I’m dangling out of a helicopter.
I’m 100 feet in the air, hanging there by a rope and harness. This is March 1998. The height of nWo vs. WCW era. I’m in the “Crow” Sting face paint. Usually, I’d be sitting way up in the rafters of the arena, brooding. Not saying a word. Then at the end of the show, I’d come repelling down from the ceiling to give the bad guys a proper greeting with my black baseball bat.
But this time is a little different. This time we’re in Panama Beach for a special Spring Break edition of Nitro, and there’s no rafters. There’s no roof. They put on the whole show at an outdoor beach club, right in the middle of all the Spring Break madness. So there’s no way that Sting is coming down from the heavens to haunt the nWo tonight, right?
Schiavone is selling it. Bischoff is selling it. Hogan is selling it.
He’s on the microphone, taunting the fans. “There’s no way Sting is showing up tonight, bruther.”
That’s right when the helicopter starts circling the ring. The wind starts to pick up, and everyone’s hair starts blowing. Bichoff literally flies out of the ring, and 10,000 people look up into the sky at the same time.
It’s a bird. It’s a plane.