Skip to main contentIn its heyday at the turn of the millennium, Portland Organic Wrestling's absurdly conceived take on pro wrestling-style conflict could be counted on to pack Satyricon and, later, the Ash Street Saloon.
Audiences freaked out to—and sometimes fought over—the fight cabaret's alcohol-soaked pageantry: Roly-poly Knotty Klown slathered the house in oceans of shaving cream. A (literally) smoking Hero from Ground Zero railed against post-9/11 jingoism. Nakedness was preferred, dildos were favored, and beer and gore rained down on the assembled crowd.
Seven years after its start, that beer is falling on more floor than fans. POW is playing regularly to a near-empty house. The giant rabbits, fuzzy bears and occasional drum corps are gone. Instead of Bike Boy and Kegbot battling with messenger bags and beer bongs, the POW of today is defined by flavorless, backyard-wrestling wannabes pounding each other with less flair for showmanship than a TriMet bus-stop tussle.
This is what ex-POW champion Seantos saw in January at POW's monthly gig at Sabala's, the Southeast Hawthorne Boulevard club where he recently started working as a manager:
"I felt like Vince Lombardi coming back to watch the Super Bowl," says the man who hasn't wrestled for POW since 2001, "and all I saw were cheap skanks playing tag football. It's pathetic. It's weak. It's lame."
So what could bring down the Portland institution that managed to survive an earlier showdown with the state Gaming Enforcement Commission and a name change to the Portland Organic Wrestling Theater Troupe? Certainly, moving from the more accessible downtown club circuit to Sabala's in August 2004 hasn't helped. But the real answer appears to be simpler and sadder: The stars of POW are gone. Time and internal strife have thinned the ranks of key players.
"We haven't been delivering the shock and shit that we used to," confesses Matt Tedisch, a POW actor since October who recently took on the duties of show promoter. "Our show has become more wrestling than performance art, and we need to pull ourselves back from that."
The good news is that a few of the old stage generals are set for a brief return. This Thursday, March 2, as part of POW's seventh-anniversary celebration, Seantos will be leading a group calling itself the Legends of POW, a faction of fellow POW "retirees" made up of the likes of Harvey "The Hard Cock" Hellcat, Bonesperm, Emcee Cat Daddy and Mo the Talking Mime. Also joining these old timers are Elvis the Destroyer and Garcia the Dirty Hippie, both of whom still perform with POW.
"I offered a challenge to these motherfuckers," says Seantos, a.k.a. Sean McDonald. "The Legends of POW against their fucking, goddamned, welfare office, Gresham-ass, motherfuckin' bullshit."
More simply put, the Legends hope to kill what they would save. Their grudge and mission: pit themselves in matches against the current crop of POW talent and inflict a deadly-looking lesson in the art of making people love and hate you.
Somebody's got to.
Representing the Legends of POW: SEANTOS
Body: "5 feet, 10 inches of wrought-iron love"
Weight: "200 pounds, but you can feel my intensity a block away"
Favorite Move: Victory
We cornered Legends of POW leader Seantos for an interview in the Towne Lounge men's room, 15 minutes after he finished a set fronting local sleaze-rock combo Starantula.
WW: What do the Legends of POW have over current POW performers?
Seantos: Talent, style and a knowledge of entertaining. It's about giving great performances. Making people hate and love you. That's wrestling.
Whom will you be fighting?
Bruce D'Anus. He needs to get slapped up against the fucking corner of the wall and have his ass raped by Garcia the Dirty Hippie. It's a fucking puppet show these people are running, POW now.
Back in the day, Seantos, you were truly disliked by fellow POWs. Are all the Legends willing to lay aside past grudges?
Anything that I ever said that got people pissed off at me, they found out that I was right. That's why I can get the Legends back.
Representing the current crop of POW: BRUCE D'ANUS
Height: 5-feet-10
Weight: 225 pounds
Favorite Move: "Making Seantos eat his own rectum"
Today, Jared Jantzi is the most visible face for the organization as POW announcer MC Scat Daddy (not to be confused with POW Legend Emcee Cat Daddy), but he'll appear in Thursday's match as his original POW persona—sailor poof Bruce D'Anus. We caught up with Janzti to ask a few questions while he worked his night job, playing music and introducing ladies at a popular Southeast Portland strip club.
For someone who has been around as long as you, why side with the new POW?
Bruce D'Anus: Honestly, I would have to say I'm more pissed off at the Legends for leaving us when we needed them the most. I think it's more their fault than POW's for the product sliding a bit.
Tell me about your match with Seantos.
He was one of those quitters who quit and never went to see the shows again. When he saw it, he said, "This isn't POW" and got upset, and now he wants to fight. I'm the person everyone sees on stage the whole time, so he wants to fight me. I agreed to it because, from what I remember, he was a pretty big wuss.
At your match, Seantos is threatening to beat your ass while Garcia the Dirty Hippie rapes it.
The minute Seantos can actually beat my ass, I will let Garcia rape me.
Witness the awesome (we hope) spectacle of Portland Organic Wrestling's seventh-anniversary celebration at Sabala's at Mount Tabor, 4811 SE Hawthorne Blvd., 238-1646. 9 pm Thursday, March 2. $5. 21+.
WWeek 2015