ICW – What’s Your Boggle Review

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Some people are born to do certain things in professional wrestling. To the point that once they find that thing, or it finds them, that there’s really nae point in trying to do anything else. I realise indie wrestlers have to get used to playing different roles in different promotions, but sometimes there’s nae point. If you find the thing that you’re masterful at.. The thing that makes people’s jaws drop, and has them eating out the palm of yer hand every single time. Do that thing. Do it over and fucking over again, and when people ask ye why, ask them if they’d ask a dolphin why it swims? Nope. Would they ask an eagle why it flies? Nope. Cause that’s what they were MADE to do. Steve Austin was made tae wear waistcoats, batter fuck out his boss, and soak everything within a 50 foot radius of him in beer. He CAN do other things, but asking him to would be a waste of everycunts time. Asking Virgil to show up at an autograph signing and actually sign some autographs would be fuckin daft anaw. He goes to those things tae be photographed looking miserable and lonely. That’s what he was made to do in professional wrestling, and Jimmy Havoc was made to do something in professional wrestling also. Jimmy Havoc was made to make you hate him with every fibre of your being.

Jimmy’s always been a cult favourite in ICW, for the diverse range of matches he’s had in the company, although he’s mainly been held in high regard for his involvement in some of the more hardcore matches, Jimmy Havoc is not just a stuntman. Jimmy Havoc can fucking wrestle, and he can combine that in-ring ability with some of the most spine chilling villainous mic work I’ve ever had the good fortune of seeing live. When Jimmy Havoc quietens down to almost a whisper, and tells someone that he’s about to torture them, and he’s going to fucking enjoy it, you believe that to be the case. If Jimmy Havoc tells the audience that they don’t matter a fuck to him, and he would gladly ram each one of their heids up their mothers arse; your own arse prolapses, grows a face, and uses that face to ask ye tae do everything in yer power to prevent that happening. You truly believe he really does want ye tae smell yer maw. Apologies if this is a spoiler like, I assume you all know by now, but during ICWs second visit to London, Jimmy Havoc turned heel. He turned heel in such a convincingly violent manner that I genuinely feared for Jesters life when Havoc sat down on that pink chair and vowed to Mark Dallas that if Jack Jester wisnae gone by the time he got backstage, that he’d finish him off for good. When it comes to soft spoken villainy, Jimmy Havoc is the da. If you picked the perennially goal-less World Cup Final over this show, then nae offence, but you’re a fuckin idiot. The World Cup Final only happens once every 4 years, but Jimmy Havoc attempting to murder Jack Jester only happens every…well it probably happens about 50 times a year, but this time he was really nasty about it!

The show opened with Billy ‘fuckin Kirkwood introducing his broadcast colleague, the one and only KING OF CHAAAAAAAT. JAAAAAACKIE POLO. Polo looked particularly fetching in the wee toaty union jack pants, and neckbrace combination, as he let us all know it was time tae witness the wonder of the REEEEEAL ICW CHAMPION, Mark Coffey.

Mark Coffey vs Kenny Williams (ICW Zero-G Title Match)

The reeeeeeeal ICW Champion isnae immune to flying bollocks though, and I don’t mean that in the sense that Paul London meant it when he actually pulled his baws oot and launched them at Kid Fites face, I meant a flying Kenny Williams, as Coffey took a flying knee and a springboard back elbow aff Kenny almost as soon as the bell rang. ICW kicked its second London show off with two of the brightest young stars in Scotland, and having seen them go at it a few times recently, there was nae doubt that this would be a solid opener. There was even a degree of respect between Polo Promotions and Kenny as they had tried tae recruit him at last Edinburgh show, only for an unsightly tug of war between Polo and James R Kennedy tae take place, leading to them each taking possession of one of Kennys bollocks each. Maybe that’s why Kenny came oot all guns blazing eh. Would you no be a bit keen tae get things over and done with if you were fighting for the right to call yourself a champion AND a man with at least one baw? Exactly.

His testicular fortitude continued to prove strong when he hit a clothesline fae the middle rope, only for Mark to derail his momentum with a huge lariat. When Coffey gets himself on top in a match, he can be a methodical hard striking bastard, and he laid it on thick on oor Kennys chest with some thunderous chops, and hard knees in the corner. That’s one of the things that endears Kenny to audiences, in addition to being an exciting cunt to watch, he takes a fuckin doing at times and takes it well. They both exchange brutal chops, before Kenny goes for another springboard elbow, only for Mark to snatch him out of thin air and turn it into a picture perfect bridging belly to back suplex for a two count. Fuckin love when folk get caught in mid air and the move gets turned intae something else entirely, along with people somehow managing to suplex Damo, its one of my favourite things in wrestling. It seemed that it would only be a matter of time before Coffey turned his physical dominance intae a win, but Kenny showed more of that fighting spirit that’s made him so popular when he hit Coffey with a flying knee flush on the jaw, followed by a tornado DDT.
The handy thing about Polo being the permanent co-commentator now is that he can keep an eye on Mark Coffeys affairs without the chance of him being ejected fae ringside for cheekiness. He’s there on official commentary business mate. An employee. A company man. Ye don’t see Jerry Lawler being ejected from ringside for quietly masturbating under the table whenever the divas are reeled out dae ye? That’s right, cause he’s quietly masturbating OFFICIALLY and Polo was more than entitled to make his way on to the apron when he spotted a thick pile of dust dwelling there which could have endangered either one of the competitors. It was his duty to keep his fellow performers safe, and as Kenny wandered over tae assumedly give his heartfelt thanks to Jackie for his concern, Mark Coffey took advantage wae the Pumphandle Slam to retain his status as the REEEEEAL ICW CHAMP. 

A wee bit shorter than I expected, but still another cracking encounter between these two. Kenny seemed tae acknowledge that he’d been done fair and square by a bit of teamwork. Nodding and mouthing “teamwork makes the dream work” as Coffey and Polo toasted the win. Polo grabbed the mic and was immediately told tae sit the fuck down by the London crowd, and he duely obliged in the most hilarious way possible as him and Coffey sat cross legged on the mat, and Polo proceeded tae inform the crowd he is  a philanthropist, a promoter, a friend, a lover and even a fuckin florist. He once again has a wee go at having Kenny join the team. Enticing him with the promise of getting a good deal fae his contacts in the vest industry to get a 1000 of they “Kenny is the bollocks” vests made up, and for sale at the official Polo Promotions superstore, but Kenny tells them both tae ‘bite his banger’ (or words tae that effect) and they proceed to knock the utter shite out the poor boy. With his Kennedy Administration comrades nowhere to be found, having royally pissed them off with his wee youtube promo before the show (Its actually a belter, it wis like if ye dragged the 1-2-3 Kid backwards through River Island, then told him he was The Rock) Kenny needed a hero. He needed a hero that wis maybe internationally known, and proficient in matters of a sexual nature. He needed tae dial 69-69-0-0-0………but having had his jaw leathered by Polo and Coffey, he dialled 227-546- 643 by mistake. He wis astounded tae hear a dialtone, and decided tae try his luck wae whoever happened to be at the other end of the phone. He was stunned to discover that it wis none other than the peoples convict, the bold Sweeney who came strolling out, before it all finally clicked for Kenny. He’s only went and dialled BAR-LIN-NIE hadn’t he? And when ye dial Barlinnie, ye get Sweeney. Thats his official hauners hotline and out he came tae handle those pesky Polo Promotions bad yins.

I’m no entirely sure whit Sweeney is in ICW these days. He always gets a good reaction, and seems to be exclusively performing good deeds, but at the same time, he nearly burst DCT at the last Edinburgh show, so fuck knows. I think he’s focusing exclusively on battering fuck out of as many folk as possible, and daein good deeds initially, with the view to battering fuck out the baddies gives him plenty of scope to do that. Cannae argue with that logic really can ye? Sweeney likes battering folk. Its as simple as that.

Damian O’Connor vs Darkside

It was edged out for MOTN by that stoating triple threat tag match at the last London show, but for me Damo vs Darkside was one of the most intriguing ICW matches of the year, so I had a visible stauner for the re-match at this yin. I dunno if its an optical illusion created by the extra 6 layers of hair he seems to have grown every time I see the big bastard, but Damo always looks……bigger. He always looks like he’s spent the time between seeing him at one show to the next yin deadifting triple decker buses (something he invented cause the double deckers wurnae getting the job done anymore) and pulling manatees oot the sea so he can eat them raw. That makes some of the stuff Darkside manages to do in there with him quite fucking breathtaking. Particularly a German Suplex he hit him with a the last show where he pulled Damo off the ropes. Something about the big man resisting which made that utterly jaw dropping. As good as that match was, for me this yin was even better, and it started off in brutal fashion when Damo cleaned Darkside out with a huge boot to the chops, followed by a splash in the corner. Darkside managed to send Damo rolling to the outside, and all of a sudden he’d hit him upside the dome with a suicide dive. That’s not something I recall seeing Darkside do often, so it was another wee moment tae induce the boaby twinges. Damo didnae take to kindly to it though, as they both sent each other crashing into the barriers at ringside, before Damo sent Darksides right lung flying out his arsehole when he hit him with the big Senton against the barrier. In case ye’ve big Damo hit that Senton outside the ring. Its like extreme sandwich making. Except one bit of bread is replaced by a steel barrier. The filling is replaced with a human being (in this case Darkside) and the other bit of bread is replaced by a flying bear masquerading as a professional wrestler. Oh aye, and the butter is replaced by the puss fae any plooks Darkside might have on his person, which simultaneously burst on impact, and if that overly complicated metaphor done fuck all for ye, essentially Damo’s really big, and when he flies at folk…it looks sare.

Back in the ring, Darkside hit Damo with a beauty of a kick, which surprised me by taking Damo off his feet. A cracking wee bit of storytelling there. Subtle as fuck, cause its usually quite a task to take Damo down, but he sold that kick perfectly. One of my favourite things about this wee dynamic is the fact that two guys of totally different sizes and styles, can work a match in a way that makes them both look equally strong. Not an easy task in these big guy vs smaller guy battles. He followed that up with a missile dropkick, and some stiff kicks to the chest which this time Damo refused to let bother him, an theres the other side of it. The first kick caught him off guard and had such an impact that it took him down, but the vicious kicks later on were absorbed by Damo as if they never happened. Damo took control from that point, leather Darksides jaw with a succession of uppercuts, before doing that thing he does where he stands on the opponents chest, and lands on his with a senton. I realise there are ways tae balance yourself, where standing on someones chest can be painless for the person in question, but at the same time…that just has to send aw the air flying out yer body surely? I wouldn’t like to speculate exactly what Damo weighs in case its wrang, and he breaks me in hauf like a normal sized person might split a kitkat, but I’d imagine his weight range is somewhere between Brahma Bull, and a Rhyno wae concrete shoes on. So when that lands on ye, its probably gonnae hurt.

Damo decided to go airborne after that, and it was not the wisest of moves as Darkside dodged the middle rope Senton, before reeling out my favourite fucking thing in the history of things. Since the invention of things, there has never been anything better than Darkside string together two German Suplexes on Damo. See after he hit the first one, I near burst intae flames, and when I seen he still had his arms locked round Damos waist I’m pretty fuckin sure I blurted out “OH MY FUCK HE’S GONNAE DAE IT AGAIN” fuckin…..WHAM! A doubler. Beautiful stuff. German Suplexes are brilliant generally, but when the recipient of them is a real life human bear, and he takes TWO of the bastards, it’s a rerr thrill. Darkside looked to follow that up with the double stomp off the top rope, but Damo evaded it, only for Darkside to hit it on the second attempt soon after with Damo crouching, and the double stomp catching him clean on the side of the heid. Darkside looked to put Damo away with the Triangle Choke, but the big man fought hard, forcing Darkside to modify it intae a DDT. He had a go at it again, but slowly Damo managed to reverse it intae an Electric Chair Driver for the win.

Fuckin loved the finish tbh, cause whilst the NAK are a dominant villain stable in ICW, they’re no all over the card team handed like the NWO used tae be, leading to none of their matches ending clean. Sometimes there’s interference right enough. There wis a LOT of shenanigans in their matches later in the card, but this one was left to breathe and it made it better if ye ask me. If Damo is being billed as an almost indestructible man mountain, he has to keep winning matches. Darkside didnae take to kindly to Damos masterclass in Triangle Choke resistance and fired a barrier in the direction of the big man’s jaw, but the beard deflected it and sent it hauf way across Landan. Safely embedding itself in one of Boris Johnsons spare chins.

Joe Coffey vs Noam Dar

We’ve all done it. When something you’re anticipating seeing live is coming up, ye build it up in your mind and put it on a pedestal that it proves impossible to reach. Nae offence to the rest of the card, but this is what I found myself doing in anticipation of this absolute dream of a match. Of all the matches on the card, my mind kept wandering towards this and picturing how it might go. How fucking brilliant it was sure tae be, and the danger was that it wouldn’t live up. For some reason things might no click on the night, and even if the match was still cracking, a wee part of you wishes it was as captivating as you anticipated it being, but there was nae such troubles here. Nae dramas at all, as these two served up a match to rival some of the best in Scottish Wrestling all year. There has been some absolute belters tae, and that’s just chatting about ones I’ve seen. Joe has been involved with some crackers against BT Gunn, James Scott and Mikey Whiplash. Noam himself serving up a cracker with James Scott in Newcastle. Jester and Wolfy had the crowd eating out the palm of their hands at the last Edinburgh show, and the The Edinburgh Street Fight a few months earlier was as death defying a match as I’ve seen in years (that fuckin back bump Renfrew took on the road..fuck me) BT vs Wolfgang was another stoater, but for me, this was as good, if not better than many of them. A definite candidate for MOTY.

It started off rather cagey, as the crowd had duelling chants on the go for both men. With Dar perhaps better known to the crowd due to his regular appearances with a few companies down south, it wouldn’t be long before a few folk sat up and took notice of Joe tae. That’s the good thing about this match happening down in London anaw, because Noams profile makes it one that spikes folks interest, and makes folk more aware of Joe in the process. It’s always baffled me why Joe Coffey isn’t booked everywhere, because there’s no one in British Wrestling as diverse as him at the moment if ye ask me. When it comes down to the different types of wrestlers he can work with, and have the best match of the night with any one of them

We started off with exchanges of wristlocks and waistlocks, before Noam took Joe off his feet, and proceeded tae bend him in some form of leglock, whilst gently placing Joes foot in his gub. Biting down just firm enough for Joe tae wince, but not hard enough for him tae burst any potential blisters. Just the right amount of gnawing, leading ye tae believe that it probably wasn’t the first time he’d chowed down on somedys tootsies. Noam used the ref for elevation in order the flip out of a particularly sare looking armbar, and that was followed by Joe knocking him down with a shoulderblock. A sideheadlock takedown from Noam, quickly transitioned intae that hold where you cross your opponents arms across his own chest, nae idea what its called but Noam gently eased Joe down tae the mat, and incorporated his knees into the hold, taking it to a 9 on the Sare-ometer.
Joe goes for the splash in the corner, but Noam evaded it. That was one of the things I enjoyed about this in particular. It felt competitive. Like they both felt like they had something to prove, so there was nae high impact stuff early on. Joe misses with the spinning lariat soon after, before imploring Noam to try his luck in a good auld fashioned strength test. Whilst I wouldn’t describe Noam as skinny, he’s a bawhair aff it, and Joe is an absolute unit. After some gentle encouragement from the crowd, Noam decided tae give in and give it a go, only to be lifted about 50 feet in the air, and held above Joe’s heid, like someone had pumped his erse full of Helium and Joe was hauding him up like a balloon. He came back down to earth in time to deliver a dropkick to Joe, before Joe sends Noam to the corner with a series of uppercuts, finally hitting with the splash in the corner after a few attempts. As he rushed to the opposite corner tae hit Noam with another thunderous splash, Noam followed him and hit a corner dropkick tae stop the big man in his tracks. He wasn’t derailed for long though as he somehow caught Noam in position to hit him with the reversed version of the swings he does, spinning him 5 or 6 times before sending Noam dome first intae the canvas, sending his front teeth flying directly intae Jackie Polos front pocket.
After blocking a german suplex attempt, Joe gave Noam the chance tae retrieve, and re-attach his lost teeth, just in time for Joe tae knock them right back out again with the spinning lariat for the win.

Its nae easy thing for two crowd favourites, with no real heat existing between them storyline wise, tae captivate an audience based just on the quality of their match alone, but these two somehow fuckin managed it. A wee bit of heat did come about right enough, as Noam takes a wee huff and gives Joe a shove, before mutual respect wins the day and they agreed to settle the score in a past of 5 series. I really fuckin hope that’s no just something they were saying. Please make that shit happen. And by “best of 5” I assume ye mean “best of 500″…ye did eh? I can tell ye did. Best of 500 it is. Please no one sign either Joe or Noam until one of them reached that magic number. 251 wins. Should get there somewhere around 2045. Just in time for them both retiring. Is this a complicated ruse designed tae keep them here forever? Sure. Is that a bit selfish? Aye. But unless they go tae Japan, and form part of an exclusively Scottish Bullet Club (Team Chib….or eh….The Pellet Club, I’m sure there’s better names out there like, I’m just spitballing here) monopolising all the belts in the process, then I’m no gonnae be happy with any other career path for them that disnae involve them wrestling each other. Forever.
Got a bit carried away there like, but aye, that was a lovely match, and I anticipated more of the same from the next one when Wolfgang came out for his re-match wae BT Gunn looking fuckin FOCUSSED.

BT Gunn vs Wolfgang

BT Gunn seems to have a few great passions in life. First and foremost, he seems to have a great love for professional wrestling, and performing in a manner which makes ye go “Here….that was really fuckin good”, the other passions are more sub-passions within the professional wrestling realm. The first of those being this unwavering obsession he seems tae have with stripping off the top layer off his opponent’s chest skin when he delivers those rib shattering chops, and last but not not least, he seems tae take a huge amount of joy in leaving Wolfgang shaped holes in various heavy looking inanimate objects. Last time bursting Wolfys heid with Renfrews briefcase.

Before we got to BT indulging in that passion this time, we had some stellar heel work from the NAK, as the other three members surrounded the ring wae Wolfgang in it. With Wolfie keeping an eye on Renfrew, Darkside and Divers,  ‘BT Gunn’  appeared but kept his face hidden, Wolfie was motivated and laid BT out, before hitting the Swanton for a surprising quick win. The baffling thing about it was the fact that despite having BTs tatoos, a similar bodyshape, and the same “I’m gonnae fuckin wreck you” type of demeanour, this ‘BT Gunn’ seemed to be making sure his hood never came down. Was that embarrassment at being beaten so easily? Perhaps. Maybe he had a particularly big plook on the middle of his foreheid and he didnae want anyone ripping the piss, but all became clear as the rest of the NAK seemed tae be applauding Wolfie for his efforts. Nae ambush this time Wolfgang mate, much respect for yer efforts. But as Wolfie looked down and the sullen pile of bones he’d just swantonned, he slowly started tae realise something was up, and when he turned round, he found the real BT Gunn waiting to deliver quite easily one of the loudest and most sickening chair shots I’ve ever seen. This was up there wae some of the best ones The Rock hit Foley wae at Royal Rumble 99. A sickening thud echoed the length of England, the noise causing motors up and down the country tae veer off their intended path. Crashing in tae the last few remaining branches of the dying Wimpy burger franchise and killing it aff for good. Not content with killing off a once much loved fast food joint, the NAK decided to kill another one of your heroes.

It seemed to be opportunism at its best, as the NAK usually meet stern resistance when they attempt to isolate one of the many ICW fan favourites. They got the timing with this brutal assault spot on, as The Bucky Boys were down to just Stevie, who would surely have been spending some time backstage going over strategy with the makeshift Bucky for the night, Greg Burridge. Grado was busy learning various techniques tae successfully deflect an attack wae a trouser brace in anticipation for his battle with Sha Samuels, and then you’ve got Noam Dar and Joe Coffey, who would have been sittin burst after their beauty of a match, so with the usual hauners naewhere to be seen Wolfy took a devastating beating. Chair shots rained down on his goateed coupon. Once proud and noble…now broken. It was a 5 on 1 assault anaw, as the other BT Gunn revealed himself to be none other than Rob Cage, and he gave Wolfy a few dunts of his own. Does this make him the official 5th member of the NAK? Who knows, the important thing here is that he was very much a contributing part of Wolfies demise, and assuming Wolf isnae actually deid as a result of this, you’ll imagine he’ll be on Wolfies hitlist whether he’s NAK 4 life, or no. The decimation was finished off by Wolfie having his head wedged in tae a steel chair and the real BT Gunn turning his skull tae dust with a vicious double stomp. Game’s a bogey. Wolfgang is no longer with us.

We then had Chris Renfrew indulging in a wee game of “spot the fandan” as the already gripping display of bad bastardry the NAK had put on took on a new dimension when a drink hit the ring. I’d say its a huge compliment to the level of nastiness in their work that they could have a foreign crowd so incensed that it starts raining £5 pints of flat lager, but still. Cut that fuckin shite oot. As unwelcome and dangerous as drink throwing is, the way Renfrew reacted tae it was gold, and when he eventually did spot the fandan, he grabbed a cup fae someone in the front row, encouraged Divers tae top it off wae some of his baw sweat, and chucked it directly in the cunts face. This wisnae him chucking it in the general direction of the culprit folks. This was him strolling up to him, making sure he had the right guy, then soaking the cunt. As much as him doing that added an unexpected element tae the whole segment, I was a wee bit torn about it all, cause thats a tenners worth of drinks fuckin wasted. Nae need for it man. As Renfrew, Darkside and Divers were offering various Londoners a square go, I wondered where the two BT Gunns had got tae, only to see both BT and Rob Cage crouched at the entrance in the exact same position. In the exact same moment I was pishing myself laughing at that, the rest of the NAK had ye wondering if they were about tae incite a riot, and that’s what made the whole segment work. It was proper devilish heel patter, and Wolfgang might actually be deid, but at the same time ye’ve got BT and Rob Cage engaging in subtle hilarity while everycunts wondering who Renfrew’s gonnae chib.

Stevie Boy and Greg Burridge vs The London Riots (ICW Tag Title Match)

Wrestling can be a peculiar thing sometimes, cause in a situation where 75% of the folk in the match are fae London, and about 90% of the crowd are the same, you certainly wouldn’t expect the whole thing tae descend intae a something resembling a foam party in The Garage in Glesga, but that’s what kind of party this turned intae, as everyone not named Rob Lynch and James Davis seemed tae go fucking daft for the makeshift Bucky Boys. For one night only, local boy Greg Burridge was given official cousin status, and teamed up with Stevie Boy to defend the Buckys tag belts against The London Riots, and we learned two things fae the pre match patter exchange. Firstly, Greg Burridge is a funny cunt, and despite him and Stevies opponents for the night also hailing fae London (well they’re called The London Riots, so I didnae really need to tell ye that, but still…..shut the fuck up right) he informed the cricket bat wielding cunts that they were “HIS FAAAACKIN MANOR” and him and his cousin Stevie would be doing everything in their power to keep the belts in Glesga, forever fermenting in the finest tonic wine. Perhaps another part of the reason that the riots were on the receiving end of some serious heat is the fact they’re Jimmy Havocs henchmen in local promotion PROGRESS, and everyone fuckin hates their guts. As dae I. I mean, I respect them and all that. I rate them as a tag team. I fuckin fear them anaw, but at the same time I have no qualms wae saying that I hate their fuckin guts, and wish the bigger yin would spear the smaller yin intae the fuckin Thames so we’d never need tae see their coupons again, cause fuck the riots.

The Riots eventually got sick of Burridge ripping the cunt out them, and we kicked off with a bit of a brawl. Burridge stringing together a few armdrags and clotheslines, before Stevie swooped in with a kick to the dome, and a standing shooting star press. The quick start for ‘A Bucky and a Burridge’  was derailed by the more experienced team, as yer Riots started stringining together some good shit. A cracker of a suplex from James Davis, followed up by a beauty of a clothesline from Rob Lynch, but at the same time…ach ye know the routine by now eh. Fuck the riots. Lynch also dished out a perfect belly to belly suplex throw which made briefly forget why I hated these cunts, before I remembered I hate them cause they’re the physical embodiment of pure tag team evil. Fuck eh riots. They were well on top though, and looked like they might even take the belts, when their dominance was derailed by Kay Lee Ray majestically appearing on the top rope, giving the two dicks a middle finger each, licking her index finger, putting it in the air and screamin FREEEEEEEEEDOM…THIS WANS FOR DAVEY AND THE WEE MAN, before knocking the cricket bat wielding wanks down with a double dropkick. That was followed by the hot tag for Burridge that saw him land a big lariat in the corner, followed by him waving the furry dice he had hanging out of his trunks right in a Riots face. Despite the hot tag, and a succession of uppercuts which followed, The Riots experience of working as a team came to the forefront once more when they managed to hit their double team finisher, The District Line, and my heart was in my fuckin mouth. Naecunt kicks out of the district line, but thankfully it didnae quite get the job done, and Stevie got the pin with a rollup to see ‘A Burridge and a Buckeeee’ retain (I was singing that tae the same tune as ‘A partridge in a pear tree btw…ye aw got that eh? Aye good)

Burridge, Stevie, Kay Lee Ray and even the ref all got involved in a wee jig with Stevies belt wrapped round their collective waist, shenanigans that the absent Wee Man, and the injured Davey Boy would have been proud of. I have tae be totally honest and say I wisnae sure if this was going to work. Purely cause I knew next to nothing about Burridge, but his sense of humour and wrestling style was in keeping with the Buckys usual high octane, hauf daft style, and even the patter he dropped before it was in a similar, more cockney vein as the usual stuff from The Wee Man, so it actually worked like a charm. Hope tae see more of Mr Burridge and his furry dice baws in the future.

Grado vs Sha Samuels

Another match pitting a dyed in the wool Londoner against an opponent who’s as Scottish as haggis bathing in Irn Bru flavoured heroin. I don’t think you’d have found one person who wanted Sha Samuels tae win this match. In the whole fuckin country, never mind just that venue. Grado is about as over as it gets down south, as he received another thunderous pop when he made his entrance. If Insane Fight Club proved anything its that despite it being decidedly Scottish, there’s something about Grados humour that reaches out and touches everyone. A naturally funny cunt who clearly loves doing what he does, and he portrays that perfectly. Compare that tae Sha Samuels and his bear with a sore heid character he has on the go, and you had a classic goodie vs baddie scenario here.
A dynamic that we’re all more than used tae when it comes to Grado matches, but for me this was easily one of his best. I’d say only topped by the one’s he’s had wae Mikey Whiplash, for the simple fact that it was absolutely immersed in brilliant storytelling from the word go.

That story kicked off wae Sha getting sick of Grado soaking up the acclaim of the crowd, and giving him a right echo-ey slap to the chops at the beginning, but that was as good as it got for Sha early on as Grado surprised me a wee bit by looking right dominant. I’m no saying Grado isnae capable of it, but for the type of opponent Sha is, I expected him to come out mean as fuck, all guns blazing, and then Grado has his rally, but it was the opposite of that, as Grado started out with a bionic elbow, and a big splash in the corner, followed up by the 10 jabs in the corner and rounded off by a fuckin beezer of a high arching backdrop which sent Sha towards the other corner of the ring. He rolled ootside to what he thought might be safety, and probably tae check if he still had a spleen after than landing, only for Grado to follow him out and whip him intae some barriers. Its rare you see such a strong heel take a sustained doing from a face, but it fucking worked like a charm.

The crowd were in raptures for every Grado attack, with one lassie even getting a bit carried away and trying tae stick her tongue doon his throat. He successfully avoided the attempted mooth rape, before getting Sha back intae the ring for a neckbreaker. The big yins temper finally broke when Grado delivered some chops to him in the corner. Explaining to Grado that “he didnt appreciate how rough he was being” cept he didnae say that at all, he just clotheslined his heid off instead, before dishing out some vicious chops of his own. The next part of the doing Grado took resembled something wae a bit of prison-y sort of feel to it. The wee chubby guy who stupidly got caught nicking an iPad oot Tescos (this is Grado in this metaphor btw, although I am in no way suggesting Grado himself, or the people of Ayrshire in general are thieves….most of them probably are like, but no ALL of them) gets stuck in a room wae a proper maniacal hard man, who’s probably done a few murders, or at least dabbled in a spot of GBH. Eventually the proper hard bastard will get the upper hand, and start daein proper bad shit. Nae arse play like, he widnae go that far, but he did brutalise our Grado a wee bit. He starts off by chucking a drink over Grados heid, before trying him to the ringpost with that fitba scarf he brings out with him, and leathering him stupid with they braces he wears. Call me a cynic, but I’m beginning tae think those braces aren’t actually essential for Sha in terms of holding his briefs up. More of a sleekit way of bringing a choking device tae a fist fight. Has to be said though, Sha Samuels is a natural villain and this is a match that just worked for me. If ye like yer wrasslin old school, with no ambiguity between whos the good guy and who’s the bad guy, this would have been for you. Sha looks like he chews broken glass for sport, and spits it intae weans faces for having the audacity tae look in his direction.
Grado’s rally finally came, as he channelled the spirit of aw the Gradomaniacs in the building, and the HUNNERS (and hunners) of Gradomaniacs across the globe.
A big boot in the corner led tae Sha stumbling hilariously intae the opposite corner where he caught the Roll n Slice, followed by the wee boot. Aw the finishers fae Grado. Proving definitively that he is indeed finisher daft. 😉

Jack Jester and Jimmy Havoc vs Chris Renfrew and DIckie Divers (Falls Count Anywhere Match) 

I remember overhearing a conversation a few months back, with folk discussing how much better the NAK would be if there was nae Dickie Divers. Him and his ‘interesting’ coupon gets in the way they said. Too many cooks spoil the heel faction they also said. ‘Does he even have nipples?’ I even heard from some nasty cunt. I don’t understand it at all, cause I’ll tell ye somethin. Dickie Divers is one of the most underrated performers in ICW, and Scottish Wrestling in general, and if you weren’t on board with his Crimewatch-esque coupon, and his aptitude for selling the shite out of the Canadian Destroyer before this match, ye fuckin better be now. He didnae take any Canadian Destroyers in this one right enough, but he did take an absolute sickener of a shot to the dome with a frying pan from Jimmy Havoc, wae a noise coming it off it that resembled a schemey version of the first “BONGGGG” on the 10 o’clock news. Havoc and Divers had their own personal wee battle during this chaotic fight to the death, and it was captivating from start to finish for so many reasons, mainly due to the borderline suicidal bumps they were taking. Starting out with a brutal exchange of chair shots, an THAT frying pan shot to Divers, before Havoc and Divers spilled out towards us and Divers took a DDT on the fuckin bar. A move which I’m gonnae refer to as the DTD (Death To Divers) cause by rights, it should have fuckin killed the cunt. Instead he was right back up, and scoop slamming Havoc on to a big box near the ring, assumedly used tae conceal equipment, deid bodies or perhaps both, before Havoc irish whipped Divers through a door, in the street, and straight into the path of an oncoming double decker bus. Renfrew and Jester were knocking fuck out each other tae, as the fight was taken outside, much to the anguish of the security folk, who were being total marys and worrying about whit the neighbours might think. Fuck yer neighbours mate, we’ve got scores to be settlin!

Perhaps we might even have had a belt changing hands? It looked like there was every possibility that might be on the cards, Jester hit a big splash in the corner followed by a bulldog, Havoc limped backstage with what seemed like a legit injury, leaving Jester at the mercy of Divers and Renfrew. Chair shots rained down on the champ and it looked like this might be it. While the world stupidly tuned in tae some daft fitba game, the NAK were finally going to add the shiniest most prestigious belt to the ranks. Divers and Renfrew cotinue stomping a mudhole in the champion, and walking the motherfucker dry. Renfrew locking in a Camel Clutch, wae a wee spot of fish-hooking flung in the mix for good measure. Jester did rally though, and managed to hit the elevated pedigree for a 2 count, before vanishing backstage. I assumed to look for his tag partner and even the odds again, but whilst he did intend of evening up the odds, it wasn’t with a human being. It wasn’t even with a weapon in the traditional sense. That’s not what I’d call that barbed wire bat anyway. I’d go wae “barbaric face mangler” for that one, but it wasn’t long before the NAKs numbers advantage led to them taking possession of it, and aiming it at Jesters face. With him holding off their attacks with his hands. Blocking barbed wire with skin and flesh probably isnae the best of ideas, but he seemingly didnae have much of a choice…that was right up until we had an injection of RID HOAT HAVOC in the mix.

Out came Jimmy all cunts blazing, weilding a chair and a guitar. The guitar of course got cracked over Divers skull, cause he was racking up the innovative bumps in this yin and I believe Renfrew took a chair shot or two as well as the good (and decidedly homicidal) guys seemed to be prevailing over the proper baddies. That was until it happened. The chair shot heard around the world (of Islington). I’m not sure if this is exactly how it happened, but this is how it looks in my head now. Jester slumps to his knees and looks at Havoc out of the corner of his eye. A combination of blood, sweat and a single solemn tear rolls down Jesters cheek as he realises he’s been stabbed in the back. Havoc smiles softly and proceeds to absolutely fucking leather Jester wae the chair. It felt like he’d never stop hitting him. Blow after blow to Jesters bad back, as Renfrew watched on in abject horror. He clearly wisnae in on it, as he was told on no uncertain terms by Havoc that if him and Divers didnae get tae fuck, they’d be on the receiving end of the same treatment, with added fire, knives and bloodthirsty Chupacabras. Renfrew shot a wee smile in Havocs direction, before giving the rest of us a look that seemed tae indicate he didnae want any part in the potential Havoc was dishing out. The cash in could wait. Jesters demise was in the midst of happening right fucking now, and that suits Renfrew just fine, as long as he’s the guy who eventually benefits from it.

This is what Jimmy Havoc was born to do in professional wrestling. Its as simple as that. This is the thing that clearly comes very fucking naturally to him, and its the thing he should absolutely never stop doing. If he continues to be this good at it, then it makes no sense for him to ever do anything else. Probably in life generally tae. He should provide a service where people hire him tae sit down next to their enemies, and with a quiet menace in his tone, he tells them “I’m going to torture right now, on behalf of my client (Brock Lesnar) and I’m gonnae fuckin enjoy it”.

Havoc continued to beat Jester to a bloody pulp, before Mark Dallas emerged to try and stop his former pal in his tracks and save his champion from becoming a corpse in London. I jokingly suggested that Renfrew could pull out a colt 45 and shoot Jester in the heid during their match, performing the first ever cash in on a deid guy, but that daft suggestion felt like a real possibility as Havoc just wouldn’t stop. Eventually he allowed Jester to be pulled away for treatment, but he warned Dallas that if Jester was still there when he came back, he was finishing the fucking job. He warned each and every one of us that he didnae give the beginnings of a fuck about what we think. Not a modicum of regard for any of us, he was out for one thing and one thing only and that was to become the ICW Champion. Fuck us very much indeed.

Overall ICW – What’s Your Boggle probably exceeded my expectations in all honestly. Some brilliant storytelling throughout, even though the last card was probably better wrestling wise, this show was probably more essential in terms of following what’s going on and set up some stauner inducing stuff for the upcoming Glasgow show, and the run in Edinburgh for the fringe. Fuck the World Cup Final.

 

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