Chavo Guerrero Jr. turns 40 today. He was one of my favorite mainstream television wrestlers for a while there in the 1990s. Later, connections to steroids, Chris Benoit, and his uncle Eddie Guererro later made him seem a doomed and haunted figure, but the man still wrestles.
In his heyday, as a good guy or as a villain, Chavo's macho self-confidence and volatility kept me watching World Championship Wrestling--back when it was owned by Ted Turner, post-Jim Crockett, pre-Vince McMahon.
Unlike some of his close contemporaries at WCW--Billy Kidman, Evan Karagias, Alex Wright, and Buff Bagwell--Guerrero exuded smoldering intensity and built most of his persona and story through his actions in the ring, rather than through costumes and monologues at the microphone--two qualities that made him, for me at least, hotter than they were, even though admittedly they had handsomer faces and harder bodies. The dark fire in this guy's eyes just eggs you on to fight him.