The Weege told me: “The key is to remain calm. Take it like motocross. Do a couple slow practice laps, then dial in the jumps, and when you feel loose start gassing it up. But you’ve got to get loose. You’ve got to get out of your comfort zone and just go for it at times, especially in front of a live crowd. Eventually it’ll actually come easy—if you try to overthink it you’re in trouble.” Excellent advice, I thought, and something easily relatable to for me. As the days got closer to the event I began getting notices from other friends that I would not be alone in announcing the MEC. In fact, Rob Buydos, Wes Kain, Kevin Kelly, John Simanovich and Rhianna Buchanan would all be part of the show. Wow, that seemed like a lot of announcers. Then, again, as I would soon find out, there is a LOT going on at the Monster Energy Cup.

Before I knew it I was sitting at the production meeting where Prater lays down the law. And let me tell you, that man juggles more things at an event, especially that event, than you can imagine. I thought I knew it all, and I was as wrong as fireworks on Christmas morning. Trust me, what goes on behind the scenes to make the show happen is a mammoth achievement. The announcing duties were divided out and each one of us had a set responsibility, and I made diligent notes on mine. I noticed Wes Kain and Rob Buydos gesturing towards me and mocking my notes, to which I implied, “Aren’t you guys writing this down?” Buydos just sat beside me and put his hand on my shoulder and said, “You’ll see, brother. Pay attention to Prater, but what you really need to know is what that man tells you.” That man, being producer Maxie Williams.

Buydos, the wily veteran announcer told me, “Don’t piss him off. He will tell you to do something one time, and you better do it the first time.” Now, Wes Kain on the other hand, was far less subtle. Directly after the meeting he jumps inside the production trailer and starts grabbing all manor of items off the shelves. In 10 seconds he had on football pads and commandeered a megaphone. Suffice to say, the “Wes Kain Mafia” doesn’t get nervous. And, to this point neither was I. Yet. I mean, we’re just talking about dirt bikes here, folks. Bring it on.

The hours clicked off and before long it was show time. The stadium filled to capacity and Buydos and Wes began what Feld calls a “Power Intro.” You all know what that is. With the music shaking the ground and Wes screaming like a madman holding the million-dollar suitcase over his head, something began to happen to me. My palms were sweating. Again, the pounding music and the screaming crowd was building into this giant animal that was literally changing the air inside Sam Boyd Stadium. I glanced over to my left and saw the RF Camera guy seriously dancing like a member of the Jabbawockeez. As the cinders from the fireworks landed on my head I was pumped up. I mean, really, really pumped up. I’m talking about, getting ready to walk into the Octagon, pulling spoons at Loretta Lynn’s, acid in your throat, jacked up to the moon. Just then I heard Weege whisper in my head, “The key is to remain calm.” Yeah right, pal. All the same, I had taken my notes and had my skits I was to perform memorized in my head—the first of which being an explanation of the Joker Lane right after the first Cup main event. No problem, I had a good 30 minutes to calm down. Wrong. Just then I heard Maxie the producer scream into my head set, “Something is **cked up with the video, BOWYER, you’re on, do the Joker Lane now.”

I wasn’t ready. I replied on my radio, “Maxie, that isn’t until after the fir…,” he violently cut me off, “DO IT NOW!!” With my microphone sliding around my sweaty hands I ran out on to the track and mud bogged it up the face of the heavily watered table top in the Joker Lane. I went into my memorized explanation when Maxie yelled again, “LOOK AT THE (double expletive) CAMERA!!!!.” But, I didn’t look at the camera, instead I earnestly looked at the 50,000 people that were looking at ME.

From there it was bad.

I don’t remember what I said, but I heard Maxie say, “Good job, I need 90 more seconds.” Ninety more seconds? No way, it was over for me. I wanted off that tabletop and covered up inside a very large hole. All I could stutter was, “That’s all folks, back upstairs.” I scurried behind the podium and sat down with my ankles, hands and teeth shaking like a 6.7 had just hit Las Vegas. Rhianna ran up to me and put her arm around my shoulders and said in her impossibly silky Aussie accent, “Just try to breathe, man. You did well, just slow down. Pretend everyone in the stands is naked and you’re the only one with clothes on. You’ll feel more secure.”