*Sigh*

(CUEUP: “TRAIN TRAIN” by Blackfoot)

I hate XM Radio, it gives Craig Miles bad drunken Whiskey ideas for the beginning of our shows. Seriously, how many people have heard of Blackfoot or a band so southern they didn’t just name the f*cking song “Train,” which is probably better since the only thing lamer is the band Train.

F*ck I’m pissed.

So is Calamity. Ok, he just thought he was going Wine Tasting.

…and Toombs thought he was going to Florida.

…is someone writing their jokes? They should be fired.

We do have a sold-out crowd.

…and we’ve got a ringside area surrounded by a bag of potatoes. And I’m guessing that’s Miles’ lone production note of the evening.

Lord Coyner Pollard of Mercia, Norfolk, and Wessex, Duke of Suffolk, Earl of Powys, and of various lands in Northumbria and the land of the Ancient Britons versus…Brock Alyas

You need to start shows with a certain finesse. A certain je-I don’t know what.

(CUEUP: God Save the Queen)

Pollard goes for the direct cultural reference of the evening, which basically means that this show is going from 0-60 mph on a fan interactivity level in about…err…two seconds?

Beers are flying, the British are NOT welcome in Nampa, the darkest corner of Idaho…there’s more than 8,000 people here. Help meeeeeeee. [/HALEYJOEL]

Pollard’s wearing a long robe that’s being held up by his butler. He gets on the microphone and starts whittling off on this historical diatribe about how the length, beauty and exquisite tailoring represents the very same stranglehold that his mother country has held on the Irish for centuries.

Either Idaho identifies with the Irish Revolution, or maybe Pollard’s really, really taking his time and frenetically testing my nerves?

Seriously, Toombs has uses up his “I did not know that” Carson impression, which would sound great except we’re talking about a 300 pound baritone stoner that speaks slower than Keanu Reeves on oxycontin.

Calamity starts asking if Brock Alyas has any balls, when…

(CUEUP: “Comfortable Liar” Chevelle)

HEY!

IT’S BROCK ALYAS!

He’s really making himself stand out in that hooded sweatshirt which just about makes sure that nobody sees your face. Wow, look at this guy not even acknowledge the human existence of Idaho alcoholics.

Pollard still on the mic and belittling Brock’s manners and WHOMP! We’ve got a six yard sack and personal foul on Alyas! Tackling Pollard, punching him and now he’s got his head wrapped up in the robe…and UHHHHHP! Canadian Backbreaker…err NO! SLAMS POLLARD INTO A INVERTED TREE OF WOE!

Damn my Irish Blood tonight, I just laughed at Pollard trying to shake his body out of the mummywrap he’s in. We’ve got way too much Green Beer here…and I’m praying Mike Randalls is still banned from the backstage area of NFW. Alyas throws his sweatshirt out of the ring and should’ve yelled “I’M CAPTAIN CAVEMAN!” instead of that gorilla grunt. OOF! Running Avalanche into Pollard, someone check if he’s popped out his pre-match duck.

Pollard’s pulled out of the robe by Jeeves on the apron, but Alyas kicks him out of the way. Pollard’s getting tossed around like a ragdoll. Back Body Drop into a Jumping Lariat. Pollard’s nose may be two inches left after that, but Alyas isn’t too compassionate of a friend. Irish Whip, Powerslam and two. Alyas decides to mush and punch his face, screaming about his prep(BLEEP!BLEEP!BLEEP!) [/FCC]

NFW is 18 and over for a reason, I suppose.

Pollard’s smacked around for a few more minutes as Brock tries breaking him in half with a series of repeated backbreakers and then a surfboard. Pollard isn’t giving in, Alyas isn’t holding him up much longer…time to do more squats, Brock!

Pollard’s holding his back, Alyas is stalking. Pollard crawls into the corner and starts begging…Alyas buys it apparently eats a vicious shot to the gut, that doubles him over. Pollard cracks him with a rising forearm uppercut and Brock’s waylayed and stumbling around. Pollard’s working a more stiff game from the get-go, but he’s the second wrestler in a row that’s 80 pounds less than Brock.

Alyas starts shaking off the attack and barreling forward, but Pollard slips into a perfect hammerlock. Coyner earns a breather, while congratulating himself on a well-done counter as Brock finally breaks on the ropes. Brock turns around Pollard rakes his eyes violently, grabs him for the Irish Whip…err…Short-Arm Clothesline. Brock DOESN’T go down.

He should’ve.

Pollard leaps on for a Cobra Clutch sleeper and Brock’s tee totaling around the ring like a Drunk Irishman. All of a sudden, Brock whiplashes himself to the mat CRUSHING Pollard.

The Brit has Guts.

Seriously.

He holds on. Toombs says he’s as limber as Danger Mouse. What a stoner.

Wrapping his legs around Brock, he works him over onto his stomach quickly…Pollard goes for the STF, but Alyas grabs the ropes. The Lordship gets up slowly and starts chastising Brock for not having good enough stamina, while asking for a break. He’s a commoner! STOMP ON HIS HANDS! The crowd groans, boos…AND THERE’S OUR FIRST POTATO BEANBALL!

Pollard’s not amused and chucks it back out to the crowd. I smell lawsuits.

Brock stumbles up in the ropes and Pollard waylays him with a running knee, knocking him outside. We’ve got a pier six brawl. Hammer Throws into a potato sacks, Pollard hitting a bulldog onto them. Brock turns the tide with a potato fist to the jaw, followed by a touchdown spike on the ribs.

Pollard screams in anger, getting up as the ref gets Alyas back in. Pollard storms up onto the apron, catches Brock with a poke to the eye as he stalks in. Vicious reel in and knee to the gut and now Brock’s getting dragged onto the apron with the man from Britannia putting him in a very precarious situation.

Sweet freaking leprechauns. Falcon’s Arrow to the floor! Brock Alyas’ NFW career might be over before it’s even started. The crowd’s flipping out until Pollard starts demanding that they quiet down and politely applaud him.

Idaho can chant “YOU’RE A DICK.” I’m not surprised.

Pollard rolls him back in the ring and gets the two count. Pollard takes some more time with the ref and then the crowd, then rolls Alyas into an Australian Style German Suplex for another quick two. As they get up, Brock catches Pollard with a thunderous right…and he’s aided by a potato. Both men on dream street…Pollard starts walks into Alyas who gets him up and over with a Wrist Clutch Exploder out of nowhere! ONE! TWO! THREE! HAPPY ST. PATRICK’S D—NO. Pollard gets a foot on the rope and lives.

Alyas can’t believe, neither can the crowd. Alyas starts berating the ref and losing it, low blow from Pollard and a near small package. Calamity snarks at Alyas double hopping into it. Both are close to the ropes getting up and Pollard tries to toss out Alyas, but he bumrushes the apron. Pollard catches him with a knee on the way up, steps out again, but this time gets a low blow of his own…

Wrist Clutch Exploder through a nearby table with a half-dozen sack of potatoes cut open. They’re not even boiled folks!

Crowd freaks out.

Calamity freaks out.

Toombs can’t stop coughing.

Alyas crawls back in at 13, beating the count…Pollard does not.

Now, you may have a St. Patrick’s Day as the paramedic cavalry carries Pollard back to the crowd giving him a rib…

WINNER: Brock by countout, Calamity is giddy already about the use of potatoes.

PHIL ATKEN vs. CAMERON CRUISE

After a two-minute drain and refill, we’ve got Alive and Kicking blaring, and the place just opens up and cheers. I know, it's supposed to be the 'cool' thing to do to boo Cameron Cruise or make fun of his fans, but they're out in full force tonight and they're pretty damn loud. Can't really say too much about 'em, though. He's done pretty well for himself when nobody was watching.

Course, the sound of that huge freakin' horn made everyone start to boo. It's not that the people here like Cruise so much, or hate Phil Atken so much... it's just that horn is so damned annoying.

It nearly killed my buzz.

But anyways, the bell rang, and we had a match on our hands. Cruise took an early lead with a series of takedowns, certainly assisted by the fact that he was bigger and more muscular. And the people rejoiced.

Seriously, Cameron held a definite advantage in the first few minutes. He kept Atken on the mat, eating more canvas than a confused hippie at Lilith Fair. Oddly, even though Atken kept trying to scramble to the ropes after every takedown, he just couldn't reach.

After a few minutes, it got boring. Fortunately, Atken slid outside the ropes to the ring apron, where he spent a good minute or so trying to get a microphone. Cruise obviously wanted him back in the ring, but the referee was doing his best to keep the peace.

Atken's big announcement?

"You are all alcoholics."

Whoopee. We didn't need to be told that. But at least it caused the ref to cleanse his hands of the consequences, and he let Cammy do his thing. One clothesline later, and Atken was knocked from the apron to the floor, where he collided with Dirk and both collapsed.

Everyone was on their feet when Cruise took another bounce off the ropes and rana'd over the ropes. Rana'd? Is that a word? But he did it, and Dirk saw him coming soon enough to shove Atken away, which caused Cruise to bounce off the timekeeper's table.

We all booed when Atken stood up and took a bow. Some of the fools near the ring started to chant 'Eat some Carbs' at him while tossing pieces of potato. I didn't have the heart to say that he's Atken, not Atkins. But who'd have believed me? Philipe took Cruise back into the ring and went to work. Well, first, he shoved Cruise back under the bottom rope, and slingshotted himself over the top, landing on Cameron's knee with a slingshot legdrop.

I admit it, I applauded for that one.

He followed with an anklewrench, doing his best to keep pressure on the leg. For the next few minutes, Cruise only stood while Atken had picked him up for a setup for something masterful.

Then he signaled for Humiliation, the Figure Four.

Then, he flinched at the sound of that damned horn that everyone first heard back in Missoula. We’ve got the weirdest recurring motif aside from anything Calamity says about Dirk’s vigorous strip club addictions.

Speaking of the devil midget, he hightails the hell out of Nampa, Idaho…Atken’s screaming for him to get back…

Then, Cruise reached up, grabbed two handfuls of tights, and rolled Atken backwards.

Then, we had a three count.

That's gotta be painful. Two in a row for Atken ‘cause there’s a Viking playing mindgames with him. Anyone have the over/under on Mayfield’s involvement on this?

WINNER: Cruise, there’s Viking among us…and Dirk doesn’t like it…and probably now Atken too. Unless it finally gets him laid.

POWERGODZ~! vs. The Dream Team

The next match that took place took, rather long to start. First came out the Dream Team, a tandem known pretty well around the NFW as Mike Gordey and Brian Duncan. They came out to "Princess of the Universe" by Queen and received a pretty stellar heel reaction from the crowd in Idaho. After that, well things got a bit out of hand. Dream Team's opponents for the night were two behemoths in the form of the Power Godz. These dudes looked as if they had no idea what was going on and couldn't be more at home here in Idaho.

These men - PowerMaster alongside Ryan Oracle, also known as "the Reflection of Zeus" made their way to the ring, Oracle carrying a large, full-length mirror he placed at ringside as he posed in it for a couple minutes before the entire arena showered him with obscenities and beer. The "reincarnation" of Zeus finally made his way into the ring and sized up against Mike Gordey to start off the contest.

Eagerness and intimidation is what scored the first pinfall attempt for the Power Godz after Oracle landed a bigtime Jackknife Powerbomb after wearing Gordey down with some gut kicks and eye gouges. The fans immediately took a disliking towards Oracle but he continued his parade in the ring, after each maneuver taunting the crowd... making Duncan's blood literally boil.

Oracle laughed at Gordey's attempt to slither out of an ankle lock, however a square kick to the jaw enabled Duncan to be tagged in and wear Oracle the **** down in their corner. Left and rights delivered blow for blow as Oracle finally flopped into the center of the ring and Duncan's camel clutch was broken up by PowerMaster. The referee could not control four fully loaded testosterone juice boxes from beating the **** out of each other so Duncan went flying out of the ring at the hands of PowerMaster, who was later sent flying out due to a clothesline.

Oracle got to his feet just in-time for Gordey to turn around and he went for the chokeslam. Key word - went. Gordey used Oracle's reluctantness to get the chokeslamage on and eagerness to continue to taunt the crowd to perfection as a quick gut kick and a self induced Irish Whip into the opposing ropes backfired in a beautiful swinging neckbreaker for the Dream Team.

Only a two count would be awarded as the referee slid into position after trying to break up the brawl outside the ring with PowerMaster and Duncan. The fans were on their feet as action picked up, PowerMaster was tagged in as the official man and cleaned up the mess for a bit, or so it looked. Oracle was on edge as PowerMaster's awareness (or unawareness, better yet) in the ring lead to Gordey reversing a suplex attempt into a back grapple and eventually Gordey showing inhumanly strength in picking his opponent up and over sending him on his neck with a German Suplex.

Gordey had the match in his hands, he signaled for the Deer
Creek Driver and...

SMASH!

That's all she wrote.

Oracle had enough and smashed the full length mirror over the head of Gordey to give the Dream Team the victory.

The fans were loving it because shards of glass were left on the ring canvas, and it's NFW folks - you better believe there's no broom or dustpan anywhere around. And if there was, I'm pretty sure Mayfield would INSIST it was NOWHERE to be found after this. Duncan deposits Oracle out of the ring with a clothesline to clear the scene, but there’s damage all around once again in the EMT Division.

WINNERS: DREAM TEAM, might as well say that sans a lunatic narcissistic freak this one was academic. Blaine Hollywood must be lurching about his future.

IMPULSE vs. PROFESSOR TREMENDOUS

As we finally pass the sweeping of glass and Mike Gordey walking out on his own with a smirk…we’re one match away from the main event as Impulse’s music hits and we’ve got a surprise entrance into the sub-main event picture. Impulse’s second match in the fed, so him and Brock getting nice spots in the show to try and prove themselves.

Meanwhile, Tremendous comes out with a silver Halliburton suitcase with the NFW Revolution logo on it.

OMINOUS.

Tremendous gets on the mic and talks about how the new regime has approached him with an offer that’s SIMPLY TREMENDOUS. Some chuckles, I’m on the fence early, but Tremendous smarts it out a little. Saying that while the notion he’d listen to men like Craig Miles and Eddie Mayfield with any sincerity is somewhat laughable…

40 G’s isn’t.

Tremendous pats the briefcase and then points to Impulse questioning how much he thinks HIS integrity is worth.

And Impulse responds with a LEAPINGROUNDHOUSEKICKINYOURFACEMOTHERF*CKER! [/RANDALLS fanboy] Calamity’s wondering how in the hell Professor Tremendous isn’t chewing gum.

Toombs doesn’t get it.

I’m not shocked.

Impulse smacks Tremendous around with a series of dropkicks and hits a rollover suplex for a pin attempt. Tremendous slithers out, rolls out of the ring and grabs his briefcase. Ok, he’s leaving.

Calamity screams for someone to steal the briefcase.

Impulse catches him with a springboard bulldog, we’ve got a packed house flipping out early. Impulse drags Tremendous backs in and climbs back up, bodypress attempt connects! Near pin, no dice. Impulse remains winless for the moment in the Dub. Impulse goes for a Tornado DDT, but Tremendous counters with a Northern Lights Suplex! Impulse kicks out, Calamity says he’s so sick of that move and Toombs tells him to try the weed.

Tremendous keeps the offense rolling with a Delayed Suplex segueing to a Gourdbuster and finishing with a spin-off reverse chinlock. Tremendous seems to be enjoying the moment as he quickly breaks out of the hold, whips Impulse around with a snap mare and necksnap.

Impulse sits in a lull, takes a sliding front dropkick right to the jaw. Crowd groans, Tremendous goes for the pin, but no deal. Impulse has the crowd getting behind him as Tremendous heels out for a minute. Stomps, fingers in the eyes…the Von Raschke family noselock, further perfected in Castor Strife’s…well…

I don’t know why I’m even quoting Calamity there.

*tugs collar*

NFW 1.0 anyone?

*crickets*

Tremendous drags Impulse back up, takes him up top. SUPAHPLEX. Two-Count and we march on brother.

Tremendous brings Impulse up in and starts going for the Honor Roll, but on the 2nd German, Impulse counters with a back elbow. Tremendous staggers away and swerves right into a Spinebuster.

Toombs says “FAIL.” I die a little inside.

Impulse hops up top. WHOOSH. MOONSAULT. Idaho digs, but Tremendous does not and kicks out of the pin attempt. Impulse back up top…NEW YORK CITY DEF JAM LEGDROP. Tremendous is on the fritz and Impulse scoops and slams near the turnbuckles. 450 SPLASH.

Tremendous moves, but Impulse doesn’t bounce back up to his feet…instead, he smartly rolls out of the ring. Looks like he’s learned from last week, but Tremendous catching him with a lariat outside the ring isn’t looking any better. Tremendous follows with a toss into the barricade and then grabs the briefcase.

The man wins a way to everyone’s heart with an audible thump, but Impulse gets fired up from the briefcase shot and catches Tremendous with a sidekick to the ribs. You know the drill that’s next…BOOT TO THE GUT! DEEEEEEEE! DEEEEEEEEE! TEEEEEE! [/O’CONNOR] And Tremendous gets epileptic, which the crowd cheers for since they identify so well according to Calamity.

By the way, all NFW callers to the Brawl cannot be repeated during this write-up on the sole premise of today’s date and the topic of Idaho’s ratio of Mormon assf*ckers to inbred bisexual orgies.

Calamity asked.

Toombs opened the floor.

I died a little more inside.

So, I just used up time as these guys fought to their feet. Impulse gets Tremendous in the ring and hits a desperation Shooting Star Press, which would simply mark something symbolic if he got the pinfall.

Tremendous getting the foot on the rope didn’t exactly help that. Impulse thinks he’s won the match, raising his hand in victory…Tremendous rolls out of Dodge and grabs the briefcase. As the referee tries to explain to Impulse that its not over, everyone senses Heel Art 101 as Tremendous steps in with his briefcase.

BUUUUUUUUUT – Impulse turns around in time.

Tremendous feigns shock. And just as Impulse winds up for one of his crazy kicks, Tremendous holds up the briefcase in offer.

Nampa might be full of scientologists ‘cause they’re chanting “SHOW US THE MONEY! SHOW US THE MONEY!” Ok, they’re just 8,000 drunk and strong, I’m jealous that Impulse is out there for this one. He grabs the Halliburton of 40 G’s, pops it open…

POOF.

Oh, no he didn’t have a trigger mechanism.

Impulse’s mask is covered in white dust as the Professor blasts him with his own kick to the gut. SPINNING FISHERMAN’S BUSTER. Three count victory and Calamity laments the fact that Impulse cannot bring an 8,000 people riot…’cause he wanted to see him throw the money out to the crowd.

Toombs saw it in Impulse’s eyes…he was ready to start chokeslamming some Mormons, screw staying at the Motel 8. Who can blame him…this is freaking Nampa.

Meanwhile, Tremendous walks up the ramp with his briefcase, stops at the entrance as the crowd starts booing his pearly whites grinning on the FRONTIERtron.

“NOW…THAT’S…TREMENDOUS!”

Why do I fear heel suckers falling for this candy?

PROFESSOR TREMENDOUS via pinfall, I’m hating myself for knowing they’re gonna start calling that finish THE TREMENDOUS PLEX…and I can’t get behind myself slightly getting behind that in secret.

DAN RYAN © vs. ROOK BLACK