Monday Night Raw – November 23, 1998 – Albany, New York – Pepsi Arena
The sound backstage at a live WWF Raw wasn't just noise — it was chaos with a pulse. The air smelled faintly of pyro residue and the leather of championship belts. Production crew weaved through the hallway, carrying cables thicker than a man's wrist. Somewhere down the corridor, Vince McMahon's voice barked instructions through a headset, and agents argued over match timings.
J.J. Styles sat on a steel folding chair in the corner of the locker room, taping his wrists in silence. His heartbeat was steady, but his eyes tracked every movement around him. SmackDown was a recording. This is live. Millions watching. No mistakes.
He glanced at the booking sheet taped to a road case earlier:
Match #3 – J.J. Styles vs. Jeff Jarrett (w/ Debra) – 5:00 – TV match
Jarrett was a veteran, a real technician, and he had Debra in his corner — a woman who could distract an entire arena with a smile. J.J. knew what that meant: tonight wouldn't just be about wrestling, it would be about survival.
Pre-Match – Words with Double J
Jarrett approached, guitar case slung over his shoulder, a smirk on his face.
"You the new guy? Styles?"
J.J. didn't look up from his tape. "Yeah."
Jarrett chuckled. "Here's how it's gonna go. We go out there, I make you look good for about three minutes, Debra works her magic, I finish you with the Figure-Four. You keep up, you'll walk out in one piece."
Debra smiled sweetly. "Don't listen to him too much, sugar. Just remember — the camera loves confidence."
Jarrett tilted his head toward J.J.'s calm expression. "Guess we'll see if the Lone Wolf can hang with Double J."
The Arena – Lights Down
Back in gorilla position, J.J. waited behind the curtain. The opening guitar riff of Jarrett's theme hit first, and the crowd responded with boos — though several fans were more than happy to cheer for Debra's appearance.
Jim Ross: "Jeff Jarrett — one of the most accomplished competitors in the World Wrestling Federation — set to face a young man making his Raw debut tonight."
Jerry Lawler: "And he's gonna regret it, JR. Double J's in the house!"
Jarrett strutted to the ring, tipping his hat, Debra following with that trademark smile.
Then — the arena lights cut out.
A single spotlight shone on the entrance stage.
A low hum… a sharp beat… then the opening scream of "Violence Fetish" by Disturbed.
Smoke began to pour from the stage as the titantron flickered to life: a wolf's silhouette walking through fog. The image split, shattered, and reformed into two words in steel-gray letters — J.J. STYLES.
The camera didn't immediately show him — instead, it cut to the crowd, who were standing and craning their necks. Then, slowly, the lens caught a shadow stepping into the light.
JR: "Well, folks, this young man calls himself the Lone Wolf — and that's exactly the look he's giving right now. A man with a purpose."
King: "Pfft. Looks more like a deer in headlights to me, JR."
J.J. emerged with deliberate steps, head slightly lowered, eyes scanning the sea of faces. He didn't acknowledge the crowd's cheers or the "WOO!" chants from the front row — just kept walking, every move deliberate, every expression cold.
Once at ringside, he stepped onto the apron in one smooth motion, wiped his boots, and entered the ring without breaking eye contact with Jarrett.
The Match
The bell rang. They locked up — Jarrett, as expected, transitioned instantly into a side headlock.
JR: "Jarrett wasting no time asserting himself here."
J.J. shoved him into the ropes, dropped down, popped up, and caught him with a crisp arm drag. Jarrett popped up — another arm drag. Then J.J. nailed a dropkick that sent Jarrett rolling under the ropes to regroup.
JR: "That's some nice elevation on that dropkick, King!"
King: "Yeah, yeah — beginner's luck. Jarrett's just letting him feel good before the pain starts."
They reset. Jarrett faked another lock-up, drove a knee into J.J.'s gut, then chopped him across the chest — the sound echoing through the arena. J.J. winced, but fired back with a stiff forearm that caught Jarrett off guard.
The crowd started getting behind the rookie.
Halfway through, Debra stepped onto the apron, smiling at the referee. Jarrett took full advantage — a quick kick low, unseen by the official, dropping J.J. to his knees.
JR: "Oh, come on! That's a blatant foul!"
King: "What foul? I didn't see anything — maybe the lights are too bright for you, JR."
Jarrett grabbed the legs, stepped through, and locked in the Figure-Four Leglock. J.J. fought hard, the crowd clapping and stomping, willing him to reach the ropes — but the pain tore through his knee, and after a few agonizing seconds, the ref called it.
JR: "A hard-fought effort from this young man in his Raw debut, but the veteran experience of Jeff Jarrett just proved too much tonight."
King: "Told you, JR — when Double J's in the ring, the Lone Wolf turns into a lost puppy."
Backstage – Aftermath
Jarrett smirked as they walked up the ramp. "Not bad, kid. You sold it right. Keep your head down, listen, and you might last around here."
Backstage, J.J. headed toward the locker room. Stephanie McMahon was passing by, still wearing a headset from coordinating a backstage segment. She slowed, looked at him for a moment, and said:
"You looked like you belonged out there."
Then she walked on, leaving J.J. standing in the hallway with just those words echoing in his mind.
For him, that meant more than any win.