There‘s a group of men… not many, but a few, that hold a special title in pop culture today. Sure, some of us can be considered among the greatest Halo 2 or ping-pong players, but to be one of the greats in professional wrestling is something truly special. Professional wrestling, the preferred poison of the uneducated mind and rednecks one and all, is an interesting mix of Shakespeare (Pre-Macbeth), Jerry Springer, and a hint of a mild-mannered burlesque show. Many of the characters we see on television every week carry their wrestling personas on their sleeves home with them. Others convey a level of professionalism necessary to defend their craft from the “wrestling is not a sport” detractors.

Then there’s Eddie Guerrero.

Eddie Guerrero is a special case-study when dealing with the world of professional wrestling. Like most of the biggest wrestling stars in the modern era, Guerrero came with his fair share of baggage. Serious injuries stemming from a 1999 car crash threatened to end his career before it reached its peak, while subsequent addictions to drugs and alcohol cost him his job with the WWE and nearly his marriage. His very persona, that of “lying, cheating, and stealing” seems to indicate the kind of reckless nature of professional wrestling in the late twentieth and early twenty-first century.

If only wrestlers like Eddie Guerrero had the suspect they truly deserved.

In order to understand the outpouring of emotions following Eddie Guerrero‘s untimely passing Sunday morning (11.13.05), one must not only understand the depth of Eddie’s troubles in his life, but also the triumphant return Eddie made after cleaning his life up. Sober for several years following “rock bottom”, Eddie Guerrero realized a dream that not only fueled his passion for wrestling, but a dream that for years many wrestling fans had wished would come true. Winning his first (and only) World Championship in 2004 marked a turning point in professional wrestling for a lot of fans, myself included. No longer would us workrate fans be bothered by the lack of mainstream acclaim and success for our wrestling idols. Guerrero had become a Champion of professional wrestling, not to mention a champion of redemption and perseverance.

I live in Charlotte, North Carolina. Years ago, Charlotte served as the center-piece for Jim Crockett Promotions and Mid-Atlantic Championship Wrestling. We had a host of wrestling legends right here in the Queen City, among them Johnny Valentine, Mr. Wrestling II, and a man by the name of Ric Flair. Wrestling was gold here in the Carolinas, for a long, long time. Even when the dominant forces in the business moved on and the little city grew up, wrestling still remained a cherished past time to many people here in the Carolinas. We all had our favorite wrestlers, and we all shared stories at lunch time about who we thought would win the Royal Rumble, or team up together in Battle Bowl. Then, as the 1980s became the 1990s, wrestling stopped being cool. Fewer and fewer of my friends wanted anything to do with WCW of the WWF. After I stopped ordering pay per views in 1993, I stopped watching the programming altogether.

As chance would have it, I was flipping through channels on a Saturday afternoon in 1996 when I came across a classic Bobby Heenan tirade about Hulk Hogan on WCW Worldwide, which was then seconded by Tony Schiavone… making Hulk Hogan of all people out to be the bad guy. To say I was a bit shocked was an understatement, since Hogan was nothing short of a saint in the eyes of wrestling fans when I was watching the WWF in my early years. Intrigued, I kept watching, hoping to uncover the story behind the turn of Hogan. I didn‘t get any more information that day on Hogan‘s role reversal. Instead, I was introduced to two individuals.

Chris Benoit. Then, Eddie Guerrero

Had Eddie Guerrero wrestled first that Saturday afternoon, maybe my allegiances would have been skewed slightly. It‘s one of those eternal puzzles that you can only reminisce over years later. What is for certain, though, is that after watching Chris Benoit and Eddie Guerrero work their magic on two no-name jobbers on a Saturday afternoon in August of 1996, I was hooked on a brand of wrestling that I had never really seen before, but immediately took to nonetheless. Benoit was my boy, the feisty little Canadian that could. Whenever he would wrestle, I would wait apprehensively in the early years, seeing if he would win or lose. In later years, I would wait apprehensively, seeing if he would be screwed over by the powers that be, or if a nonsensical loss to the likes of Orlando Jordan would sink whatever momentum the writers would give him. With Eddie Guerrero, things were different. He wrestled as good as Chris Benoit, if not better on some occasions. Guerrero had the chops on the mic, a skill that Benoit did not have, which made him entertaining inside the ring and out of it as the situation dictated. I could enjoy an Eddie Guerrero match as much as I could a Chris Benoit match, without as strong a sense of impending doom as I would experience during a Benoit job, being the pessimist that I am and all. But man, was there something special about Eddie Guerrero. He had certain skills that would make Dynamite Kid blush, while giving interviews that would make Ric Flair proud. Eddie was the best.

Eddie and Chris got me hooked on wrestling, and in the process helped give me indirect gifts that I may not have otherwise experienced. If it weren‘t for the passion that both my uncle and I shared for wrestling back in the late 1990s, I may not have gotten as close as I did to him before he died. I still share that same love with his son to this day. I made some friends while talking about or watching wrestling that have since become some of my best friends. And I have a ton of memories from all those crazy matches that I saw Benoit and Eddie compete in, both live and abroad. There‘s a lot of things I can thank Eddie Guerrero for, like entertaining me time after time…

For giving internet geeks like myself a slice of Heaven with his series of matches with the “SmackDown Six” in 2002.

For sharing a spot in Madison Square Garden in March, 2004 with my hero, Chris Benoit. Both as Champions. Both as true legends.

For giving cruiserweights in the United States their last bits of credibility for nearly seven years.

For wearing the Black Tiger outfit and making the 1994 Super J Cup among the greatest pure wrestling shows ever witnessed.

I wont be able to capture the eloquence or the emotion behind the piece written by Inside Pulse’s own Eric Szulczewski, nor do I wish to. Everyone I’m sure will have their own way of expressing their sadness during this time, and many people already have. In a way, it serves as a testament to just how beloved Eddie Guerrero was by the smark and the casual mark alike. Respected for his perseverance, redeemed by his commitment to his family and career, and beloved for his zany antics on an otherwise bland wrestling show, Eddie Guerrero is the true model of what a true wrestler should be like, and is a measuring stick for all those who were written off as being unable to rebound from the worst life had to offer.

Here‘s to you, Eddie. Thanks for helping save something very special to me, and to everyone else that was privileged enough to watch you bring life into a fading past time.

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