Wrestling: EDDIE GUERRERO'S MANUFACTURED PEDESTAL

EDDIE GUERRERO'S MANUFACTURED PEDESTAL
by Justin Henry

Generally, I don't watch a whole lot of Smackdown. If I do watch it to any considerable length, it's because there was something in the spoilers that caught my eye; whether it's a lengthy see-saw battle of a match, somebody returning or debuting that I have stock in, or for a moment that has potential to make the storyline that it's housed in suddenly become white hot. The reasons for conventionally skipping the Thursday/Friday night flagship show are many. Whether it was Michael Cole's forced commentary (not an issue now, but the stench remains), the annoying fake crowd noises, or the fact that WWE treats Smackdown like the whore sister of the brood in favor of the golden child known as Monday Night Raw (which makes ECW the bug-eyed mongoloid that's chained up in the cellar), Smackdown can be considered rather unappetizing. When I actually do catch the show, it’s pretty much on in the background while I write or talk to friends and loved ones over the phone.

On Friday night, October 2, 2009, WWE produced the special Tenth Anniversary edition of Smackdown (one month late of the anniversary, but let’s not split hairs). In true WWE fashion, the evening was ostended with many videos that highlighted some of the more memorable moments in the show’s decade-long history. I paid a little more attention to the show this time around due to the nature of the program. What a show it was, too. Comedy sketches backstage, solid in-ring action, an appearance by their greatest star in company history in The Rock, and, of course, the video packages that summarized what the show was all about.

One video package stood out from the rest.

One dedicated entirely to Eddie Guerrero.

Played to the tune of “Hear Me Now” by Boyce Avenue, Eddie was given a lavish tribute. It’s emblematic for WWE to create videos of fallen or departed stars, setting them to peaceful contempory rock music. Guerrero was no exception, as many of us still remember the two tribute packages he got on his memorial show, with both “Hurt” by Johnny Cash and “Here Without You” by 3 Doors Down punctuating the images. This was no different, as the familiar sights of him performing his graceful top rope offense, clowning around with his cunning trickery directed at opponents, celebrating his only World Championship reign, and spending time with his lovely wife Vickie, and children Shaul and Sherilyn, rounded out this remembrance. Also included was footage of the previously mentioned memorial show in 2005, where the entire roster assembled at the entrance way while the ring bell was tolled to mark his passing.

Missing from that portion of the tribute was Eddie Guerrero’s best friend and partner on the road, Chris Benoit. Now, it’s obvious why Benoit was excised from the video. If you don’t have the internet, nor access to the shark tanks that we call “cable news shows”, then let me briefly remind you that Benoit left this planet on a humid weekend in June of 2007, but not before ending the lives of his wife, Nancy, and his seven-year-old son, Daniel. After disposing of Nancy in violent fashion via excessive strangulation, followed by a somewhat more sedated suffocation for his pint-sized child, Benoit lingered about amongst the bodies for close to another 24 hours before texting his last words to some fellow wrestlers, and then hanging himself from a weight machine in his basement. Chris Benoit was 40 years old.

Once the world became aware of Benoit’s final acts of depravity, he vanished in another way. In addition to being dead, he was also dead to WWE and Vince McMahon, who removed 98% of him from company history. Except in rare cases, you will never find Benoit on any DVD releases that the company pumps out. His action figures and other miscellaneous merchandise were gone from store shelves, including his anthology DVD set, released in 2004. Vince McMahon would have to attach Benoit’s ashes to the fuselage of the Endeavor space shuttle in order to create more distance between the once-beloved murderer and his company.

Eddie Guerrero and Chris Benoit. Two men that, in death, receive very different treatments from their ex-employer. For Benoit, it’s excommunication in light of the dark cloud that his demise created. For Guerrero, it’s ascension to sainthood. In addition to the tribute videos, he was also inducted into the WWE Hall of Fame close to five months after his death (with Benoit providing a third of the induction testimonial, as his close friend and all), as well as a second commemorative DVD, released in 2008, featuring more classic matches, as well as glowing words from his living family, friends, and peers. His name was also entrenched in pointless storylines that lasted well over a year after his death, with no less than friends like Benoit and Rey Mysterio, peers such as Randy Orton and John Bradshaw Layfield, his nephew Chavo Guerrero, and wife Vickie name-dropping him to drag feuds along. No other performer in WWE’s half-century history had received such extensive praise and devotion in death as Guerrero, which is a mountain compared to the erasure of Benoit.

We probably shouldn’t be comparing the two, however. I mean, Benoit’s a murderer, right? He killed his wife and son before committing suicide, likely to avoid prosecution and public shame (well, at least having to live through it). The Chris Benoit that his fans remember was one of the hardest working, dedicated perfectionists that had ever been seen inside a ring. His execution of moves and holds were flawless. He could take the clunkiest muscle-head and make them look passable between the ropes. He would take direction well, losing to inferior opponents without sandbagging them out of spite. His dedication didn’t go unnoticed, as a very vocal portion of the wrestling audience lauded him for his life’s portfolio. Fans in Canada, Japan, Mexico, Europe, and the United States all got to see Benoit in person on numerous occasions, which bestowed global stardom onto him. But still, let’s not forget, he’s a murderer. In fact, it’s theorized that his work ethic was a big part of his descent. Doctors would discover in an autopsy that Chris Benoit’s brain was 85% damaged, the type of damage best attributed to advanced cases of Alzheimer’s. For a 40 year old man, that has to be unusual, if there was no explanation. It can, however, be explained when you watch Benoit’s body of work that spanned twenty-two years. When you consider all of the times that he landed on his head, took steel chairs to an uncovered face and forehead, and worked himself into oblivion for the sake of his art, it’s no shock that he was such a physical wreck. Compound this state of body with a mutated frame perpetrated by years of steroid abuse (used to provide a more impressive physique, to win consideration from his bosses for bigger roles), and the once lean and athletic Canadian had grown into a sloped, grotesque demon whose life purpose had been to damage his body and brain for the greater good of professional wrestling.

His mind state was also hindered. Generally quiet and paranoid as a rule, Benoit fell down the rungs of sanity when he lost three close friends in three months. In November 2005, it was Guerrero, his travel partner and best friend. In January 2006, it was Victor “Black Cat” Mar, a wrestler and talent liaison in Japan who was warmly regarded by everyone who knew him. Three weeks later, it would be Johnny Grunge, former tag team wrestler and Benoit’s neighbor in Georgia, who served as the Wilson to Benoit’s Tim “The Toolman” Taylor whenever Chris needed someone to confide his fears and problems. With his friendship circle diminishing, Benoit believed he was going to die very soon as well. In letters to his dead friend Eddie Guerrero, written in a personal journal, Benoit noted that he would be seeing his friend very soon.

So add it all up. When you mix brain damage, extreme perfectionism, psychotic paranoia, and chronic drug use, it’s no surprise that a man is dead just after his fortieth birthday. The double homicide can never be expected or justified, but it sounds just a little more feasible when you consider the wealth of evidence.

It’s no surprise either that WWE would wash their hands of Chris Benoit, right? I mean, this is a publicly traded company that markets to families and children. Just like Disney would never do another movie with Miley Cyrus if she killed someone, World Wrestling Entertainment would want nothing to do with a psychotic junkie murderer.

Why can’t he be more like Eddie Guerrero?

I say the previous sentence with a tinge of sarcasm, because one of my biggest flaws is that I read a lot. As a wrestling fan of twenty years, I’ve immersed myself in hordes of wrestling literature, TV specials, web sites, and the like that provide any kind of additional perspective on the medium of entertainment that I’ve fondly enjoyed. With this comes the unfortunate prospect of reading about the participants, these larger-than-life heroes, in a negative sense.

I’ve grown accustomed to accepting that just about everyone in the business is a scumbag in one sense or another. Well, actually, that’s rather harsh. But there’s a good chance that you can find one unlikeable flaw in every single wrestler or performer that you’ve seen on TV. Let’s look at my childhood heroes, and point at some accepted truths.

Bret Hart – Once generally considered to be a model citizen by fans worldwide, “The Hitman” has readily admitted to cheating on his ex-wife, Julie, on many occasions. In his autobiography, he painted vivid pictures of these affairs, able to describe the women in these one night stands with tremendous recollection, often years after the fact. Also, he’s been exposed as somewhat of a whiner who took the business way too seriously.

Shawn Michaels – Long before his kick with Jesus Christ, Michaels was a whining drug addict who used his influence to effectively bury the careers of his fellow performers. Living inside Vince McMahon’s ear, if you weren’t friends with the Heartbreak Kid, you were screwed.

Chris Benoit – This has been established.

“Macho Man” Randy Savage – The former pitchman for Slim Jims has been outed as being insanely paranoid, to the point where he would confront you with force should you ever be caught looking at his ex-wife, the lovely Miss Elizabeth. His incredible jealousy of former friend Hulk Hogan is legendary, to the point where he performed a rap theme, calling him out for a legit fight. He is not welcome back in WWE, allegedly due to an encounter he had with an underage Stephanie McMahon, which has never been fully proven or disputed.

This is just a core sample of the men that I would happy buy the merchandise of. While I can still enjoy their body of work, as well as harbor feelings of nostalgia, I really couldn’t fully endorse their lifestyles. When the persona is separate from the man, it becomes easier. Bret Hart the persona? Shawn Michaels the persona? Love em. Bret Hart the person? Shawn Michaels the person? Now it gets complicated.

The problem I have with the tribute video of Eddie Guerrero comes from having to separate the persona from the man. As a persona, he was a colorful character who brightened the segments that he appeared in, whether he was wrestling or participating in a backstage skit. Outside the ring, however, Eddie Guerrero led a very disturbing and very troubled life. Although WWE touches upon Eddie’s “demons”, and has done so in the confines of his storylines by hinting that he had to overcome these demons in order to succeed, they didn’t really tell the whole story of his issues.

Don’t believe me? For the uninitiated, Eddie Guerrero was more than just an alcoholic. He was also a regular steroid user, whose acne-riddled back, hoarse voice (in later years), and rippled muscles for a man who was 5’8” were a dead giveaway. In fact, after he supposedly ‘cleaned up’ in 2001 and 2002 from the booze, Guerrero apparently received a shipment of steroids in January 2005, which was not revealed until 2007 by Sports Illustrated. His alcohol abuse was just as prominent, requiring the help of Benoit (yes, the murderer) and fellow wrestler Dean Malenko to make it to his hotel room and to the shows on time. Guerrero was also overly emotional, especially at a time in his wrestling career where things were stalling out. With little upward mobility in WCW due to politics and inconsistent production, Guerrero was falling apart. With an increase in drinking and pain pill consumption, Guerrero was spiraling towards death at an alarming pace. In his own autobiography, he readily admits to smoking weed and taking pills without even asking what they were. It was all just an attempt to numb himself from reality.

All of this pales when compared to New Year’s Eve 1998, when Guerrero attempted to commit suicide. While messed up on GHB, he drove to a convenience store on a beer run. With his mind filled with thoughts of his unhappiness in WCW, his deteriorating marriage, and the emptiness in his soul, Guerrero sped toward home in his Trans-Am, but took a curve at 130 MPH and didn’t make it, going off the road, and crashing in a heap. He barely survived, but the injury toll was long: broken collarbone, compressed discs, broken right hip socket, shredded left calf, lacerated liver, and a seemingly endless amount of scrapes and cuts from broken glass and harsh earth after being thrown from the vehicle. How he survived is anyone’s guess. What’s scarier is that this suicide attempt took place with two little daughters at home. His attempt to escape life was with the intention, subconscious as it may have been, to leave the girls fatherless.

But this accident didn’t allow Eddie to change for the better. No, he returned to WCW less than six months later, wrestling in severe pain. After jumping to WWE six months after that, Guerrero took up the hefty road schedule that was once demanded of WWE superstars. Without letting his body heal fully, Guerrero was now working 200-300 nights a year on a hard canvas. Like Benoit, he was an ardent perfectionist inside the ring, and would be disappointed in himself if his performance was less than optimum. If his match was good, he would need pain pills and alcohol to wash away the agony that he was sure to feel. If his match was subpar, he would need those same substances to escape reality and hide from his own worst critic: himself. Without a stringent drug policy in place (WWE would later enact a trial drug testing policy, sadly, in the wake of Guerrero’s death), Guerrero’s indulgences continued to wreak havoc on his well-being.

In the spring of 2001, Guerrero hit a new low. His wife Vickie had to physically get him to the airport in order to fly out to a show, leaving him in a muddled and incoherent state in the terminal. Once at the arena, his friends tried to hide him from management. How badly messed up on drugs and booze do you have to be for a company that didn’t drug test to absolutely freak out at the sight of you? Guerrero, however, was discovered that day. He was sent home from the company, informed by Jim Ross (then the head of the talent relations department) that he could not return to WWE until he’d completed rehab. Guerrero didn’t fail a drug test by pissing in a cup, but rather he failed the one where they just look at you and say “FAIL”.

Vickie Guerrero had begun divorce proceedings, and kicked her husband out of the house. Several months into his rehab stay, Guerrero was arrested after an altercation at the gate of the complex he was staying in. With the story picked up nationally, this world famous wrestler arrested like a common criminal, Guerrero was immediately fired from World Wrestling Entertainment. Vickie was even more livid than ever, this giving her more reason to believe that she was doing the right thing in legally breaking away from Eddie Guerrero.

When you digest the previous five paragraphs, take a moment to juxtapose them with the video that aired Friday, painting Guerrero as a saintly being and family man on par with Gandhi and Mother Teresa.

Now, I’m not here to vilify Eddie Guerrero. He was one of my favorite performers and I have a lot of respect for him. The respect comes from the fact that after his arrest, he seemed driven toward righting all of his wrongs. Allegedly, he swore off alcohol forever. He went to the independent wrestling scene to rekindle his love of the sport. His hard work paid off, as WWE offered him a new contract in the spring of 2002, just months after his public humiliation. For the next three and a half years until the day he died, Guerrero rose to the status of main event wrestler, becoming the biggest star on the Smackdown brand by drawing a large minority audience who were elated to see a Hispanic man get such a huge push in a company where the main event scene was pre-dominantly white. His openness about his addictions and his apologetic demeanor earned him a lot of respect, and is probably what keeps him from being lambasted by the majority. Guerrero’s contrition, when compared to the likes of Scott Hall, Jake Roberts, and others who have drowned themselves in a sea of addiction and seem unapologetic about it, came off as genuine. There seemed to be no reason not to get behind Eddie Guerrero.

Until November 13, 2005.

I got the news during halftime of the one o’clock football games when I went online to check some e-mail. A quick trip to a wrestling news site allowed me to come face to face with the grim reality, as the top headline simply read “Eddie Guerrero passes away”. I immediately went numb, not comprehending what I was reading. Without clicking the link, I ventured to WWE.com, where the headline on the front page confirmed my fear.

Eddie Guerrero was dead at the age of 38.

Found on the floor of his hotel room bathroom by hotel security, as well as his nephew Chavo, Eddie Guerrero was apparently about to brush his teeth when his heart gave up. He left behind Vickie, who withdrew divorce proceedings and actually renewed vows with Eddie in 2003 to celebrate his turnaround. He also left behind Shaul and Sherilyn, his daughters, as well as a third daughter named Kaylie, born from another woman in 2002 during his separation from Vickie.

The images of I have of Guerrero as a master of his craft are a bit tainted. When I think of him now, I think of a man who sacrificed convention in order to succeed. As a man who was 5’8”, barely over 200 lbs, and wore his hair in an unflattering mullet with a porno mustache to compliment it, Eddie Guerrero’s face was never going to adorn lunch boxes and posters for America’s youth to scarf up. He didn’t have the transcendent appearance that was going to make promoters and matchmakers in America jump out of their chairs to shove a contract worth six figures into his face. The sad truth is that no matter how hard Guerrero worked in the ring, he wasn’t going to be the top star. In his efforts to get noticed, Guerrero worked a more dangerous style, similar to Benoit. The stuntman maneuvers and daredevil antics won over the fans who appreciate hard work, but there was still the mainstream to gain the confidence of.

Enter steroids. Guerrero juiced up his tiny frame to cartoon proportions, swelling up his arms and torso in an attempt to perhaps become the world’s shortest man to win Mr. Olympia. With this more television friendly appearance, Guerrero found the mutual exclusiveness that comes from swelling your body past its capacity and landing hard on a padded wooden canvas repeatedly. The joint damage begat his addiction to painkillers. Not being on the fast track to main event status only fed his depression, and that’s where alcohol was soothing to him. The endless cycle of anger, frustration, depression, and physical pain is incomprehensible to those of us who lead pedestrian, normal lives. But this was an encompassing reality for Guerrero.

I think of the Eddie Guerrero who finally made it to the top in 2004, winning WWE’s Heavyweight Championship with his mother and older brother in the front row. This was the same Guerrero who looked nothing like he did just five years before. His face was redder, his muscles more pronounced, his hair thinner, his voice raspier. I think of the Eddie Guerrero who didn’t miss any time inside the ring during his final three and a half year run in the company, putting his heart into each task he was given. I think of Eddie, the insane perfectionist that, three months before he died, had a freak-out inside the ring that I’ll never forget.

During a match with Rey Mysterio over custody of Rey’s son Dominick (don’t even ASK about the absurdity of this story arc), the script called for Vickie to run into the ring to prevent her now-evil husband from winning. However, somebody in production missed their cue and she was late. To compensate, Guerrero stalled and Mysterio had to save himself from the clutches of defeat. The whole thing looked incredibly awkward, especially for two performers of their caliber. But what I’ll always remember was Guerrero stomping and pounding the canvas in anger, breaking character as he screamed:

“WHERE THE F--- WAS VICKIE?!?!”

On a pay per view. With children watching in the arena and at home. Guerrero simply snapped just because something went wrong and their attempt to improvise only made things worse. To condemn Eddie for this moment is wrong, but it goes a long way in explaining how his mind worked. Very rarely do wrestlers breach etiquette by breaking character over a mistake, but Guerrero, oft regarded for his professionalism, did so in one of the most uncomfortable ways imaginable.

Four years later, WWE continues to fawn over the fallen star. They reserve that right, since he was someone that achieved his greatest career heights under their umbrella. He probably wouldn’t have made it there without taking on the things that would enlarge his heart and ultimately kill him, however. It’s uncomfortable to me as a fan to see them immortalize a man that is the prototype for how not to be a famous wrestler. The reverent tones in which his name is spoken by the company just reeks of track-covering. WWE enabled Guerrero to destroy his body, although it seemed to be a mutual decision.

To me, WWE isn’t endorsing Eddie Guerrero with these tributes. They’re assuring the world that even though Guerrero’s death was likely caused by years of negligent promoters who provided dangerously vigorous road schedules for him while his body, and social life, fell apart, as well as continued abuse of painkillers and steroids to keep him at a main event level, that they loved him. In tribute, if WWE can put up a front that they’re a caring organization, it may lessen the amount of scrutiny that goes into asking about how they may have played in a role in speeding up the man’s death. Since Eddie Guerrero never killed anyone, the amount of scrutiny isn’t terribly bad. So he gets tributes. But if he murders two people and then himself as a possible result of brain damage sustained from years of working that same road schedule, with the same level of heightened intensity, then it’s goodbye to Eddie’s legacy.

So my problem is not with Eddie Guerrero. Eddie is a pawn, put on top of a pedestal to deflect attention from the manner in which he lived and then died. Nobody has to know what a degenerate he was at many points in his life. They just have to know that he was an incredible person who loved his family, his friends, and his fans. If Vince McMahon and World Wrestling Entertainment can make you believe any of this, it’s more time spent loving the man and less time spent feeling weird about loving the empty shell that he turned into.

The ultimate tribute to Eddie Guerrero is a more simpler wellness policy. If you test positive once, you’re fired. Get out of this business and go to rehab. Do not come back until your body is completely detoxified of all foreign chemicals that could be a detriment to your life. Also, while you’re gone, get a complete physical, including analysis of your brain. Not only may you save yourself, but also the people who live in your house.

But this is all a pipe dream. Chris Benoit worked amongst this new fangled wellness policy in 2006 and 2007. He passed his final test in April of 2007, just two months before he silenced his household. The autopsy, shall we say, didn’t match WWE’s inquiring drug examination. It’s never going to change. If Eddie Guerrero’s pathetic death didn’t change the sensibilities of management when it comes to saving lives and promoting healthy lifestyles (as Benoit’s death evidences), what will? Violators come back from suspensions with the same level of sustained push that they had when they left. Steroids are still clearly being used, as many physiques that permeate the modern WWE are overinflated.

It’s all a joke. A sick, pathetic, running gag of a joke.

The biggest joke of all is that pretending that Eddie Guerrero was a better man than Chris Benoit, and that his life is worth far more than that of his friend. They’re the same person, largely interchangeable in many of their physical and mental qualities.

We could have had two tribute videos on October 2 that were dedicated to broken down, deficient basket cases that were jacked to the gills on steroids and were terrible burdens for the families to have to live with.

But because of murder, and fierce media scrutiny, we only had to sit through one.

Hooray.

When he isn’t watching WWE, TNA, or his beloved Philadelphia Eagles and Phillies, Justin Henry can be found writing. It is his passion as well as his goal in life to become a well-regarded columnist or author. He tweets at http://twitter.com/mindofjrhsports and facebooks himself at http://www.facebook.com/notoriousjrh.