Given the nature of my morbid tradition with Jerry Lawler’s son Kevin — phoning the other immediately upon hearing of one of the boys dying — I suppose I should have been tipped off when he called me out of the blue Sunday around noon Pacific time. I was heading out the door and decided to call Kevin back when I returned home. Later that afternoon, I logged onto Yahoo! and immediately focused on a headline in the site’s News section: “Wrestling star Guerrero found dead in Minn. hotel room.”

Barely able to comprehend what I was seeing, I blurted out, “No, no, no, no!” As I hit the link to get more information, I muttered “Please, no” — I suppose for good luck. Perhaps it was one of Eddy’s older brothers, but then why would that make Yahoo! News? (Not that the passing of Chavo Sr., Mando or Hector would have been any less disturbing for the family — just a knee-jerk, immature thought of my own.) It’s amazing the number of thoughts that can flood your mind in a few seconds, that brief moment before the Web page came up that would confirm my worst fears: Eddy (Eddie) Guerrero was dead at 38.

My reaction was so desperate—the kind reserved for a family emergency—that my girlfriend quickly ran into the room to find out what had upset me so much. No, Eddy wasn’t family. Not even close. And despite my experiences in the business, I never crossed paths with Eddy; I didn’t know him personally. But I think most wrestling fans — the ones who followed his career from ECW to his frustrating though often-entertaining stint in WCW to his fall and ultimate redemption in WWE — sure felt like we knew Eddy.

Maybe it was because Guerrero’s genuine passion for the business shined through in his performances, and we all loved him for it. All I know is I’m torn up about Eddy Guerrero’s passing, and for that, I almost feel selfish. We all know what Eddy meant to us as a performer, but my heart goes out to his family, and friends like Chris Benoit, Chris Jericho and Dean Malenko, all of whom must be in so much pain right now.

My first exposure to the Guerrero family came through Eddy’s older brother, Hector, who worked Memphis fairly regularly in the late ’70s/early ’80s. Wearing the family’s trademark striped boots (think something along the lines of Adidas), Hector was a tall, lanky wrestler who might have been considered undersized in most territories. But in an area that featured guys like Ricky Morton and Eddie Gilbert underneath and Bill Dundee vs. Jerry Lawler on top, Hector was a nice fit, especially with a fluid, high-flying style that was unique at the time.

For years, I didn’t hear the Guerrero name until the summer of 1989, when a young Eddy Guerrero debuted on the NWA’s WORLD CHAMPIONSHIP WRESTLING Saturday program on TBS. The booking committee might have lured Guerrero with the tease of a tryout, but really, the young star was hired to put over Terry Funk, who had recently come out of “retirement,” attacking Flair as part of an angle at WrestleWar weeks earlier. I believe the booking committee brought in Guerrero as part of a series of competent workers who could have competitive matches with Funk before losing on TV in building up the Funker as a serious title threat to Flair upon the Nature Boy’s return. Eddy played the part perfectly, dazzling the audience with a number of nice lucha-style moves—including a dive from the top turnbuckle (rare at that time) onto the floor—before eventually falling to a Funk piledriver. I guess NWA/WCW was too busy signing WWF has-beens like Bob Orton, the Iron Sheik and Butch Reed and pretty boys like Johnny Ace to sign Guerrero to a deal. To the committee’s credit, they did sign the late Brian Pillman, who I believe also debuted in summer 1989. Coincidentally, in 1997, Pillman was found dead in a motel in Bloomington, near Minneapolis, hours before a WWE PPV show.

Eddy would go on to capture the imaginations and hearts of wrestling fans in the United States, starting with his ECW run and later with some memorable matches upon his arrival in WCW. It was on the national stage of MONDAY NITRO that I first got to see just how far Eddy had developed. By 1996, he was a true talent, with boundless superstar potential.

I watched Eddy’s match with Chris Jericho from FALL BRAWL ’97 just last night, and the two really clicked, with the crowd cheering both men at the finish, despite Eddy’s fantastic heel mannerisms. That heel smirk of his was easily the best in wrestling since Austin Idol’s. While it’s sad to see that two of the participants in that bout—Eddy and ref Brian Hildebrand, another great soul—are no longer with us, I couldn’t help but feel happy that I was watching the match at all. I suppose that’s something we’ll all have to keep in mind while we mourn the loss of Eddy Guerrero in the months ahead.

Plus, I think we’ll smile when we think about Guerrero and Benoit, the former two WCW mid-carders, celebrating with their WWE World championship belts after WrestleMania in 2004—easily one of my favorite moments in wrestling.

I’m also pleased that Eddy’s WWE run enabled his jovial personality to finally come through—one that the shy man from El Paso, Texas, usually displayed only for family and close friends. Maybe that’s why we found him so endearing the last few years: When that red light atop the WWE cameras came on, we were finally treated to the real Eddy—the funny Latino with the devilish grin, the entertaining sense of humor and the contagious laugh. He let us in, and we didn’t want to leave. Especially not this soon.

There’s an eerie coincidence associated with Eddy and Minneapolis, painfully obvious with another viewing of the WWE DVD release CHEATING DEATH, STEALING LIFE, a title now so frustratingly inappropriate. It was during a Minneapolis WWE RAW show that Dean Malenko and Chris Benoit reportedly informed Jim Ross that Eddy had a problem and was in no condition to perform that evening. Explains Malenko: “I didn’t want my friend being found dead in a hotel room.” Man, that’s a punch in the gut. Also upsetting: Eddy was so larger than life in the ring that I often overlooked his abnormal physique while he was working. In the DVD shots with his family, in which he’s wearing street clothes, he looks massive. Even more bizarre: Before the Guerrero documentary begins on the DVD, a commercial airs for, of all things, WWE’s JUDGMENT DAY DVD, asking, “When it’s all over, how will we will be judged? Is there actually life after death? Or are our memories here the only true afterlife?” The voice-over plays as Eddy celebrates with the fans and stares up at the heavens while showered in white light. It’s almost too much to take.

Initial autopsy reports seem to indicate that the pressures and lifestyle usually associated with the wrestling business were factors in Eddy’s death. That’s probably a discussion for another time, as I’m not as optimistic as some that this tragic loss will really be a catalyst for reform in the industry. I am truly sad that one of the few things Eddy truly for lived for, wrestling, may have been what killed him.

Right now, though, I’m only thankful for Eddy and his family that he was able to put his addictions behind him, and that his lasting legacy isn’t DUIs, overdoses and squandered opportunities.

From all accounts, Eddy Guerrero went out a loving husband and father, a caring brother and uncle, and a former WWE champion at the top of his game professionally, and respected by his peers. It doesn’t get much better than that. We’ll all miss you, Eddy. Thank you for the memories.

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