Jon Robinson. - Looking at the Lights: My Path From Fan to a Wrestling Heel

Copyright 2017 by Pete Gas with Jon Robinson

Foreword copyright 2017 by Adam Copeland

Foreword copyright 2017 by John Bradshaw Layfield

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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available on file.

Cover design by Tom Lau

Cover photograph courtesy of World Wrestling Entertainment, Inc.

Photos in insert (where noted) are courtesy of World Wrestling Entertainment, Inc.

Print ISBN: 978-1-61321-987-4

Ebook ISBN: 978-1-61321-988-1

Printed in the United States of America

This book is dedicated to the memory of my father.
The late, great, and original Pete Gas.

Youll always be in my heart.

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Foreword by

Adam Edge Copeland

The year was 1999. Limp Bizkit was still atop the charts. Everyone was doing it for the Nookie. Titanic was becoming the highest grossing film of all time (more on the films visionary director later). Rubber Goth choker necklaces were actually an acceptable fashion accessory. It was an era when tramp stamps were considered a good idea. Tribal tattoos were all the rage, and Rage Against the Machine were at their full, angry, groove-laden power. Alas, it was also a year when two young, lion maned, Hot Topicwearing kids from the burbs of Toronto finally found themselves realizing their dreams of competing in the WWE. A squinty-eyed fucker named Jay Reso (a.k.a. Christian) and myself were trying to knock the tag team worldalong with The Hardy Boyz and eventually the Dudley Boyz (notice the z, like I said: 1999)on its butt.

Around the same time, and a little less remembered, was the debut of three dudes from the mean streets of Greenwich, Connecticut (although one member, Joey Abs, was from the woods of North Carolina). They were Rodney Leinhardt, the aforementioned indie veteran Abs, and Pete Gasparino (a.k.a. Pete Gas). The Mean Street Posse. Clad in sweater vests and chinos (but strangely, wrestling boots), they looked like those guys in high school you either wanted to hang out with or really DIDNT want to hang out with. They were the Socs from The Outsiders . The Ralph Laurenloving lacrosse players whod eventually find themselves in Ivy League schools and sweet-paying jobs as CEOs.

Pete and Rod were actually childhood friends of Shane McMahon. They were brought in to play back-up for Shane in his big WrestleMania match with X-Pac. I dont think they quite understood what they were in for. On paper, you say, hey, talk about a dream gig! Theres plenty of wrestlers out there who would give their eye teeth, their nose teeth, and their ear teeth for that opportunity. Yes I know theres no such thing as nose and ear teeth, Im a storyteller. Forgive my long, mostly useless analogies.

A wrestling locker room can be an unforgiving, uncompromising, unwelcoming place. Take any un you want, and that locker room was it. Like a stalactite-ridden cave with a hibernating Grizzly snoring in its cold, wet confines. Picture a shark tank full of sinewy 20-foot great whites, and throw in some hungry alpha wolves who are really good swimmers and that should give you an idea. Thats if you can actually wrestle and arent friends with the owners son. Well they WERE Shanes friends, and make no mistake about it: the Posse COULDNT wrestle. At first. Abs was added so they could have some experience to get them through matches on their end. They were thrown in the deep end. The deepest part of the ocean deep. Where the Kraken lives. Where half of James Camerons movies take place type deep (and theres your callback). The match at WrestleMania was their initial, pardon the pun, test.

For me and Christian, we always liked the Posse and understood the tough position they were in. Plus we were roughly the same age, were also buddies with Shane and, most importantly, they were just good dudes. So we took every chance we could to give them advice. We even got to work each other and they knew they could be comfortable with us. We managed them against the Hardys with the proviso that if they won, we got the first title shot. We were conniving Canadians. Good times. And heres the thing with Pete: amidst all of the beatings at the hands of the APA and assorted other grizzled long-time veterans, he never complained once. Better yet, I never saw the guy not smiling. He clearly understood what was happening but instead of developing a chip on his shoulder, he chose to develop skills.

Imagine, if you will, being thrown into the NFL having never played one down of football, lining up against Ray Lewis. Thats the equivalent of what Pete faced when he stepped in the ring with someone like Ron Simmons. At that point a 13-year veteran who just happened to be the first African American World Champion in history and can bench press a Volkswagen while wearing jeans and cowboy boots with his daily paper tucked under his arm. Yeah, that put it in perspective, right? But Pete never complained. Never griped, never bitched or moaned. He just laughed and smiled. Which was the absolute best thing he could have done. He paid his dues. He worked hard. He got better.

Sometimes in business that doesnt matter though. In the WWE theres generally a yearly roster thinning. In 2001, it was Petes turn to be cut. At the time he was in Puerto Rico, where he was sent to continue honing his skills. This was after he had been sent to Memphis, with the idea of possibly going to Japan. He wanted to get better. However, even in the midst of all of this and being released, he didnt get bitter.

That was my memory of Pete. Over the years wed see each other, but pretty rarely. In one of the instances that social media isnt annoying, Pete and I got back in contact through Twitter. When Christian and I started filming our show, The Edge and Christian Show that Totally Reeks of Awesomeness for the WWE Network, Pete was one of the first people we asked to be on. He plays the mailman. As Pete Gas. To deliver Paul Heymans cut-off pony tail. While also mimicking Kevin Spacey from 7even . No, it doesnt make sense, but nothing on our show does. So deal with it. Best part is that all these years later, Pete was the same guy. Smiling, laughing, and happy to be on the show. Oh yeah, and he killed it too.

Pete didnt let a sometimes bloodthirsty industry change him. He moved on.

So while you read this and reminisce about your lost 90s weekends and look regretfully in the mirror at your lower back where your tribal butterfly tattoo lives, now looking like a melting moth, while listening to Fred Durst, just know that Pete Gas is in a good place. There, feel better? I kid, I kid. Really what this is, is a feel good story about a good time, a good guy, who hasnt changed. And sometimes thats enough, isnt it?