After leaving Concordia and joining the McGill biology department, I was in a pinch. I didn’t know anyone, and had no time to meet anyone. After all, I had 66 credits to do in 2 years – not tough per se, but a task nonetheless. (On average, most people do 60 credits in 2 years). This time falls into somewhat of a “black hole” in my life. Few friendships were cultivated, nor was there much fun to be had.
My first year was horrid. I took 9 classes in the first two semesters, including a God-awful chemistry class that I later found out I did not have to take. I also took a basic Computer Science class which thaught me the basics of Java and computer science as a whole – a class whose knowledge I carry and use to this very day. The rest of my classes were the regular basic Biology classes, as I had to get 45 credits in Biology just to get out. That meant, in order to graduate, I would have to take 12 credits a term. (12 * 4 = 46. ). In my first year, I had to study Molecular Biology, Methodology in Biology of Organisms, Introduction to Ecology, Neurobiology & Behaviour, Cell and Molecular Laboratory, Developmental Biology, and Human Genetics Applied. I was an average student, only beating the average in my Computer science class.
It is a humbling realization, but despite my efforts, I couldn’t concentrate. I studied, but I would have preferred to mess around on the Internet. As a result of my parent’s insistance, I studied – only to lose out on the opportunity of a lifetime which took place during that era. The Dot Com boom was upon us, and I could have been a part of it. Instead, I was busy studying the intricacies of how different proteins interacted with each other, and how certain genetic material could produce certain proteins. In retrospect, I wasted my life – I should not have been in school at a time when so much opportunity was at my fingertips.
There were some classes which fundmentally altered my preceptions of reality. Neurobiology was an excellent course with 3 excellent professors. Professor Lefebvre, in particular, was a great man. A Jewish friend of mine once remarked that the professor once injected himself with a drug we normally used to immobilize animals, prior to studying them. He apparently was in incredible amounts of pain – and as a result, stopped using the drug. I regret that I could not have lived up to his expectations in me. Professor Nishioka was another great professor I had at the time, for Genetics. Developmental Biology was a horror of a course, in which I was the best student – except when exams came. I don’t know what went wrong. Even my TA was baffled. I suppose I just do not have the rote memorization skills needed for a course like that.
Still, if one good thing came out of that, it was that I made one good friend, who I will consider a friend until I die – my TA for the course, Milt. When McGill life was dragging me to depression, which it was apt to do, I could always go and talk to him about it. He was an American Orthodox, I was a Canadian Muslim – but we got along pretty well. (Not everyone was ethnically integrated so easily – for example, there was an Indian Hindu TA who was out to get me, but I don’t remember her name. Always a hassle when I had to work with her, one I didn’t have when working with Canadian born Indians). Milt and I shared a love of Pro Wrestling, and he would always chat to me about the latest stuff he had heard on lordsofpain.com. He even went with me to an Indy wrestling show when I was otherwise underemployed. Both of us shared somewhat of a, erm, mixed feeling towards our McGill fellows. Maybe it was the fact that we had both attended other Universities before, but he seemed to share my feeling that McGill was filled with cold, arrogant people. Come to think of it, it was filled with cold, arrogant people.
Between my occassional lab partner, Victoria, Phil Sanderson, an orthodox Jew, and a Serbian fellow whose name escapes me, I was literally a nobody at school. Just passing my time, waiting to die. After all, I didn’t drink and I couldn’t join in any parties that were organized. (“Don’t drink then,” some jackass is sure to say. Without alcohol, trust me when I say University parties are zero fun.) I didn’t want to be “initiated” into a fraternity. (Probably a good idea – McGill Hazing is a big story in the newspaper).
So I escaped, narrowly, into summer vacation. Depressed by all the academic problems I had (average performance = a problem to me), I should have taken it easy – but instead I wound up taking a 9 credit Japanese course. That, however, is a story for another day.
A new photo gallery for everyone to enjoy.
Guerrero was always one of my favourite wrestlers, especially in an era of steroid monsters and headlocks which bored the snot out of me. I saw him first in a WCW pay per view called “Collision in Korea” – a joint production with New Japan Pro Wrestling. The immortal Antonio Inoki had managed to secure a deal with the dictator of North Korea, Kim Jong Il, and certain WCW wrestlers were participating. However, Eddy was, at the time, out of favour and wrestling exclusively in Japan. During his bout with 2 Cold Scropio, Eric Bischoff commented that Eddy was not wrestling in America because of his temper. That was probably the most diplomatic way Bischoff could put it.
The truth was, Eddy was, at times, a drinker and a drug abuser Coupled with his fiery Latino temprament, he was an accident waiting to happen. And it did – with the end result that Eddy would hit the bottle hard, and eventually lose his job with World Wrestling Entertainment. He also almost lost his wife – the beginning of his near-redemption. Eddy became a born-again Christian and for the past 4 years, he had not touched any illicit substances. He had avoided the temptation, as was chronicled in the WWE-produced “Cheating Death, Stealing Life” video. (I hesitate to call it a documentary, because who trusts anything coming out of the pocketbooks of Vince MacMahon Jr.?)
After his return, Eddy had great matches, and was even the World champion. There were emotional moments, absurd moments, and pure stupidity more times than not. Then Eddy Guerrero died, possibly of a heart attack while brushing his teeth. (One of several ideas being floated). Let me reiterate that – he died of a heart attack at the age of 38. It isn’t genetic (no history of such diseases in his family) and it isn’t some sort of one-in-a-million flash of lightning sort of happening. Despite being clean, despite everything, the abuse caught up with him. Eddy now traverses to the Undiscovered Country, leaving 3 daughters and a hysterical wife.
What kind of idiot would follow in his footsteps now?
There are a lot of idiots in Independent Wrestling, but very few of them abuse drugs and alcohol the way Eddy did. Very few of them are interested in Wrestling as a career either. This is just another notch in the belt for a lifestyle that should have never been, and a way of living that simply has no place in a more image-conscious America.
Wrestling will be Roller Derby in 30 years. New attractions like MMA are already replacing it in Japan, and in the era of “Security Moms” and other such social hypocrites dictating policy, it might prove to be the beginning of the end of large scale professional combat sports in North America.