Countdown to Lockdown: A Hardcore Journal by Mick Foley

By Mick Foley

The undisputed king of the literary ring is again with one other handwritten, hardcore domestic run. disregard the ghost author and the pc keyboard - this enthralling memoir is directly from the pen and pc paper of the Hardcore Legend, Mick Foley, chronicling the heart-pounding build-up to "Lockdown", probably the most very important fits of his lengthy and storied occupation. Foley's each restrict is confirmed, as he battles again the ambitious tag-team of dad Time and mom Nature - overcoming a number of accidents and critical self-doubts to come again within the ring with considered one of his all-time favourite foes. together with his trademark mix of wit and knowledge, wildness and heat, Foley dishes formerly untold tales from his outstanding lifestyles, together with his transition from WWE to TNA, his ill-fated stint as a tv commentator, his tumultuous courting with Vince McMahon, his concepts on functionality bettering elements in activities, the troubling record of wrestlers death method too younger, and his soul saving paintings in Sierra Leone.

Raw, dynamic, and unabashedly sincere, COUNTDOWN TO LOCKDOWN charts Foley's wrestling rebirth, and upward push to heights that his lovers inspiration he might by no means see back.

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Extra info for Countdown to Lockdown: A Hardcore Journal

Sample text

Ideal for a long night of smiling and nodding and being a good sport at the annual press, showbiz, and politics bunfight that is the White House Correspondents’ Association Dinner. I was there in my capacity as vulgar lounge entertainer. Megan, my date, was there because she loves me and was proving it again. I had been asked to be the guest speaker by the chair of the entertainment committee. I wasn’t their first choice, but after Steve Carell and Ellen DeGeneres turned the gig down I think I became a little more appealing.

And Mrs. Cheney and being introduced. I felt a little awkward; I’m always a bit shy around evil people, so Megan took the lead. She has a knack for dealing with difficult men and is very knowledgeable about fine art, having worked for a time as an art dealer in New York. She and Mrs. C struck up a conversation about Picasso—the Cheneys were the proud owners of a few of his sketches. ” asked Megan. “Oh, we don’t,” replied Mrs. C. “They’re nudes, and we have grandchildren. ” “But they’re Picassos,” protested Megan.

Sweet revenge. The family now numbered six in total, and although financially it must have been a struggle for my parents, the kids were never really aware of it. I knew we couldn’t afford a lot of luxuries, but neither could anyone else around us. It wasn’t as if we lived in Beverly Hills. In fact, when we got our hallway carpeted—a scary vomity-colored tweedish patterned thing supplied by a friend of my father who worked in the shipyards and got a cutting from a luxury liner—neighbors came from far and wide to gaze at its amazing splendor.

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