Another Melancholy Farewell
I cried. I don’t know why, but I cried.
I haven’t cried upon hearing of the death of a wrestler in six years, and there have been tons. Hawk, Curt Hennig, Elizabeth, Rick Rude and Davey Boy Smith all have special places in my childhood memories. But I haven’t been this emotionally overwhelmed since watching Over the Edge 1999 and witnessing a horrible scene unfold before my eyes and in my imagination.
Maybe it’s because the past few years have brought fewer deaths. While there was a seeming flood of premature deaths from 1997-2003, it seemed the trend was at least slowing down. While there were exceptions such as Chris Candito, Shinya Hashimoto, Hercules and Ray Traylor, 2004 and 2005 have not featured as much tragedy in professional wrestling. That makes Eddie Guerrero’s death all the more jarring, particularly for those who remember all the previous deaths. We have for the most part put out of our consciousness the possibility of another young wrestler dying with no notice or warning when we go to check wrestling news on a normal Sunday morning.
Maybe it’s because it evokes so many bad memories. He was found dead in his hotel room in Minnesota on a Sunday late in the year, just like Brian Pillman. Their stories are strikingly similar, of smaller wrestlers who became bigger stars than anyone would have predicted only to have their stories end too soon. His death came eleven years and ten days after an even more familiar death, that of his old tag partner Art Barr, also way too young. Guerrero made it past that point. He should have died an old man.
Maybe it’s because I watched him live two weeks ago today. In front of a shockingly strong crowd at Staples Center, Guerrero seemed in great spirits. He was the most popular performer on the show. Guerrero had become one of the most beloved wrestlers in North America to the Hispanic audience. Guerrero was a natural heel, and yet attempts to turn him heel in recent years consistently failed because the audience liked him too much. This death is going to hit a lot of people hard.
Maybe it’s because I just watched the Jake Roberts DVD on Friday. Built heavily around substance abuse, Roberts spoke about the demons that haunted him over the years. Perhaps the most resonant message of the story was how unfair life can be. Roberts talked about all the wrestler deaths, and he said when he heard about them he wished he was the one to go. He spoke of a failed attempted suicide. People who want to die should be able to die on their own terms, and people who want to live should at least be able to get their fair time. But that’s not the way life works.
Maybe it’s because I feel responsible in part for his death. Many of us who followed Guerrero’s troubles over the years knew that the professional wrestling business was not the healthiest environment for him. There are too many temptations, and too many pressures. Guerrero had faced problem after problem over the years due to those same issues. He might have been better off getting out. Yet, many of us pretended those issues didn’t exist. I always loved Guerrero as a performer. I selfishly wanted to see him perform, so I helped to encourage him to continue. If he hadn’t done so, he might still be alive.
Maybe it’s because it looked like Guerrero had conquered his demons. He spoke about them on a WWE produced UPN special and DVD, ironically titled “Cheating Death, Stealing Life.” This was supposed to be a story with a happy ending. Our enduring memory of Guerrero was supposed to be him winning the WWE Title and embracing Chris Benoit in the middle of the ring at the conclusion of WrestleMania XX. Instead, we are left wondering what could have been. Worse, there is the matter of Guerrero’s family, which has already been through so much and will have to go through so much more.
When Guerrero won the WWE Title from Brock Lesnar a year and nine months ago, I wrote an article about his career:
http://www.wrestlingobserver.com/wo/news/headlines/default.asp?aID=9718&OP
While the tone of the piece was celebratory, I ended it on something of a cautionary note, observing, “There are no guarantees for Guerrero. Just because he has made it this far does not guarantee he will have a happy ending. He needs to stay the course, and maintain a healthy lifestyle.”
To me, it doesn’t matter whether Guerrero “succumbed to his demons” or was “a victim of his past excesses.” This introduces a simplistic guilty/innocent dichotomy that just isn’t true to real life experiences. Conquering addiction is difficult enough when you are not on a difficult travel schedule with pressure to maintain too big of a physique and take a lot of bumps. It’s still a story of a man taken way too early, and under all too familiar circumstances.
I’m not sure why I cried. But for whatever reason, the death of Eddie Guerrero this morning brought tears to my eyes and sadness to my heart. What an awful morning.
I haven’t cried upon hearing of the death of a wrestler in six years, and there have been tons. Hawk, Curt Hennig, Elizabeth, Rick Rude and Davey Boy Smith all have special places in my childhood memories. But I haven’t been this emotionally overwhelmed since watching Over the Edge 1999 and witnessing a horrible scene unfold before my eyes and in my imagination.
Maybe it’s because the past few years have brought fewer deaths. While there was a seeming flood of premature deaths from 1997-2003, it seemed the trend was at least slowing down. While there were exceptions such as Chris Candito, Shinya Hashimoto, Hercules and Ray Traylor, 2004 and 2005 have not featured as much tragedy in professional wrestling. That makes Eddie Guerrero’s death all the more jarring, particularly for those who remember all the previous deaths. We have for the most part put out of our consciousness the possibility of another young wrestler dying with no notice or warning when we go to check wrestling news on a normal Sunday morning.
Maybe it’s because it evokes so many bad memories. He was found dead in his hotel room in Minnesota on a Sunday late in the year, just like Brian Pillman. Their stories are strikingly similar, of smaller wrestlers who became bigger stars than anyone would have predicted only to have their stories end too soon. His death came eleven years and ten days after an even more familiar death, that of his old tag partner Art Barr, also way too young. Guerrero made it past that point. He should have died an old man.
Maybe it’s because I watched him live two weeks ago today. In front of a shockingly strong crowd at Staples Center, Guerrero seemed in great spirits. He was the most popular performer on the show. Guerrero had become one of the most beloved wrestlers in North America to the Hispanic audience. Guerrero was a natural heel, and yet attempts to turn him heel in recent years consistently failed because the audience liked him too much. This death is going to hit a lot of people hard.
Maybe it’s because I just watched the Jake Roberts DVD on Friday. Built heavily around substance abuse, Roberts spoke about the demons that haunted him over the years. Perhaps the most resonant message of the story was how unfair life can be. Roberts talked about all the wrestler deaths, and he said when he heard about them he wished he was the one to go. He spoke of a failed attempted suicide. People who want to die should be able to die on their own terms, and people who want to live should at least be able to get their fair time. But that’s not the way life works.
Maybe it’s because I feel responsible in part for his death. Many of us who followed Guerrero’s troubles over the years knew that the professional wrestling business was not the healthiest environment for him. There are too many temptations, and too many pressures. Guerrero had faced problem after problem over the years due to those same issues. He might have been better off getting out. Yet, many of us pretended those issues didn’t exist. I always loved Guerrero as a performer. I selfishly wanted to see him perform, so I helped to encourage him to continue. If he hadn’t done so, he might still be alive.
Maybe it’s because it looked like Guerrero had conquered his demons. He spoke about them on a WWE produced UPN special and DVD, ironically titled “Cheating Death, Stealing Life.” This was supposed to be a story with a happy ending. Our enduring memory of Guerrero was supposed to be him winning the WWE Title and embracing Chris Benoit in the middle of the ring at the conclusion of WrestleMania XX. Instead, we are left wondering what could have been. Worse, there is the matter of Guerrero’s family, which has already been through so much and will have to go through so much more.
When Guerrero won the WWE Title from Brock Lesnar a year and nine months ago, I wrote an article about his career:
http://www.wrestlingobserver.com/wo/news/headlines/default.asp?aID=9718&OP
While the tone of the piece was celebratory, I ended it on something of a cautionary note, observing, “There are no guarantees for Guerrero. Just because he has made it this far does not guarantee he will have a happy ending. He needs to stay the course, and maintain a healthy lifestyle.”
To me, it doesn’t matter whether Guerrero “succumbed to his demons” or was “a victim of his past excesses.” This introduces a simplistic guilty/innocent dichotomy that just isn’t true to real life experiences. Conquering addiction is difficult enough when you are not on a difficult travel schedule with pressure to maintain too big of a physique and take a lot of bumps. It’s still a story of a man taken way too early, and under all too familiar circumstances.
I’m not sure why I cried. But for whatever reason, the death of Eddie Guerrero this morning brought tears to my eyes and sadness to my heart. What an awful morning.
posted by Todd Martin at 11:48 AM
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