WWE, AEW: 3 moments of Chris Jericho being the hottest mess

Long before AEW, in WWE, Chris Jericho was pro wrestling incarnate in a string of wild antics and ridiculous storylines.

It’s been roughly three weeks since the Longhorn Steakhouse happened to us, the collective wrestling fandom. Since then, former WWE Superstar Chris Jericho has gone on to open for Judas Priest with his metal band Fozzy. He’s also hosted an episode of America’s Got Talent and won the main event of AEW’s debut Dynamite episode on TNT on Oct. 2. In the event that you were in a mild coma, allow me to recap the Longhorn Steakhouse incident:

Chris Jericho, somewhere in between a little bit of the bubbly and a limo ride to a steakhouse chain, lost the AEW Championship. You know, the very first one in the promotion’s history. Police reports were filed, memes were made, t-shirts were printed. As fans continue to wonder what, if anything, was a work, the entire history of pro wrestling is the better for it.

I was thrilled on perhaps a deeper level than others. You see, I am a lifelong Jerichoholic. When I was maybe 10-years-old, I attended one of the first WWE’s live shows at a proper arena in my hometown. After adults rushed the barricades and prevented me from giving a respectful pat on the shoulder to the Hardy Boyz, I realized I would have to be faster, smarter, and more determined to give my respects to Jericho.

I stood on my absolutely garbage folding chair and sprinted across the entire row like I was going to qualify for The Floor is Lava at the Summer Olympics. I got to the final chair, my hand less than a foot away from my hero…

And the chair snapped shut on my leg.

I fell to the ground.

Hard.

My place as a mere mortal against the demigods that were pro wrestlers weighed me down as my body slammed into the hard concrete floor. Jericho stopped. It was like those commercials where Bret Hart gave a child his sunglasses. Was my moment now? Would my hero and I exchange a beautiful moment? Would I absorb his powers from an emotional equivalent of that enchanted ball in Space Jam? Would he tell me to believe in my dreams or give me some token of appreciation?

No.

Chris Jericho looked at me, a broken and potentially seriously injured child. He pointed. He laughed. And he moved on.

Legend.

And with that here are three classic moments of Jericho being an absolute mess and making it work.