THOUGHTS FROM THE BUNKER …
by Dave “The Brute” Kent
Mean Jack Mason vs. Sinister Klaus: A War of Frostbitten Egos
Let’s cut the Christmas lights and get straight to the ugly truth: NPCW might have just stumbled onto the most combustible feud they’ve had in years. On one side you’ve got Mean Jack Mason, the North Pole Champion who reinvented himself from loveable lunatic to beer-soaked executioner. On the other, Sinister Klaus, the Universal Champion, strutting around like the second coming of Old Man Winter, with Fenwick screeching at his side like a demonic Christmas elf on too much eggnog.
Now, both these men can talk a storm. Jack snarls about “prestige” and drags Rudolph through the mud every chance he gets, while Klaus acts like the Universal Title is carved from the bones of Odin himself. And you know what? They’re both right… and both full of crap. Jack’s belt does have history—it’s the legacy strap of the North Pole territory, going back decades. But the Universal Title? Like it or not, that’s the belt every candy-cane suit in NPCW marketing puts on the posters, and perception matters. The fans see Klaus as the top dog, even if half of them are booing the frost off his beard.
Here’s the rub: this isn’t Hogan vs. Flair, or Rock vs. Austin. This is two heels, two egos, two guys who hate everyone—including each other—fighting over who gets to call themselves the true alpha of the frozen wasteland. That’s dangerous ground, but it’s also money. Fans love watching two bastards tear each other apart, especially when there’s no good guy in sight. Jack’s got his primal horde, Klaus has his frosty cult, and if NPCW has the guts to let these two crash head-on, the wreckage might be the hottest thing since FlippersMania.
The problem? Neither one of these guys can afford to lose clean. If Mason goes under, his “Mean” reinvention looks like smoke and mirrors. If Klaus eats a pin, the Universal belt suddenly looks less “universal” and more “regional Santa gimmick.” So the booking has to be smart. Think wars of attrition, monster brawls, chaos finishes, and maybe even the Beasts and Fenwick tearing at each other like wild animals while Jack and Klaus try to prove whose belt actually means something.
Bottom line: this feud has all the ingredients—ego, violence, history, spectacle. But it’s also a booking nightmare waiting to implode if they get it wrong. NPCW better tread carefully, because if this thing fizzles, it won’t just bury one guy—it could cheapen both titles at once.
And to quote myself—because hell, who else are you gonna quote—putting two raging bulls in the same pen ain’t prestige, it’s just waiting for the barn to burn down.
NO WORDS BARRED
Dave’s Takes on NPCW House Show from Moncton, NB (October 9, 2025)
The leaves are turning, the nights are colder, and NPCW rolled into Moncton with a house show that felt more like a proving ground than a tune-up. No belts on the line, but plenty of egos, grudges, and bodies tossed around for bragging rights. From rookies swinging out of their depth to monsters flexing their claws, this was a night where even the “warm-up” matches had bite. And as always, where there’s chaos, there’s commentary—so let’s get to it.
Match 1: Athena vs. Mother Earth
Referee: “Honest” Abe
The Hype
Athena’s been trying to climb back into contention, but she’s been inconsistent — she either looks like a world-beater or like someone who should’ve stayed in the temple polishing statues. Mother Earth, meanwhile, has been quietly racking up solid performances, but her offense tends to feel more crunchy-granola than bone-breaking. This one had “solid opener” written all over it, with the added bonus of Honest Abe trying not to get trampled by two women throwing spears like it’s the Bronze Age.
The Match
This was a surprisingly scrappy affair. Athena opened with the Gorgon Clutch and threw in her Huntress Spear early, but Mother Earth wasn’t just taking bumps — she was firing back with Gaia’s Grace and some stiff forearms that made it clear she wasn’t here to be decoration. They traded momentum through the middle stretch: Athena hit backbreakers and powerbomb attempts, Earth countered with suplexes and a nasty Alley Oop Facebuster. The crowd popped for Athena’s Wisdom’s Wrath (Pedigree) in the 9th, but Earth kicked out and even got her own pin attempt later. It took 22 minutes and another Wisdom’s Wrath to finally keep Earth down for three.
Kent’s Take
This was better than it had any right to be. Athena worked like she had something to prove, and Mother Earth kept pace instead of fading. At 22 minutes, it ran a little long for an opener, but the finish landed strong. Athena looks sharper than she has in weeks, and Earth gained some credibility in defeat. Honest Abe didn’t screw it up, which is always a minor miracle. My only gripe: if every spear in the match counted as carbon emissions, Greenpeace would’ve stormed the ring.
Rating: ★★★½
Match 2: Gods of War (Ares & Mars) vs. Rapido Rojo & Peter Cottontail
The Hype:
On paper, this looked like a squash. Two self-proclaimed Olympian demigods against a luchador rabbit and a guy who looks like he escaped from a children’s book. The Gods strutted into Moncton like it was already written in stone tablets. Trouble is, sometimes the underdogs forget they’re supposed to stay in their lane.
The Match:
Early exchanges saw Rojo chopping down Ares with speed and Peter tagging in to light him up with knife-edge chops. The Olympians leaned on power—Mars hit bombs, Ares swung forearms—but Rojo and Peter kept countering with speed, double-teams, and sheer nerve. By the midpoint, the crowd smelled blood in the water. Mars tried to clamp a bearhug, but Rojo wriggled free and tagged Peter. The bunny bounced back with a Leaping Judo Chop in the 14th minute that flattened Mars for the shocking three-count. Honest Abe’s hand hit the mat, and Moncton lost its mind.
Kent’s Take:
This was classic pro wrestling magic: two guys booked as comedy fodder refusing to die, then stealing the whole damn show. Ares and Mars look like they should be filming bad Zack Snyder extras reels, but they just got beat by Bugs Bunny and his red rocket pal. Call it 3.5 stars for the upset, with an extra half-point for the sheer humiliation. The Gods of War? More like the Goofs of Bore.
Rating: ★★★½
MATCH 3 – Regina (w/ The Huntsman) vs. Ursa Titania
Referee: “Honest” Abe
The Hype:
Regina, the ice-hearted queen of cheap shots, came armed with her loyal Huntsman again – and with “Honest” Abe reffing, you knew the deck wasn’t going to get shuffled in Titania’s favor. Ursa Titania, the mountain in motion, had the power advantage, but the story was always going to be whether she could survive not one opponent, but two. Spoiler: she couldn’t.
The Match:
Titania started hot, shrugging off Huntsman’s early axe-handle attempt and blasting Regina with boots and headbutts. But Regina clawed her way back, with plenty of outside help. Huntsman’s “behind-the-ref’s-back” clubbing blows swung momentum at key points, allowing Regina to stay alive every time Titania powered up.
By mid-match, the two traded bombs – Titania with suplexes and a sit-out powerbomb, Regina with splashes and head-stomps. But the turning point came late: Huntsman’s Blindside Shield left Titania staggered. Regina pounced, hooked the leg, and this time “Honest” Abe’s hand hit three.
Kent’s Take:
This was less a wrestling match and more a mugging on ice. Titania had the fight won twice over, but Huntsman’s constant interference made the outcome feel inevitable. Regina’s heel act works – the fans hate her – but if she’s going to keep stealing wins this way, management might as well just bill these as handicap matches.
Rating: ★½
If the Huntsman does much more of Regina’s heavy lifting, she’s gonna owe him a chiropractor and a Christmas bonus.
MATCH 4 – Krampus (w/ Grinch Heyman) vs. Sinbad
Referee: “Honest” Abe
The Hype:
Grinch Heyman brought his goat-demon prizefighter back to Moncton, and the unlucky adventurer standing across from him was Sinbad. On paper, this was a test of resilience: Sinbad with his flashy strikes and daredevil counters, Krampus with his usual cocktail of claws, kicks, and general holiday horror. Every Heyman-led outing now feels like less about “if” and more about “how long until the monster eats.”
The Match:
Krampus wasted no time, planting Sinbad with a German suplex that rattled the boards. Sinbad fought back admirably—double foot stomps, tornado DDTs, and even a slick double knee strike that got the crowd leaning forward. For a flicker of time, it felt like Sinbad might carve a path through the storm.
But every time momentum swung his way, Krampus snuffed it out with another devastating strike—superkicks that echoed, piledrivers that jarred, and finally, the inevitable Evil Embrace. The choke locked in, and Sinbad thrashed but had nowhere to go. “Honest” Abe called for the bell before the adventurer could pass out cold.
Kent’s Take:
Krampus looked every bit the monster Heyman hypes him to be—suffocating, relentless, and finishing with authority. Sinbad deserves credit for injecting some fire, but this was always Krampus’s match to lose, and he never came close to losing it.
Rating: ★★★
Watching Sinbad fight Krampus is like watching someone sword-fight a snowplow—fun in the moment, but you know exactly how it ends.
MAIN EVENT – The Howlers (w/ The Pack) vs. The Nutcracker Legion (w/ The Nutcracker General)
Referee: “Honest” Abe
The Hype:
Moncton’s main event was pure faction warfare. On one side, The Howlers, flanked by the ever-menacing Pack, looking to sink their claws into another notch on their belt. On the other, the militarized might of The Nutcracker Legion, marching to the ring in perfect formation with their General cracking the whip—literally. Both teams have made noise about being the real backbone of the NPCW tag scene, so this was a test of whose numbers game carried more weight.
The Match:
This one was a marathon brawl—forty-three minutes of bodies flying, packs howling, and generals meddling. The Howlers started hot, tossing Nutcracker #1 over the top and pounding away in wolf-pack fashion, but the Nutcrackers were relentless with their double-teams and regimented punishment.
Every momentum shift seemed to come from outside factors: the Pack slipping in cheap shots, the Nutcracker General choking Howlers with his riding crop. Honest Abe was basically refereeing a riot with a striped shirt on. By the middle stretch, both teams were trading bombs—spears, powerbombs, reverse DDTs, headbutts—and still finding ways to tag out and reset the assault.
The Pack’s distractions nearly stole the night, setting up a couple of close near-falls, but the General answered with his own chicanery. The finish came after forty-plus minutes of chaos: Howler #1 ate a massive powerbomb from Nutcracker #2, and this time there was no save, no escape, no howl left. Three slaps of the mat and the Legion stood tall, saluting their victory while the General strutted ringside like a conquering commander.
Kent’s Take:
This wasn’t so much a wrestling match as it was a siege. At 43 minutes, it went longer than most feature films on Tubi, and not every minute was needed. Still, the atmosphere was wild, the crowd was in it, and the Nutcracker Legion getting the duke felt like the right call. The Howlers remain dangerous, but on this night, the soldiers outmaneuvered the beasts.
Rating: ★★★½
Somewhere in here was a twenty-minute classic—unfortunately, they wrestled forty-three.
THE FINAL WORD
By Dave “The Brute” Kent
Well, if you ever wanted proof that wrestling “committees” are the most political circus acts in the business, look no further than how NPCW and HCW decided to stack their so-called Convergence Booking Committee.
NPCW’s brain trust? Bernard and Grinch Heyman. Let me say that again. Bernard — solid, dependable, been around the block, knows the territory. Fine pick. No problem there. But Grinch Heyman? That’s your second choice? This is a guy who changes allegiances more often than most people change socks. Sure, he’s got brains, and yeah, he’s stood up to Vlad before, but let’s not kid ourselves — Heyman always plays for Heyman. If you think he’s doing this out of loyalty to NPCW, you’ve been sniffing too much pine sap. This pick screams “short-term chaos for long-term regret.” Mark my words, the first time a shiny deal comes across the table from Vlad or Max, Heyman’s going to be whispering sweet betrayals in somebody’s ear. But hey, maybe that’s what they wanted — somebody dirty enough to fight dirty. Just don’t act shocked when it blows up in your face.
Meanwhile, HCW went full cartoon villain. Max McGillicutty tried to sneak Vlad onto the committee, like no one would notice Count freakin’ Vlad running the booking for Convergence. That’s like inviting Dracula to oversee the blood bank. Thankfully, Donnie B finally pulled himself out of retirement-land or wherever he’s been hiding and slammed the brakes on that one. Donnie’s right: if Vlad got his claws in, Convergence would already be booked as a three-hour Dark Dominion tribute show, with the main event being Vlad vs. his own shadow. So HCW gets a point here for accidentally doing the right thing, but only because Donnie B barged in like the last adult in the room.
So here we are. On one side, NPCW is rolling the dice with Bernard and a ticking time-bomb in Heyman. On the other, HCW’s got Donnie B fighting like hell to keep the wolves at bay while Max seethes in the corner, and you know Vlad isn’t going to take this lying down.
My prediction? The committee isn’t going to be about “dream booking” or “historic matches.” It’s going to be trench warfare. Backroom deals, sabotage, egos clashing like reindeer antlers in mating season. And honestly… maybe that’s the best outcome. Chaos makes for good television. Just don’t feed me the corporate fluff about “unity” or “shared vision.” What we’re getting is pure, uncut power politics, dressed up in Christmas lights. And for once, I can’t wait to watch it burn.
And that’s the Brutal Truth. NPCW’s banking on Bernard’s steady hand and Heyman’s itchy trigger finger, while HCW’s banking on Donnie B remembering he still owns a spine. Convergence is shaping up less like a historic summit and more like a family dinner where everyone brought knives to the table. Strap in, folks—because when this booking committee finally collapses under the weight of its own egos, I’ll be here to say I told you so.
—Dave “The Brute” Kent, signing off before someone tries to book me on the damn committee too.
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