lands. He's met at the airport by a chauffeur, a make-up artist, his assistant, and a whole swarm of assistants-to-the-assistant waiting to whisk him to his next destination: a pre-match photo shoot. Oiled down, muscles shining, Russell poses in his small tank top, dog tags, and crew cut. A couple smirks, a few smiles, and he's out of there.
By 5:00PM, Russell has checked in to his hotel and eaten another protein-heavy meal. No shakes or bars this time—just good old-fashioned steak and eggs. Russell knows there's a lot of cholesterol in that meal, but he's so sick of strawberry-flavored protein powder that he doesn't care. He'll eat some carrots after the match or something. Right now, he needs straight-up protein, not wimpy rabbit food.
Once the meal has settled in his stomach, Russell gets the chauffeur to take him over to the WWE arena in Long Island. He calls his family while stuck in traffic, but nobody picks up. Stupid time difference. He'll try again later.
The Long Island WWE arena is huge, housing hundreds of seats and a padded ring with "SMACKDOWN" written on all four sides in huge red letters. Without the bright red, green, and yellow lights flooding the stadium, however, it looks empty and a little sad. Russell's job tonight will be to make the place seem alive and...well, maybe "magical" isn't the right word. More like bloodthirsty.
A man in a suit, with hair styled in a crew cut similar to his own, approaches Russell. It's the booker with the details on the match for that night. Russell is headed into the ring as his usual, good-guy character: "Rusty Ironman." His opponent for that evening? The feared, dreaded heel: "Preparation HHH" (pronounced "Triple H").
"So, I'm going to win tonight?" Russell asks. It's not really a question so much as a confirmation. Part of the magic of wrestling is that the good guys win.
To his surprise, the booker says, "Nope. You're losing. Preparation HHH is going to stomp the crud out of you."
"But Rusty Ironman is the good guy," Russell protests.
"Yeah, I know. And there's nothing people hate more than seeing the good guy lose. That's why Rusty's going to get beaten tonight. It'll have the fans baying for a rematch. We'll schedule a grudge match for you and Preparation HHH in a few months, build up some hype around it, do some press releases with the two of you talking trash. The fans'll love it."
"Anything for the fans," Russell agrees neutrally. Secretly, he's not looking forward to getting beaten by a heel. Sure, he knows that it's all fake. Sure, he knows that Preparation HHH's real name is Henry Thidwell, and Henry Thidwell is a great guy. But nobody likes losing, especially when their kids watch all the matches.
Russell swallows his pride. Maybe he doesn't like where the script is going, but he has to follow it without complaint. He finds Henry, and after they catch up and swap a few stories, they practice their moves.
At 7:00PM, Russell and Henry go to their dressing rooms to put on their makeup and costumes. They sit and chat while waiting for the show to start. Henry's a really funny guy—he could totally go into stand-up comedy once his wrestling career is done. Russell's a bit older than Henry and he's starting to think seriously about what he'll do once he can't wrestle anymore. He'll miss WWE like crazy.
Since he's playing the good guy, Russell goes on first. He waits in the shadows while the announcer says, "Making his way to the ring...from Stockton, California...weighing 308 pounds...and the reigning four-time champion...Rusty IRONMAAAAAAN!!"
The crowd roars with approval as Russell runs into the arena. A few minutes later, they're booing like crazy because Henry has come on. Then the "referee," who isn't technically needed because the fight won't be real, comes on and the match starts.
The booker was right—the crowd hates seeing Rusty Ironman lose. By the time the twenty-minute match is done, they're on their feet, yelling at Preparation HHH. Some people even throw things. Henry just raises his fists and pretends to be flattered by the negative attention.
Backstage, Henry and Russell congratulate each other on a fine show and go their separate ways, since Henry's got to go to Florida and Russell's going to go back to his family in California. It's a lot of flying, but he tries to spend as much time with his family as possible.
Back at the hotel a few minutes before midnight, Russell manages to squeeze in a quick phone call to his family, who were all watching the broadcast. Anna May mentions that Russell, Jr., won the science fair that morning. Something to do with microbes—Russell had a hard time hearing over the phone. He's completely exhausted. He bids his wife goodnight, takes a couple painkillers and a sleeping pill, and drifts off into sleep.