Was it everything he wanted?
When he had to travel on
Did he know he’d be missed?
You can tell them this
Hell yeah he did!
He saw it all
He walked the line
Never had to crawl
He cried a bit
But not for long
Hell yeah
He found the life that he was after
Filled it up with love and laughter
Finally got it right
And made it fit
Hell yeah he did.
Neil Diamond, “Hell Yeah”
When watching Monday RAW a few weeks ago, I don’t anyone could put a finger on why it was so hard to watch the show without feeling honest-to-goodness sorrow over the loss of Eddie Guerrero. Many people identified with Eddie’s struggles in his personal life, and his triumph years later when on top of the world, holding the WWE championship in his hands celebrating with Chris Benoit at Wrestlemania XX.
But a lot could be said for one man’s reaction to the night. That was the Big Show. During the ten bell salute, you could see the pain on his face from the loss of a friend. And more than that, when he walked out for his match, he had all the usual things associated with entrance. The pyro, the walk to the ring, the hand in the air and the bell. But there was more than that. He walked out laughing from the clip played moments before, but immediately you saw it hurt. Behind those 500 pounds was a hurt man.
When the bell rang, it was a return to what he probably knows best- tossing around guys smaller than him. But for a brief moment, we were exposed to a theme that often forgotten in wrestling, but always associated with life.
Mortality.
We’ve watched our heroes get buried alive, set on fire, thrown off of cages, off the Titantron, through glass, through tables, dropped on their heads, get placed in caskets and set on fire, get crucified, get run over with cars and the list goes on and on. But we never consider their mortality.
Rest in Peace Eddie
