This is Sports Entertainment just got a swank new cover, and a new price to go with it. Both methods of purchase are now 50% off. That’s not a sale, either. That’s just the price now. The economy is that bad, people. 

1. Click here to buy the book for your Kindle directly from Amazon at an unbelievable and vaguely insulting 99 cents. 

2. Click right here to buy the book directly from Gredunza Press. Pay $1.99 on Paypal, and you’ll receive in the mail a nice shiny zip file carrying my book. It contains PDF, Epub (for Sony and Nook readers) and Mobi (for Kindle), so you can read it on any device that exists right now. That extra buck is totally worth it. 

About the book:

Sports Entertainment is a funny thing. It’s not a sport, and it’s not really entertaining, unless you see it through the eyes of its creator, the owner of the World Wrestling Entertainment, Vince McMahon. Follow Vince through the fall of 2009 through to Wrestlemania 26 as he tells you what he really thinks about legendary wrestlers such as The Rock, Stone Cold Steve Austin, and Hulk Hogan, as well as Hollywood celebrities such as The Rock, Stone Cold Steve Austin, and Hulk Hogan.

The fall of 2009 was an important time for Vince McMahon. His son, groomed to be the heir to the company, left to pursue his interest in human cockfighting. His wife, Linda, left the company to pursue her interest in human cockfighting (in Washington). And Hulk Hogan, Vince’s former business accomplice, went to work for the competition (again). Read Vince’s inner-most thoughts on all these matters, and more, in “This is Sports Entertainment.”

Fake Vince McMahon is kind of a pseudonym.

It’s my birthday, I can blog if I want to

I stopped writing this blog last year because I was put into a coma by the Nexus. I came back because the Rock was around and we couldn’t just have Justin Roberts announce his name. I stuck around because I really wanted to see what R Truth was going to say next, and I couldn’t stop watching Sin Cara fall on his ass. And then my son in law had to go and fire me. 

Understandably, I’ve been a little upset. I mean, I know he only fired me on television and I’m still totally goddamn running things, but everyone is sort of buying that he’s in charge. Have you read the dirtsheets lately? They’re beginning to blame things on HHH and not me! They’re saying that HHH loves cruiserweights and ladies and tag teams and that’s why the show is full of them all of a sudden. 

Look, I want you to understand something. I will never not be in charge. 

To prove that, I flew The Rock to my house just so he could wish me a happy birthday. That’s right. I made him return the favour. We strung up balloons and everything. It was great. 

A whimper

I’ve been kicked off my own show too many times to count.

It seems like it’s a yearly occurrence that some force seals me away. Austin won a match to keep me off TV. My daughter took over my company. Donald Trump tried to buy Raw. Goldberg blew up my limo. The Nexus put me in a coma. HHH has now thrice exiled me. It reminds me of that line in the third Pirates movie: “Four of you have tried to kill me in the past. One of you succeeded.”

I’ve been through a lot, okay.

Every time I’ve been shown the door, it’s been through an act of ruthless aggression. It’s the kind of thing I’ve fostered in my employees over the years. Fight over the stapler. Kick a guy to beat him to the copy machine. Put your secretary through the board room table if she tries to take a day off. It’s worked well for us.

But last night, when my son in law finally debuted as his proper, real self, he stripped me of my CEO and Chairman duties without so much a kick to the solar plexus.

My long stare was foreshadowing, it seems. Nobody else knew it, but I felt it. The end. There it was. No explosion. No rising phoenix taking me down. No convoluted explanation. No higher power. Just my son in law, taking the place of my son, with the help of my daughter. My wife nowhere in sight.

I heard the crowd. The “Na na na na, hey hey, goodbye,” chant that started up. It quieted way faster than usual. In its place, something I’ve never heard before.

Thank you Vince.

What?

Thank you Vince.

No.

Thank you Vince.

After I composed myself in the back, I listened to the tape. I asked Patterson if he piped those in. He insisted it was real. I thought, why? Even if I was leaving in real life, even if it was all true, why would the audience ever chant anything appreciative at me? I’m the devil. I’m the guy who ruined wrestling, replaced it with sports entertainment. I’m the guy who took Bret Hart’s blood and built an empire. I’m the guy who told guys to bulk up and then fired them for taking steroids. I’m the guy who hired great wrestling artists and made them wear silly outfits and dance for my amusement.

Perhaps it’s just habit. So many people have left in the last two years, the audience just reflexed. Muscle memory. So much wrestling is habitual. Maybe they’ve just gotten used to saying goodbye. Maybe they think the right thing to do is, when a guy leaves, good or bad, you say Thank You. Even if he’s the devil. Even if he’s me.

But perhaps it’s trust. God knows we’ve been building that up lately. We teased Punk leaving with the WWE Championship, and by God we let it happen. The most historic title in our entire company was sitting in Punk’s fridge yesterday. We went through with it. That bought us an untold amount of trust. If we let that happen, anything can happen.

Those are three words you haven’t heard from us in a long time. Anything. Can. Happen. Welcome back.

So maybe if Punk can leave with the WWE Championship, maybe Vince can walk away. Maybe Hunter really is in charge. Maybe Bridey will be World Heavyweight Champion this year. Maybe Alberto Del Rio will get that chest cut looked at. Maybe Jennifer in Makeup will marry Goeff in accounting. They would make a great couple.

Of course, the million dollar question about my firing: was it real?

Weren’t you all asking that a month ago, when Punk screamed into the silence?

Weren’t you all asking that ten years ago, when Paul Heyman threw his hat at me?

Weren’t you all asking that fourteen years ago, when I screwed Bret?

Weren’t you all asking that sixteen years ago, when the clique hugged in the steel cage?

My job is to make you ask that question. That’s all my job has ever been. And you know what? I’m the best. I’m the best in the world at what I do. And you are all going to miss me when I’m really gone.

Star Power

I want to set the record straight on this. There are rumors that we’re scrambling to re-sign Punk because of a recognized chasm in star power on the show. These rumors are horse shit. We don’t worry about stars. 

Yeah, in the last two years, a lot of sports entertainers have left to become…other things, I guess. What is Batista doing now? Anyone heard from Jericho? Anyways, why they left isn’t important. The point is, we don’t miss them. We don’t miss anyone. That’s not how the E rolls, marktards. Everyone is replaceable. 

The people reporting that we’re worried about perceived star power are the same people who thought we were done in 93 when Hogan left, or in 96 when Nash and Hall left, or in 2003 when Austin and Rock left, or in 09 when Orton left (the part of Randy Orton is currently being played by Sheryl Crow). These people can’t imagine how we survive these things, because they still don’t understand how this business works. 

We have a perfect routine. We indoctrinate on television, and we evangelize during live events. People of all ages are compelled to watch our shows because we provide a consistent live action soap opera, and when they show up and buy a ticket, it’s over; We’ve got them for life. No matter how much they grow out of it. No matter how many years they might go without a fix. No matter how many websites they start up to decry us. They’re ours, forever. They always come around. They always come back. We’ve been in this game long enough to know the truth. 

Punk explained as much in the speech I wrote for him. He’s a cog in the system. He’s going to leave, and we’re going to keep on rolling. I’m going to make money despite myself. Check the adjective, as Nash would say (even though it’s a verb): I’m going to make money.

As for stars, don’t worry. Despite what you think, we’re very, very good at creating them. I think you’ll be shocked as to what we do with our current crop of mid carders this year. Remember 1998, when Rock and HHH were fighting over the intercontinental title, elevating both of them into the main event? You’re going to see something very similar happen with a few of those Smackdown fellows. And as for the stars we have now, I think you forget about their longevity. Every year, we get a class of fans who haven’t heard of John Cena. Every year, a new set of customers show up bewildered by Randy Orton. And when Cena and Orton decide to go be actors or porn stars or whatever is considered more respectable than sports entertaining, we’ll replace them. How quickly you all forget that they were replacements for Rock and Austin, who replaced Michaels and Hart, who replaced Hogan and Savage, and so on. 

Trust us. We’re fine. Just keep showing up. We’ll give you something you’ll never forget, so long as you don’t remember that we’ve already sold it to you ten times over. 

The Long Stare

On the fourth of July of the year of our lord 2011, I walked out onto my stage and spoke to you, the WWE universe. I succinctly explained away any notion of cm punk. On cue, John Cena arrived on the scene, about to convince me of why I was wrong and how we should go about setting things right. The hero of the show, defending the villain of the show against, of course, the real villain: Me.

Even when I’m not around, there’s nobody who gets my kind of heat. There’s nobody else in sports entertainment with my kind of power. I could have wiped Punk off the map, and within a year every member of the universe will have forgotten who he was. Worse, I could change the tapes to make it look like Michael Cole won both those Money in the Bank matches, just like I made the Great Khali win the world title at Wrestlemania 20.

The story was going perfectly. We planned this a while ago, when Punk’s contract was up. We saved it for the summer, because all of our insider stories take place in July. Punk has played his role to a tea, though I feel he held back last week. But Cena?

Tonight, We present you the scene we filmed a week ago. Cena explains the importance of a fight, and how I was washed up and cowardly and couldn’t take the pressure anymore. He suggests that perhaps I should walk away. I’m supposed to retort but I can’t. Watch it. You’ll see my eyes. You’ve never seen my eyes like this.

I’ve talked to you on this blog before about how I feel abandoned. My wife left the company. My son left. Hogan left. Rock left. Bret left. Sure, Punk is leaving, too. I liked him, even if he didn’t wear a suit. Taka Michonoku left. Everyone leaves. I have to stay. Nobody else will. I can’t trust my company to anyone, because I can’t trust anyone to stay. But if Cena is right, if I really don’t have fight left in me, what good am I? What good is the WWE?

You’ll see me stare for a while. It’s going to be awkward. The camera man had to zoom right in, because Villano iii loves his pathos (it’s true: all our camera men are Villanos. But not all Villanos are camera men. It’s a fun syllogism). And yes, before you get all smarktarded about what is real and what isn’t like you did last week, this was all supposed to happen. What wasn’t supposed to happen was me actually feeling these things. The script is usually so awful that there is no danger of real emotion coming through, but tonight was different.

Paul was naturally excited at the prospect that I might be having a stroke, but really I just got a little lost in the wonderment of it all. I also got a little lost in Cena, to be honest. He’s at his most effective when playing moral authority, and once again I’d like to remind everyone that our hero is defending a villain, and we don’t generally do that so you’d better buy the goddamn show.

Fair to Flair Quarterly

Look, I know I’m supposed to be in a coma (The Rock couldn’t take the news, so I pretend to not be in the coma when he’s around), but I just had to let you know that if you don’t buy an aggressive amount of Fair to Flair Quarterly copies, I will release Zack Ryder. It will be humiliating, I will do it on the air, and I will hire Robbie E from TNA to fill his shoes. This will happen unless you purchase this book. Do you know why? Because the main event of the entire thing is from me—a full essay on how I saved wrestling. That’s right. Saved. With an S. You people all think I ruined it. I’m setting the record straight, and I want as many people as possible to read it. 

Also, yes, there are twelve other great pieces by great new writers on pro wrestling, and the editors of this journal are stupid enough to pay them a percentage of every book sold. Paid wrestling journalism. What a goddamn crazy concept. Some of us are even donating our profits to charity. My charity of choice is most likely the AEIL fund, or “Aid for those who have been Exploded while in a Limo”. Or Japan. Haven’t totally decided yet. 

And because I’m feeling generous and have tons of time to waste (Happy Birthday, everyone out there with The as a first name and Rock as a last name!) I’m even going to give you guys a small excerpt of my piece. Here’s the first two paragraphs:

Let’s get this out of the way. I know a lot of you don’t like me. I’m not the most respected guy in the room. I’ve, shall we say, ‘ruined everything’. I’ve taken away your precious wrestling and replaced it with entertainment, which is apparently a completely different thing. I’ve destroyed what you love about this ‘sport’, and trampled all over your passion. Yeah, yeah, it’s still real to you. But, hey, have some sympathy, taste, etc. Because you may not realize this, but I’ve saved everything.

Let me explain something to you: professional wrestling has always, always, always been rigged. It’s never been ‘fake’—that awful, hollow term—but it has always been rigged. You don’t like admitting this to yourself, but every minute of professional wrestling you’ve ever watched, every minute has ever been put to film, has been staged. Not one iota of it was genuine competition. George Hackenschmit and Frank Gotch got paid to pretend to fight each other. That’s just a goddamn fact. 

Do you know why it was never real? Because if it were real, it would look like UFC. And nobody wants that. It’s not good for society. To borrow a phrase from Heenan, while the ‘ham and eggers’ may enjoy that garbage, it’s not exactly a great indicator of society that in the 21st century we’re still paying top dollar to watch morons bash each other’s heads in. The thing is, a few real wrestling matches were attempted. They were horrible. We’re talking Kennel in a Cell horrible. We’re talking Scott Steiner and HHH at the rumble horrible. We’re talking ‘Brawl for All’ horrible. And since the game is to sell tickets and not destroy society, the plan changed pretty swiftly.

There’s your bait. Buy the book and get the rest. If the cause of supporting paid wrestling journalism isn’t enough, know that at least 10% of the profits of the book will be going to the Japan relief fund. 
I’m not kidding about Ryder. 

alexiswilsonisrowdy-deactivated asked: In all serious, I just read that "wrestling" isn't allowed in WWE? So what I want to know is, what do all of us fans say? When someone ask do you watch wrestling, we used to say yes I do and I'm damn proud. What about the women and men all over the world that want to be part of the WWE? Do we say ,"Oh I want to be a model that works for the WWE." Last time I checked, I wanted to be a WRESTLER. Everytime Savage wore the glitter, everytime Piper held his pit, everytime Rock's music hits, that's when I know that that is the life I want. I hope nothing changes because I grew up with your company. Not to TNA or even WCW I was a WWE fan ever since my eyes layed upon that screen. Everytime I see those brave men and women, I cry because it's that damn beautiful. Please, you can take my integrity, money whatever the hell you want. But don't take what makes me human. Please don't take this as me attacking you etc. I just want to know.

I honestly don’t have an answer for you. But it’s a great question. It’s something you should ask everyone you can ask. Go and contact WWE about it. Contact Lagana. Contact Cornette. Go find the people who can give you the honest answer, because I can’t. It’s not my fault. That’s all I can say. It’s not my fault. I didn’t want it this way.

Keep asking this question. Until you get a real, damn, honest and appreciated answer, keep asking it. Ask it with ruthless aggression. 

Are we getting excited for Wrestlemania?

Of course you are. We’ve certainly given you enough reasons. I mean, come on, The Rock? The Rock was great enough that I could come out of my coma and absolutely nobody commented because OMFG it’s The Rock. Cena and Miz? Hello, what a build. We’ve turned Miz into a killer so fast nobody’s even talking about how he hasn’t won a match without interference in four months. Alberto Del Rio? Yeah, he’s money. Just you wait. Snooki? She’s on the cover of Rolling Stone. Youth. Market. Tapped.

But you already knew all that. But what don’t you know? What do we have planned? I’m here to let you in on a few things. First off, Christian? I never liked him, but I honestly can’t deny he’s got a bit of the Bret Hart thing going on, a small guy with lots of heart that everyone seems to just genuinely like. And I know you’re all very happy we plugged him into the Edge/Alberto story. It worked. Before Christian, there wasn’t really much emotion in there. It was just about a belt, and who cares about belts? It’s not like you can just buy them from our store. The downside of including Christian in the story is that we sort of have to include him in the match, which works, because the World Heavyweight Championship has always been defended in three-way contests at Wrestlemania. Okay, except 19. And 21. And 23. And 26. But it’s a tradition and we’re going to uphold it, dammit!

What’s going on with the US championship? What’s going on with the intercontinental championship? Why aren’t there matches for Sheamus and Jeff Hardy at Wrestlemania? Just have patience kids. We’ve already established the part of the card that matters, and we still have three weeks to go. I’m sure we’ll figure something for all of them to do that doesn’t have the word “ladder” or “scramble” in it.

Wait, Jeff Hardy isn’t the intercontinental champion? I thought he was. Can someone tell me what happened to Jeff Hardy? I thought he was fine over on the smackdown. I have got to start watching that show.

The Snooki stuff will be fast. Don’t worry about it. The Doors guy and Ziggler will tear it down and do something stupidly acrobatic, and Trish Stratus will do something very flexible, and everyone will be very happy.

So what do we have for The Rock? Let me spoil it for you. The Miz is going to lose to John Cena when The Rock shows his true colors as a really nice guy who really likes John Cena, and it was their plan all along to make Miz believe there was tension and he will be so mad about this that he will cry all the way up the ramp and swear revenge but really will just go back to the mid card where he belongs. At Extreme Rules we’ll have Cena fight Orton in 45 minutes of boring rest holds. It’ll be awesome.

That’s the plan right now anyway. We’ll see if I change my mind at the 11th hour and do something amazing like have Miz win and force Cena to confront The Rock and fight him right then and there. But I doubt it. I do enjoy making you all angry. I really do.

Also, hey, does this mean I’m back? Well, all I can say is, just like The Rock, I’m never going away ever again.

mirandarevitup-deactivated20110 asked: Happy birthday, sir!

Thank you!