NWA: Championship Wrestling (Kingsport, TN) - December 25, 2004

(This review of the above-named show was contributed for inclusion in the third Confederate Mack Heart Punch Newsletter.)

First off, abandon everything you thought you knew about Southern independent wrestling. There used to be a time when the professional wrestler was feared and respected, because he looked like a legit hardass, and this was back in the days when the average professional wrestler was a legit hardass, ‘cause after football & jail, ain’t much else a barrel-chested, tobacco-spitting, child-support-neglecting motherfucker can do with his life, but by god, he can pretend to beat someone’s ass, even if it means having to beat a motherfucker for real. Nowadays, if it isn't some gorilla looking musclehead that probably can't wipe his own ass without a rag on a stick, it's short, stiff-kicky little mongoloid fuckers who, when they take an Irish whip, have to put one arm up to catch the top rope and keep from falling out of the ring, although they'd probably just flippity-flop to the ground and land on their feet and the internet fuckers that took the goddamn bus to catch this wonderful show that they passed up a chance at pussy to see, well those smart motherfuckers will just clap and clap, and chant and chant, and everyone can go home feeling like the planets are in line.

Well, I'll be the unpopular one and say it: Fuck anyone who learns wrestling in a “school.” Fuck anyone who can’t fight their way out of a parking lot riot because they just beat the hometown hero. Fuck anyone who can spit off the name of any move done by some wrestler of Asian or Mexican descent, but can't name at least three former World Class champions. And motherfuck anyone who says that a wrestler can't do a piledriver anymore, because that's the realest move, reserved for the realest wrestlers. And of the realest Southern territories to run wrestling consistently, Kingsport and the Tri-Cities area would rank very highly. Should any smart acting motherfucker that steps on a bus bound for some “internet hot” (which is < “real-world hot”) wrestling organization to see some anorexic little girls in spandex flip over each other for forty minutes, should this asshead watch a mid-80s tape of Southern States Wrestling and question even one fifth of Beau James rocking the mic and handing out the ass whoopings, you have the right to open-fist backhand that sucker, because he needs some old school learning, I don‘t give a damn what Edge has to say in his little book, because fuck wrestlers that know how to write.

A little history, in as much as I know it: Southern States Wrestling has run in the Tri-Cities for almost 14 years, starting in a small hodunk, podunk, “hey them there” town called Fall Branch. Later, Beau James, promoter/wrestler for SSW, moved the organization to Kingsport, rocking the local Armory, as well as local channel 5 or 13 or whatever. Some of Beau’s protege’s, Tony & Ricky Givens, broke off to form New South Wrestling (“Old School, New Class”), taking much of the newer talent with them. This was about where I came in, exactly two years ago - my first NSW show, and first Tri-Cities show entirely, was on Christmas night 2002, where I saw an incredible display of everything that makes wrestling great for me:

1) kayfabe: I was met at the door by “NSW Chairman” Marty Ricker, who explained to me that, ahem, “the commissioner of NSW has forbidden any of the wrestlers to use their entrance music tonight and even attempted to shut down the show” ... only to have a friend of mine with friends on the inside come in and tell me that there was some confusion about the time of the show, so the guy that owned the ring headed back home and they couldn’t reach him. Then Ricker says, “Yeah, well, the commissioner has been trying to shut the show down.” Sell that story, my shilling brother, you sell that motherfucking story!

2) psychology: The hottest match on the card that night was an Eric Darkstorm vs. Josh Cody Falls Count Anywhere (my favorite) classic bout that moved the crowd and had all kinds of swankness, from their brutal tour around the Armory, to Darkstorm slapping on submissions and footnoting each with a casual, barely-loud-enough-to-hear-in-the-front-row “I got this one off a tape from Japan,” and for a second it’s almost as if he’s talking shit to Cody, who would ultimately win with a flipping STO from the top rope through a table. The only thing that could have made the match better would have been a pinfall in the parking lot snow.

3) stiff beats: When you think stiff, no doubt Japan comes to mind, Flair bleeding from his rubber tits after a Benoit assault, or Stan Hansen clotheslining an opponent he can barely even see. But for my money, one of the stiffest matches was Super Destroyer vs. Justin Sensation. In what can only be described as fan interaction at its fullest, Destroyer took requests from the crowd on how to beat the living hell out of Sensation, who sold every move like he was being shot. Destroyer won with a power bomb request from the crowd, and then we urged the heelish Destoyer to continue to do heelish things, which included chopping the shit out of his opponent, even while he had him in an over-the-shoulder backbreaker.

4) hard goddamn work: I didn’t mention that 5 matches were held, and 10 men worked their asses off, for a crowd total of eleven people. And those eleven people (at least one of them) walked away knowing that they were entertained. Later, when NSW folded, the Givens brothers were given the reins of SSW by Beau James, who had his eyes on other territories. Even after running a weekend long tribute to the “king of Kingsport” (I didn’t even know Kingsport was a monarchy), circumstances kept Beau from leaving the area. So, he retained the rights to SSW, and Tony & Ricky were given the option to restart their own brand ... and Championship Wrestling was born. After a healthy relationship with NWA: Blue Ridge, CW was given the opportunity to align themselves with the NWA to become ... yep, NWA: CW. And now, two years later, this is where our story begins.

Match 1: Jowad Wayne/ Tim Baldwin vs. Clay Conners/ Nick Hammonds
Tonight’s card is held under the old WCW Battle Bowl rules. The matches will be between tag teams of randomly chosen partners - “friends can become opponents, and enemies can become partners.” Tim Baldwin is out, and the crowd’s chanting “faggot” before he even hits ringside; maybe it’s the pink boa, or the pink tights, or the hair knotted in the front like antennae (all the better to channel the hallowed spirit of Adrian Street). He’s rocking the mic with a cat named Jowad Wayne, and while I don’t think they are in fact affiliated in the basic storyline of life that wrestling lays before me, the way that these guys are clinging to each other, I ain’t so sure.

Out comes the heroic Clay Conners and Nick Hammonds. Nick Hammonds who, in a surreal split of kayfabe/shoot, approached my brother-in-law prior to the show and starts talking about the guys behind the scenes and what to look for, then, seeing me, says, “I’m just hoping I can make it past my first match and hopefully meet (NWA:CW Heavyweight champion Ray) Idol for the belt.” I sit back, confident in the fact that I had just been carnied.

The match cements for me what I like about the Battle Bowl style, when booked right: basically, four singles matches held in the context of a tag team bout. Hammonds locks up with Baldwin, the latter of whom gets his homo spots in early. Then, Hammonds and Wayne have a shot to gel into a little man-to-man, then Conners vs. Wayne, and then Conners vs. Baldwin. Really, this match is the fluffer to the porno performance that watching wrestling is, and nothing really eventful happens, with the exception of some god-awful tomakaze into a facebuster used by Baldwin for a pin attempt on Hammonds. My belief is that moves that don’t look like they’d make you the alpha male in a parking lot fight don’t belong in wrestling, and the facebuster is one of them.

The faces win in a way that I don’t remember, even one day removed, because I don’t take notes on wrestling shows, I just watch ‘em.

Match 2: The Freak/Adam York vs. Bryan Wayne/ Wayne Adkins
Adam York, a/k/a Big Daddy used to be just a generic big man with a manager cutting his promos. Once he ditched the mouthpiece and formed the Bombers with hetero life partner Thorn, the mug stepped his game up big time in the past year. The Freak, on the other hand, is upon first impressions just another guy in a weird getup playing a crazy gimmick. He screams, acts a fool, and plays up the crowd in delightfully heelish dick ways.

Out come local hero of the insane gimmicks, Bryan Wayne, a/k/a Mr. Happy, a/k/a Playboy Bryan Wayne, a/k/a/ Beyond Normal Bryan Wayne, a/k/a Bubba Vader, a/k/a the White Kamala; his partner is the former Justin Sensation, Wayne Adkins, who honestly could do with not turning down a few free biscuits now and then, but his size is definitely an asset in selling offense for bigger opponents, if for nothing else. Bryan Wayne cuts a pre-match promo stating that the match will be on his terms, a “Beyond Normal” match, which I’m guessing is the same as “extreme,” “hardcore,” “Raven’s Rules,” “bunkhouse,”
“Chicago/Harlem/L.A./Atlanta/Texas street fight” rules. Wayne presents Adkins with a Christmas present that suspiciously looks like a chair. And like myself, when presented with a DVD-shaped gift, when he opens it he pretends to be surprised. I was praying for a “It’s what I always wanted” from Adkins, but it was not to be. Even a “I already had one, I hope you kept the receipt” would have been nice.

The match is pretty standard, although as much as I like Wayne and Adkins as wrestlers, and even as individuals outside the ring - watching Bryan Wayne interact with fans is a trip; you haven’t lived until you’ve seen him smoking between matches, signing autographs for kids and saying, “Don’t smoke, kids, it’s bad for you” as smoke billows out of his mouth into their shiny happy faces, making you wish that like a Truth commercial, it leads to a rise in underage smoking - this match is all Freak/York. Well, except for the ending.

The Freak is a pure independent pleasure to watch live. For the sake of the rubes, let’s say he works a heel comedic style a la Jim Carrey (of “In Living Color,” not of countless movies where he plays a rubberfaced dickhead). He incorporates comments the likes of “Ooh, this is a big one, he’s so strong,” while backing the severely undersized Adkins into the corner with ease; dropping a Sylvester The Cat impression in making fun of the rustic referee (“Thphuffering thphuccotathsh”), and, as the building turn by Adam York commences in every tag-slash-chop to the chest (“That’s one I’m gonna owe ya, York”); the crowd eats it up. Highlight of the match is not any particular move per se, but rather the moment when Freak executes a hard hiptoss to Adkins, who sells the pain; this Freak of which I speak gets up, smiles & says “Let’s see that again in slow motion,” then flips on his back and goes into a spot-on impression of Adkins’ agony. Heel comedy is gold, motherfucker.

Alas, York & Freak lose, but not in the fans’ hearts. Two things come out of the match: York is slowly edging out the local heroes like Josh Cody & Shane Matthews as my favorite Southern wrassler to watch live, and the Freak is destined for facehood; this latter point is driven home by the post-match beatdown by York to the Freak. In a hilarious moment of “shoot comments that aren’t intentionally shoot comments,” York attempts to apply a Styles Clash-type maneuver, but the Freak is a bit larger than the move will allow; as York attempts to hook the second arm and fails, the Freak blurts out, “This sucks.” What, the move or the fact that a perfectly good heel gimmick is about to get watered down in the mire of facehood? Amen brother.

Match 3: Chris Gilbert/Alyx Winters vs. Tim Baldwin and Mike Cooper
Gilbert & Winters can’t even make it to the ring without being at each others throats, as the drama is at an all time high. Winters is a current superstar, with a lot of Rob Van Damesque skill and none of that guilty aftertaste; the guy knows his shit about selling. Gilbert, I haven’t seen before but he looks like he has potential.

Baldwin is out again with Mike Cooper, for kayfabed reasons I don’t understand, but I, nor the fans chanting “faggot” all over again, don’t really need to. Mike Cooper, a/k/a Mad Dog, a/k/a the Shooter, is a pure technical beast. It was before my time, but I understand that he wallowed in the muck of being a prelim bum for a long time in Southern States before branching out to other local indies; so extensive was his losing streak at that time, the theory was that the Asian lettering tattooed on his back read, “Place mat here.”

Now, no slight to other guys in the match - Gilbert is apparently just out to sell the betrayal to Winters later in the match, and Baldwin already earned his cheddar tonight - but Winters and Cooper in the ring together are pure gold; none of the occasional awkwardness that some can expect from Southern indy matches, no apparent miscommunications. Everything gels at a very nice pace between the two, and it makes me think that a singles match between them would be worth a four hour drive from my hood in SC to the mean streets of Kingsport, TN. With a title on the line, to make it sweeter, of course.

Alyx Winters, following the refusal of a tag from Gilbert, wins with a frog splash. And he’s got an attractive baby’s momma and a son that looks incredibly like him, so he’s truly the real winner of the night.

Match 4: Robbie Cassidy/Thorn vs. Tony Givens/Tracy Smothers
Robbie Cassidy, one half of the tag team champions, and Thorn, one half of the heel team the Bombers, come out to the mixed reaction from the crowd. What do we do? Cheer the hero or boo the villain?! I’m confused; although Thorn, in a surprising moment, points to a plainclothed Adam York and says loudly and proudly, “That’s my tag team partner right there,” and gives him a big thumbs up. Weird.

They’re followed by Tony Givens & Tracy Smothers. Givens is ... for sake of comparison, think Sonjay Dutt, in addition to the other half of the tag team champions; Tracy Smothers is motherfucking Tracy Smothers. He’s splitting the difference between being the hero that these bucktoothed, unwashed masses can cheer, and being the guy you love to hate, picking on a guy with Down’s Syndrome sitting in the front row. What a dick.

The match progresses as normal, the 2x2x2x2 formula working perfectly, but the money moment is when Cassidy & Givens hit the ring. They’re tag team partners, WHAT ARE THEY GONNA DO?!?! Answer: beat the shit out of each other. But all that changes when Smothers cuts a deal with Thorn to turn on Givens & Cassidy midway through the match, which sets up an interesting twist to the standard “watch your back, because your enemies now your partner and your friend is your opponent” formula, as each man is now fighting the other.

Unfortunately, the sudden introduction of time announcements kills my expectation for a definitive decision to this matchup. When I hear the first “Five minutes have gone by,” I’ve already heard this joke before, and can tell you the punchline: the match went to a fifteen minute time limit draw (although the timekeeper‘s ability to tell three minutes from five is somewhat suspect). The decision on the referee’s part that all four men advance to battle royal main is not met with much fan approval, and a small “five minutes more” chant breaks out, led by the guy with Down’s Syndrome.

After the match, Tony Givens gets on the mic and tries to cut a promo on Tracy Smothers. I say “tries to” because he doesn’t make it past “This isn’t Smoky Mountain Wrestling,” when a fan shouts, “You’ve got that right,” in the most unintentionally hilarious moment of the night. Givens catches the comment and is done; you can actually see everything that he had to say scoot right out of his head, and he heads to the back, while the fan is left saying, “But I was just agreeing with him.”

Side Note: Heavyweight champion Ray Idol and Super Destroyer got a bye to the Battle Bowl main event, which is now going to be held in a Royal Rumble style, as if this show doesn't have enough complexity in its layout.

Clarence Clippenback/Danny Ray vs. Beau James/Rob Knight
The storyline here is that, apparently, referee Rob Knight was cost his job by heel manager Clarence Clippenback, a 300 lb old guy who calls himself the “official sex symbol of the new millenium” ... SMELL THE COMEDY. Clippenback, I’ve never been able to stand for long, simply for his adherence to the same old shuck-and-jive of calling the women in the crowd “fat cows” and distracting the referee by accusing the most portly of the herd of “looking at my sexy butt.”

I question Beau James’ logic of having a referee as his tag partner, because from what I know of the wrestling, a referee goes down hard to an errant forearm, so in theory a body slam would kill him. James teaches Knight the basics of wrestling mid-match, instructing him on the proper way to execute an arm twist, then it occurs to me that Knight is wearing a ref’s shirt like, you know, the referee, so I’m hoping that they capitalize on the possibility for shenanigans on this one. An aside: Rob Knight works for the Johnson City Golden Corral. Heel miscommunication costs the Clippencrew the match. Smell the turn! Super Destroyer is out to question Clarence’s motivations.

Main Event: Battle Bowl, Royal Rumble style
At the expense of even trying to go through the who-came-out, who-got-tossed, I’m just going to tell you that Alyx Winters won the Battle Bowl Rumble by eliminating Super D (as the masked Destroyer is affectionately referred to) after Clippenback held down the ropes and Alyx put Super D over the top. This sets up the main event for January 22 as Ray Idol vs. Alyx Winter for the NWA:CW Heavyweight title. Not a bad little match to look forward to, and if there’s a decent undercard then definitely a show I’d make a trip to see.

After the battle royale, Super D, with help from Mike Cooper, beat down Clippenback. Givens & Cassidy came to the ring to stop the Destroyer and Coop from breaking Clarence's leg and the four went at it until Beau James came to the ring and ran the heels off. Out of nowhere, though, Beau turns on Givens & Cassidy - WHAT DOES THIS MEAN?! - and Super D, “King of Kingsport” Beau James and Mike Cooper take over on Givens & Cassidy with Wayne Adkins, Clay Conners and Nick Hammonds coming out to help. Problem is, they get down by the three, while Tracy Smothers comes to the ring with SSW shirts and hands them out; I tried to get Smothers to throw one to me, but that would have left them one short and that might have meant that Coop wouldn’t have gotten one.

The beatdown is sick as shit; stiff, brutal and utterly horrendous in a good and satisfying way. Coop nails a fisherman’s buster from the top rope to Conners; Destroyer hits a chokeslam-spinebuster from the top to Tony (his brother, incidentally ... “it’s a Givens family Christmas”); and Beau nails Hammonds with a sick forearm that would have sent my ass to the hospital, and I feel no shame in saying it. Noticeably absent was Ray Idol, the champion of this fine organization, I noticed; interesting ... Beau gets on the mic and talks about SSW being back to take down the "kids" in the back and renew east Tennessee wrestling tradition. Beau, Super D, Smothers and Coop leave through the front exit. The fans are shocked; I mean, dead silence shocked. One small girl wails like her folks just told her there’s no Santa Claus because they’re poor and can’t afford shit. Broken bodies, blood everywhere, and yet the fans all still clamor around to get pics with their heroes. Weird.

Ultimately, a really good show. I’d advise to anyone looking for NWA:CW action look no further than the NWA: CW website around January, when a “best of 2004” DVD will be available. But don’t review it, ‘cause reviews cheapen the love of the wrestling like nothing else.

Match of the night: Alyx Winters vs. Mike Cooper - This being a subsection of the tag match around it, I would pay high dollar to see these two meet up again, and provided this SSW “invasion” angle runs a decent course, and should Alyx win the Heavyweight belt, this could make from some really good matches.

Star of the show: The Freak - I hate that he turned from a dickish heel, because pandering to the fans makes one soft and watered down. Hopefully, a fresh take on the clowning hero will emerge and he’ll retain an element of sinister purpose that makes the villains infinitely more interesting than the heroes, and the heroes more appealing when they have skeletons to hide than when they’re squeaky clean. We’re Americans, we aren’t living unless we live in fear that our heroes may one day turn on us.

Moment that stole the show: The man-sized raping of NWA:CW by the SSW crew - Hands down, when you make children cry, you’ve sold me, man. When even the forearms make me glad to be a wrestling fan, you’ve got shit that if you sold it in bottles, you’d make a fortune.