The Curse of Sting

The inspiration for this post came from March's FDF. It was all about the Police - the 80's rock band, not the group of civil servants who have also been referred to as "the Cops", "the Fuzz" and their personal favorite, "Pigs".

I loved the Police. No. That is an understatement. I LURRVVEDD the Police. My bedroom when I was 13 years old was totally covered in posters and cutting from Cream and Rolling Stone Magazine. I had everything they ever recorded, including some stuff that may get me a little of the ready on Ebay! Ever see a 2 mini-album version of Regatta de Blanc? I didn't think so. Most people haven't.

Central to my love of this band was my love for Sting. Yes, let retching commence, however, in my defense, remember the 20 year old Sting ... blonde, blue-eyed, talented, broody with a soft, yet pebble-dashed high class English accent. He was my world from the tender years of 10-13 when a early developing Pog was very, very bored with the boys in her grammar school and longed for the days when blonde, rockstar princes such as Sting, whisked her away from the dodgeball playing, nose-picking freakazoids which peppered her world! So, Pog made a deal with God. It went something like this...

Pog: Please God. I will never marry until I meet Sting so at least I know what perfection in a man is and I will have at least been in the presence of my only true love.
(Secretly, I hoped that upon meeting me, Sting would fall madly in love with me and whisk me off - somehow the horse was there on the occassion. Or at least he would ask me to go on tour with him...one or the other)

Well, by the time I hit high school, at 14 and turning the corner to 15, I was over my everlasting love of Sting. Why? Simple. The boys in high school were older and better looking and were real. Eventually, "the Police Shrine" as my parents called it, came down and were replaced by high school things. I continued to attend Sting concerts long after the Police had disbanded but my tastes in men changed too. I am no longer partial to blondes. Sting is a bit skinny for my liking and posh English accents turn my stomach now that I have heard the music of Irish brogues. I marvel at the women, who at my age, still scream for Sting as if they were 13. I feel a bit sorry for them.

Ok Pog, but what about the curse? Well, I never did meet Sting but apparently, God as held me honor bound to the committment I made that I would not marry (despite my best efforts) until I did meet him. I have been trying for an audiance for ages - I even told this story to his light man after a concert in Boston - just to break the spell and get me out of this contract!

I still love the Police. I am no longer in love with Sting but if anyone knows him, or knows someone who knows him, or is just really good at getting the personal emails of the rich and famous, let me know. I will plead my case with him and perhaps, just perhaps, he and I can address the higher authorities of fate which are at work here.

My future depends on it!