SuperFan

Table of Contents

 

 

For all the Superstars I've loved to watch since I was a kid. And especially for WWE Hall of Famer “The Unpredictable” Johnny Rodz, who pumped iron next to me at the Gladiator's Gym on Manhattan's Lower East Side.

GROSSET & DUNLAP

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All WWE programming, talent names, images, likenesses, slogans, wrestling moves, trademarks, logos and copyrights are the exclusive property of WWE and its subsidiaries. All other trademarks, logos and copyrights are the property of their respective owners. © 2011 WWE. All Rights Reserved. Published by Grosset & Dunlap, a division of Penguin Young Readers Group, 345 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014. GROSSET & DUNLAP is a trademark of Penguin Group (USA) Inc. Printed in the U.S.A.

 

ISBN : 978-1-101-53551-6

“OH, SAY, CAN YOU SEE, BY THE DAWN'S EARLY LIGHT, WHAT SO PROUDLY WE HAILED AT THE TWILIGHT'S LAST GLEAMING?. . .”

 

 

Shawn Reynolds, part of the huge crowd that filled the Scottrade Center in St. Louis, stood in silence with his father and younger brother as pop singer Sheryl Crow—a St. Louis native—sang the first words of the “Star-Spangled Banner.”

Shawn had been doubtful when his brother, Peter, had announced that what he wanted for his tenth birthday was to attend a World Wrestling Entertainment live event in St. Louis. It was a long drive from their home in Columbia, Missouri, to St. Louis, and the night would end late. Their parents were pretty strict about the boys sticking to a regular bedtime. Plus, how could they even get tickets?

“Please, Shawn,” Peter had begged. “If I ask Dad, he'll say no. But if we both ask . . .”

It wasn't such a shock that Peter wanted to see the WWE in person. He was a huge fan, as was their dad, Sanford. Shawn, though, had never cared for wrestling. Basically, he thought it was the dumbest thing ever. Still, Shawn had chimed in on his brother's behalf and had even found three tickets on a local website. The kicker was when Shawn donated some of his snow-shoveling money to help pay for the tickets.

Just a week ago, Peter had come out for breakfast to find the tickets on the table. He'd been thrilled. If only they could have found a fourth. Not for his mom, Carla, who would be working that evening—she was a children's librarian at the Columbia Public Library. The fourth ticket would have gone to Alex Garcia, the son of the Reynoldses' closest family friends and one of Shawn's best buddies. Alex was the world's biggest WWE fan—even bigger than Peter.

Shawn glanced to his left. Next to him was his tall, athletic dad, standing ramrod straight like the soldier he was. Beyond his dad was Peter, who had the same short, brown hair and blue eyes as Shawn and was nearly as tall, even though he was two years younger.

As Sheryl soared into the final verse, Shawn wondered how she could sing in front of twenty thousand people. If it were him, he'd have bolted a long time ago since he suffered from body-numbing stage fright. He never played his guitar in front of people. An oral report in school? That gave him actual hives.

The song ended, the crowd roared, and indoor fireworks blasted skyward.

“Whaddya think, Shawnie?” his father boomed, taking in the atmosphere. “You lovin' it?”

“Not sure, Dad,” Shawn replied. Every so often, he tried to watch the WWE on television with his father and brother. He never lasted more than one bout.

Sanford laughed heartily as they all sat down. “It's okay to say no, son. I'm a soldier. My commanders specialize in saying no!”

“Well, I'm a fan, Dad,” Peter piped up. “When I grow up, I'm going to be the chief executioner of the WWE!”

Shawn smiled. His brother was constantly using big words, and he didn't always use them correctly. Right there, for example, he meant to say “chief executive,” meaning “boss,” instead of “executioner,” meaning “someone who puts another person to death for a crime they committed.”

Sanford shook a finger in mock warning. “How about you finish elementary school before you make a career choice.”

“Ladies and gentlemen!” A voice boomed over the public address system. “Welcome to a very special winter break edition of
WWE Raw
!”

“Here comes a cameraman!” Sanford pointed to an approaching TV cameraman. “Hold up your signs!”

Shawn and Peter had made poster board signs for the show. Actually, Shawn had made the signs, since he was a good artist and Peter had the talent of a garden slug. Peter's sign featured the WWE logo and read: I LOVE
RAW
AND IT'S MY TENTH BIRTHDAY! Shawn's read: HEY! PUT MY BIRTHDAY BRO ON TV!

To Shawn's surprise, the cameraman stopped in front of them. “Hey, birthday dude and his big bro!” he called in a raspy voice. “You're on television!”

Peter waved his sign wildly. The people in their section cheered.

“Hey, birthday dude!” the cameraman shouted. “Say hey to your mom at home!”

“She's working!” Peter protested.

“Say hey, anyway!”

“Hi, Mom!” Peter yelled, and waved his sign again.

As the cameraman moved on, Shawn felt his cell phone—an older model that used to belong to his dad—vibrate in his pocket. He wondered if it was his mom, somehow watching from the library. “Hello?”

“Hello? Hello? All you can say is
hello
? This is the most amazing thing ever!” It was Alex, and his words tumbled on top of one another. This was typical. Alex either loved something or he hated something. He was never neutral. “I got you and Peter on my DVR! You guys are so lucky! Uh-oh. My mom is yelling at me! Gotta go!”

End of conversation. It was a good thing, though, because at the far end of the arena, a giant video display started flashing multiple colors. Irish rock music blared, and the hugest, palest, most red-haired man Shawn had ever seen strutted through the entrance. “That's Sheamus. He's the number one contender,” Sanford explained as the crowd booed. “Everyone hates him.”

“He's so pale, he looks like human mayonnaise,” Shawn joked.

Sanford cracked up. “That's what Cena always says.”

“Who's Cena?”

“John Cena. My favorite wrestler. Look. Sheamus has a mic. Let's listen,” Sanford replied.

The lights dimmed, and spotlights glinted off Sheamus's pasty skin.

“Hello, St. Louis!” Sheamus had a serious Irish accent. “I'm not even scheduled to wrestle this evening. I guess the
Raw
general manager didn't want to give you people a display of actual talent!”

The boos grew louder. Shawn heard his dad and Peter join in. He wondered if he should, too. This guy gave new meaning to the word
obnoxious
.

Sheamus wasn't fazed. “That's okay, that's all right. I'll see all these boys—not men,
boys
—in two months in Atlanta at WrestleMania when I take away John Cena's title!”

Shawn didn't know much about the WWE, but he knew about WrestleMania, since his dad ordered the pay-per-view every year. It was the WWE's biggest event. Most WWE shows were held in arenas like this one. But WrestleMania took place in huge football stadiums. Sanford had told Shawn that even when he'd been overseas on active military duty, he'd gather with the guys in his unit to watch WrestleMania on a closed-circuit feed.

The bell sounded to start the night's matches, but Sheamus wasn't done. “I've changed my mind,” he bleated. “I think I
will
wrestle tonight. I don't care what the first match is supposed to be. I've been the champion, I'm the number one contender, I'm giving you all a winter break surprise.
Raw
general manager? Make me a match!”

Suddenly, loud music started up—intense hip-hop.

“Rey Mysterio! That's his theme music!” Peter shouted.

All around Shawn, people were calling the Superstar's name. Shawn expected an oversize athlete like gigantic Sheamus, so it was a shock when a small man ran into the arena in time to the music. He wore loose-fitting red pants and a red, black, and white mask that covered his hair, forehead, nose, and cheeks. He received a thunderous welcome. Shawn glanced at Sheamus. He was twice the size of this little dude.

“Sheamus is going to kill him,” Shawn guessed.

“Maybe not,” his dad replied. “Rey's fast. Rey's smart. Rey knows it's not how big you are. It's how you face your fears and overcome them. The match isn't over till the ref counts to three.”

The crowd erupted as Rey launched himself into the ring and did a back flip–front flip combination just for fun. Then the bell sounded, and the two Superstars collided.

Sheamus tried to use his superior size to his advantage, while Rey relied on quickness and agility. Sheamus smashed Rey to the canvas with a short-arm clothesline and managed a two-count. A moment later, Sheamus lifted Rey overhead like a baby, spun him around, and then hurled him to the floor outside the ring in a powerbomb. Rey lay on the cold concrete for a count of eight, but somehow got back in the ring.