by Lex Luger
“I’m not going to do it.”
“Why aren’t ya?” Sting had always been ready to party before. I thought he was joking around.
By this time, everyone else had stopped talking and was staring at us.
Sting’s voice dropped, signaling me to leave it alone. “It’s a long story, and I don’t want to get into it now.”
I could tell that my best friend was serious. Everyone else was wondering what was going on between us. To ease the tension, I made light of it. “No problem, I’ll have yours, too,” I said, downing his pills and mine.
I couldn’t wait until we were alone, away from prying eyes and ears, to get the real story.
As soon as we got in the car to go back to the hotel, I asked him, “What’s going on?”
“I’m thinking of asking for more time off, to spend time with my family. Lex, I feel like I’m drowning in drugs and alcohol. I’m losing my marriage and my family.”
“Does that mean you can’t drink a beer or pop a few pills with me? I won’t tell anybody,” I said sincerely.
“I made a commitment not to.” He didn’t elaborate any more than that.
Of course, I thought Sting was just going through a phase and that, sooner or later, he would be back doing pills and drinking with me. I thought, He’ll break down; he’s my buddy.
It never happened.
With a new year came another round of contract negotiations with the WCW, this time for a three-year deal and considerably more money. And then something unexpected happened.
I was in Los Angeles, California, on January 30, 1999, for a match. I had gone to Gold’s Gym late in the day for a heavy biceps workout. Very early in the match, my opponent, Konnan, and I missed signals in the ring. He went one way, and I went the other. Suddenly, there was a pop, like a gun had gone off in the ring. It was so loud that the referee said, “What was that?”
None of us knew.
When the match was over, I knew that something wasn’t right about my left biceps, even though it looked normal. Nothing hurt, but I knew my body well enough to realize that something was definitely wrong.
When I got home to Atlanta, I consulted various local doctors, but no one had an answer.
It was time to give Dr. Andrews a call.
When I saw him in Birmingham, he felt my arm and said, “Your biceps tendon is gone. I’ll schedule you for surgery tomorrow.”
Normally, when a biceps tendon snaps, your biceps muscle rolls up. But not in my case. The muscles in my forearm were holding my biceps in place, which is why the injury was nearly undetectable, stumping the Atlanta doctors.
It marked the first time in my thirteen-year wrestling career that I’d ever missed a match due to injury. I had been in probably close to four thousand matches, something I took great pride in. For me to be sidelined was big! Dr. Andrews said that the tendon needed at least four months to heal.
In many ways, it was perfect timing for me to be injured because the nWo Wolfpac story line had run its course and was winding down. When I came back, I planned to be in the best shape I had ever been in.
I did miss my after-match buzz, though. For the first time, I began to have a few beers and sneak pills at home before dinner, something I had never done before in front of my family. No one liked it, but my eight-year-old daughter, Lauren, was the most vocal about it.
“Alcohol isn’t good for you,” she’d say.
“Dad works hard,” I’d tell her, “so it’s okay for me to have a few beers.” I teasingly nicknamed her the “beer police.”
Out of the mouths of babes. But I wasn’t heeding Lauren’s warning.
It was time for a new story line for Lex Luger, one that I was familiar with from years before: The Narcissist. The inspiration was the introduction of tear-away athletic pants, a favorite apparel of professional basketball players. The pants, combined with a tear-away tank top, became my new costume.
I liked the tear-away costume, especially since it would give me the opportunity to again showcase my body, this time as a heel.
“Why don’t we have one of the girls tear off your costume?” someone said.
“Yeah, why not have Miss Elizabeth do it?” suggested one of the bookers.
Having Elizabeth Hulette, who was considered the “first lady of wrestling,” as my valet seemed to work for everyone. She had started in the business with the WWF in 1985, so she had a long history and appeal with the fans.
To create hype for the fall premiere, Elizabeth and I were filmed at a local funeral home, with me lying in an open casket and her dressed in black, mourning my death. (Many fans have asked me whether it was creepy being in a casket, but to be honest, it didn’t bother me at all.)
On September 27, 1999, at the Philips Arena in Atlanta, Elizabeth walked onstage, dressed in a black trench coat and mourning veil. And then, out of the shadows, I appeared, back from the grave. It was the “rebirth” of Lex Luger.
Because of this new story line, I was now around Elizabeth more often. As can happen in any working relationship, the more time you spend with someone who has the same background and interests as you do, the more you get to know each other and can begin to enjoy each other’s company. One day, early on, a friend of Elizabeth’s mentioned that Elizabeth had a thing for me. Although it was intriguing, I didn’t think very much about the comment at the time.
Not long afterward, I found myself involved in a full-blown extramarital relationship with Elizabeth, something I had vowed would never happen to me. I had always thought that messing around with someone at work was a toxic situation. So much for that self-declaration.
At first, I thought we were being discreet. After all, she lived in Miami, and I lived in Atlanta. Still, it wasn’t long before people began asking me directly if I was having an affair with Elizabeth. I vehemently denied it.
“I’m a happily married man,” I’d say. “We work together, but, no, we don’t sleep together. We’re strictly professional.”
It should have been a big red flag to me when Elizabeth told me that she was moving to Atlanta. My good friend, Scotty Steiner, immediately saw where this was headed.
“That isn’t cool that she’s moving to Atlanta,” he cautioned me. “She’s got her eyes set on you, buddy. She wants to break up your family. That’s going to be a disaster for you.”
“No way. That isn’t going to happen,” I assured him.
In my mind, everything was under control.
When Elizabeth started showing up at my Main Event Fitness gym in Marietta with some of her friends, I took her aside.
“We can’t see each other in Atlanta. This is where I live. This is where my wife and kids live,” I explained. I rationalized that it was fine in work-related situations, but this was getting too close to home.
“I understand,” she replied.
But the rumor mill wouldn’t stop buzzing.
By late 1999, word about Elizabeth and me had finally gotten around to Sting. We were at a pay-per-view event, eating some catered food in the back prior to the match, when he confronted me.
“Hey, Lex, what are you doing, man?” Sting asked.
“What are you talking about?” I said, acting as if I didn’t know what he meant.
“You and Elizabeth,” he shot back.
“Oh, don’t worry about it,” I said.
“No, I do worry about it,” he said. “I do worry because of Peggy, Lauren, and Brian. C’mon, Lex. You’ve got three people depending on you at home. What are you thinking?”
“Don’t you worry about me, pally. There’s plenty of ‘The Total Package’ to go around.” I will never forget the look of disbelief on Sting’s face when I said that. His jaw dropped, and he was temporarily at a loss for words.
That was okay with me. I didn’t want to hear any more. I jumped out of my chair and quickly walked away.
How dare he lecture me! I had heard that Sting’s brother was a pastor and that Sting had become a “born-again” believer. I
had no idea what that meant, but I was angry. We weren’t hanging out anymore. He had stopped doing the things we used to do together and going to the same places we used to frequent. He had gone religious on me. I felt like I had lost my best friend, and I was mad.
More and more, I did believe that I was “The Total Package.” What had been a role for me had begun to work its way into my psyche. It was becoming my life.
Each and every morning, the first thing I did when I got out of bed was stand shirtless in front of a mirror, admiring myself and flexing my muscles. But it didn’t stop there.
Before I’d get in my car, I would always stop and check out my reflection in the tinted windows of my Porsche. I loved what I saw so much, it was hard to tear myself away.
On a couple of occasions, when different friends shopped with me, I’d abruptly stop in front of a store.
After I had done this several times, someone finally asked, “What are you looking at?”
“Something incredible in the window.”
Yeah, I was looking at something incredible in the window all right: me. I enjoyed looking at what I believed to be a perfect physical specimen.
From the meticulously coordinated Adidas and Nike sports outfits, to the custom-made clothes, to the specific color highlights I had running through my hair, to my bronzed tan, everything had to be perfect.
It all fit into my master plan. Although I loved my job, I had always seen professional wrestling as a means to an end. I planned to use my wrestling platform to launch a chain of Main Event Fitness gyms around the world. I would develop my own nutrition line and become the poster boy for a healthier lifestyle for baby boomers. In the wrestling world, I would be like Magic Johnson, Michael Jordan, and George Foreman combined—someone who would build a business empire after his sports career was over. I was convinced that the land of milk and honey was never going to stop flowing.
As the Monday night wars continued, WWF talent on Raw—such as Triple H, Shawn Michaels, the Undertaker, “Stone Cold” Steve Austin, and a new superstar, The Rock—were surging ahead of Nitro. To counteract this, the WCW had enticed Vince Russo to leave the WWF in 1999 as “head writer” and become an idea maker for us. In 2000, Russo and Eric Bischoff created a fresh stable of wrestlers—The New Blood—who began feuding with the established stars, dubbed the “Millionaire’s Club.” It was traditional in pro wrestling for established stars to help promote and validate new, exciting talent, endorsing them as the stars of tomorrow. Unfortunately, for whatever reason, the fans weren’t buying this story line the way we had hoped. Meanwhile, the WWF’s ratings continued to surge.
In January 2000, AOL purchased Time Warner, which had acquired Turner Broadcasting System (including the WCW) in 1996. Behind the scenes, I had heard the rumor that the powers that be at AOL-Time Warner considered professional wrestling to be the black sheep of the company—and if there was any dip in our ratings, we’d be off the networks.
My suspicions were confirmed at a huge get-together at Turner Field after the announcement of the sale. This elegant catered lunch was a chance for all the top executives and top advertisers to reveal the long-range vision of programming for TNT and TBS for the decade to come. I had been invited to be there, too, to sign autographs—probably because we were still doing pretty well in the overall ratings. A lot was said that day, but pro wrestling was never mentioned.
When I got home, I told Peg that professional wrestling wouldn’t be part of the company much longer. I believed the corporation was waiting for just the right moment, and we’d be gone.
As our ratings continued to slide and Vince’s WWF ratings continued to rise, that moment came. We were sold to our competitor in March 2001. Vince McMahon had it all. He had won the Monday night wars.
Most people were shocked at the news. It was an incredible opportunity and a brilliant business transaction for Vince. He now owned almost all the archived material from the world of professional wrestling, along with most of the WCW talent. What he didn’t have was the WCW large-contract talents; wrestlers like me weren’t a part of the deal. We were independent contractors who had negotiated multiyear guaranteed contracts with AOL-Time Warner. The dream matchups that the fans had been anticipating wouldn’t be happening anytime soon. The following year the WWF changed its name to World Wrestling Entertainment, Inc., shortened to WWE, which is its name to this day.
As for me, I thought the merger was fabulous. I came up with a new five-year plan for 2001 to 2006. For the next two years, I would be fully paid under my guaranteed contract, so I could focus on the development of my fitness and nutrition business. By not having to travel, I could stay home and focus on my training and eating—and hopefully put on about thirty pounds of solid muscle. I was excited! Just when the fans thought The Total Package couldn’t get any better, I would be bigger and better than ever for my return to wrestling, ready for one final three-year run. I felt it would cap off two decades of wrestling excellence, leading to the launch of my fitness and nutrition empire.
In the summer of 2001, Peg and I decided to enroll our son, Brian, in Pace Academy, a private school on the northwest side of Atlanta, not too far from Main Event Fitness. He was developing into quite the high school basketball player. As a freshman in public school, he had started on the varsity team. By the end of that year, he was already six feet five and growing. We thought sending him to Pace Academy would be the best for him both academically and athletically. Peggy and I decided to rent an apartment for him close to campus so we wouldn’t have to make the commute to school every day in the legendary Atlanta traffic. I would stay with him from Monday through Thursday, then we’d both return home to Sugarloaf for the weekend.
These new circumstances gave me more family time, as well as focused time at the gym—which also meant more time with Elizabeth, who lived near the gym. How convenient.
It also gave me time to work on my blossoming drug and alcohol consumption. Why not? I didn’t have to punch a time clock or go to work anywhere. Before eating a nutritious breakfast, I would spike my OJ in the morning with a little vodka and some pills to start the day off with a light buzz. I would then get caffeined up for my grueling midday workouts at the gym, celebrating afterward with a few beers and pills with Elizabeth to catch another light buzz before I ate. All of this led up to the big buzz in the evening. Since Brian wasn’t getting home for dinner until seven thirty at night, that meant I had a long happy hour. You deserve it, I’d say to myself. You’ve worked hard all these years. Why not celebrate my success?
That also meant developing my passion for spending money.
I remember stopping at an ATM to withdraw a couple grand so I could maintain my daily cash stash. I happened to glance at the balance on the receipt. There was over $700,000 just sitting in my checking account. Make more, spend more.
I was finding more creative ways to spend the money that was coming in.
One Christmas Eve I was doing some last-minute shopping in a jewelry store in Roswell, Georgia. It was after closing hours, but the store had stayed open for one other customer—Atlanta-based R & B crooner Usher—and me.
We nodded at each other but didn’t really talk much as we scoured the expensive merchandise. It took me only an hour to drop about fifty grand in there. What fun! When it came to buying stuff, I felt like it was Christmas year-round.
The small hole that I had created in the fire wall between my family and my secret life was getting increasingly larger. The fact that my business was close to Elizabeth’s apartment was a great cover. I certainly did spend time at the gym training and checking on the business side of things, but I also made time for Elizabeth. However, we weren’t being as discreet as we had been in the beginning.
Sometimes after my midday workout, when I knew Brian was at school, Elizabeth would stop over at the apartment, and we’d catch a buzz together before eating. One afternoon, I heard Brian’s key in the door, and my heart raced. Why is he home early? I scrambled and rushed E
lizabeth into the closet in the spare bedroom where I slept.
I tried to act nonchalant, until Brian told me that he didn’t have practice, so he was home for the rest of the day. Oh, no! To calm my nerves, I started catching a light buzz. If worse comes to worst, Elizabeth will have to stay in the closet until Brian goes to bed, I thought.
A few hours later, I suggested to Brian that we should get some carryout for dinner, hoping he’d go with me. He did. While we were gone, Elizabeth quickly slipped out.
After that close call, I admonished myself for being so careless. I vowed to be more cautious. That didn’t last long.
We started off 2002 with a big birthday surprise for Brian. He was turning sixteen, and I had the perfect gift waiting for him in the garage on New Year’s Eve—a beautiful black Escalade, topped with a giant red bow. At the stroke of midnight, I opened the garage door. It was a wonderful moment for all of us as we celebrated together.
February 14, 2002, was a day that would haunt me for years to come. Elizabeth had asked me for a ride to the nearby Range Rover dealership to drop her car off for some work. Before we left, she surprised me with Valentine’s gifts. I left them sitting on the kitchen table, thinking that I would stash them when I got back in a few minutes. Brian was at school, and Peggy and Lauren never stopped by the apartment during the day, so it seemed safe.
Unbeknownst to me, while I was down the street with Elizabeth, Peggy stopped by the apartment with a surprise for Brian and me—a special Valentine’s dinner she had prepared for us. Instead, she was the one who was surprised. Elizabeth’s purse and her gifts to me were in plain sight on the table.
Whatever suspicions Peggy might have had over the years about me and my infidelity, the evidence was suddenly right in front of her eyes. I was irrefutably busted.
On the way back from the dealership with Elizabeth, my cell phone started ringing over and over again. It was Peggy. I knew something was wrong. I didn’t answer the phone, but waited for it to go to voice mail. When I listened to her message, my heart was in my throat. Peggy was calling from the apartment. What are you going to do now, Lex? I thought.
