“I am a great admirer of mystery and magic. Look at this life – all mystery and magic.”
– Harry Houdini
Pro wrestling has long been described as “escapism” – a way of pushing our personal problems to the side for a moment so we can revel in our passions. The industry itself exists in a realm somewhere between the confines of fantasy and reality, and can serve as a form of sanctuary for fans who might be weighed down by the various stresses and troubles that life can bring.
On February 15th, 2004, I got to witness my favourite wrestler kick in the proverbial door, smash that old glass ceiling, and take his place among the men to have worn the WWE Championship. Along with many fans around the world and 11,000 screaming onlookers at the Cow Palace in Daly City, California, all seemed to be right with the world when that final bell sounded.
I had grown up with a mother and father whose alcoholism was chronic (and no, I’m not referring to Bryan Clarke’s WCW tag team). The tale of this cruiserweight warrior overcoming not only a brute of an opponent, but his own battles with the bottle was something that resonated with every fibre of my being.
The build to this encounter was pretty heavy at the time: uber-heel Brock Lesnar would be out each week on SmackDown chastising “Latino Heat” with cries of “Addict!”, while a fiery-eyed Eddie spoke of “taking the title being the only high he needed” – powerful stuff. Even though I was wise to the ways of kayfabe by this point, the storyline hit me close to home, and only served to strengthen my support for El Paso’s favourite son.
I suppose I had best get to the actual match itself, otherwise I’ll probably end up rambling on for hours like one of the Authority’s infamous Raw opening monologues.
Clocking in at just over 30 minutes in length, this was a stunningly poetic match, filled with raw emotion and some fantastic acting performances from the two competitors. While I will be the first to say I have seen matches which I would consider “better”, none of them had the same personal importance to me as this particular battle.
When Eddie makes his way to the ring in that low rider, he looks like the coolest guy in the world. He’s light years ahead of the stuffy, suit wearing characters often seen on Raw at this time. Just before the opening bell, Guerrero climbs to the middle turnbuckle, faces the crowd and poses – the pop he gets before the match has even begun serves as evidence of the deep connection this man has with his audience – whether it was his infectious smile, technical skill, fiery promos, or comedic timing I don’t quite know. I’ll let you be the judge.
The majority of the fight sees Brock dominate the much smaller challenger with a cornucopia of violent slams, throws, and holds; Eddie’s selling here is beautiful to watch as he howls in agony at the beating being dished out by the still young champion, making Lesnar look like some George R.R. Martin creation come to life. Not to be outdone on the acting front, “The Next Big Thing” put on a wonderful performance as he slowly realised, to his horror, that even his best shots couldn’t keep Guerrero down – seriously, Brock’s facial expressions here would have made Jim Carrey take his ball and go home, every Eddie kick out only makes him more animated.
The final stretch of the match sees the arrival of one Bill Goldberg, just as Lesnar is getting ready to smash a prone Eddie with the title belt. Brock and Bill had a small scuffle at the start of the show which saw Goldberg hit the Jackhammer on Lesnar (as well as rip off his shirt in a much more impressive way than Hulk Hogan ever did, which always stuck with me for some reason).
After getting in the ring, Goldberg runs through Brock with a Spear and leaves; a groggy Eddie Guerrero crawls over to make the cover on his broken opponent, but the champion kicks out at two and seven eighths, to the sound of a blistering pop from the Daly City audience. This is one of the parts of the match I appreciate so much; the fact that even though Goldberg had hit Brock with his signature move, he still kicked out, meaning Eddie had to finish the job himself.
After a brief exchange that Brock gets the better of, the champion hoists “Latino Heat” onto his shoulders, spins him round for an F-5, and it is countered into a beautiful spinning DDT onto the title. Eddie then ascends to the top rope, sails through the air like his late friend Art Barr, and hits a Frog Splash for the one, two, three.
The crowd goes ballistic.
Simply put, Eddie was already the most popular man in the company at that point, just ask Tajiri, whom Eddie had turned heel on a few months prior to the sound of raucous cheers. The hero worship from the crowd never stopped, so the SmackDown writing team were forced to drop Mr. Guerrero’s heelish ways. He was routinely being described as “the Hispanic Austin” when writers and fans would discuss his popularity at the time.
When Eddie jumped up on the announce table with his belt and the flag of California, we all felt the heat that Eddie had been talking about; the atmosphere was so thick with sheer exuberance that many fans were seen openly crying tears of joy in support of their hero’s victory – 13 year-old me certainly shed a few too.
You know, I never got to see my dad conquer his demons; he had actually passed away six months prior to the No Way Out pay-per-view, so seeing someone who was already my favourite wrestler go from being dampened by his demons to seemingly burning brighter than the Sun really made an impression on young me. If Eddie could do it, then I wondered if perhaps my mother could one day turn things around. This was a man who had been let go by WWE in the wake of his DUI arrest on November 9th 2001, and here he was, a wrestler once considered “too small” by the bookers of WCW, standing over the defeated body of Brock freaking Lesnar with the WWE Championship held aloft.
That’s how much this simple “rasslin’ match” meant to me and still does to this day. It’s an example of how the sport really is a true art form and can make us think about the world around us in a way that may benefit us in our day-to-day lives. This battle for the ages was a visceral example of true escapism.
Looking back on this battle, one could make the argument that Eddie’s conquest of Brock Lesnar served as a distant predecessor to the Punks, Bryans, and Owenses who would come later; all were men who didn’t fit the mould of world champion, yet eventually had the belt strapped around their waists due to a combination of elite craftsmanship in the ring and a deep human connection that no amount of marketing or number crunching can offer.
Rest easy champ, you really were something else.
“To me, wrestling is therapy. No matter how bad my personal situation is, when I step into the ring, my troubles disappear. My baggage stays where it belongs.”
– Eddie Guerrero, 1967-2005
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