**Credit for story goes to Flyin' Fury**

Tijuana, Mexico, 1984. -----------They pack the Auditorio--some 6,000 strong--wide--eyed and wondering what King Mystery will be wearing tonight. "New tights," was the buzz. "The mask...a new mask, perhaps?" some fans asked. "Who will he be tonight?" The mood in the arena was electric, inquisitive, as it was each Friday night when the main event featured local favorite Rey Misterio. The name befit the venerable grappler, for its English translation was "King Mystery."

Each week, Misterio assumed a new wrestling persona, tailoring a unique character’s costume with the ease and imagination of a clothing designer. Some weeks, a new mask was introduced...other weeks, new tights. His goal: perpetuate the myth, never reveal his true identity. But one fan knew the man behind the cloth veneer.

His name was Oscar Gutierrez, and Rey Misterio was both his wrestling trainer and his uncle. Tonight, as was often the case, Gutierrez shared the illusion his uncle cast like a master magician. He had accompanied Uncle Rey and Aunt Lilia to the city’s palace of sports auditoriums; he had witnessed his uncle don the mask, beheld the transformation from man to superhero.

Now, as the three stood in the building’s runway, a spotlight blared down on his uncle, rendering Misterio even more iconic. The boy smiled to himself. One day, he thought, I will wear the mask. I will carry on the tradition. I will feel the cheers. Scores of kids his age thought the same thing. But the boy was a step ahead of the wistful fans: He was already a wrestler.

Misterio saluted the frenzied crowd, proudly displaying the splash of contrasting colors in yet another new wrestling outfit. The fans were now drunk with emotion. He smiled broadly, but only his nephew sensed the joyful grin behind the mask.

"The mask," the crowd oohed and aahed. Suddenly, the audience rose as one, wild-eyed boys and girls broke through the aisles and raced to where King Mystery stood. They bore notebooks of the school variety, but instead of algebraic equations, the blank pages had been filled with the pictures and images of their favorite wrestlers.

"Sign my book!" they beseeched Misterio, one by one. One by one, they reached out cautiously, as if approaching a deity. One by one, they touched the mask, and King Mystery became just that--something beheld but not understood. Misterio, filled with the delight of Santa Claus on Christmas Day, obliged their heartfelt wishes one by one, as if each youngster had been oh-so-nice all year.

Oscar Gutierrez watched this surreal scene with a profound sense of awe. The butterflies were really flying through his stomach right now. A chill raced up his spine. I’m right in the ring with him, he thought. Minutes later, as his uncle strode majestically toward the ring, Oscar Gutierrez once again vowed that he would carry on the name of his beloved uncle. He would one day become Rey Misterio, Jr.

"Clang," rang the bell. The main event was about to begin.

Thirteen years later. Six years had passed since Oscar Gutierrez first donned the mask and assumed the identity of Rey Misterio, Jr. He had realized his lifelong dream of carrying on the proud tradition of Uncle Rey, had become WCW’s version of King Mystery.

On this day, on rare idle Saturday squashed into a busy WCW schedule, he stared into the bright face of the future--his 10-month-old son, Dominik. His son was just getting a feel of his world, formulating a picture of what transpired around the Gutierrez household. This was an exciting time for the 23-year-old wrestler and his wife; he was a champion in the ring and at home.

Here, no belt symbolized success--just the unconditional love of a toddler who saw no pretenses, no masks, no persona. In a couple of years, will he appreciate what I do for a living? wondered Oscar Gutierrez. Will he be addicted to wrestling as I was?

Dad peered into his son’s eyes and saw a lot of joy, a lot of love. I see a little angel, he thought. What he did not see was Rey Misterio III. But that didn’t matter--not yet, anyway. He had no obligation to perpetuate the Misterio wrestling name through another generation. The Man Upstairs would take care of things.

As a child, Gutierrez relished the idea of carrying forth his uncle’s name and reputation. It was a time-honored tradition in Mexico to keep the family name alive. Also, the prospect of one day teaming with Uncle Rey made Oscar Gutierrez resolve to succeed as a professional wrestler.

Gutierrez was schooled in San Diego, but he frequently crossed the border to visit his uncle, who lived in Tijuana, just 15 minutes away. From age seven, when he first saw Rey Misterio wrestle, Gutierrez world shrink to a squared circle.

He grew wistful. "When can I don a mask and be like you?" he asked Uncle Rey. "Start training," was the response. He did so joyfully. Nothing was better than being in the gym with his uncle and bouncing from rope to rope in the wrestling ring. When the training class was over, his uncle and a few of the other teachers opened up the first and second rope, creating a huge space. With Uncle Rey standing outside the ring, Gutierrez flew on the wind and dove through the ropes. He always landed ever so softly in his uncle’s arms. Most times uncle and nephew would giggle until it was time to go home. For this would-be wrestler, the giggle slowly transformed into a robust enthusiasm for the sport.

By age 10, Gutierrez was taking formal wrestling classes. The in-ring relationship between him and his uncle had become more serious. Even though Oscar was the smallest student in the class, Rey Misterio showed him no favoritism. "This is the sport you want to be in, so you’ve got to follow the rules," he explained patiently but firmly. The rules were a pain, Oscar Gutierrez knew, and they posed a major barrier in his life.

In Tijuana, one had to 18 years old before he could obtain a license to wrestle professionally. But by age 15, Gutierrez believed he was ready to take to the mat, even if he was just 5’1", 120 pounds.

He had trained with the best there was; now he was tired of the gym and watching wrestling on television. I want to show people I can do it. He would get his wish...sort of. Maybe the local authorities forbade underage athletes from wrestling professionally, but they couldn’t prohibit them from wrestling surreptitiously. At age 15, Oscar Gutierrez pulled on wrestling tights and participated in clandestine matches whenever they were available. But this was hardly Auditotio, and there was no maniacal fans begging for his autograph. The conditions were challenging at best, decrepit at worst.

The shows usually were held on residential farms, in the owners’ backyards, within arm’s length of goats, chickens, and a different breed of fan. The ring mats often bore holes, making serious dance steps an integral part of a wrestler’s repertoire. God forbid one combatant was tossed from the ring. If he was, dirt, rocks, and glass bottles served to cushion the fall. On a good day, 200 curious onlookers turned out; a bad drew just a handful of bored commoners. The pay? As much as $4 per outing.

But this was wrestling, and patchwork rings and frantically arranged matches did not daunt Gutierrez. They just inspired him to work harder. He donned a mask and took a wrestling name: Colibri, Spanish for hummingbird. This was an apt moniker, since the grappler was small and skinny and could flitter around the ring like a bird.

Oscar Gutierrez began to develop a wrestling identity and an unbending will to overcome any challenges thrown his way. And there were many to come. His wrestling career developed slowly, as did his physique.

Two years after dancing around tattered ring mats, Gutierrez got the break that would change his life and steer him down his ultimate career path. Local wrestling cards consisted of five matches, with a gift match thrown in.

By age 17, Gutierrez often wrestled in the gift match, or first match, well short of the main event. This dubious distinction irked his uncle, who trumpeted his son’s skills to every promoter who would listen.

Sadly, few paid attention. "Put him in the second match," Rey Misterio pleaded. One major promoter, Benjamin Mora, punctuated Gutierrez’ primary weakness. "He’s just too small." Undaunted, the two struggled onward.

Finally, Colibri received a few second matches. Then on night it all changed. Moments before Gutierrez’ scheduled three-on-three match, Rey Misterio grabbed the arena microphone and quieted the excited crowd. "Today, I want to introduce somebody," he stated. "Colibri is my nephew, and from now on, his name, Colibri, will no longer be used. I now authorize him to use my name, Rey Misterio, Jr."

Gutierrez was stunned. He had no idea his uncle was going to honor him on this night, to bestow the family name upon him. His career raced forward thereafter.

Proud to bear the noble family monogram, Gutierrez honed his game with a newfound gusto. No maneuver was too daring, no aerial tactic too dangerous. The once dubious major promoters began to take notice of his flamboyant and exciting style.

So did another respected Mexican wrestler, Konnan, who had befriended the younger wrestler a few years earlier in the gym. The relationship proved to be key, as when Konnan helped form AAA wrestling in 1992, one of the first wrestlers he invited to join the fledgling organization was Gutierrez. AAA was a boon for Gutierrez, who was now just 18. The organization afforded him the television exposure that would take him to yet another level in the wrestling ranks. he captured numerous titles during his three-year stay there. Better yet, he had the opportunity to team with Uncle Rey.

After a brief tour of Japan’s WAR and ECW, Misterio accepted an offer to join WCW in 1995. The visibility has served him well, and it has helped promote Mexican-style wrestling. "Right now people in America are excited to see Mexican wresting because it’s more entertaining," he says. "Now wrestlers like Rick Martel are doing things they never did because of the influence of Mexican wrestlers. They don’t want to be left behind."

Gutierrez is also confident that a smaller (he now stands 5’3" and weighs 140) grappler can hold his own against behemoths such as Hulk Hogan and Kevin Nash. "I don’t want to wrestle just the cruiserweights; i want to wrestle the ‘Macho Man,’ Ric Flair, people I can frustrate with my kind of work." If anyone is frustrated ring now, it’s his devoted legion of fans, who won’t see him wrestle for a few more months.

On January 24, Gutierrez suffered torn anterior or cruciate and meniscus ligaments when Chris Jericho slammed a toolbox into his left knee. Gutierrez began undergoing rehabilitation after surgery was performed to repair the damage to the knee. He has been anything by stultified by the unexpected hiatus, however. It is just another barrier to overcome. "Physically, rehab is probably the best part of my life," he says, "because at age 15, when I started wrestling, I have been going through everything: bad rings, bad wrestling, and bad weather."

These days Oscar Gutierrez doesn’t worry about falling through a ring mat or tumbling over the ropes to land on a bottle of scotch. Success saw to that. Success has also afforded him the opportunity to live life by his own set of standards, forged from The Rulebook Of Family Life. When Dominik reaches out to his dad, he touches his face, not a mask, not a mysterious action figure. If wrestling was the life force that developed his personality and soul as a youngster, family is the element that keeps him vital. "They give me all the love," he says. "They give me what I need; they bring me up from bad, when I’m hurt, and give me the push to keep going." They give him the strength to embrace the persona of Rey Misterio, Jr.

And when the self-confident wrestling personality is eclipsed by Gutierrez’ naturally self-effacing disposition, wife and son are there to help center him. When does don the mask once again and transform himself back into a superhero, Gutierrez knows he will have the support of another source: The Man Upstairs. "The most important thing is the belief in God," says Gutierrez, who was raised Catholic by his parents. "(God is what) keeps us going every day and makes us go through each day without struggling, getting through our problems, getting food for home, keeping us healthy. What I’ve got, I owe to The Man Upstairs." Question: Would The Man Upstairs agree with what He sees in the squared circle? With the fighting, the bleeding, the broken bones? "This is a career, and I’m still living in this world," he says, "and that’s because God accepts you for what you are. If you want to be a wrestler, God is helping you, and if things are going well and you’re doing okay, that’s because God is accepting you the way you are." With or without the mask.