Dear Eddie

Dear Eddie,

It’s Friday night. 

I’m riding shotgun with my uncle, Rey Sr., and we’re pulling up to the Auditorio de Tijuana. Everyone else reading this letter, when I say “pull up” they’ll probably think I mean around back — like they must have had a special entrance for the famous luchador and his nephew. But you know. Nah, man … this was Fight Night in a border town!! This was 1987. We entered through the front door like everyone else.

I remember those times as if they were yesterday. Me and Senior, driving to the show … it was like a million little block parties. And of course you could smell it before you would see it: hot dogs, tacos, popcorn, chicharrón. Maybe some other smells we won’t mention. Then you’d see the adults and the older kids, getting their hustle on — bootleg t-shirts, bootleg action figures (nothing like we have now, just some stiff plastic with a nail-polished-on mask if you were lucky … and if you were really lucky, an 8x8 wooden square as a ring, 4 nails as posts and some rubber bands for the ropes). And then last you would see the younger kids, holding their autograph papers and pencils, bunched at the doors waiting to find out which of their favorite luchadores will show up that night.

We would get there about an hour before … and my uncle, he had it timed exact. As soon as we were two blocks from the auditorium, he’d rolllll to that next light and slow the car down to a stop. Then he’d kind of look around for a moment, to make sure no one was watching. And in this one motion, so smooth — whoooosh — he’d pull on his mask. And I’d just be sitting there in the passenger seat, 12 years old, like I’m Robin in the Batmobile and thinking, Man. This is IT. Wrestling is EVERYTHING. Then we’d park Senior’s car in the lot out front, he would give me his bag to carry, and we’d walk right in.

OK OK — now I’m picturing you up there in Heaven, WeeWeeto. And you’re reading this, like, “Rey. Rey, brother. Cool story. Tell me something I don’t already know.” So I’ll get to the point. Bagman-ing for my uncle, on those Friday nights in the border towns … I have a lot of amazing memories from back then. Memories that mean so much to me, and shaped who I am. But there’s one that means more and shaped me more than the rest. And it’s the memory of how — on one of those nights?? I basically saw a shooting star. I saw the greatest wrestler of all time, for the first time.

I saw you.

I saw Eddie Guerrero.

When I publish this letter on Thursday, it will be 20 years to the day since you passed. November 13th, 2005. It’s hard to believe. And it feels so unfair sometimes, just knowing how much life I’ve gotten to live in those years. You didn’t get to see 40 … that’s still painful to think about. Me, on the other hand, I turned 50 last December. Nahhhh I can already see the evil grin on your face, hearing that. “50?!? 50?!? Oh Rey, no…….. You OLD.” I know, WeeWeeto. It’s true. But I’m writing this to you now, and I swear: I could live another 50 years — and when it comes to our friendship, I’d still be Little Bro. I’m forever your little bro.

And you’re forever my big brother.

There was something unique about our friendship…… even going back to that night in Tijuana, before we had any friendship. It’s hard to put into words. But I think I’d say it like this: A lot of wrestlers, they work together in the ring, and then become friends outside the ring. Not us, though. We became friends in the ring — literally in the ring. Through the art of wrestling itself.

Of course, it started as a one-way friendship. Me following my uncle around Mexico, then later training to be a luchador myself around Mexico, and crossing paths with you that way — from the outside looking in. Instantly I felt a connection. It was so obvious just from watching you that you were special … that you’d mastered this presence, this way of movement, that was yours alone. But as I went through wrestling school, and began to study the craft of lucha libre, that’s when I understood how you’d mastered the fundamentals as well. So many times while training, I’d be working on some roll, or position, and I’d get to a point where maybe I’d start to think, Wow!!! I’m pretty good at this one. Then I’d see you do it..… and I’d learn the lesson that almost anyone who’s trained to wrestle has eventually had to learn: There’s a mountain of difference between “pretty good” and “Eddie.” Between pretty good and perfect.

Part of our connection, I think, was in how we both came from these legendary lucha families … which meant we both inherited the gift and curse of being “next” in a line. And I gained so much admiration for you, just from watching you carry that. One thing I always loved, that doesn’t get mentioned enough (and probably isn’t very well known), is how you came from a lineage of “shooters” — the not-f***ing-around type of wrestlers. The type who could (and might) break a guy’s leg for real if they had to. So you were trained in all of that … a legit, old-school tough guy. But you were never actually old-school. And you were never trying to be a tough guy. What you were, though, at your heart, was a genius — and it’s like you had this incredible drive to take that genius and push things forward. So as lucha libre evolved away from the shooters, to a more “worker”-based style, and became more about performing with someone than against them, you embraced it. And you worked at it, and worked at it, until you became the best in the world at it.

When I finally got to enter the ring with you, Eddie…… I’d say that’s when you finally got to know ME. And it’s when our friendship began to take shape for real. I think about those first few times we wrestled, and it’s like every now and then I would do something that surprised you a bit — a move I’d pull out, or a way I’d execute something, or even just the passion I’d show. Every time I did something like that, I could see your gears sort of turning. Like, Oh, OK. Interesting.… THIS is Rey…. I didn’t know he got MUD on him like that. Like you were slowly getting a read on me, and adjusting your expectations of me. And it’s like with each new adjustment we would strengthen our bond. I’m guessing there will be people confused by this — Huh??? That doesn’t sound like a basis for being friends. But that’s just it, WeeWeeto. That’s why our bond meant so much. It’s like we each loved this thing…… in a way that no one else could understand. So we almost had no choice but to understand each other.

The truest moment of our friendship may have been from our very first American match together. This was in ’97, so you’d already been in WCW for a year or two by then. I mean, come on, you’d already wrestled Ric Flair for the U.S. Title on Pay Per View!!! We were all so proud of you. And then slowly but surely we started following in your footsteps. But I also think we knew the deal: We were there to be undercard guys, to pop the crowd with exciting matches … but that’s about it. They didn’t really “see money” in us. And they didn’t always understand our culture.

That was definitely the case when they told me I’d be wrestling you at Halloween Havoc for your Cruiserweight Title … with my MASK on the line … and I was going to LOSE. Man, I remember being so upset when I heard that. I was panicking!!! Like, I had just started to get over with the American fans — and with my mask being such a strong part of my identity. So to lose it so early in my career, I knew that could be a death sentence. But what choice did I have?? I was a 22-year-old kid. I had no power, I had no leverage, I had no pull with the office.

Thankfully, though, I had you. I had my friend, my big brother. That whole day leading up to the match, my head was spinning. I couldn’t even think straight. But you just kept telling me, “Don’t worry, Rey!!!! Don’t worry!!!! Keep your head up, brother. We’re going to make this right.” And I’ll never know what those exact conversations were that went down behind closed doors. But I know you talked to the office, explained why it was a bad decision for me to lose, and convinced them to let you put me over. Honestly … I still get chills when I think of what you did for me that night. Not just sticking your neck out for me, but doing it at your own expense — and offering to lose your title, so I could keep my mask, and my identity, and the momentum in my career. It’s a gift I’ve never forgotten, and have tried to pay forward over the years as I’ve grown from New Kid into OG: the idea that success for Latinos in this business — in this life — doesn’t have to be zero-sum. We either get over as a community…… or we risk getting buried as one. For me, that lesson, it all started with you.

But now I’m getting sad again. I’m telling you how I’ve paid forward certain things … or how I look back on certain things … and all I can think about is the passage of time. 

Twenty years, big brother. Two full decades without you. It’s so much time. 

Sometimes, I’ll admit, I fantasize — about what those decades would have been like if you were around. All these different moments we could have experienced together. All the different things you could have loved instead of missed.

Your daughters … that’s the biggest thing. Of course, I’d trade every moment I wish I could have had with you, for just that — for you to have gotten to see your daughters grow up, and into the women they are. I won’t speak too much on them here, because it’s not my place — and no doubt they’re giving you updates themselves. But you should feel proud, WeeWeeto. You’d be a proud papa.

Here’s one thing I’ll gladly speak too much on: I wish you were around to see the impact you’ve had on our sport. Oh my GOD, Eddie…. Like, where can I even begin??? 

I think the first thing that comes to mind — it’s just your style. Math isn’t really my strong suit, so this isn’t scientific. But purely off the dome, and from knowing what’s what? I’d say that when other wrestlers are asked in interviews who their favorite wrestler was growing up, or who “their guy” was that they really connected with, or tried to emulate most in the ring … or simply put, who’s their GOAT … your name comes up more than any other. “Your favorite wrestler’s favorite wrestler” — you know this phrase??? That’s YOU, WeeWeeto. You resonate in a way that can’t be measured. You f***ing matter.

The second thing I always think about, as far as your impact, it’s how you helped guys like us — guys who, let’s just say, aren’t giants — get taken seriously as headlining talent. Honestly, maybe the best way to express how much you changed these perceptions, it’s to promise you there are young people reading this letter right now who didn’t know it was ever another way. That’s how fundamental it’s become, the idea that wrestlers at your size, or my size, or any non-traditional size, can main-event a show and be booked at a top level. Guys like AJ Styles, CM Punk, Jey Uso … these are great world champions, who’ve headlined some of the biggest shows ever. And I’m not sure it happens without you.

And then the third thing I’ll mention, it’s the impact you had on Latinos in wrestling. I’m getting emotional just thinking about this one, it’s so personal to me. Because it’s like I said — when you and I were first coming up, luchadores simply weren’t treated as a class of wrestler who could draw in the U.S​​. But it’s also even deeper than that. Our fans I think were sometimes treated that same way. Like, they were viewed through this lens of, “I don’t know if I’m seeing money here.” We hated that so much. But then WCW and WWE, they put us on television, and gave us a chance to be in big spots. And by doing this, they also gave the Latino fans a chance … to see wrestlers who looked like them, and talked like them, and acted like them in big spots. And sometimes that’s all it takes, you know what I’m saying??? A chance. Those fans, the ones who supported us on our come-up — a lot of them fell in love with the sport for life. And then their kids fell in love with the sport for life. And now you’re really seeing it in full bloom. 

I’ll give you an example. So like, take the LWO. (Your old group from WCW!!!). WWE brought it back in early 2023, as a new group of me and some talented young Latino wrestlers. And maybe at first it was supposed to be this short-term, “nostalgia” thing. But then so many fans loved it … and the merch sales went crazy … and now almost three years later it’s still going. Also that same year, WWE decided to hold Backlash in San Juan — the first Pay Per View show in Puerto Rico in 18 years. No one really knew how it would perform. Well……. it broke all kinds of gate records, and was one of the best crowds in company history. And here’s the best part: It’s all connected. A major reason for that show was the influence of this Puerto Rican rapper named Bad Bunny — he’s the biggest artist in the world right now. And of course, guess what?? He grew up a huge wrestling fan. Want to know who was one of his favorite guys??? I’ll give you a hint, it’s in his lyrics: “Guerrero como Eddie / que viva la raza, yeh.” How’s that for full circle, WeeWeeto.

And then last but not least … and I’ll admit I’m being selfish here … I wish you were around to see Dom. Your very own son!!!! No, I’m just kidding. But I know that line will pop some people. The thing of it is — it’s unreal, all the different ways that the story we told at SummerSlam in 2005 has stayed meaningful. I laugh anytime I think back to us first bringing the idea to little Dominik. So what do you think about being part of this feud between me and Tio Eddie, where it’s about who gets custody over you??? He was eight at the time, so he obviously had two important questions. One, “Am I getting paid?” And two, “Can I miss school?” Once we answered yes to both, he was in.

Toward the end of the SummerSlam match, there’s this moment that became infamous: You’re thinking Vickie is about to come out for the finish, but a signal got crossed with her cue — so you start screaming at Charles Robinson, “WHERE THE F*** IS VICKIE!!!! GODDAMMIT!!!!!” But what I always remember about that match, it’s not the infamous part. It’s what happened after. You came backstage, and at first you were going off like a firecracker. F*** this, F*** that, S***, P***, you were pretty much shouting every swear word imaginable (and unimaginable…..) as you stormed through the tunnel.

But then — out of the corner of your eye — you saw Dominik standing there. And he was kind of shying away a bit, you know, since he had never been involved in something like this before. So I think he was scared from how angry you were acting. And as soon as you saw that??? It’s like every ounce of anger just instantly drained out of you, and you filled back up with love. You went right over to him, hung your big-ass sweaty arm around his shoulder, and were like, “You OK, mi hijo??? You OK??? Everything good, man, I promise. You did GREAT out there!!!!” I’ve never seen Dom so happy. No lie — that might be my favorite memory of you, from all our years together.

Three months later you were gone.

And now it’s 20 years later, and I wish so bad that you could be here to see Dom’s own wrestling career take flight. Honestly … it wasn’t the smoothest flying at first. He debuted in WWE about five years ago (or came back, if you count the custody match) — and “Rey Mysterio’s baby boy” was still very much the character he was playing. No mask (TOO handsome!!!), but other than that he was the same “clean-cut babyface” type I’ve been for most of my career. And he held his own!! Like, his first match ever was at SummerSlam in 2020, against Seth Rollins, one of the best guys on the roster. And I think Dom surprised people that night, and started to earn respect from there. But at the same time……. he wasn’t quite hitting that next level, you know what I’m saying?? And I can already picture you reading this, WeeWeeto, way up in those clouds, and you’re doing that pose where you’ve got your elbows in and your palms open — and you’re giving me that f***ing smirk-shrug, because you know what I’m about to say: Dominik wasn’t fully clicking as “Rey Mysterio’s baby boy”......... so he did what I’m 100% sure you would’ve told him to do. He turned heel, and basically became “Eddie Guerrero’s demon boy.” And that changed everything.

When I say you would approve of who Dom has become, Eddie — it’s an understatement. 

You would love it. 

Because the wrestler he is now, it feels like a love letter to so many of the things that made YOU so special. He has the presentation down perfect: the sleazy (no offense) stache, the terrible (no offense) mullet, the ugly (no offense) jewelry and clothes. He’s got the s***-eating grin. He’s got that innate ability to play off different people (like you did with me, Batista, Chyna and so many others). And I’ll tell you the number one trait of Dom’s that’s a love letter to you, Eddie — and I bet you already can guess what I’m about to say here, too. THE WORSE HE BEHAVES??? THE MORE THEY CHEER. As you know, it’s harder to pull this off than it looks: To be a bastard (no offense) who the fans want to embrace, flaws and all … because even at your worst, they can see something human at the center. But that’s what Dom has been able to achieve.

“Mannnnnnnn, shut the f*** up about DOM, Rey. I thought this was a letter to ME!!!!!” Hahaha. I can hear you teasing me so clearly. But I’ll share a secret, Mr. “Lie, Cheat, Steal”............. You were always a bad liar. And I know you’re reading this, and you’re beaming with pride, and your heart is very full.

So is mine.

OK — last thing before I go. I have to tell you a short story.

It’s about something that just happened.

A little over a week ago, after being out with an injury for seven months, I made my big return on Monday Night Raw. (Yeah, we still have Raw.) It was a good feeling. But the best part wasn’t the return itself. It’s that I returned to cut a promo on Dominik — so I got to share a ring with him. Dom was a double champion at the time, across two promotions: Intercontinental Champ in WWE (I know, crazy), and Mega Champ in AAA (I know, crazy). And since he’s this cocky heel, he got on the mic and started to boast about how his belts prove how great he is, and how he’s the best luchador of all time, how he’s “King of the Luchadores.” And once he’s saying that, you know I’m coming out to set him straight. 

My music hits, I walk to the ring, and I’m basically like, Dominik, mi hijo, come ON. You’re not serious. Are you really going to stand here in this ring and claim you’re “King of the Luchadores”?? That you’re better than El Santo?! (Nice pop.) That you’re better than Blue Demon?! (Another nice pop.) That you’re better than.... EDDIE GUERRERO?!?

Alright, WeeWeeto, I don’t want your ego to get too big — but you’re going to have to trust me on this. When I mentioned your name in that promo…... “nice pop” doesn’t even come close to describing it. Brother, that’s the LOUDEST pop I heard all night. It was like an explosion. Like I’d invoked the name of God himself.

And it didn’t stop there. Pretty soon, the entire building was in a full-on chant. “EDDIE!! EDDIE!! EDDIE!! EDDIE!!!!!” (And of course Dom had the perfect line: “You keep my father’s name out of your mouth!!!” Hahaha.) Man..... I’ve been in a lot of rings, on a lot of nights. It takes a lot to take my breath away. But that moment??? It took my breath away. I mean, Eddie — I swear to you: It was like you were there. And not in the way we sometimes say about the dead. Their presence remains with us, and so on. What I’m talking about is something much more powerful. 

I’m talking, that entire building — it felt ALIVE with you. 

It felt alive with this love for you. 

And it felt alive with this love for wrestling, that a generation found BECAUSE of you. It’s a love that the next generation, and the next, and the one after that will also find. They’ll find it in the work you’ve left behind … they’ll find it in the stories we continue to tell … they’ll find it in your legacy, and in your influence, and in your genius, and in your spirit. They’ll find it in how your memory — how the name Eddie Guerrero — is now forever sewn on the fabric of what this sport might become.

And I just wish I could tell you that, WeeWeeto. My big brother. My great rival. My true friend. I wish I could tell you everything. I wish I could tell you anything.

I can’t believe it’s been 20 years.

I’ll love you for the rest of them.

—Rey