Under the Black Hat: My Life in the WWE and Beyond

by Jim Ross

He basically had no tolerance for any sign of loss of control or weakness. Perhaps most remarkably he hated sneezing, his own even more than other people’s.

“THE JOE IS SOLD OUT here in Detroit,” I announced to the millions watching Raw at home.

One day, as I stood in Oklahoma waiting to literally kiss my boss’s ass on live TV, I too wondered why we weren’t taken seriously in the TV business.

I bet Walter White couldn’t do ass tricks. You ever see Ray Donovan twerk, bitches? No? Exactly.

This was the foundation of professional wrestling: make the conflict compelling enough that people will continue to pay their hard-earned money to see what happens next. Throwing shit out there just to fill time made nobody any real money.

Ever since I was a boy playing with action figures on my bed, and now as a man brought low, wrestling loved me back when I needed it most.

As my granny used to tell me, “Jimmy, someone is going to be what you want to be, so why not that someone be you?”