In the roped-off theater of professional wrestling, you get two kinds of performers: the ones who glide through the curtain like they belong there, and the ones who crash through it, all heart, all thunder, and too goddamn stubborn to stay down. MaryKate Duignan Glidewell—Betsy Ruth, Rosie Lottalove, Andréa, and finally Sage Beckett—was the latter. A freight train with eyeliner. A hurricane that never got the main event, but always left debris.
She wasn’t a supermodel in a chokehold. She was the bruiser from the bleachers. And she hit the business like a middle finger in church—loud, unapologetic, and impossible to ignore.
Pinstripes and Punches: The Ruthless Beginnings
She started in 2007, trained under the boot and bark of Team 3D—the Dudley Boys in civvies—at their wrestling academy in Florida. That’s where Betsy Ruth was born, a face-painted bruiser with pinstripes and a backstory lifted from Babe Ruth’s ghost. Her gear screamed Yankees; her fists screamed Brooklyn street fight.
She wore her size like armor and fought like she knew her rent was due. She was big, bold, and damn near unmanageable—a storm system in boots. She came out of World Xtreme Wrestling like a battering ram, won the 2009 Elite 8 Tournament, and made it clear she wasn’t here for tap-outs and TikTok dances. She was here to hurt people and make you remember her name.
Wrestlicious and the Side Show Circuit
Glidewell took a detour through Wrestlicious, that neon disaster of ring rats and cheesecake gimmicks. There, she played “Sister Ophelia,” a character so absurd it made clowns weep. She managed the Naughty Girls—Charity, Faith, and Hope—which sounds like a discount stripper revue and wrestled in matches that looked like cable access fever dreams.
It was bad wrestling. But even in the muck, MaryKate stood out. Not for finesse. Not for fashion. But because she didn’t belong in the costume-party crap. She belonged in a fight.
Rosie Lottalove: The TNA Detour and a Broken Path
In 2010, Total Nonstop Action Wrestling gave her a shot under the name Rosie Lottalove. It was a play on size. On femininity. On every goddamn stereotype the wrestling business couldn’t let go of. She made her debut on Impact! by knocking out Madison Rayne after losing to Roxxi. A big girl with a big punch and a promise to take out the Beautiful People.
But wrestling is a cruel drunk, and TNA never figured out how to use her. She wrestled two more matches—one on Xplosion, one off-camera—and then vanished. Her name was quietly deleted from the company’s website like a typo in a love letter. Just like that, Rosie was gone.
But not before her first match left Daffney legitimately injured. Wrestling’s a business of stiff consequences, and MaryKate paid the toll in guilt and reputation.
Japan: Hard Landings and Happy Hour Beatdowns
In 2011, she flew to Japan where the matches are realer, the pain’s cleaner, and the crowds clap with reverence. There, she became Andrea Mother—an ominous name for a bruiser built like a war goddess. She pinned Kyoko Inoue in her debut and teamed with Aja Kong, a living monolith of women’s wrestling. They tore through Diana and Happy Hour Pro like sledgehammers.
But the years of wear and the miles on the knees started screaming. On June 24, 2012, she tweeted her retirement. Her body was broken. The fight had taken too much.
Return of the Bruiser: 127 Pounds Lighter and Meaner Than Ever
Two years later, she showed up again. Thinner. Meaner. Scarred and smiling. She dropped 127 pounds like she was cutting a bad relationship and came back to the indies as Andréa. Not a reinvention. A rebirth.
She worked SHINE, a promotion full of women who actually wrestled. No gimmick, no glitter—just punishment in six-minute bursts. Andréa was back to doing what she loved: wrecking people in venues where the crowd leaned in with cheap beer and violent expectations.
Sage Beckett: The Last Shot at the Big Time
In 2015, she got a WWE tryout. Passed it. By 2017, she was reporting to the Performance Center. They gave her a new name: Sage Beckett. Sounds like a poet. She wrestled like a linebacker with a grudge.
She managed Lana, wrestled at live shows, and clawed her way into the inaugural Mae Young Classic. Her opponent? Bianca Belair. Result? One-and-done. Out in the first round. Just another name in the bracket to most. But not to those who saw her. Not to those who remembered Betsy, Rosie, Andrea—the road she traveled just to get one televised handshake with destiny.
And then came March 8, 2018. WWE announced her release. No fanfare. No thanks for your service. Just another name on the cut list. The dream died quiet, as it always does.
She retired again. This time for good.
Legacy: The Wrestler Who Never Fit, So She Fought Anyway
MaryKate Glidewell never won the big one. She never headlined WrestleMania. But that was never the point. She was real in a business built on fiction. She bled in front of fifty people and roared like it was fifty thousand. She wrestled in face paint and pinstripes, in Japan and Kentucky, fat and skinny, booked and forgotten. She came back from injuries and weight loss, from gimmicks and silence.
She was too big for the role they gave her. Too loud for the corner they painted. Too damned tough to fade away without throwing one more elbow.
She didn’t get the flowers. But she planted the seeds. For every woman built like a warrior and told to “tone it down,” MaryKate broke that ground. She didn’t hug the fans. She hit like a bar fight and left you asking questions.
She was wrestling’s forgotten hammer. And she swung hard every damn time.
