Undisputed_ How to Become the World Champion in 1,372 Easy Steps - Chris Jericho [134]
I tried to honor my brother by telling tales of how he and I attempted to be roommates on the road, but we got along like Molson and Jose Cuervo. How we got in a fight at a Minneapolis Denny’s and rolled around on the floor (Jericho-Sneap style) under the other patrons’ tables. How Eddy pronounced filet mignon “ fill-ett migg-non.” How we were the best tag team that never was and called ourselves “North and South of the Border” or “Eh and Wey.” I had no notes, no cue cards. I just got up and spoke about one of my oldest friends in the business, and tried to get some sort of closure.
After the service I went outside and spotted Benoit. He beelined over and gave me one of the most powerful and moving embraces I’ve ever experienced; he was clinging to me like a newborn baby to his mother. Then he began to shake.
He was crying uncontrollably with these deep, hitching, heartbreaking wails, and the shoulder of my suit jacket was soon damp from his tears. After a solid minute of this, I started to feel uncomfortable. Finally Chris let go and sobbed that he was furious I wasn’t asked to be a pallbearer. “That’s what Eddy would have wanted.”
Every pallbearer had been given a rose to throw on the casket as it was lowered into the ground, and he murmured adamantly, “I want you to have this rose. You have to throw this rose into his grave. Promise me you’ll put this in his grave, Chris.”
He stared a thousand miles into my eyes, all the while clutching the flower in his fist.
But he never gave it to me.
At the end of his plea he whispered, “I love you, Chris,” and then he shuffled away on zombie legs into the shadows of the funeral home.
After the service, Jess and I went to Eddy’s brand-new house he’d just bought in Phoenix. Vicki told me that Eddy was in a lot of physical pain toward the end of his life from all of the various injuries he’d suffered over the years.
She also told me that Eddy was proud of me for being able to walk away from wrestling on my own terms. He was envious and wished he could have done the same thing.
The saddest thing about Eddy’s death for me was that so many guys have been eaten up by the business and died because of it. But here was a guy who’d battled his demons, beat them, and was at a good place in his life.
It seemed so unfair that God would take Eddy so young, a man who spread the word of the Bible at every chance, a man who stood out as a Christian in the WWE locker room. He never pointed fingers or preached to anybody, but if you had a question about Jesus he was the guy you would ask. It’s beyond my comprehension why God makes the decisions he does, but the world could use more people like Eddy Guerrero.
He wasn’t perfect. He wasn’t a saint. But he was one of the most genuine, humble, sweetest men I’ve ever met in my life, and I miss him.
I also think about Eddy every time I go to a restaurant and pay the check. One day we went to eat and the bill came. I left a one-dollar tip on a ten-dollar tab and Eddy looked at me, annoyed.
“You should tip 20 percent no matter what.”
“Why?” I asked.
“What’s two dollars to you? What’s four dollars to you? You’re making good money. But to the waitress it could be the difference between paying her electric bill or not. Don’t be selfish.”
I felt like Mr. Pink talking to Mr. White, so I put another dollar down.
To this day, I tip 20 percent no matter what, and all of you waiters and waitresses that I meet can thank Eddy Guererro for that.
In the coming weeks, the WWE did an angle where Randy Orton in trying to antagonize Rey Mysterio would say things like, “Eddy is in hell.” Eddy was a devout Christian, and in my opinion he would’ve been incensed at the thought of using his eternal soul as the basis for a wrestling angle. I was glad that I wasn’t working for the WWE at the time, because I would’ve needed to speak out against it. I called Benoit and asked him what