Rinari's Writing Sanctuary

Being the personal assistant to the chairman of the executive committee [1] of WCW should have had its perks like being able to see the talent up close and personal or even getting free tickets to some of the shows. No, life was not that kind to you. Unfortunately, you were treated more like his servant than anything else. With a clipboard in hand, you would jot notes at his meetings with stakeholders or help schedule appointments. Some involved very angry wrestlers who were wondering why things were being booked a certain way or what was going on with the creative talent. Questions that you honestly had no idea how to answer.

People thought you were just that; an ordinary secretary, but the reality is you had been working at the company for about a good 8 years, give or take. You had the position right when WCW bought out Jim Crocket Promotions and the National Wrestling Alliance. Let them think you were just a pretty face that didn’t know anything about the business.

All the men in the business were dead wrong though. In your tenure, you had kept a watchful eye on how things were being run behind the scenes; which wrestlers were getting pushed to being main events, mid card or lower carders. Booking wasn’t anywhere near your repertoire, but it was good to know exactly how to get a vibe on how certain wrestlers were feeling about the wrestling promotion to report back to your boss.

As far as anyone was concerned, shit got done; and that was because of your hard work ethic. Maybe you were a bit of an overachiever, but somewhere down the line in your eight years of working for the company, it felt like the company essentially became your baby too. If someone got too lazy doing the work to make WCW have a superior product compared to those other guys [2], you would have to make calls and have your boss chew people out.

The only interaction you had with wrestlers was almost slim to none.

Well, that slim interaction being with Sting.

For someone who became an overnight sensation following his legendary feud with the Nature Boy, Ric Flair, at Clash of Champions, Sting surprisingly maintained a very humble attitude. Rumor had it that he received a beating and a 'swirly' from Dirk Slater a few years prior, long before you joined, as punishment for being involved with one of Slater's ex-girlfriends/valets. [3] You weren't sure if it was true, but it became a sort of legend within the company. It didn’t matter how he got his humble attitude, he was pleasant to have small conversations with.

You discovered this firsthand one day when you had to deliver a message from the executive office to the arena. After completing your task, you turned to see what was happening in the ring and were star-struck as Sting launched himself into his signature Stinger Splash against his opponent. Given his tall and muscular stature, your brain struggled to process what you were seeing.

After he got the three count, he started a promo that you stuck around for. When he was done, you made your way to the backstage area with a cold bottle of water as an excuse to go inside and follow him.

“Hey, Stinger! You put on a great match tonight.” The blonde man turns around and gives you a grin. He gives a thanks before taking the bottle of water and chugs it all in one go. “So what brings you around? You never come by or even come to the backstage area. You tired from being holed up at the office?”

“Something like that.” You sheepishly smile. “Well, I had to give a message to one of the officials here from the executive office. It just so happened that I came by while you were having your match.” Of course, you had to comment about it. Why wouldn’t you?

What you say next not only catches him off guard, but makes him laugh.

“You were like a flying squirrel out there!”

“Really? A flying squirrel?” He arches an eyebrow at you.

“Yeah. Did I say something wrong?” You wonder if you had upset him, but instead, he gives you another of his boyish grins and ruffles your hair.

“Nope. But feel free to come around again when you’re off the clock.” He turns on his heel and heads to his locker room.

“Off the clock? Why would I do that?” You ask yourself out loud. What you don't realize is that your naive self was just a bit too loud for him to hear.

As he walks away, Sting shakes his head and says to himself, “That’s just adorable.”

Starting from that day, you would attend his matches whenever he was wrestling, impressed by his commitment and the great job he performed in the ring. His loud and vibrant personality always had an infectious charm.

Post-match talks began to happen more often as well, but your mind was trying to make you snap out of it, being intrusive at the most annoying times.

You should know better than getting close to the talent.

Aren’t you supposed to be working?

Are you trying to get fired?

Wait a minute. That last thought was most definitely a huge concern. Not only did that thought not help, but you were a bit privy to the rumor mill about Sting being a guy who loves to party following the wrestling matches. [4]

"Will we need to talk about something personal in my office?" Your boss asks. His voice snaps you back to attention, reminding you that you're at work and not meant to be lost in your thoughts.

“No, sir.” "I’ve noticed you’ve been a bit distracted lately and I can’t let that slide." You were both in the company gym called The Power Plant, where wrestlers would go during their downtime to maintain their fitness or to train new recruits for the business. As he scanned the roster of individuals working out, his gaze caught a familiar blonde head.

You knew exactly what he was alluding to.

"Unless you want to be reminded of our workplace fraternization policy and the chance of receiving a written warning."

You shook your head. "No, sir."

“Good. Come along then.” As you follow your boss out of the Power Plant, you miss a certain surfer wrestler’s gaze.

Sting was privy to a small part of the conversation. He knows the no fraternizing rule in the company policy that prohibits relationships between employees and talent. Wrestlers dating other wrestlers? That was always fair game. But a wrestler dating or caught with a WCW executive? Absolutely not.

Unless he was looking to be left without a job.

With a curse, he goes back to his workout routine to distract himself from that thought.

Maybe you should have been grateful that your boss was trying to save your ass from losing your job. After all, your paths weren’t really supposed to cross. At the end of the day, you were just a shadow in the company; nothing more, nothing less. Until September of 1996 came along.

During that month, the line separating your work from the wrestling industry began to blur. There was a line you were always advised against crossing, but something just didn’t feel right to you. The nWo had gone completely wild, assaulting different wrestlers who were under contract with WCW; declaring that a new world order is approaching. Sting and Lex Luger were in hot pursuit of Nick Patrick, the referee who had just been unveiled as a member of the nWo’s payroll. Upon getting into the police vehicle, things started to get really weird. You heard Sting’s voice in the limo of Ted DiBiase.

That’s strange. He’s not even booked for a match tonight. You thought. Then, you see what appeared to be ‘Sting’ come out of the limo. There was no way in Hell that guy was Sting, yet the commentary team was in a frenzy. Everyone was freaking out, so why weren’t you? “There’s no way that that’s him.” You whisper. You begin dialing the hotel number where he’s staying, which you know because you had to coordinate where the wrestlers were going to stay with your boss.

After a couple of rings, the phone picks up.

“Hello?” You’re genuinely surprised at his cold tone over the phone. The man was quiet and reserved, but never this harsh.

“Hey, it’s me. Are you watching this nonsense?”

You see the ‘Sting’ assaulting Luger while Hogan, Scott Hall, Kevin Nash, and The Giant are watching. There's a pause on the other end of the phone for a moment. He sounds concerned about what's going on in the ring.

"...Yeah, yeah I'm watching." “That’s definitely not you. You’re not that fat. You’re very lean from what I remember.” The commentary team on the TV is asking why Sting would do such a thing.

Despite the serious nature of the situation, it’s clear that you made Sting chuckle at that insensitive remark. However, his happiness is fleeting because the comments from the commentary table start to trouble him greatly, and this is a man who is generally not insecure.

Sting sounds more annoyed than confused. "Yeah, no kidding. You think I'm up there beating down Lex Luger? Like I'd do that in the first place." “Stinger, if I have to, I’ll go down there myself to Fall Brawl.”

Sting's tone changes to one of concern. "No, no, don't do that. It's not worth it, alright? I don't want you to get involved in any of this crap."

Typical of Sting. That’s why he’s the face of the company. You roll your eyes in response to his statement. “I’m not going to stand for it if the commentary team is going to slander your name. I am the only one here with the books that can clear you.”

Sting sighs heavily on the other end of the phone.

"I know you want to help, but I don't want you getting involved. This is my battle, not yours. Besides, they're gonna find out it's not me soon enough."

There is a brief moment of silence between the both of you.

“I might not know a lot about you, Sting, but I know enough to know you’re a stand-up guy. There is no way they can’t be convinced that it was you.”

The Four Horsemen – minus Sting – made you eat your words. As if tempting Lady Luck herself, the Four Horsemen are being interviewed and asked about who will replace Sting in the War Games match up.

As it turned out, they were all pure brawn and very stupid.

With each click of your heels against the floor, you hurry down the hallway, determined to interrupt the interview. With your clipboard in hand, you treated the thing like if it was gold; it held the documents that should vindicate Sting of their accusations. All the information was in there.

The sound of the door being opened grabs their attention.

“Just hold on a minute. Sting wasn’t there that night!”

Arn Anderson casts a suspicious look at you. “And who the hell are you?” He wants to say something more but bites his tongue.

You present yourself to the room, making sure to include your title and position within the company. "I have records that confirm Sting was not in the arena that night. He was at his hotel room." You don’t hear the cheers from the fans in the arena who are watching from the arena’s titantron.

“Really? Then why the hell was Sting attacking me that night?” Luger hisses.

“Uh- I.” You stammer. You don’t have an answer for him. No explanation.

"Why should we take you seriously? You’re just some woman in a pencil skirt and high heels who believes she’s significant because she’s the chairman’s secretary," Arn Anderson jeers. His remark causes Woman and Miss Elizabeth to glare at him with narrowed eyes. Does he even know who he’s talking in front of? The First Lady of Wrestling is going to definitely have some words with him later.

"Arn Anderson, did I just hear what I think you said?" A woman's voice screams from further down the corridor. You turn to the doorway to see a familiar blonde woman who recently joined the WCW roster.

Madusa?

She had just come from the other company not long ago, claiming that they lack respect towards their female talent. “This attitude is exactly why I left that other company and now I have to hear this crap here from you? No. You tell her that you’re sorry right now.”

“Make me.” He argues. Madusa gets close to him, ready to beat him senseless.

“Wait a minute. Everybody calm down!” Sting calls out from the doorway. He finally steps into the camera’s frame. All eyes are now on him. Luger and Arn Anderson seem ready to confront him, but all Sting asserts is that he had no part in Monday’s events. Luger repeats his doubts regarding Sting’s innocence, then looks over at you. “As for her? Well, she might as well be under nWo’s payroll. Look at how Nick Patrick started out. Just because she works for WCW doesn’t mean jack.” Your face visibly falls at that.

Before you can utter a word, Sting interjects. “If you can’t believe me, then so be it. I’ll see you in a while.” Sting leaves the room. In that instant, you opt to trail behind him, preferring not to linger near Arn Anderson.

“Why are they mixing me up in with Nick Patrick?”

“Don’t take it personal. They don’t know who to trust right now.” Sting explains. He pauses in the hallway, glancing back at you as you follow him. "They're all on edge. They're not thinking clearly.” When you catch up to him, you notice that despite his hurried pace, his shoulders are drooping.

His facade is cracking slightly right in front of you as he looks at you. There’s a weariness in his eyes that he tries to cover up. He has been let down repeatedly over the years. How much more can he endure?

You want to do something for the franchise of the company.

“Do you want me to wait with you until it’s time for you to head out?” Your voice makes him stand up straight again, his usual composure returning slightly.

“Yeah. I could use a friendly face right now.”

You watch tensely with him through the monitors as each wrestler eventually gets called into the steel cage. Then, the reveal happens. The fourth guy for nWo is revealed to be… Sting?  “That’s the imposter.” The fans immediately chant that they want Sting, knowing that it isn’t even him. The crowd is clearly unhappy with this development.

Sting's face hardens as he watches the fake Sting. "This isn't how it's supposed to be. They're trying to ruin everything I've worked for...” He turns to you, his eyes burning with anger. "I'm not letting them get away with this." He turns and walks away, leaving you behind as he goes to gorilla position. Once the countdown hits 0, he’s off down the ramp like a speeding bullet. The fans cheer, the commentators are confused and so are the four horsemen. And you? Well, you’re just glad that your friend is finally vindicated. Sting’s adrenaline is going as he’s beating up everyone in nWo, giving out Stinger splashes. After knocking down everyone, he then asks Luger if that entire display was good enough for him and does a gesture to tell him to stick it.

“Are you serious right now?” The commentary table is upset at this predicament as Sting walks out of the War Games, leaving Luger and the rest of the Horsemen to fend for themselves.

Sting walks back to the backstage area, breathing heavily after the intense fight. He's covered in sweat, but he's got a satisfied smile on his face. He wipes his face with his hand and looks around, finally spotting you. He walks over and gives you a tired grin.

"How'd I do?" He asks, still panting. "Great, as usual." You assure him. "The horsemen have to understand that they need you. It's wrong for them to treat you like this and expect for you to continue to help them."

Sting nods, still smiling. He's still breathing hard, but he seems to be calming down now. "You’re right. They don’t know what they’ve got until it’s gone. Besides, they need to remember loyalty goes both ways. I’m not just here to help when it’s convenient for them."

Then, he gives you a wink. "Thanks for being here with me. It means a lot." He turns and walks away, disappearing into the backstage area, leaving you alone with a flushed face.

Oh my god. I’m getting a crush on him. You realize in horror.

What you don’t realize is that your little conversation with him would set in motion things that would change the course of the company and his future.

Sting declares himself a free agent, rejecting all of his detractors, standing up for himself, and thanking everyone who has supported and trusted him. This situation complicates your job now because Sting has gone missing.

For a year.

A full year of dealing with the nWo’s antics. They nearly take all the gold; the tag team belts, the cruiserweight title, and now the heavyweight championship. Yet, there was no call or appearance from Sting. This meant that your boss kept breathing down your neck, wondering where his talent was. Desperate times called for desperate measures and you even went to Lex Luger, of all people, to ask where Sting hangs out.

“Hell if I know. Seems like Stinger just dropped out of the face of the Earth.” He tells you with a defeated look on his face. He called every single gym, even his house and no answer.

“You’re serious?”

“Dead serious.”

You think about his partying reputation from behind the scenes and ask him if he’s checked any of his hang outs. Lex Luger raises an eyebrow at your question.

"Hangouts?" He chuckles at that, "You mean bars, don't you? Yeah, I've checked a few of his usual spots. He's not there. Or at least, he's not talking if he is." He leans in closer, lowering his voice as if he's about to share a secret with you.

"Look, I know you're just doing your job, but if Sting doesn't want to be found, he's not going to be." You give him a thanks for trying to help, anyways. When you report the update to your boss, you get an earful from him.

"You're telling me that you've been looking for our biggest star for over a year and you haven't found hide nor hair of him? Are you kidding me?" He slams his fist down on his desk. "You need to find Sting and you need to bring him back here now. I don't want to hear any more excuses. Don't come back unless you have him with you or you're out of a job." He glares at you, waiting for your answer.

"Y-yes. Right away, sir." You stammer, heading out once more.

Sting is coping in the only way that he knows how; keeping a low profile while enjoying himself in his downtime. He's got a bit of a reputation for partying and he's not afraid to live up to it. In between hitting the gym and hanging out with friends, Sting's found solace in the company of women and the occasional glass of something strong.

But beneath those bright, neon colors of his costumes hid personal demons that only came out during troubling times. Times when he still tried to grapple with the pressures of his life on a professional and personal level. Hell, he’s been known to pop pain killers like the other guys to ease the aches and pains of his profession but ultimately, he keeps it all under control. For the past year, he's been trying to mask the pain, but deep down, he knows he can't keep doing this forever to fill the emptiness he feels inside from the constant doubt from his friends, loved ones, fans and even the employees of the company.

Things are looking bad when even the commentary team doesn’t trust you.

He takes a sip of his beer and grimaces, feeling the sharp burn of the alcohol. He knows that he shouldn't be drinking this much, but he can't bring himself to care. He's lost his direction, his purpose. He feels like he's been cast adrift, without a compass or a map.

You’ve been searching high and low for him, but everywhere you turn, there's no sign of Sting. You start to think that maybe he's left the city entirely, until you hear a rumor that he's been seen hanging out at a local bar. Determined to find him, you make your way to the bar. After asking the bartender, he just lets casually asks, “You mean that guy who looks like he walked out of a Marilyn Manson concert? Yeah. Can’t miss him.”

That doesn’t sound like him at all.

Nonetheless, you thank the bartender and head over..

Sting's sitting at the bar, nursing a beer and looking like he's a million miles away. You approach him slowly, almost not recognizing him with his new looking. You had grown accustomed to his blonde hair, but now it’s grown out and he’s left it in his natural hair color. The darker clothes take you by surprise as well. There’s no way it could be him, right?

Only one way to find out.

"Sting?" You say softly, trying not to startle him.

Sting looks up at you and he doesn't say anything. He's got a distant look in his eyes and he seems almost surprised that someone is talking to him. Not only is his appearance different but his demeanor as well. Gone is that loud and vibrant man who could command the room with his charm and charisma, replaced with a man who looks haunted. He seems to have lost the colorful spark that characterized him in the ring.

He nods slightly in acknowledgement but doesn't say a word. He looks like he's just going through the motions of everyday life, almost as if he's numb.

“What happened to you?”

Ending Notes: Yep. Sting isn't in a very good place right now. I based this off of how Sting has said in previous interviews that him acting silent when he transitioned to the Crow gimmick wasn't acting; he was genuinely depressed and was dealing with personal demons during that time period. You can check it out here on the Heel-Faith turn portion.

I won't be incorporating that part, but only bits that pertain to what I think would have fit with his character, anyways. If ya'll want to follow along as to what point I'm at in Sting's transition to his Crow character, it more or less will follow this video.

[1]: When I first wrote this chapter, I wrote it with J.J Dillon in mind because he was involved in not only Sting's storyline but many others but he wasn't the on-screen chairman committee chairman until 96 so you can imagine who it is during this time period before that. [2]: I figured during the Monday Night Wars, the WWF would be called something reviled in WCW so that will do.

[3]: I actually first heard of Sting being involved (allegedly) with a valet during a Dark Side of the Ring episode on Dirk Slater, and the article that dives into the topic basically turned the incident into an urban legend. [4]: Totally based off that trait from this clip during his Surfer Sting days.