
The bartender could tell something was wrong. “You doing OK, man?”
I just kept shaking my head and staring at the ground in disbelief. Finally I said “Man, this started out as such a perfect night…” but it was barely loud enough for him to hear.
“What’s the matter dude? You’re in New Orleans…laissez le bon temps rouler!” I wanted to have fun, I wanted to “let the good times roll”, but instead I felt like I just got “coups de pied dans les noix.” (Translation – if you’re a guy that hurts.)
Seriously, it should have been a perfect night. I was strolling around Bourbon Street drinking a cold beer, the weather was beautiful and life was good. No problems at home, the job was fine, and Beth was the WWE Women’s Champion (I have always contended we are co-holders of the title, but that’s just a technicality). Then I thought I’d jump into a local bar, grab a refill, and check the Diva Dirt SmackDown spoilers. Just wanted to make sure my girl was still the champ after the Tuesday night tapings. Then I read the news… a 2-on-1 title match, Vickie’s back, a confusing ending, Michelle or Layla wearing the belt… what?!?! All I knew was that Beth wasn’t the champion anymore and I felt like my heart would explode from my chest. Not so much because she lost the title…but because I knew what this really meant – something was seriously wrong with her knee. “OH MERDE!” (Translation – very, very not good!)
The bartender said, “Hey, umm, can I get you a beer?”
I put my head in my hands and said, “Nah, I’ll take a Johnny Daniels over ice.”
“You mean Jack Daniels, right?”
I looked at him and mumbled, “He may be Jack to you, but when you’ve known him as long as I have…”
The bartender poured the drink and said, “Wow, you must really be upset about something.”
“You don’t understand, man, it wasn’t supposed to go down like this…I didn’t even get to write my Extreme Rules column yet.” Being that we were in New Orleans, lord knows what the bartender thought that meant. But I thought I had a few weeks you know? I wanted to be able to let the moment sink in and then write a coherent, entertaining column about one of the most exciting nights of my life. Now, the moment had passed, Beth had a severe knee injury, and Baltimore, MD seemed like a 100 years ago. The bartender said, “OK, then this one is on the house, you look pretty bummed out. Decu dans le Big Easy.” (Translation – I’m the only loser in New Orleans not having fun.) I looked back down at the floor and just kept thinking, “Did I jinx her? In some cosmic supernatural way did writing that stupid column about Melina’s injury cause Beth to blow out her knee?!” I don’t know.
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