To those who know me it should not come as a surprise to know that I like professional wrestling. It's escapist, tacky, broadly acted and caters to the most basic of human emotions. It's a lot like opera, really. But not as stuffy.
That said when I woke up this morning and found out that Eddie Guerrero passed away in a Minneapolis hotel room I was shocked, and not only because at 38 he's two years younger than me. Guerrero was one of the few who could take something so obviously staged and make you not give a damn; he could suck you in with his ability. He had, as Rush Limbaugh so incorrectly claims that he has, talent on loan from God. He could take the most inane storylines and make them believable or make diamonds out of well-written gold stories. He could take a broomstick and make it a believable opponent and was always willing to make his opponents look better because it was good for business. Guerrero was the second wrestler of Hispanic heritage to hold a major promotion's world title- the ultimate symbol that the powers-that-be believe in your ability to carry a company- and was a major player without it. And his microphone skills, the ability to sell a storyline with charisma and speaking, were amazing.
"Latino Heat" will be missed. Here's hopng that Eduardo Guerrero "lies, cheats, and steals" his way to some peace in the afterlife.
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