Fuckin London man. Before we get tae what was a belter of a wrestling show, I’d like tae give ye a few tips on how tae survive this hunner mile an hour pit of terror if you’ve yet tae experience its wonder. Firstly, if ye get on the London Underground…that’s yer first mistake right there. Don’t dae it. I’d been on it 5 minutes, when it made its first stop and a wuman actually dragged her son aff the train by the throat. The problem wae that is that I was between her and her son and she managed tae drag him off without me moving. I swear tae fuck this wean passed through me like a fuckin ghost or somethin. A chill raced doon my spine as I seen him emerge fae me like I was a magic lamp, and he wis poppin oot tae grant somecunt three wishes. Second tip I’ll gie ye is for Scottish folk only. London does not go at our pace. Glesga pace is leisurely. Even if its gaun a bit quicker than ye’d like, naecunt will shoulder barge ye oot the road if you’re choosing tae cruise. Minimum speed for pedestrian travel in London is 50mph. Ye fall below that, cunts will make a point of clattering any luggage they have with them aff yer dome. If they knock a tooth out, they present it tae ye as a warning. “Speed up, or we take aw yer front teeth….warned”
I jest though. From the little I seen of it, London seemed gid. Its essentially Glasgow without the Sectarianism or sense of belonging. Its essentially Glasgow but bigger, faster and the supporters of English fitba teams are actually English and not glory hunting wanks. Its essentially Glesga but its no. Its just no. Its no Glesga.
Was heartening tae hear aw the ICW chants in the queue. The megabus destroyed me but, so I looked upon them less as “ICW Regulars” and more as “People I could lean on tae stop mysell falling through the bar like Del Boy done that time in Only Fools” So aye. A fuckin wrestling show eh. Long winded shite intro oot the road. Sorry for keepin ye fae the good stuff.
After the opening lingual delights fae yer Billy Kirkwood, he introduced his broadcast colleagues for the evening, yer Veronica LeStrange and the returning Dr Sean David. Proving that the combination of smashin patter, smashin dids and eh…Dr Sean David, gets over no matter where ye are. Then we had two former best pals knockin the shite out each other tae kick us off. Intae it? Course ye are.
Kid Fite vs Liam Thomson (w/Carmel)
Perfect opener for me, as the former Fight Club comrades finally faced each other in a proper match. Pretty much guaranteed tae be good cause they know each other inside out, and being well travelled as a tag team meant that at least hauf the folk in there knew who they were. They gave the crowd a taste of things tae come early on as Kid Fite sent Thomson flying aff the apron wae a big boot. Ding fuckin ding. The games had begun. Thomson responded by hurling his auld pal intae the barrier and slinging some chops at him, before the fight made its way intae the crowd. Kid Fite makes his way tae the bar, before snapping intae a violent rage, climbing on tae the bar and hitting Thomson wae a crossbody. I don’t think that wis planned. I think Fito glanced behind the bar, saw it wis £4.90 for a pint of fuckin Tuborg (flat Tuborg btw) and he wis obligated as a Glaswegian tae fly intae a maddy.
We finally make it intae the ring, but no for long as the former besties took the fight out tae the ramp. They block each others attempts at a backdrop on the ramp, before Thomson is sent back intae the ring with that very move. Thomson takes Fito down wae a snapmare, before delivering a thunderous kick tae his back, followed by a dropkick in the corner. We get tae a wee slappin war after that, but Kid Fite gets the better of that (Glesga has always been a vibrant source of slappers, so it made sense) before hitting Thomson wae a beauty of a brainbuster for a 2 count. Thomson gets back in the fight by getting Fito set up on the middle rope and hitting him wae another picture perfect dropkick, but naebdy seemed tae get the initiative for keeps. Fito seems tae be closing in on the win, and closing in on fulfilling a lifelong dream. Tae pull out his baws infront of a sold out crowd in London, and dip them in his pals mouth. Carmel isnae a big fan of that idea though, cause thats her man, and she’s rather no be tasting a set of sweaty baws when she wants a winch aff him. Even if he spent the next week wae his face in a sink fulla Listerine, ye’d still wouldnae be able tae get that image out yer heid. Big set of baws resting in yer mans gub. Disnae bear thinkin about. So up to the top she went before he could even whip them out, and with Fito suitably distracted, Thomson sneaks behind him and rolls him up for the win.
Kid Fite wanted tae go after Thomson when it was all said and done, but some daft shaggy haired lad decided tae out a stop tae that, so he wis given some baws tae gargle. Ye didnae think Kid Fite wis gonnae cross borders and not end up teabagging somecunt did ye? Fair play tae whoever it was that took it though. Ye have tae be passionate about the wrestling business tae be presented wae an idea like that not immediately go “whit?…eh naw, I’ll pass on huvin a cunt fae Maryhill dip his baws in my gub…ta anyway” Will it be worth the nightmares in the long run? Who knows. I’ve heard he lathers them up gid and proper wae Lynx Africa shower gel but, so if the cunt wakes up in the middle of the night screamin “THE FUCKIN LYNX EFFECT!” n weeping uncontrollably, that’ll be why.
Crowd were intae it right away. Kept hearing mad cockney accents around me gien it patter such as “this aint bad bruv innit?” and “This is better than Eastenders and WEST HAMM UNITEDDDD” and other such hings. I’m making that up like, but aye. They were intae it.
The Sumerian Death Squad vs The NAK vs The Bucky Boys (ICW Tag Title Match)
Card subject tae neds. Namely the injection of a pair of them intae yer tag title match. The Wee Man comes out and hits them wae the most PC patter I’ve heard fae the cunt, and it included a joke about Stevie having enough gear on him tae wipe out the rest of the Geldofs, so that gies ye an indicator of how near the mark he usually gets. He gies it some hilarious patter about the NAK perpetuating negative stereotypes about Scottish people (see thats funny cause the team he manages are portrayed as alcoholic neds, which is pretty much aw the negative Scottish stereotypes rolled intae wan) and apparently he has nae regard for his ain welfare, cause he slagged the SDS anaw. The SDS gie me the fear man. No just the wrestling fear, like “I’ve seen that guy kick other guys really hard, and that scares me” kinda fear, I mean just being within 100 feet of these unhinged Dutch bastards makes me uneasy. Nae Darkside wae the NAK, but the reason for that would be revealed in due course. Anyway, The Buckys put themselves in the match, cause fuck it…why no. Still smokin re-match wae less ladders and more Londoners. In amongst it.
The crowd were fuckin spellbound by this. There’s something special about the chemistry between these three teams. Similar The the Dudleys v Edge and Christian v Hardys feud fae back in the day, but its better cause most of them are Scottish, and ALL of them urnae Matt Hardy. We start wae a wee exchange between Divers and Davie, as the rest knock each other stupid outside the ring. Davie hits Divers wae a dropkick off the top rope, before Tommy End sneaks in and nearly gets the quick pin wae a rollup. BT Gunn is next tae show us his stuff, as he hits a Firemans Carry Double Knee Gutbuster on eh…somecunt (I think it wis Stevie or Tommy End but I’m not 100%) Dante chucks someone across the ring, before Stevie tries a hiptoss on Dante, but thats just no happenin mate. Ye could fill Stevie fulla concrete and £2 coins, and he’s still weigh less than wan of Dantes calves. Renfrew catches Stevie coming aff the top rope and hits him wae a sitout slam, before everycunt capable of a superkick manages tae hit one. Divers gets in the mix wae a running knee to the jaw, before Davie drops him wae a sideslam and Renfrew finishes aff that baw tingling sequence wae a beauty of a lariat. Did this cunt always have a JBL clothesline on him and I just didnae notice it tae recently? Either way he’s been decapitating cunts wae it for a while now. The Buckys then strung together a regular wee spot they’ve been doing, starting wae a Rolling Senton fae Davie, followed by the middle rope legdrop fae Stevie, and finally the big splash off the top fae Davie. Its The NAKs turn tae string together some good shit after that, with all 3 hitting moves in the corner, before delivering some Killer Boots. BT followed that up wae an absolute peach of an Elbow Drop aff the top rope. Proper Macho Man material. Then its down tae the SDS tae reel out their impressive array of double team moves and I still struggle tae catch the specifics of their wans, cause it aw happens so fuckin fast. Divers is the on the receiving end, but he manages tae block the move that got the SDS the win in their last defence, when he avoids the powerslam from Dante. They do manage tae leave Divers lying spark out after Tommy End hits him wae the double stomp, before his NAK bretheren clear the SDS out the ring. Theres a wee problem wae that though, and that lies in Divers inability tae move, and The Bucky Boys being mare than comfortable with sneaking up behind cunts and stealing their shit. So they snuck in, and piled on top of the stricken Divers for 1..2…3. NEWWWWW TAG CHAMPS.
The NAK and SDS try n figure out whit the fuck just happened as The Buckys merrily bounce backstage wae their shiny new belts. If the London crowd wurnae completely hooked after the stoater of an opener, they were now. For me this just edged it for MOTN, purely for how often ye were near a heart attack just watching it.
Kay Lee Ray vs Erin Angel vs Carmel
Heard some of the locals chatting about this being a good time for a bathroom break. How naive. Yer in the presence of three of the best female wrestlers in the UK ya ignorant cunts. Button yer fuckin lip and let them do their thing. It wis fuckin braw when they got going anaw. Lovely tae see Carmel pulling a double shift. I’m such a mark for this burd its no real. Actually shat out of askin her for a photie at the afterparty cause I wisnae ready to be in the presence of her greatness. I’m no worthy. Been a long while since we seen Kay Lee in an ICW ring anaw, so the whole thing was just braw. Erin Angel can fuckin go anaw, and after Carmel refuses the chance tae shake hands with her foes for the evening, Erin and Kay lee hit her wae a double dropkick. Spose thats us started then eh? Fishermans suplex fae Carmel is followed by a braw sequence of clotheslines being evaded Matrix style. I’m sure Carmel and Kay Lee have done that wee spot before, but its was still smashin. Kay Lee scrambles Camels brains wae the Inziguri after that, before her and Erin Angle go up top for a superplex only for Carmel tae turn it intae a Triple Superplex/German Suplex type thing. Fuck knows whit name ye’d actually give it, but it was fuckin braw and these three were making a mockery of that shitey “this is the toilet break” patter.
Erin Angel seemed determined not tae be overshadowed by the always intriguing Kay Lee vs Carmel feud, and she hits a headscissors takedown and a hurrincanrana in quick sucession. Kay Lee launches hersell tae the outside with what I’m sure wis a suicide dive after that, but I cannae be 100%, cause a cunt that wis about 6’9 and 25 stone wis right in my eyeline. Nae offence tae the big yin like, but if yer that big, dont be in the front two rows of a wrestling show eh. Unless yer gonnae put me on yer shoulders and pass me a beer every 20 minutes, and refer tae me as yer special guy, it not on big yin. A moonsault fae Erin is followed by a Swanton from Kay Lee, but its Carmel who emerges victorious when she catches Kay Lee on the top rope and hits her the top rope DDT tae get the win. After such a competitive, good spirited contest between the three, Carmel toasts her victory by gien KLR and Erin the middle finger and gaun YASSSSSSSS!
Jackie Polo is the one. ICW is blessed wae its share of brilliant heels. The NAK are fuckin masterful at times, but a lot of their heelishness comes fae how much of a potent force they are as a unit and that constant look on Divers coupon that says “I just sodomised yer sister…on yer bed…and I spunked up yer curtains” They also sometimes hit Grado wae cars, and come out tae Grados music when the cunt isnae even in the same continent, but they’re particularly heely cause of their aptitude for violence. Jackie Polo is a heel cause he lives it. 24/7. Naecunt else could carry this neck injury angle anywhere near as well as Jackie, cause if ye didnae know any better, you’d assume it was legit. He sells the wincing in agony and mildly tormented look on his coupon better than anyone else could, and backs it up wae words that divide every crowd he ever steps in front of. Ye get one section who buys intae it aw. Gets the logic behind it, and gets drawn in by the showmanship of it, then ye get the other section who are possessed by a murderous bloodlust for this cunt, cuttin about in Yella skinny jeans, and an indignant look on his face, chattin about how he “made Grado”. That wis designed tae antagonise the London crowd of course, who were absolutely in love wae Grado. Grado entered first here and I wis taken aback by the pop he got tbh. Had nae idea he was so over down there and it was heartening tae see. Know one thing that really bugged me though? Cunts chantin “Its yourself!” rather than “Its yersel!” I know English folk struggle tae grasp “It’s yersel” and what it means, but just say it anyway. Its on t-shirts n that. Its no hard. Say it properly or don’t say it ataw. Polo’s out tae introduce Grados opponent, and Londons BEEEEEST wrestler Sha Samuels, but its no long before Sha and Polo seem tae have hatched a plan tae gang up on the bold yin. All of a sudden we had Noam Dar and Wolfgang out tae provide hauners for Grado, and Rob Cage appeared outta thin air tae join forces wae Sha and Jackie, and we had some 6 man madness on the go.
Grado, Noam Dar and Wolfgang vs Sha Shamuels, Jackie Polo and Rob Cage
Sha Samuels is nae joke. This was my first time seeing the big bruiser, and he disnae fuck about. A big jaw crackin, mean lookin bastard, who isnae for buying in tae Grados attempts tae get him tae “look up!” Cause ye see, when Grado does that, there’s never anything “up”. He’s at it. Cunts fall for it every fuckin time anaw, and wound up wae trodden on toes, and usually a shake, rattle and roll. Sha continues tae refuse the invitation tae look up, so Grado just slapped big cunt instead. Next we have all 3 members of team Polo catching big boots aff Grado in the corner, as he absent mindedly checks his non existant watch, poor Wolfie catches a boot tae the chops anaw. Wolfie regains his composure after him Grado and Noam have a wee teamtalk, and he decides its time tae launch Rob Cage intae the crowd. Decides against that though, and tosses him out ontae the ramp instead. Noam and Sha get tae battlin soon after, with both slingin stiff forearms and uppercuts at each other. Grado gets tae shake, rattle and rolling aw err Landan, but big Sha is having none of it, and continues tae make his impression on the crowd with a beezer of a spinebuster. The lack of Polo wrestling here wis saddening, but I suppose he is retired after all eh. Its a testament to the man that he wis ever in London ataw. Heroism..thy name is Polo. Rob Cage apparently whapped the baws oot at some point anaw, I didnae see them personally (thank fuck) but I’ve been informed this was the case. One set of baws is enough baw exposure for one night if ye ask me.
Wolfgang then gets extra cheeky, and teases chuckin Jackie Polo intae the crowd, but settles for suplexing him instead. Rob Cage and Noam battled away, leading tae the finish, where Cage wis sent spinning right intae the Wee Boot. Crowd went bananas anaw, cause London is Grado country it would seem. At this stage yer beginning tae wonder if theres anywhere that isnae Grado country. Mibbe Chris Renfrews living room, or the Polo Promotions HQ (although I hear Denise is a closet fan, but keep that between us) but thats about it.
A wee visit fae Mark Dallas tae inform us that he wis gonnae keep it short and sweet cause theres a fair chance naecunt can understand whit he’s sayin anyway, and also that ICW returns tae London in July and tickets were on sale at the merch stand NOW! I didnae get mine yet cause I felt staunin in the queue for a pish and eventually just pishin over folks shoulders wis more important, but aye. ICWs gaun back tae London, meaning we’re aw gaun back on the megabus tae contemplate suffocating ourselves wae the wee sickbag they handily provide for ye. Nah but, it wisnae that bad. If ye like being holed up in an enclosed space, wae a wuman next tae ye that’s almost certainly deid, the Megabus is awrite. I tried nudging her cause I needed a pish, but she didnae even stir, so I stuck a pen deep enough intae her eye socket tae tickle her brain. Still didnae budge. So I just sat wincing for 3 hours, before my bladder gently wriggled free and popped oot ma arse. Anyway, mad bus tangents aside, still hauf a wrestling show tae go mate, or wis there? Joe Hendry had other ideas.
Joe Hendry In Concert
Joe Hendry has a rare skill when it comes tae gauging how a crowed are receiving him, and thats his biggest talent for me. Being able tae adapt yer performance tae suit the situation. He’s there without the rest of The Kennedy Administration, but he fuckin thrived. Initially the crowd received him quite well, as he fired intae his folksy version of the ICW theme song, but he slowly dialled up the cheese and the Londoners weren’t quite sure how tae take it. Gets the sound guys tae put a mad echoey effect on his mic tae further antagonise the locals, before insisting that the rest of the card wis cancelled because ICW were committed tae giving the fans what they want, and this cerowd clearly wanted 8 of Joe Hendrys finest hits instead of any more of that wrasslin carry oan. We got a beer chucked intae the ring after that, which is one of the hazards of coming tae a city where cunts dont know the score, but I’m gonnae gie special props tae the cameraman (wrestler Adam Carrel if im not mistaken) who took most of the beer tae his back, soaking the camera in the process. The guy didnae even flinch. He had a job tae be daein, n a wee Tuborg shower wisnae derailing that. Joe fires intae his next tune, insisting that its 8 minutes long and “one of the shorter ones on the set, but one that means a great deal to me” before Damo emerges tae KILL.
With none of his usual hauners with him, Joe Hendry had tae get creative, and as Damo enters the ring tae finally get the one on one battle wae Joe he craved, the NAKs music hits. Joe sneaks out the ring, and hands an envelope tae BT Gunn. Presumably filled wae 50 quid notes, or at least some decent swedge. Whitever it wis, BT seemed satisfied wae the contents and sent Joe on his merry way, it wis all very stars in their eyes, and tonight Matthew, The NAK were gonnae be The APA. Taking bungs, puffin on Cubans, and smashin beer bottles aff yer daft napper wae reckless abandon. If they could be arsed, they might gie big Damo a doin anaw. BT chucks the remainer of his beer in the disgruntled bears direction, but it isnae quite the beatdown he anticipated as the rest of the NAK reveal their newest member….TAFKA James Scott. He wisnae present for the tag match, cause he knew he had a fuckin bear tae wrestle later in the night, and thats the kinda thing ye need tae get in the zone for. Darkside vs The Bear. Wee impromptu match for you and yours. In amongst it.
Darkside vs Damian O’Connor
Loved this. Always had a weird fascination with seeing how well smaller guys can work the true heavyweights, and TAFKA James Scott was masterful here. Damo gets him intae the corner early and misses wae a big splash, before hitting on the second attempt. He does that thing next where he drops back first on tae his opponents chest, and whilst that move would probably be quite sare in normal circumstances, its surely got tae be reminiscent tae huvin a tank filled wae sumo wrestlers reversed intae ye when its the sheer mass of big Damo daein it. James Scott hits back wae a standing moonsault, before kicking Damos chest about a hunner times. We then fire intae some uppercuts and forearm smashes, which Damo gets the better of cause incase I neglected tae mention it before, he’s a bear. A real life human bear. Cunt disnae buy his steaks fae the butchers either, whenever he gets hungry he wanders aboot the countryside tae he finds a farm, and rips about a stone worth of meat aff the juiciest cow he can find, before scrannin it raw.
Darkside gets him in that chokehold he uses frequently, but Damo deadlifs him intae a slam. Follows that up wae more stinging European Uppercuts before staunin on Darksides chest for a good 2 or 3 seconds, before sending all his weight crashin down on Darksides chest again. As the rest of the NAK scooped Darksides shattered ribs up fae ringside, James Scott somehow manages tae pull Damo aff the ropes and hit a stunning German Suplex. Probably the most I marked out aw night tbh. That shit was fuckin perfect. Followed it up wae the top rope double stomp for a 2 count, before Damo hits a Northern Lights Suplex and a Death Valley Driver for a 2 count of his own. He looks tae be closing in on the win, as Renfrew near shat it on commentary when Darkside just got the shoulder up, so BT and Divers provide a handy wee distraction, tae give Darkside the opening tae lock in the Traingle Choke again, this time choking the beast out for the win.
Then we moved on tae a full scale independence rally, as these flaky Londoners actually decided tae get behind their local team this time. Where wur yees in the Grado match guys? Two Londoners and Jackie Polo in the same team and yees couldnae gie a fuck, but these London Riot swines emerge and yer creamin yersell. FOR SHAME.
(Disclaimer…I’m gonnae jokingly call The London Riots cunts quite a lot here, but let it be known, I respect them and their wrestling talents, and this is no way me trying to provoke them, cause why wid anycunt dae that? They’re quite big and fairly scary, just a bit of light hearted fun, its only words innit? That being said…FUCK THE FUCKIN RIOTS AND THEIR STUPID GLAIKIT FUCKIN COUPONS)
The London Riots vs The Coffeys
So the Riots emerge tae a thunderous pop from the crowd, cause their names have the word London in it. Yer aw fuckin sheep btw. Shameful. First yer gien it that “It is yourself, isnt it?” patter tae Grado, and now yer aw RIOTSSSSSSSS….WE LOVE LANDAN. Wid make ye fuckin SICK. Nah but, I’d heard good things about this team so I was looking forward tae seeing them go at it wae The Coffeys. I wis intrigued tae see how things would play out wae The Coffeys heading in different directions character wise lately in ICW, so it was interesting tae see them introduced seperately. Joe glares at Mark and Polo Promotions head honcho Jackie Polo wae look of mistrust in his eyes, but forward they went as a unit.
The match was fuckin lovely. I knew where aw my fellow regulars were right away, cause we were aw beatin our chests in unison and chantin along tae the Iron Man tune wae Joe. Aw the London cunts were bobbing along tae whitever god forsaken jaunty wee tune they Riot wanks came oot tae. Who gives a fuck. Fuck the riots. Fuck them and their stinging forearm smashes which got this match under way. The Coffeys responded wae a double dropkick, before the Riots get tae some double stompin. Joe gets a bit isolated early on, as the Riots teamed up tae good effect. Clearly the sharper team in terms of tagging together regularly, and the smaller Riot got tae work wae a snapmare followed by some stiff elbows. Impressive work fae this pair ye have tae say, but at the same time FUCK THE RIOTS, INDEPENDENCE NOW! (sorry, that’ll no happen again..I swear)
Joe rallies and slingshots a riot tae the corner, before missing with the corner splash. The Riots get back on top, and the larger Riot hits a picture perfect Belly to Belly suplex throw. Coffey is no to be outdone though, and hits a beauty of a German on the same riot, finally giving him an opening tae get the tag, only tae find his brother chattin away tae Jackie Polo and no paying attention. He eventually does get Mark in though, and its the hottest of aw the tags. Flinging forearms aw err London toon. Hits a belly to back suplex anaw, before getting Joe back in there tae hit some splashes, a gutwrench suplex and then the swings intae the Boston Crab. Mark gets the other Riot in the Full Nelson at the same time, but they fight out, and suddenly Joe finds himself on his lonesome again, hitting stinging chops on both Riots at the same time. He looks for the spinning lariat after that and he HITS IT A BELTER….only problem is he hit it on his wee brother, and turned round intae a double team from the Riots tae seal the win. A fuckin beauty of a match. Pure hard hitting brilliance, and I suppose the Riots winning gives the locals something tae pop for, and the friction between the Coffeys (as Joe exits the ring fuckin raging) gies ICW a wee potential Brother vs Brother feud in the works, but while the finish made sense and aw that, and I was intae it and the logic behind it, d’ye know whit else? FUCK THE RIOTS MATE!
Jack Jester vs Jimmy Havoc (ICW Title Match)
Fuck me. I didnae realise quite how chaotic this wis till it was over and I could finally see the mat. Coated wae thumbtacks, barbed wire boards, teeth, blood, probably some spunk fae somedy, and I’m pretty sure wits left of Rey Mysterios knee cartiledge wis somehow used as a weapon here anaw. Hardcore wrestling isnae my thing personally, but when its done right and it makes sense, its fuckin compelling viewing and ye certainly couldn’t take yer eyes off this war. It started off wae Jester turning round and catching a pink steel chair tae the mouth ffs. That was move number one. Move number two was Jester running Havoc along the bar dome first, before we seen a barbed wire bat used as an ex-foliating device. Havoc wis inevitably gonnae bleed at somepoint, but I didnae expect it to be within the first 2 minutes. Then we had an exchange that wid make yer skin crawl and Jack Jester counteracted some belting chops fae Jimmy Havoc, by puncturing him repeatedly wae a staple gun. Havoc isnae happy that he’s the only wan spilling claret aw over the mat, so he takes the barbed wire bat to Jesters face, then the corkscrew and we have us a bloodbath. Again, I couldnae see the mat for most of this match so it wis either a chair, or a barbed wire board, but Havoc took a hiptoss on tae something fuckin sare anyway.
Jester went intae full on Mick Foley psycho mode after that, as he empties a bag of thumbnails over his own heid. The whole match had a very Foley vs Funk vibe tae it, and ye wurnae ever sure if ye’d seen the craziest shit they had to offer yet. Jester goes for the pedigree on tae an still saw wae two upturned machetes stickin oot it (awrite I might be making that yin up) but Havoc blocked it. Somedy went through a barbed wire board in the corner anaw, before Jester brought the carnage tae a close with the tombstone on top of shattered remnants of Abs fae 5’s solo career…and probably some thumbtacks and that tae.
Jester gets on the mic afterwards and pays homage tae Havoc and the brutal nature of that war they had. I’d say it was my favourite title defence of Jesters, or at least up there with the Devitt match, so London certainly got more than its moneys worth. Everyone seemed content wae the local boy getting beat, cause they seen the blood, sweat, tears and burst eye sockets that these two mad bastards poured intae the match. Although there wis one burd near me absolutely fuckin shrieking everytime Havoc done something remotely impressive. Anytime he flicked his hair, she reached a shuddering knee trembling climax, and when he kicked Jester and sent about 50 thumbtacks intae the crowd in the process, I swear she caught them aw in her gub and chewed them like they were fuckin sweeties. Spose Glesga isnae the only place wae overly enthusiastic, borderline mental wrasslin burds eh.
Overall the London show was a rousing success. As a wrestling show it didnae miss a beat, and give the London crowd their due, apart fae a few fandans (including a guy next tae me who wis either being sick or unloading a 10 year backlog of mucus intae his beer at point) they all seemed tae buy intae the spirit of what ICW is all about. The fact that it sold out, and I’d say maybe a quarter of the crowd were regulars says it all about the level of interest down there. If onyl ye could get there for a reasonable price that didnae involve the rolling deahtmobile known as the fuckin megabus. Fuck the megabus btw. And fuck the Riots. 😉
Nae Whiplash, Kenny Williams or surprise Devitt, but I spose ye cannae have that aw the time eh. Hoping its no the last we’ve seen of him and his magnificence right enough. But aye. London wis good. Renfrew wis cuttin about the afterparty wae a salt shaker, emptying it intae peoples hands, and while that disnae really have anything to do wae reviewing a wrestling show, I felt it wis important that people were informed.