"Entertaining . . .an insightful and funny observer of pro wrestling's universe." -- Publishers Weekly In this insightful, riveting book, Jericho takes us into WWE wrestling arenas around the world as he details his classic rivalries with The Rock, Steve Austin, HHH, Shawn Michaels, and John Cena, along with all the politics and backstage machinations he faced outside the ring. Chris recounts his hilarious escapades of breaking in with the Hollywood elite via doomed auditions, short-lived reality shows, made-for-television movies, and red-carpet interviewing fiascos. Jam packed with CJ's trademark self-effacing humor, one-of-a-kind writing style, and ridiculous random encounters with everyone from Arnold Schwarzenegger, Axl Rose, and Wayne Gretzky to Paul McCartney, and Howard Stern, Undisputed is one of a rare breed-a sequel that might be better than the original. "Entertaining . . . Jericho shines . . . an insightful and funny observer of pro wrestling's universe."― Publishers Weekly "When it comes to wrestlers writing their autobiographies, Jericho may be the best in the world at what he does."― Baltimore Sun "UNDISPUTED is indisputably one of the best pro-wrestling autobiographies ever written . . . The same was said of Jericho's first [book] . . . [This one] is even better."― Scripps Howard News Service Chris Jericho is the author of three New York Times bestsellers, a six-time WWE World Heavyweight Champion, the lead singer of heavy metal band Fozzy, and the host of the Talk Is Jericho podcast. He lives in Tampa, Florida, with his wife and three children, hates thumbtacks, and is obsessed with lake monsters. Undisputed How to Become the World Champion in 1,372 Easy Steps By Jericho, Chris Grand Central Publishing Copyright © 2012 Jericho, Chris All right reserved. ISBN: 9780446538169 CHAPTER 1 Petulant Pansy When I stepped out into the bright arena light from the darkness of the Gorilla position, I had only two things on my mind: Judy Garland and my promo segment. I now knew how Dorothy felt when she escaped out of the black-and-white monotony of Kansas into the garish colorful wonderland of Oz. I could relate because I was also escaping, from the bland world of WCW into the glimmering land of opportunity that was the WWE. As soon as I breached the curtain and interrupted The Rock mid-promo, the crowd response was unbelievable. JERICHO signs were everywhere and people were jumping up and down with huge smiles on their faces, ecstatic that it was me that was the big surprise at the end of the countdown and not the return of the Gobbledy Gooker. It seemed that half of the arena had been sent personal invitations from Vince McMahon himself alerting them to the fact that Jericho was appearing tonight. I hadn’t really known what to expect from the crowd, but the moment I heard their reaction I knew that I had made the right decision in leaving WCW. Due to the buildup of my debut, I was already a bigger star in WWE after thirty seconds than I had been in WCW after three years. I had been planning this moment for months and knew exactly what I wanted to do. I had seen Michael Jackson in concert in 1993 in Mexico City and had never forgotten the monumental entrance he made. He propelled up from underneath the stage and froze with his back to the crowd and his arms in a crucifix position for what seemed for hours as the crowd went nuts with anticipation. He didn’t rush the moment or move a muscle. He just stood as stiff as a statue and took his sweet time before turning around and revealing himself. I wanted to do the same thing for my debut. So I stood with my back to the crowd in a Jesus Christ pose and let the crowd rumble. Even though the Titantron read JERICHO in ten-foot-high letters, it wasn’t until I spun around and people saw my face that they really exploded. I turned with a Paul Stanley pout on my face, although a shit-eating grin might have been more apropos. I surveyed the crowd, lifted the mic to my mouth, and bellowed, “Welcome to Raw Is Jericho!” a takeoff on the Monday Night Jericho catchphrase that I had used in WCW. The Rock was less than thrilled that this petulant pansy had interrupted him mid-speech. Unfazed, I launched into a five-minute soliloquy about how the WWE had become boring and stagnant and how both the company and the fans were in desperate need of a savior, someone who would take the company into the new millennium. Someone like me. I proclaimed myself to be the party host, the man who would inspire the entire world to chant, “Go Jericho Go!” whenever they saw me. At this point The Rock cut me off and asked, “What is your name again?” “My name is—” “It doesn’t matter what your name is!” The fans in the arena, who didn’t know who I was or what I was doing, erupted with glee that I had been shut up. The Rock continued his verbal assault by addressing my Y2J moniker. “You talk about your Y2J plan, well, The Rock has a li