Mick Foley‘s career has had two distinct phases. First he was a wrestler whose ability to endure brutal physical punishment put him on the thin line between professional athlete and sideshow act. Then he flipped that image on its head by writing a series of incredibly popular autobiographical books, which are more emotional, philosophical, and likable than most other memoirs, to say nothing of other memoirs by wrestlers with long histories of barbed-wire matches. It’s safe to say that surprising juxtapositions have helped fuel Foley’s second act, and apparently he hasn’t run out: in this piece for Slate, adapted from his newest memoir, he writes about his deep and abiding love for the music of Tori Amos. Definitely didn’t see that one coming.