Northern Wrestling Federation: Future Stars!
On Saturday, May 2, I ventured to Elmwood Place, Ohio and walked down a nearly-deserted Vine Street to an unmarked storefront. A woman standing outside said, “wrestling?” and I replied, “Damn right!”
(I probably said something closer to “um, yeah,” but if the wrestlers can engage in showmanship, so can I!)
The enameled cinderblock walls were dirty, the carpet needed a thorough cleaning, and the tin ceiling was rusted and peeling paint. So I immediately felt right at home.
One thing I remember from my kids’ indoor soccer days is that indoor sports facilities have a distinctive and unpleasant aroma, and this place—Bonekrushers training facility—was no exception! The odor of feet and shaving cream suffused the place and definitely added to the atmosphere.
Warlock, in black robe, black and red mask,and red contacts, looked spooky on his entrance but decidedly less spooky once he doffed the robe and revealed a black body suit with brown (?) flames on the side. We couldn’t help picturing the scene when he ordered it: “Sorry, hon, we’re out of red. Can I interest you in some brown flames? For a 25% discount?” Anyway, despite his moderately spooky appearance, Warlock got his clock cleaned by mustachioed Harry Portland.
The colossal Max Steel emerged and spent a long time jawing with the crowd. He was soon joined by a wrestler whose name I did not catch, but who was attired in high-viz vest, jeans, and a hardhat. “Keep an eye on him! He’s likely to bring out the rest of the Village People!” I cried, but no one in the crowd of 30 laughed. They can’t all be winners, I suppose.
Steel, who was easily twice the weight of his opponent, proved too much for the man (too much for the man), who probably wished he could leave on the midnight train to Georgia after absorbing a lot of punishment. So much punishment, in fact, that Unified Champ Pennsylvania Smith came out, his long flaxen locks looking perfectly conditioned, a nice contrast to the wet look favored by most wrestlers, bearing a folding chair to stop Steel from killing the hapless construction worker. The other members of the Village People were not in evidence. Perhaps they were in the navy.
A petite masked luchador named El Nino and his tag team partner Milo Fischer cut a promo which was interrupted by the arrival of evil James Cross and his two henchpersons, large, angry men, one of whom carried an Australian flag. This is my second Northern Wrestling event, and I’m still not sure if the guy is Australian or just has a fondness for Vegemite. A brief melee broke out and wound up with a Triple Threat Match with The Australian Guy vs. AJ Vest (Still not wearing a vest!) vs. the appropriately hirsute Dakota Wolf. At one point I encouraged AJ to hit the Australian guy "in the land down under," and again got no reaction from my fellow fans. Tough room! I cannot relay the outcome of the match because everything else was eclipsed when The Australian Guy I mentally referred to as “Crododile Dundon’t” grabbed Dakota Wolf by the trunks to try to suplex him and wound up giving him an atomic wedgie, transforming his trunks into a thong and baring his buttocks to the entire crowd. Not sure what you call that move, but here's hoping it doesn't catch on!
Cowboy Luke Larson cut a promo saying that there was one guy he really wanted to beat up—and said guy, Juicy Jesse Skye emerged! Dyed blonde hair, hot pink pants, hot pink sunglasses and pink and black boas. And some inexplicable face paint. See photo above!. He said he wanted to help Larson with his “juiciness” and placed a boa around Larson’s neck. Larson wasn’t too keen on this, but when the juicy one knocked Larson’s cowboy hat off, well, that was an accessory too far, and a match broke out. A match which Larson won decisively while Skye limped from the ring with the help of security, sobbing, “I just wanted to help him with his juiciness!” (I was with Skye on this one. Larson is clearly in denial about his juiciness deficiency).
We got a tag team match, with El Nino and Milo Fischer taking on and defeating...um, another team. Nino did a lot of throwing his hands in the air and shouting "Lucha!" which we definitely supported.
Royal Russel, King Nasty, a moniker that is less initmidating than just kind of icky, took on crowd favorite Denver Drake and thumped him decisively.
Crowd favorite Monjai took on Kris Demise, and Monjai looked like he was about to beat Demise when Warlock appeared at ringside and grabbed Monjai’s feet, allowing Demise to steal the victory!
Gunnar Graves took on Crazy Carl, and Graves’ size and weight advantages turned out to be unsurmountable for Crazy Carl, who does a fantastic job of looking haunted.
The final match featured Pennsylvania Smith vs. Everybody’s Homie Pompano Joe, and while Joe’s moniker would lend itself nicely to a deranged Parrothead gimmick, he instead is just a kind of gross and irritating dude. Smith won and retained the championship, and then a colossal melee broke out, with nearly every competitor from the night rushing the ring and beating the stuffing out of each other, leaving me to ponder when I had ever experienced this kind of entertainment bargain before! Perhaps not since the days when my friends and I would buy “top 6” tickets at Riverfront Stadium to watch the Reds play for three dollars and fifty cents, a bargain even in 1987!
Two things happened at intermission that warmed my cold little heart. One was that I was approached by the NWF’s “commissioner,” a big dude with a gruff voice who is surely a retired pro. He shook my hand and asked me if I was having a good time, something Marge Schott never did in all my years attending Reds games. (Thank God, as Marge was a racist and a chain smoker, which doubtless made her presence doubly unpleasant, but you get the idea.)
The other was this: the promotion was offering 5 dollar polaroids with your favorite wrestlers (none of the heels were in the ring, so my favorites were not represented, which was why I didn’t pony up for a photo. Also I was kind of embarrassed because you have to do it in front of the entire crowd.). A kid, maybe ten years old, went into the ring with his mom. The kid had some difficulty speaking and seemed to be dealing with some physical and intellectual challenges. His mom said she wanted all the wrestlers in the ring, and they all surrounded him, and Pennsylvania Smith gave the kid the championship belt to hoist above his head, and if you could have seen the way this kid was beaming, it might have melted your cold cold heart as it did mine!
Well, I’m off to take the Whos their Christmas presents (better late than never!). If I’m still here in Cincinnati on Saturday, I’ll be attending Thunderdome: the NWF’s 12-man steel cage match in Covington, KY. Will Tina Turner’s Ghost be a benevolent ringside presence? Will the ghost of Mel Gibson’s career be a malevolent ringside presence? Stay tuned!
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