The Nation is CZW

Boastfulness, Self-Aggrandizement, and Unabashed Pomposity

I’ve always considered myself to be a fairly humble person. I’ve been oft-

described as “self-deprecating,” and anyone who knows me at all ought to know

that the occasional outbursts of seemingly megalomaniacal claims are all made

with tongue planted firmly in cheek. Nevertheless, last night at CZW’s sixteenth anniversary (cleverly titled “SIXTEEN”), I proclaimed on multiple occasions that “NOI IS CZW,” and while this certainly seems on the surface to be a very boastful claim…I meant it entirely in earnest.

CZW has, since its very inception, eschewed mainstream conventions and

predominant standards of acceptability, choosing instead to unapologetically

target a fringe element of the pro wrestling fanbase, and provide that small-but-

voracious market with the extreme entertainment it called for. In doing so, CZW

established itself right out of the gate as an uncompromising and constant source

of controversy. As anyone who’s followed the company’s 16-year history knows,

purveying a kind of entertainment that the general public largely finds distasteful

or frightening has led to a seemingly-endless struggle against the conservative

elements that would see us shut down.

CZW is the rebellious outlaw of wrestling, who—despite promising a crazy good

time—is simply too unpredictable to risk inviting to the tame, suburban house

parties where the rest of the indies gather to mingle with their peers and swap

stories. PWG is telling hilarious-but-politically-correct anecdotes to an enthralled

congregation of hipsters in the kitchen…ROH is comparing sports trophies with

NOAH (who’s here as part of a foreign-exchange program) and challenging many

of his smaller lackeys to arm-wrestling contests…CHIKARA is playing Magic:

The Gathering in the den, downstairs, and mocking any passersby with

indecipherably reference-thick quasi-conversation…TNA is wandering around

and hoping someone will give him the attention he feels he deserves, all the

while pretending he’s only popping in on his way to a bigger party…

Meanwhile, CZW sits astride his motorcycle in the dark street out front, the heavy

rain pelting his leather jacket as he glances into the brightly-lit 2-story Rancher.

He is melancholy in his solitude, but only for a moment…as he lights a cigarette,

he realizes what he’s known all along…his road is a road that must be travelled

alone. There is no seat for him at that table; if he went into that house, one of

two things would happen: he’d do something that comes naturally to him, and

one of the more prudish partygoers would demand that he leave…or, worse yet,

HE MIGHT BECOME LIKE THEM. With this thought firmly in mind, he revs his

hog and speeds off into the night, a loner by necessity; one who will not yield nor

compromise his belief that life is to be lived FREE.

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I am in my tenth year as a member of the Combat Zone Wrestling roster, and I

don’t think it’s unfairly pompous to say that—in the eyes of many—I am one of

the “faces of CZW.” This is a [somewhat dubious] honor that I prize very highly. I

am part of that fringe market…that subculture of oddballs and misfits who

consider the word “DEATHMATCH” to be synonymous with “AWESOME.” As

such, ever since crossing the guardrails and becoming a performer, I’ve done my

level-best to contribute to a product that is of the sort that I would like to

consume. I am not the senior-most remaining member of the CZW locker room,

but I’m one of few who’ve been a mainstay for as long as I have, and I have

endeavored to use whatever influence I have to keep CZW from compromising

the “Ultraviolent Ideals” that it was founded on.

But every year…hell, every MONTH…there are fewer and fewer of us around

who have a first-hand knowledge of “how things used to be.” It was with this in

mind that I gathered together two like-minded individuals (who also, conveniently,

happened to by my best friends) to form the “Nation of Intoxication”…sure, it’s a

jokey name, and no-one has ever accused us of being too business-minded…but

the idea behind our alliance (apart from sharing the tab) was to utilize the

“Strength In Numbers” principle to push our agenda of keeping CZW a bastion

for the kind of thrilling, dangerous, and controversial entertainment on which it

built it’s reputation (for good, or ill…that’s a matter of perspective).

CZW—at it’s very BEST—has been the wrestling epitomization of the idea that

the best sort of entertainment has something for everyone. “Variety is the spice

of life,” and so any promotion that gets pigeonholed into one style is destined to

become stale. CZW shows are a mixture of athleticism, hard-hitting violence,

incredible aerial displays, technical mat wizardry, ridiculous comedic elements,

and, of course, the ULTRAVIOLENCE that earned us our “Bad Boy” image in the

first place. For some people, it turns them away from the product; for others, it is

the sole reason to go to the shows…to each their own; but the fact remains,

THIS is who we are, THIS is what we do, and THIS is not something you can

take away from us, simply because you fear or don’t understand it.

The Nation Of Intoxication IS CZW. Wrestling…High-flying…Comedy…Violence.

We are—for better or worse—the standard bearers for what this company was

built on. We have flown the CZW flag higher and prouder in the last few years

than has anyone else. Like CZW, we aren’t P.C. We’re not role models (despite

what the poster ironically claims). We don’t integrate well into polite society, and

the values we espouse aren’t exactly in line with those of the majority. We’ve

never been the valedictorians or the star quarterbacks…we’re the kids under the

bleachers getting high or getting into fights in the hallways…but we will never

apologize, we will never acquiesce, and we will never stop being exactly who we

are. Love us or hate us, that’s up to you. But Danny Havoc, Devon Moore, and

Lucky13 are three men with totally different backgrounds, upbringings, social

status, and cultural heritage, who (despite disagreeing about virtually everything)

are bound by a commonality that unites us:

We know who we are, we like who we are, and we don’t give a fuck if that

doesn’t suit you. We’re gonna have a good goddamned time, because life’s too short, and if it makes you uncomfortable, don’t come around.

We know that what we do isn’t “normal”…the average man or woman is often

shocked by the extremes we go to for vague or inexplicable reasons…but we

also know that it’s BADASS. And we know that YOU know it’s BADASS (you just

don’t want to admit it).

Just like C-Z-Fuckin-W.