John Stewarts Comlumn appears in the Long Island Press:
NEW YORK—God, Ivanka Trump’s perfume smelled nice.
Well, on second thought, not really. Donald Trump’s daughter must bathe in the stuff, and although it cleared my sinuses, three minutes after she sat close to me I prayed for a fan to blow the onslaught elsewhere.
Sorry for such a random first observation from my attendance at the WrestleMania XXIII press conference, held at Trump Tower Wednesday. I certainly wish I could have captivated you by retelling the scene of my post-presser questioning of Vince McMahon over wrestlers recently linked to a multi-state prescription steroids ring.
But no, I was apparently brought in as part of the show, considering the access (none) available to someone like myself who had any “real” questions for McMahon. (Sorry, the Opie & Anthony intern who lobbed a couple of softballs at the WWE chairman before posing with him for a photo doesn’t count.)
My invite and chair in the third row made me the equivalent of an Oscars seat-filler while Nathan Lane is presenting. But I didn’t feel duped, per se. I knew this was the likely result, and merely wished for an optimal vantage point to see how much feigned testosterone could turn into tuck-your-tail-and-run cowardice in 10 minutes.
McMahon didn’t disappoint.
I’ll spare you most of the details. McMahon chastised The Donald; Trump smacked McMahon; McMahon tussled with a security guard while trying to get to Trump and then paint-brushed Bobby Lashley (actually, he mostly whiffed); Lashley sent McMahon crashing onto a table. The 4-H skit portion of the festivities for a viewing audience on WWE.com came to an end.
The deal seemed fair enough: Sit there and ostensibly “cover” a “press conference” that had zero input from the press. One-on-one interviews were then on the docket, but the wrestlers bolted, and I was told that McMahon’s schedule was so “tight” that he only had time to spew his same prepackaged banter for a couple of entertainment shows.
McMahon then disappeared behind a black curtain, surrounded by a beefy security detail that could easily fill the field for an understaffed battle royal. Next stop, Detroit.
Interviews were likely so prescreened because of an Orlando television reporter, Todd Lewis, who had the audacity to ask McMahon about the steroid probe while the chairman held another self-beneficial media greet last week—to announce Orlando’s choice as site for WrestleMania XXIV. McMahon told the reporter off-camera that his questioning was out of line, and Lewis gave McMahon a seething tongue-lashing during one of his newscasts.
This is where McMahon errs, to this day. Not every serious reporter who questions the company is wrestling-hating New York Post scribe Phil Mushnick, who amazingly can still see everybody else’s mudslinging through the slop-covered haze he creates daily. The ill will McMahon creates by thinking that everybody is out to get him by asking a couple of tough questions (remember the Bob Costas interview?) just isn’t worth it.
What would I have asked McMahon? Let’s see:
Even with the Talent Wellness Program (created last year—after the alleged involvement in the current probe—to require random drug testing), is your travel schedule still so crammed that even the most well-meaning of wrestlers can find themselves unable to maintain the necessary physique and therefore be tempted to seek a shortcut?
That’s about as rough a question as he would’ve gotten. Instead, he took a powder.
But while still posturing during the press conference that wasn’t, he threw out the oft-used comparison that WrestleMania is WWE’s Super Bowl.
Well, at the Super Bowl they have a State of the League press conference where the commissioner has to answer some pretty loaded questions. It’s probably not the most pleasant task of the year, but it serves a purpose of getting everything out in the open. For the rest of the article click here.
