By the time Stephanie Sager transformed into Sassy Stephie, she was already elbow-deep in the absurdity of independent wrestling — a world where the venues smell like sweat and regret, and the paychecks often come in crumpled bills or a handshake and a lukewarm hot dog. But she wasn’t just there to make up the numbers. Stephie carved out a career the hard way: no daddy in the business, no reality show gimmick, just moxie, mascara, and a Midwest work ethic that would make a trucker blush.
Born in Akron, Ohio, in 1984 — the same year Hulkamania ran wild and the McMahons finally figured out how to print money — Stephie got her start not in the ring but beside it. In 2005, she was a DJ at a bowling alley (yes, really) when she was asked to ring announce at a local Ohio show. That’s right: her first wrestling gig happened because someone else no-showed. That’s indie wrestling, baby — where your dreams begin when someone else misses their Greyhound.
But Stephie didn’t just get a taste of the business — she took a bite. She trained under Jeff Cannon, threw herself into the Ohio scene like a woman possessed, and debuted in 2007 for Ohio Championship Wrestling during a women’s showcase. At 5-foot-3 and 116 pounds, she wasn’t the most physically imposing figure, but what she lacked in height she made up for in attitude. Sassy wasn’t just a name — it was a mission statement.
If there were ropes, a ring, and a crowd of at least fifteen people, Sassy Stephie was probably working it. Her early years were a tour of Midwest sweatboxes: Absolute Intense Wrestling, Jersey All Pro, even Ring of Honor TV tapings. Hell, she probably wrestled in every VFW hall from Akron to Appalachia. Somewhere in that stretch, Bobby Heenan would’ve called her “the Queen of the Potluck Circuit,” but that wouldn’t be fair — because Sassy could work.
In 2008, she stepped onto the national radar when she joined SHIMMER Women Athletes — the de facto big leagues for serious women’s wrestling before WWE figured out what to do with its female talent. Her early run was a string of losses, but in wrestling, you don’t always need the “W” — you need the look, the timing, the presence. And Stephie had that in spades. She eventually clicked with Kacey Diamond and Nevaeh, forming villainous tandems that could draw heat like a Trump tweet.
It wasn’t long before she turned heads in Women Superstars Uncensored (WSU), where she did what most valets-turned-wrestlers only fantasize about — she won gold. After slapping her way up the ranks, Stephie snagged the WSU Spirit Championship in 2011. Sure, she had a little help from Ivory (yes, that Ivory — the one who once wore a Right to Censor button with a straight face), but a win’s a win, brother.
Of course, being a champion in WSU is like being the best ping-pong player in prison: impressive, but the scenery still sucks. That didn’t stop Stephie from defending the belt against the likes of Rain and Amber O’Neal, putting on matches that left fans entertained and opponents sore. But Stephie wasn’t done — she wanted more violence, more chaos, more war. Enter: The Midwest Militia.
Alongside Allysin Kay and Jessicka Havok, Stephie formed a faction so nasty you’d think they were raised on Cornette promos and expired Red Bull. The trio wasn’t just a gimmick — they were the division. Together, they won tag gold, brutalized Mercedes Martinez and her crew in a War Games match, and ruled WSU like the prom queens of a haunted asylum. They even invaded NCW Femmes Fatales up in Canada, beating the tar out of maple syrup and politeness.
Now, if Bobby Heenan had been calling one of their matches, he’d have said, “Stephie’s got more attitude than a New York waitress on a double shift — and better punches.” Cornette would’ve gone off about how she was proof you didn’t need a bikini contest to get over. And both would’ve been right.
Stephie wasn’t content to stay in one lane. In Shine Wrestling, she teamed with Jessie Belle Smothers (yes, that’s Tracy Smothers’ offspring — somewhere, a rebel flag waved in approval). The duo called themselves “Southern n’ Sass,” which sounds like a rejected Dolly Parton album but worked like hell in the ring. They beat The American Sweethearts, sent them packing, and nearly took home the Shine Tag Titles before falling to The Lucha Sisters.
But beyond the titles and the factions, Sassy Stephie understood the wrestling grind. She was a lifer. Whether she was working Girls Night Out for AIW, cutting promos in Queens of Combat, or losing to Hiroyo Matsumoto in SHIMMER Volume 49, Stephie was always game. The kind of wrestler who could make a green kid look like a world-beater or stretch a vet just to keep her honest. The kind of worker promoters call when the card falls apart and they need someone to stitch it back together with wristlocks and wit.
By 2020, she added “podcaster” to her resume, launching Talkin’ Sass — the kind of show where real conversations happened, minus the WWE polish or AEW irony. Nevaeh was her first guest, because of course she was. Some people just bleed business.
Stephie’s life outside the ring is a patchwork of odd jobs and hustle. UPS worker. Broadcasting student. Participant in Fireball Run, which sounds like a game show for retired daredevils but is apparently a thing. But wrestling was always the through line. No matter the gimmick — Brenda Jones, Sassy Stephanie, Sassy Stephie Sinclair — she brought the same fire, the same sneer, the same stomp-to-the-face grit.
At 41, Stephie isn’t main eventing WrestleMania or starring in biopics on Peacock. But that’s not her legacy. Her legacy is in the busted lips of the women she trained, the smoky bars where she stole the show, the way she made 116 pounds of sass feel like 300 pounds of credibility. In a business that forgets its workers faster than it pays them, Stephie built something durable. Something real.
And if you ever hear Cornette screaming about how the business used to be built on “people who knew how to work, not just look good on a poster,” he’s probably talking about someone like Sassy Stephie — the kind of performer who made you care, even if you didn’t know why.
Because she had that thing. The sass. The fight. The scars to prove she meant it.