The scene takes you back to grade-school gym classes — sneaker soles against hardwood courts, a lingering hint of sweat and the morass of bodies against a backdrop of beige tile. All the claustrophobic activity of a Hieronymus Bosch painting pulsates through Fairfield, Ohio’s UAW Hall. Thirty minutes to the opening bell and it’s nearly standing-room only at the Northern Wrestling Federation’s annual NWF Rumble.
For many attendees, NWF’s weekly shows are a ritual. The die-hard fans shell out $15 in advance for VIP tickets, which ensure a spot at one of the wooden folding tables that surround the ring. Cans of grape Sunkist and nacho trays appear uniformly throughout the front row, which is in turn surrounded by the non-VIP masses — curious locals, teenage goths and hip 20-somethings in graphic T-shirts who sport the gear of other small wrestling promotions, many of them international. Some wear NWF’s own merchandise. An official shirt reads, “The First, The Best.”
The league operates on a much lower budget than its more well-known and lucrative counterparts like the WWE (Word Wrestling Entertainment) or Ring of Honor, but the same melodrama and wrestling moves you’d be able to see on television are still on display. Touring the Tri-State area, besides Fairfield, the NWF brings its intimate shows to venues in communities like Covington, Ky. and Wilmington, Ohio.
That’s what’s so crazy about these shows. Not far from where you live, costumed faces (heroes) and heels (bad guys) are delivering hilarious theatrical monologues, performing death-defying dive-bombs off the top of steel cages and duking it out for bragging rights, yet you’ve likely never heard about it.
While by no means an expert, I’ve always respected “pro wrestling” for its combination of art and sport. Whenever WWE Raw or Smackdown comes to Cincinnati’s riverfront arena, I’m there. But it’s the more micro sense of community binding the wrestlers and fans that keeps me coming back to the NWF’s events, a sensibility not far removed from the DIY mentality that helps a Punk scene organize its shows.
What grabs me about the Rumble isn’t just its surprisingly large attendance — which falls somewhere between 300 and 450 people. It’s the overall magnitude of the event, so ambitious that it feels too big for the UAW Hall’s cozy confines.The NWF is as transportive as any great stage production. An emcee wearing a tuxedo hypes up matches and future events as Alien Ant Farm’s “Smooth Criminal” oozes from a trebly PA system. The wrestlers don costumes that are usually exaggerated enough to contain their larger-than-life personalities. And, most importantly, the in-ring emotion is raw enough that you can really feel it.
When you’re seated about 20 feet from the ring, you understand how real wrestling is, even with its theatrical flourishes. When a wrestler dives from the top rope or tosses an opponent over their shoulder, the force of impact makes the whole gym quiver. When title-holder Lexus Montez, the self-proclaimed “Prince of Sport,” throws camo-clad challenger CM Lotus into a ringpost during their bout, Lotus’ forehead spills real blood. Though the in-ring drama may be hyperbolic and exaggerated so that the emotions translate from any distance, there’s nothing fake about the physical toll a match takes on a competitor.
“Everyone thinks that you punch your hand, you know, or the mat’s a trampoline,”
says Titan, NWF’s current overall champion, known for his signature gladiator mask (the same worn by underground rapper MF DOOM). “But it’s real. I may have never been seriously hurt, because I’m smart, but I wake up every day feeling it. It’s like I’ve been in a car accident.”
The night’s main event — the titular Rumble — pits 30 NWF affiliates against one another in a battle royal style match.Each minute, a new, randomly selected challenger enters the mass of bodies, each
trying to eliminate the other by tossing them over the top rope. The winner earns a golden ticket that allows its holder a free chance to fight for a title of their choice —even Titan’s.
The match is like a living, breathing organizational chart, leading each of the league’s feuds and storylines to converge on one point. It’s tough to understand without context, so the seven traditionally formatted matches that precede the main event offer a welcome primer on the players and the league’s lore.
Highly Functioning Dysfunctional Family Values
“You’ve got to be yourself, but turn it up to a different level,” says Josh Adams, taking a short break from an intense practice session. “In the ring, I’m me, just turned up to 100.”
Even here, at the BoneKrushers National Pro Wrestling Center in Elmwood Place, the volume and vehemence are turned up to the max. Since the NWF began in 1995, the facility has served as the hub for all behind-the-scenes activity, led by league commissioner and industry veteran Roger Ruffen.
A pair of trainees who haven’t yet made the official NWF roster volley improvised insults and grunts as they grapple in the ring. When you’re close enough to the action to pick up the muttered trash talk and technical prowess, the sport is not unlike a Shakespearean sword fight, if the parries and lunges were swapped outfor suplexes. Sustaining the drama is as important as nailing the fundamentals.
Jay Donaldson, a seasoned pro who acts as one of the practice leaders, intervenes.
“Always be big,” he reminds the students.
Donaldson is noticeably slighter than his wrestling peers. When he’s on the canvas, it looks as if your next-door neighbor climbed into the middle of a WWE match. But his experience and in-ring wisdom give him a commanding presence, as he tosses opponents twice his size with relative ease.
“This is the first thing I do when I take a hit,” he demonstrates, clutching his lower back and grimacing after tossing himself onto the mat.
A sign directly overhead reads, “NWF. TAKE PRIDE… OR GET OUT!!” Another, across the room, invites fans to “JOIN THE STARS OF NWF AND SAY NO TO DRUGS.”
‘Hollywood’ Adam Swayze and his agent Gideon Weinstein wait ringside for their chance to practice. During live events at the UAW Hall, they play the part of a cocky B-list celebrity and his devoted handler, respectively. At BoneKrushers, though, they’re fans. Here, though Swayze’s hair remains bleached blonde, he leaves his bubble gum pink suit jacket at home in favor of a tank top repping the Bullet Club, New Japan Pro-Wrestling’s notorious faction of foreigners. Weinsten’s wearing an “I Only Listen to the Mountain Goats” T-shirt, which he says is often mistaken for merchandise from the Blue Mountain State TV series. He assures me it definitely refers to John Darnielle’s beloved Indie-Folk band (whose Beat the Champ was a professional wrestling- themed concept album), not the fictional football team.
By the time the three of us dip into a back room to chat, the duo has fully transformed into their in-ring selves, channeling their curated personas.
“My job is to give Mr. Swayze roles,” says Weinstein, his Brooklyn accent tightening. He does most of the talking for his client, who hunches in a steel chair, hands clasped and bathed in the glow of a vintage Sprite machine.
“Big budget films,” the agent continues. “A lot of his movies get released in Thailand, that’s where we do a lot of our work.”
“Hey, not just in Thailand,” Swayze interjects. “We do some in Spain and Portugal.”
As heels, the men aren’t strangers to conflict. Their entrances invite hatred, often taking the form of disses aimed at opponents, audiences and the entire state of Ohio. Weinstein talks most of the smack, demanding attention with his signature clapperboard in hand. He uses the terms “schmuck” and “broad” in place of actual pronouns.
Swayze’s list of recent adversaries include Big Mama, who eliminated him during the Rumble, and Brody Cormick, who is rarely seen without his Milwaukee Brewers jersey and metal baseball bat.
“Cormick and I were in a triple threat match a few months ago, because— for whatever reason—he thought he was the No. 1 contender for the NWF world heavyweight championship,” Swayze says. “He wasn’t. I was. So after whining to Roger, he let Brody into my match with Titan. Unfortunately, things didn’t go according to script, as my people say. Titan beat me — pinned me, 1-2-3.”
Unfortunately for Titan, the match dealt so much damage that he was carted off on a stretcher, which Swayze elbow-dropped from the ringpost en route to the backstage area in a grisly turn of events. Cormick exacted his own revenge on Swayze a few weeks later at NWF’s Thunderdome cage-match
extravaganza, obliterating Weinstein’s clapperboard in a few swift swings.
“I don’t really like wrestling him, to be honest,” Swayze says. “He kind of smells.Not that good to look at, like yours truly.”
Also no stranger to villainy is Lord Crewe, member of NWF tag team champions The Crimson Mafia and another prolific trash-talker. He’s not afraid to disparage those who heckle him — even audience members. “You might want to get a hat with a top on it,” he shouted from the ring to a balding, visor-sporting spectator at Thunderdome. “It’s doing you no favors.”
He’s one of the NWF’s more Stygian figures, covered in tattoos, a black Thrash Metal jacket and a large mass of facial hair.
He’s also one of the roster’s newer additions, though he’s brimming with potential. Aside from his NWF title reign, he’s a member of Paris, Ky.-based Prime Time Wrestling’s tag team Social Injustice and he completed a recent training stint at New Japan Pro-Wrestling’s dojo in Los Angeles.
“It’s really a full-time commitment,” he says.
Aside from the BoneKrushers practices, which take place twice a week from 6-8 p.m., coming up in the world of indie wrestling takes determination. Newcomers are required to help with security, all wrestlers help set up for matches and many roster members tour the area to participate in other promotions. That’s on top of making sure you’re in good enough shape to look the part of a wrestler.
For Crewe, getting to entertain a crowd makes the effort worth it.
“I love getting to amplify my personality and show who I really am through my character — getting a reaction out of people,” he says.
Pompano Joe, one of the longest-serving members of the roster, has wrestled for the NWF since its first show in Fairfield nearly 15 years ago.
Sharing his name with a seafood eatery on the Florida coastline, Joe is known for his trademark in-ring humor. His catchphrases like ”Homie don’t play that” and “Who’s everyone’s homie?” are printed on his official merchandise, and he’s seldom seen without his signature prop: a boombox radio he carries into the ring for each match. It often doubles as a weapon.
“I started (the boombox) thing about a year ago. We were up in Dayton, and we had what’s called a ‘house party match.' There, anything goes,” he says, sipping on a post-show Natural Light beer. “It’s a house party, so I brought a case of beer and a boombox out to the ring. People liked it, and I thought I’d stick with it. I already dance anyway.”
Inspired by Eddie Guerrero, Bobby Heenan and Bret Hart growing up, Joe respects the NWF’s commitment to classic wrestling action.
“A lot of independent promotions nowadays get away from what made classic wrestling good. A lot of it doesn’t make sense,” he says. “Here, everything always ties in to each other; there’s a solid, good show, and it’s classic. There’s not anything super over-the-top: the federation is ’90s-style wrestling.”
Across the facility, Big Mama sits at a desk, filling out a spreadsheet. League commissioner Ruffen, wearing an “I <3 Pro Wrestling” T-shirt, also fills out paperwork in the makeshift office, while occasionally making his way to the ring to dole out advice to trainees.
The two are getting married later this year.
“The NWF is a second family to me. I’m working on my wedding list, and out of 150 people, 100 of them are wrestling people,” Big Mama says.
Wrestling three or four times a month, Big Mama is one of the roster’s more traveled members. She reigned as the champion of North Carolina’s Professional Girl Wrestling Association for six and a half years and has worked with Tennessee’s Xtreme Wrestling and Akron’s Ohio Championship Wrestling.
“As a little kid, I’d watch wrestling on TV all the time with my brother,” she says. “I decided that I wanted to be (WWE star) Chyna and press-slammed my brother off my bed. And then wrestling was banned at our house.”
Though she’s worked with a diverse range of organizations in the past, the NWF is her favorite. The roster is largely native to Cincinnati and the emotion is raw.
“They focus a lot on homegrown talent,” she says. “You have a lot of companies that’ll go out and get wrestlers from all over. Here, you’ve got local guys who really come from Cincinnati. And behind the scenes, once you get involved, it’s a brotherhood and a sisterhood.”
NWF champion Titan, who helps BoneKrushers trainees learn the basics on the facility’s astroturf surface, says that the camaraderie is deep, and a little complicated.
“Just ask Adam Swayze if wrestling’s real,” he says. “We were running a storyline in Fairfield not too long ago. The whole day, everything was fine between us, but the moment we got into the ring, it’s real. We get back (from the match) thinking, ‘Man, I didn’t know you felt like that.’ ”
The idea of the ring as a transformative space is a universal one. Ask any wrestler how it feels to climb onto the canvas and they’ll have a crisp metaphor at the ready.
Titan views his commitment to character as a high he’s constantly chasing.
Morphing into the current version of his persona was his personal peak. As an instructor, it’s his job to help new wrestlers enter that same state. “You’re not you until you’re sitting on the couch back at home,” he says. “We just had our first student show for the trainees — me and Jay run it. And leading up to that, we were thinking ‘God, they’re not ready.’ Come showtime, though, we put them in front of a live crowd and everyone turned on. We were all downstairs emotional. The difference is just night and day.”
Of all the bouts that take place at UAW Hall, the most fascinating struggle you’ll find in an NWF ring is existential: the id vs the super-ego. A pro-wrestler is his own doppelganger, possessed by the innermost human drive to physically dominate. But there’s artistry to it.
What differentiates pro wrestling from a street fight is its focus on the human condition. Each wrestler picks a side of the classic grapple between good and evil, molding their public self to fully embody that ethic. It’s not enough to just be buff. A wrestler needs to be an archetype, a foil, a friend.
The Wrestling Whisperer
As commissioner, Roger Ruffen (government name: Roger Bachman) is the conductor that orchestrates the NWF’s web of conflicts — internal and external.
What should be a cacophony of plotlines and information becomes cohesive and longtime fans and newcomers alike can understand what’s transpiring.
Ruffen’s first brush with professional wrestling took place long before the league was founded in 1995. His personal wrestling history can be traced back to the early ’70s, when he was in his early teens, religiously attending matches at the now-defunct Cincinnati Gardens.
“I got to a point where I’d be one of the first ones there for every show,” he says. “I’d be waiting there three or four hours before the doors would open. Then when the matches were over and they were turning the lights out, they’d have to throw me out of the building.”
Local wrestling promoter Les Ruffen took notice of his devotion, eventually approaching the boy after a show to chat.
When he expressed an interest in becoming a wrestler one day, the veteran Lestook him under his wing. At the start of his wrestling career, Roger Bachman became Roger Ruffen, taking the name of his mentor.
At the same time as he was learning how to wrestling, Ruffen was also learning another wrestling trade: officiating. Connections with Cincinnati’s local boxing and wrestling commission allowed him to don black and white stripes during matches at the Gardens, including matches organized by the WWF (now known as the WWE).
Then, in 1998, Ruffen purchased a 3-year-old local promotion that he’d helped organize the scenes for since its founding, training new talent at BoneKrushers as the NWF.
Thanks to wrestling’s surging popularity in the late-’90s (sparked by the WWE’s edgier, harder-hitting “Attitude Era”), NWF gained traction under Ruffen’s leadership, building a following in Cincinnati and Northern Kentucky while producing up-and-comers like Total Nonstop Action Wrestling’s “Wildcat” Chris Harris, Impact Wrestling’s Abyss and current WWE superstar Karl Anderson.
The league maintains its devoted fan base, but its popularity tends to wax and wane alongside wrestling’s popularity as a whole, Ruffen says. Thanks to the WWE’s impressive fiscal 2017, which netted the league’s highest-ever total annual revenue, the NWF has received a welcome boost in its own attendance.
Still, the NWF retains its own, unique identity.
“I think our real strong point is that we’re really interactive with the fans,” Ruffen speculates. “As big as the WWE is, with their huge crowds, they don’t have the opportunities to get one-on-one with the fans like we do. Come to one of our events, and no matter where you are in the building you’ve got a great seat, close to the wrestlers. During intermission, you can even get autographs and photos.”
Ruffen spends each event out of sight backstage, making sure the action is entertaining and easy to understand. Twenty years in charge of the NWF under his belt, he says he’s able to evaluate a match’s success without even watching it. Hidden behind the gym’s stage curtains, he listens, taking in the sounds and emotions of each bout.
“Some of the younger guys will come back here after the match and ask me, ‘Was my match any good?’ ” Ruffen says. “And I’ll say, ‘No, it was terrible.’ They’ll ask if I watched it and I’ll tell them no. I could tell because it was quiet. No fans booing. No fans cheering. The same guy might come back and I’ll say it was dynamite. I could hear that people were into the match.”
First and foremost, Ruffen believes that wrestling’s about entertaining a crowd.
“If the fans are into it,” he says, “the match is good.”
To learn more about the Northern Wrestling Federation and upcoming events, visit nwfwrestling.squarespace.com.
