Months ago, there was a discussion on Twitter about Kenny Omega vs. Bryan Danielson, particularly in the context of Danielson’s career; there was a list posted, you’ve probably heard about it. I do not wish to rehash this debate, as one of my fellow Violent People has already touched on this in his own words, but there was this immediate dismissiveness in the responses that has stuck with me months later. In particular there was this idea that, god forbid, a Randy Orton match couldn’t possibly be considered in the same discussion as that Grand Slam 2021 bout.

This particular Randy Orton match is a TV match from December 2013, and is, in my humble opinion, maybe the best Monday Night Raw match ever. It’s truly a phenomenal piece of work that Simon has already written about at length if you’d like a more in-depth explanation as to why. The problem is that, unlike another all-time great Monday Night Raw match from the same year, this match didn’t attract much fanfare, both by the fanbase and the company itself. To many, this was simply Just Another Match, hurt even more by its lack of a definitive finish. To put it simply, it’s not a canonized WWE classic.

There are many factors that go into a match being canonized in WWE’s mythology, including but not limited to setting, timing, and availability. Shawn Michaels vs. Kurt Angle at WrestleMania 21 is the perfect example of this, as it took place on The Grandest Stage of Them All, in the midst of the peak of Angle’s popularity and smack dab in the middle of Shawn’s comeback run, and has been uploaded to the company’s official YouTube channel for years now. It doesn’t matter that these two wrestled a similar match again a month later on a B-Show PPV, it was this match that gets the Greatest Match Of All Time hype, and it’s not hard to see why that is.

Eddie Guerrero vs. John Bradshaw Layfield at Judgement Day 2004 is not a canonized WWE classic. 

It’s never going to be posted on WWE’s YouTube channel. It’s themes and level of violence do not mesh with what their vision of wrestling is and has been since going PG in the late 2000s, Dwayne Johnson be damned. To many people, the only thing notable about this match is the bladejob, and even then for contrite, and frankly boring, reasons.

But here’s the thing: this match is so much more than just a bladejob. Fuck the tired discussion about if Eddie should have bled as much as he did. This is one of the greatest matches of all time, with the career defining performance of an all-time great, and it should be celebrated as such.

This match, and by extension the feud in general, very easily could have been a disaster. John Bradshaw Layfield, or JBL, had only recently adopted a new persona as a brash, arrogant, loudmouth conservative scumbag following a career mostly spent as a midcard tag team wrestler alongside Farooq in the APA. It was, to put it lightly, a bold gamble to pair him with one of the company’s world champions at this point, and this match would make or break him as a top act in the company .

This would be Eddie’s second major title defense on PPV after winning the belt from Brock Lesnar at No Way Out the same year, and one could argue that he was tasked with an even more difficult challenge, helping to mold a career midcarder into the most hateable man in all of wrestling. 

The story here is also not overly complex. JBL, being the cunning businessman that he is, has succeeded in every venture but professional wrestling. He has earned his way to a title shot, and he’s not gonna let anything stand in the way of it. 

The hook here is when, after a match one night, Eddie brings out his family to celebrate. Layfield walks out smugly and attacks the champion in front of his wife, his children and his mother; he gets in the mother’s face, causing her to suffer a heart attack.

And what does the motherfucker do in response to this?

He blames Eddie for it.

As illustrated by the “Custody of Dominik Ladder Match” graphic that’s created a year after this, bringing in family for a wrestling angle can often run the risk of feeling cartoonish, or even offensive at its worst. However, the reason that this angle works is because, for one, the sight of seeing an elderly woman in imminent distress like this is utterly surreal, and for two, Eddie Guerrero during this time period is one of the most emotionally resonant wrestlers that there has ever been. The anger in his voice, in his mannerisms, are palpable; the tension in the air as he stares daggers into this piece of shit’s eyes before the bell rings could be cut with a knife.

JBL comes into the ring wanting to win a title; he leaves the ring wanting to survive.

Eddie unleashes hell on his opponent from the opening bell. The size difference here is apparent and could easily look unrealistic for the champion to be dominating the early part of the match like he does, but Guerrero puts so much effort and intensity into everything he does that you believe that he really could kick this guy’s ass. This isn’t just a title match to him now, this is personal, so when he chokes the big guy with a camera cable you can really feel the anger bubbling up inside him.

All throughout this first part of the match, JBL bumps and stooges like crazy. He cannot contend with the speed and intensity that his opponent is throwing punches, and it’s all he can do to keep his head above water. It’s not until an opportunistic reverse irish whip into the steel steps does the man get a second to breathe. It’s here where he finally takes control of the bout, applying rest holds so that this little bastard can’t build up any more momentum. His cutoff spots in particular are awesome, in particular a fallaway slam on the outside off a crossbody attempt that feels especially mean spirited.

Eddie sells so well throughout this heat segment, especially on a Three Amigos attempt that takes so much strain out of him just to get the 6’6 man off the ground. If the first part of the match is him trying to kill Layfield for revenge, the second part is him trying to claw his way back to that point, which transitions perfectly into its unforgettable climax.

After a comeback that leads to a ref bump, the two men take the fight to the outside where JBL cracks Eddie over the head with a hellacious chair shot. It’s not long after that Eddie pops up and unveils the grossest bladejob maybe ever; quite simply, he looks like a horror movie victim. His opponent, the irreedemable scumbag that he is, takes full advantage of this, punching at the cut with reckless aplomb, throwing the steel steps at Eddie’s face with no regard for his mortality.

It cannot be overstated how harrowing the visual image of Eddie Guerrero’s mere being is in this moment. The tone has shifted for cheering for the good guy to give the bad guy his comeuppance to praying that the protagonist makes it out of the movie alive, akin to a Texas Chainsaw Massacre flick. It is impossible to not feel something here as this man dedicates his plasma to the canvas; every movement he makes, stumbling around as if barely functioning, serves to generate the maximum impact on the viewer as a warrior clings to life in the midst of bloodshed.

And then the man starts fucking shimmying during his comeback.

It’s impossible for me to put in to words the way this moment makes me feel every time I see it, whether in video or GIF format. It’s the sort of incalculable thing that shows exactly why we all love this sport. It’s the kind of moment that absolute legends are made of, the shit that makes you pump your fist in the air, the thing that makes you break down in tears thinking about how this man’s life was so prematurely taken. It’s seared into my brain for eternity, and I’m forever thankful for it.

The finish, much like the aforementioned Orton/Bryan match, ends by disqualification after Eddie decides that he’s had enough and decks JBL with the title. Much like that match, there are people that would considered this to be a bad thing as it robs the fans of a definitive victor. However, and I cannot stress this enough, this is a fundamental misreading of what this match is trying to convey. This is not a match about a title, nor a match about winning or losing, but about hatred, revenge, and ultimately survival. Eddie Guerrero is not out there to pin JBL, he’s out there to physically destroy him for what the man put his family through.

It makes sense, then, why this match doesn’t really end when the bell does. Eddie continues to punch the big man in his face, he fights the refs off of him and hits him with the belt again, he takes a chair from outside and gets the sweet revenge he’s been waiting for this entire time, twofold. Eddie takes to the top rope and, still covered in his own blood and sweat, he hits the frog splash to send the crowd home happy. JBL wins the battle by disqualification, but Eddie Guerrero wins the war by sheer attrition.

To ask whether or not Eddie Guerrero went too far here is to betray one of the greatest performances in the history of the profession we all know and love. A thing like this should never be replicated, but also never be forgotten.