ICW – Shugs House Party Review

shugs

As per usual wae the aftermath of a big house party, there’s a lot tae contend with. First and foremost, everycunt’s hungover. Even those who did not partake in any alcohol or swedge consumption are suffering. I spent all of Monday lying motionless in a sweaty heap, while my pal whiteyed in my toilet, cause Sunday just…I dunno. It done that tae ye. It took every single ounce of energy you could muster, then booted you hard in the chest, rendering ye a pile of useless flesh…in the best way possible. DNA and a bone structure, thats all you are now. Maybe thats all ye ever were. The point is, Shugs House Party wasn’t the best wrestling show ICW have put on this year, but it was…momentous. A special night for the company and for everyone who gives a fuck about it, and its taken me a gid 24 hours just tae let it all sink before trying to put words on it that make any degree of sense.
You would have gone in tae this with some of your own personal desires to see certain things happen. Maybe you wanted Chris Renfrew to become the new ICW Champion? Fuck..maybe you wanted the Guv’nor Martin Stone to take the belt even? I didnae really beforehand, but after seeing his performance and encountering him after the show, he quickly became one of my favourite cunts. Maybe ye wanted a wee surprise appearance? Perhaps CM Punk now that he’s officially a free agent, and perhaps that guy fae 3MB that everyone thought WWE dropped the ball with (don’t hinder Jinder) Maybe you wanted Stone Cold Steve Austin? Maybe you wanted Mark Coffey tae use Solar as an arrow, and have him launch Possils favourite Mexican intae the hearts of yer enemies? I don’t know ye mate, but I can tell ye some of that stuff did happen. Not all of it, but some. I can also tell ye that the landscape has changed. Forever. This was the ABC. This was 1200 people. And the chaos that ensued will never be forgotten. This was Shugs Hoose Perty.

We kicked off with some heartfelt niceness and subsequent shenanigans from Billy Kirkwood as he introduced us all to the evenings festivities. He took a wee minute to get serious and let us know that his former commentary partner, and quite possibly life partner Sean David had officially left the company. He thanked Sean for his work, and his friendship, and told us all he’d be missed. Billy had been speaking for at least a minute maybe two and was yet utter the word “fuck” so that was swiftly rectified when he rounded off by saying “fuck that cunt”. Thats mare like it! Then we had the first Shugs House Party original slice of patter, when Simon Cassidy had an “Its Your Fault!” chant directed at him. I actually cannae remember what sparked it, all I remember is Billy Kirkwood taking responsibility for it, and the fact that it happened throughout the night, but yer Simon Cassidy’s a pro. Takes it in good humour every time. Anyway, less sookin up arses, more wrestling patter eh? 500 words in and fuck all about wrestling matches. Lets rectify that. 

Liam Thomson gets wide wae Kid Fite

I really fuckin like Liam Thomson. Let me make that clear before my Glesga patriotism takes over (any smartarses thinking “you’re no fae Glesga! ye stiy in the countryside!” right now, fuckin unthink it, I have a Glasgow postcode, so sook me) and I tear intae the cunt. Out he comes. GALLUS as anything. Brazen as two in the fuckin morning so he wis. Bold as a balloon full of burst highlighters, and he’s out tae issue a challenge to Kid Fite. He seen the running order for the nights show and the fact that it had Thomson vs Kid Fite on at the back end of the card, and d’ye know whit? Liam Thomson was NOT HAPPY at that. Know whit his reasons were? The disrespectful prick that he is…his reasons were that the thought of him having to stay in Glasgow for another 2 hours MADE HIM SICK. Sick to the pit of his stomach. He had nae desire to be here for anything longer than the time it takes yer stupid sub standard Glesga chippies tae put vinegar on yer chips. He wanted Kid Fite out here right now, and knowing Kid Fite, I’d say that wasn’t something he was gonnae have any problems with. His name’s a dead giveaway in that respect. Kid Fite. A fighting kid. Now a fighting man, with fighting baws he waves in other fighters faces.

Out he came, ready for a scrap. He bounces in the ring like he just rolled out the casino at 7 in the morning, fulla Jaegerbombs and tenner eccies, after forearm smashing the bouncers just for being in his road. He bounces in fixing for a scrap. But Liam Thomson’s main aim for this show was to annoy as many Glaswegians as possible, and he succeeded in pissing off 1200 of them at the same time by jumping out the ring, grabbing the mic and calmly uttering the magic words. “I Quit”  Before swaggering up the road wae Carmel following, whistling sunshine on Leith, and shooting imaginary loads in all our faces. Fito naturally does not take kindly tae this, and in fact he reacted fairly violently. Assuring Thomson he would get his hands in him before Shug kicked everycunt oot his house, before assaulting a few members of the security team, with Kid Fite re-enacting his recent cameo role in River City by slapping fuck out of one of them. Don’t get in between a boy fae Glesga and a fuckin fight, thats the lesson tae be learned here.

Mark Coffey comes out an immediately gets on the mic next. Pretty much cutting the exact same promo he cut before his last scheduled match with Solar. Solar can’t make it tonight on a count of him still having a gommy leg and the fact that he’s shite feart that Mark Coffeys gonnae stuff him in tae the middle of a slinky and bounce him doon Sauchiehall Street. Coffey re-iterates the fact that he’s the REEEEEAL ICW Champion, but for some reason he was own his own. Nae Polo Promotions head honcho in tow. Turns out he was busy seeking out Solars replacement, and he got someone pretty decent in tbf. He is the ultimate promoter an the long standing KING OF CHAT. So if anyone could bring this man out of retirement, its Jackie. 

Mark Coffey vs CM Shrunk (w/ Jack.E Dangerously) (ICW Zero-G Title Match)

Loooook at the stage! What do you see? CM Punk if he wis really wee.
Ladies and gentleman, you might have heard about the homegrown former WWE employee making a surprise return, but if you haven’t heard the tale of CM Shrunk, you haven’t heard the whole fuckin story mate. Out he comes, flanked by his long time friend, mentor and occasional mouthpiece, the bold Jack.E Dangerously (it wis Jackie Polo dressed as Paul Heyman btw, in case yer one of they dafties that cannae read subtext) who gets on the mic, and heralds the return of the best in the world to the wrestling scene. We are assured that it is indeed Wee.M Punk and it did prove to be clobbering time after all, as Mark Coffey nearly decapitated the poor soul wae a huge boot to the chops for the 3 count. To be fair to my man Shrunk, he’s been busy pumpin that burd of his and enjoying the life away from the grind, so I cannae really blame him for having a bit of ring rust, but still. It was a brutal end after one of the loudest pops I’ve heard at the ABC when the best in the world appeared. A sad end to a beautiful moment.

Jackie E.Dangerously quickly morphs back into his usual form as ICW co-commentator, independent promoter, pro wrestling genius, pioneer of the suit jaisket and singlet combination and KING OF CHAT, Jackie Polo. Polo informs us all that Coffeys win proves beyond any doubt that he is indeed THE REEEEAL ICW CHAMPION and having knocked off the best in the world, he now also assumes the role as THE REEEEEAL BEST IN THE WORLD. The Prince of the Pumphandle. Mark Coffey.

After all those shenanigans…Solar came oot for a wrestle anyway….WRESTLING TIME.

Mark Coffey vs Solar (ICW Zero-G Title Match) 

Coffeys has never been shy about his level of respect for Solar, or indeed the lack of it. Its more of a lack of respect for the fact that he weighs about 4 and a hauf stone than anything to do with what he does wrestling wise, cause the cunt can fuckin go. Undoubtedly. He takes some stiff chops from Coffey early on, before responding with some rapid armdrags. Coffey gathers himself, and reduces Solars shoulders tae a pile of dust, and wee bits of broken glass that rained down fae his jaw when he hit him hard with a lariat tae the back. Solar surprisingly wasn’t ended by that thunderous blow, and got tae delivering some stinging kicks to Mark Coffeys legs and chest, only for Coffey to stop him in his tracks and plant him with that beautiful bridging belly to back suplex he does. Only a 2 count this time though. Solar’s a plucky bastard considering he weighs roon about the same as a half eaten bag of Space Raiders (thats the last weight joke..I swear, he’s really gid at wrestling at that, its no his fault his maw allowed herself to be impregnated by a rake) and he wisnae done fightin yet.

Out of nowhere he hits a spiny Mcflippy DDT (or a tornado DDT if yer a stickler for details) before diving towards Mark Coffey whilst shoutin “eeeeeeagle!” at the top of his lungs, only to be caught and planted with another belly to back suplex, swiftly followed by the Pumphandle Slam for the win.
Mark Coffey swiftly brushes the dirt aff his shoulder, with his status at the REEEEAL ICW CHAMPION in tact. Enough bright moments fae Solar tae remind us all that he’s still pretty fuckin good, and looks like he hasn’t lost a step since his injury, but another emphatic win for Coffey makes plenty of sense. Building champions here folks. Mark Coffeys got all the ingredients, but tae build a strong champion he has tae be winning matches. Sometimes with emphasis.

The Bucky Boys make an announcement

Its a fuckin shame. A shame it had to end like this. A legit injury ending a title reign is one of the saddest things in wrestling if ye ask me. I mean properly legit, not “Shawn Michaels losing his smile” legit. Because after some stellar patter fae the wee man, where he shows off the gold medal he won on behalf of the Gorbals Young Team at the Commonwealth Games in Womens Judo, before informing us that it wisnae actually sanctioned or anything, he just fancied a bit of a scrap wae some big foreign burds, Davie Boy, complete with crutches and limp gets on the mic to inform us that while his sare leg is healing up well, it will keep him out of action for this show, and as a result, Mark Dallas was forcing the troop to haun err the belts. He re-assures us that the Buckys will be about tae toe some baws when ICW hit the fringe. A simple title surrender completed….a shame, but thats life. There’s ups, there’s downs, sometimes things change…like…eh…I dunno, the card maybe?

Card Subject To Change Fuckers 

Ye cannae have a party without the bullies can ye? Even if you don’t officially invite said bullies to the dance, you know they’re flushin yer wee brothers heid doon the toilet until he gives up yer address and they’re turning up anyway. That was exactly what occurred here as the NAK came strolling out team handed. 3 fully functioning adults, and a Divers (jks…Team Divers 4 life) against Stevie Boy, a limping Davie Boy, Kay Lee Ray and The Wee Man. Nae offence to the Bucky Collective, but I know who my moneys on there. Renfrew gets on the mic and lets us all know how its going down.

Card was always changing. The NAK were always gonnae be involved somewhere, and its a poor shame that it had to happen like this. Buckys exposed. About to give up their tag belts for free, but the NAK don’t take fuck all for free. They take names and boot baws. They set about cunts. Renfrew ponders whether the Buckys have any surprise hauners. A wee ace up the sleeve, the the music hits. A Duran Duran song that makes grown men chant their fuckin lungs oot, purely because it lets everyone know that its time…its time..its Big Van Wolfie time! or wis it? Renfrew chuckles away to himself, before disappearing behind the curtain as the music continues to play, and re-emerging throwing up Wolfies W sign. Wolfie would not be appearing this evening. He was an invited guest to the extravaganza anaw, but as the video was about tae show, Wolfgang was in no fit state tae partake in a wrestling match tonight. After getting his heid squashed in a steel chair, like he wis a fly, and the NAK shut a book on him, Wolfgang was taking some time tae chill at home. See family and friends. Run the pub he owns. Yer everyday Wolfgang shit, when some masked assailants jumped intae the La Cala Bar and knocked the living shite out the poor big bastard. Open yer eyes big man. They’ll never be on your side. You’ll never be their guy. Make like James Scott and come tae the Darkside.

The wee man insists that despite the lack of an active Davie, and any canine hauners, they will actually be defending the belts tonight, and the man taking Davie Boys place isnae a man at all. The man taking Davie Boys place is the queen of baw bootin. The rid heided, death defying, homicidal, suicidal, genocidal, and probably occasionally hormonal KAY LEE RAY.

The Bucky People (Stevie Boy and Kay Lee Ray) vs The NAK (BT Gunn and Chris Renfrew) (ICW Tag Title Match) 

I’m not entirely sure if this was after the match had started, or before it, but after an all out brawl between all 4 members of the NAK and the remnants of The Buckys, The Wee Man made it tae safety behind security supremo Bobby Roberts. The problematic thing about attempting tae achieve some kind of order in an environment that breed chaos is that you become the enemy. You striving tae keep the peace, and keep innocent civilians (well ‘innocent’ is maybe a bit much, he pretty much always refers to some kind of scenario where the NAK are homeless, in a boyband and shaggin each others da’s) out of harms way can be met with a disproportionate response. Bobby Roberts protecting The Wee Man might have seemed a noble deed at the time, but when Chris Renfrew delivered an brain melting chairshot to his napper, it probably didnae seem like the best of ideas. If ye think that chair shot might have a some after effects for Bobby Roberts, gimme a HELL YEAH! 😉

So a match happened, and it was fuckin…everywhere. BT kicked off by chopping Stevie so hard, that “Team Lets Get Wasted” t shirt wound up welded to his chest permanently. Stevie hit back with a dropkick, followed by the standing shooting star press, before we had a mind boggling exchange which saw a double baseball slide, followed up by a double suicide dive fae Kay Lee and Stevie. We got back down to sworn enemies (and occasional best pals, but thats top secret…keep that between Just Uz) kicking the living fuck out each other. Then I believe we had Kay Lee hitting a diving ‘rana on Renfrew, but surely that’s no fuckin possible? I’m no saying Renfrew’s fat (actually looks lit he’s shifted some beef, DDP Yoga aye?) but he must outweigh Kay Lee Ray by at least 5 or 6 stone, and shes fuckin flippin him all over the joint wae just the use of her legs. Mental. Renfrew cleaned her out with a big lariat soon after though, clearly disnae take too kindly to being flipped in a million different directions by a lassie hauf his size, but despite her size disadvantage and the fact that men urnae really supposed tae hit women, she can take a tanking with the best of them. Renfrew caught her in mid air once again, and planted her with a sitout slam, before BT hit Stevie with a Firemans Carry Sitout Slam (must be a sexier name for that man, it sounds like a something ye’d use tae carry yer fishing gear in or somethin) Kay Lee made her way up top next, mibbe for a better vantage point so she could shout her order up tae the bar, or maybe for some Swanton action. Either way, she done neither cause BT caught her wae a vicious kick tae the side of the skull. Undeterred Kay Lee sat tight and fought BTs attempts at a superplex, winning the battle of wills in the end tae hit BT with a front suplex off the top rope.

BT hit a move he calls the “Facefucker” no long after that, which is a move that fucks up the face of the recipient, in case ye hadn’t gathered that. Kay Lee Ray hit an Enziguri followed by the Swanton after that, which brought her and Stevie within an inch of retaining the belts they were a bawhair away from giving up, before they both went Coast to Coast AT THE SAME TIME (coast to coast is what Shane McMahon called it, its a dropkick fae one side of the ring to the opposite, in case anycunt had nae idea what I mean) which I think in wrestling terms means they’re married now, or they’ve at least entered intae a Bonnie n Clyde type of lifetime bond, a bond that was momentarily broke when Renfrew hit the Stone Cold Stoner followed by a BT Gunn superkick as the New Age Kliq became your TWO TIME ICW Tag Team Champions.

A valiant effort fae the Bucky People but CARD SUBJECT TO FUCKIN CHANGE, ALWAYS. 2 belts down, 1 to go. Would this be the night the NAK became the gold standard in ICW? (whit the fuck does that even mean? …nope, not good enough, scribble it out) I’ll try that again, wid this be the night the NAK crashed a house party, and when hame wae a microwave, a toaster and everycunts watches in their pockets? Time would tell on the fate of the big belt, but first and foremost, what remained of the Buckys had a kicking tae take, and by fuck, they took it awrite. Double stomps for everyone. The Bucky Boys join Wolfgang and the NAKs Hall of Deid Folk.

Mark Dallas has an announcement tae make, and a meeting of minds wae a Rattlesnake

Despite the fact that it was his birthday, Dallas was scheduled tae give everycunt else a wee present, that present was the gift of information as he strolled out with TAFKA CM Shrunk to inform us all of the venue for this years Fear and Loathing. First he announced that since folk have been talking aw sorts of shit about ICW no running in Glesga enough, and where the fuck’s William Grange? I miss that floppy haired, awkward looking cunt. Anyway aye, the first announcement is that ICW are running a show on August 31st at The Garage, and seemingly that wis that. Until Mr Toal summons Dallas back tae the ring and insists he tells us the whole fuckin story, and that story isn ICW. (What?) Fear and Loathing 7 (What?) Taking place at the motherfuckin Barralands baybaaaaaay! (Whit? AHHHHHHH)

Aye that’s right ICWs flagship show is coming tae the east end. The barras is gettin fuckin pumped. Just as the excitement for that bedding in, we saw ANOTHER former WWE champion emerge fae the shadows to greet the ICW faithful. Glass smashed, wrecking machine hits the ring. ITS STONE COLD BOBBY ROBERTS (what?) To give big Bobby Roberts his due, I thought his stone cold impression was fuckin spot on. He’s mare of a cross between Austin and Big Daddy build wise, but accent wise he had it spot on. Mannerisms wise he had it spot on. Getting in the bosses face wise? Yep. Nailed that anaw. To my knowledge no one got covered in beer (well not at this stage of the night anyway) but as Stone Cole impressions go, it was a belter, even gesticulating wildly towards the camera as he got huckled oot (gesticulating wildly? sorry, I ment “GIEN IT FUCKIN LALDY MEHT”) stunnering everything in his path, including the boss himself (who sold it like Vince sold his first ever stunner…its the subtle things) That’s the bottom fuckin line, cause Bobby Roberts tellt ye. 

Grado vs Johnny Moss

Fuck sake. We’re getting aw the world champions the night eh? The Monday Night Wars was essentially the story of two industry leading baldy guys in black pants for a long while, and we’d just heard from one of they hellraising cunts in the last segment, so it had to be time for the original streak holder, the original jobber squasher extrodinaire, the cunt who kicked the misery in tae Bret Hart. The one, the only….GOLDBERG. Well…sorta. It wis actually GRADOBERG, and I cannae tell ye any lies. I felt like a daftie watching it. Big stupid grin on my coupon as Grado went through the whole Goldberg routine. He had done it before for a youtube video right enough, but it was extra special live. In front of 1200 heidthebaws goin daft for it. The camera actually went past Mossy as it panned tae the door Grado was coming out of, and I like tae imagine he was standing there, ruefully shaking his heid, whilst downing a cup of Tetleys tea wae 10 sugars in it, muttering “Check the state of this fucker” under his breath. Cause Mossy is nae joke. As much as I enjoyed Grado doing the Goldberg thing, before it kicked intae Like A Prayer when he eventually did poke his heid out the curtain, it should still never detract from the fact that Mossy was thirsty for blood. Fee Fi Fo Fum, I smell the blood of the Stevenston One.

Mossy gets straight to fuckin business with a german suplex, followed by some brutal striking. Kicks, a slap to the jaw and some brutal chops. Grado tried to get a foothold in it, god bless his soul, but his jabs were laughed off as he was chucked intae the Clyde with a brutal belly to belly suplex throw. Mossy isnae a murderer though. At least I dont think so. Does snapping Cow’s heids aff and eatin them whole count as murder? Who fuckin knows mate. I’m no a greenpeace guy. But he decided throwing Grado intae the Clyde was maybe a bit far, and fished him out dutifully with Grados own bumbag, before tossing him intae the ring and proceeding to choke Grado out with said bumbag. Using a man’s own personal bumbag against him. Mossys evil knows no bounds. Grado once again got going with some jabs, before going for the flying bum hit, only for Mossy to catch him and chuck him BACK intae the Clyde with a German Suplex throw (in case yer a bit dolly, I’m jesting, Grado was never in the Clyde, I’m using hyperbole to overstate the emphasis of Mossys suplexes…is it workin? I think its going no too bad) Grado did finally get a wee spell on top, I believe hitting the Wee Boot, after some Shake Rattle n Rolling and Bionic Elbow’in, and he even managed a fuckin F5, but Mossy summed up exactly why you should be shite feart of him shortly after that when he totally no sold the Wee Boot. The wee boot is essentially a Brogue Kick delivered by a smaller, chubbier leg wae a bit of a skin pigmentation, but it still remains a big boot tae the face. And Mossy almost fuckin laughed at it. HOW DARE THEE SLING A BOOT TOWARDS ME.  Mossy goes for a big lariat, and all of a sudden…haud on….whit?

“Here is your winner…..GRAAAAAAAAAADO”

Eh…….excuse me?
Whit just happened? Did that…..I mean….eh?

Grado only went and rolled the big bastard up didn’t he? Rolled him up like a…eh…..I’m struggling tae think of a non weed based analogy here, but the weans look up tae Grado so I’ll no sully his name wae such muck. He rolled him up for the 1..2..3 anyroad, and Mossy was understandably raging having spent the vast majority of the previous 10 minutes knocking the living fuck outta our Grado. Counts for fuck all though eh. All that matters is the W, and the ultimate underdog has strung together some impressive wins in ICW over the past few months. Whiplash, Sha Samuels and Johnny Moss? When they were al baying for his blood? No bad gaun. No bad ataw. Next stop a wee look at a shiny belt maybe? We shall see. If/when Renfrew does cash in, you’d imagine theres a shot for Grado somewhere down the line considering the way the Square Go ended. That’s if nae other Ayrshire based wrestlers fancy a shot at it or anything 😉

Jackie Polo Presents…Lionheart, This Is Your Life

Jackie Polo is a genius. I don’t care if ye love, hate or are entirely indifferent to him as a character, or even as a human being out there in the world. If you understand wrestling even a tiny wee bit, you know fine well he’s a genius. I’m saying this before writing about by far my least favourite segment of his in ICW in terms of entertainment. Ye know why? Cause it wisnae fuckin MEANT to entertain. Not in a general sense anyway. Jackie Polo tailor made the first 20 minutes of this segment to annoy you. Plain and simple. In order for this feud with Lionheart to gain a bit of traction again, it needs Jackie Polo the heel. No Jackie Polo the kinda cheeky bad guy that a lot of folk love, and a few folk still hate. It needed a proper cunt. A tiresome arsehole. But a GALLUS one. One who isnae afraid to look in to the eyes of each and every paying customer in attendance and let them know “I’m gonnae make you feel everything from raging, to bored to slightly uncomfortable in the next 20 minutes, and I’m gonna fuckin enjoy it”

He opens the segment by telling us that Lionheart has declined to be a part of it, but he understands. Sometimes a hero’s presence isn’t actually required, ye just let his achievements do the talking. Former ROH Title contender? OH YOU BETTER BELIEVE IT BROTHER. Only man from Scotland to wrestle for both WWE and TNA in the same year? CHECK THAT OFF THE LIST. First black man to pilot an aircraft? Nah…but two outta three isnae half bad. He gives it a barrage of patter which was designed to sound complimentary but actually wisnae of course. Sarcasm at its finest. At this point we’ve got some cake, cheeky patter and a mildly offensive newspaper clipping and at that point it still had my interest as entertainment. Then Jackie brought out or first guest of the evening, none other than Heartos High School sweetheart. The beautiful ROSALITA. Out strolls this dazzling beauty in a wee red number, to explain how he took Lionhearts VL, and gave him his first handjob in the back of the mini bus that takes the fitbaw team to away games, and either before or after that Jackie made a wee crack that parodied Heartos “Tasted more success than you have…pussy” from the start of the year. The cheeky gallusness continues when Jackie brings out Lionhearts old high school wrasslin coach! Big John Studd! Naw wait….no him, the other guy. Cannae mind what name the coach wis given, but aye…it was Adam Shame playing the role anyway. I know a fuckin Adam Shame when I see wan mate. The bit wae the coach really dragged, and thats when the crowd started to turn from disinterested tae FUCK THIS PISH, and thats when Polo really came intae his own. He demands respect from the audience for an “excellent collegiate athlete!” and he did not miss a fuckin step when a couple of beers got chucked towards the ring, didnae even acknowledge it. It had nae relevance to the task at hand, and Jackie Polo NEVER breaks character. Although he must have felt a wee bit of pride when referee Tam McLovin bounced intae the crowd wae the intention tae knock fuck out the guy who slung the second beer (how much of a fuckin hero is that cunt btw? gid at the reffin and a keeper of order) but nope…never ever break character.

The third and final guest was Stu Hart (not actually Stu Hart he’s deid as fuck) and thats when it got properly uneasy. Bringing oot a deid legend to audible mumbles, and some more sensitive folk being sick aw doon thersells. Stu Hart was played by DCT btw, and a wee part of me kinda wished he’d ditch the auld guy makeup and gear and just a regular auld DCT promo. We all could have used a bit of International Sex Hero patter, but the Stu Hart thing had tae happen. The promo isnae worth a fuck without it, and not being able to hear a fuckin word that DC-Stu was saying disnae matter. It wasn’t about that, it was about the promo reaching a certain point of riddy that appeared to  FORCE Lionheart to emerge from the shadows. As the party descends intae a rip roaring game of pass the parcel, there he wis.

Finally…THE HEART…HAS COME BACK..TO I…CEE…DUBBLEYOO. He didnae actually say that right enough, but it would have been nifty if he did. Point is, there he wis, standing face to face with his nemesis and in a complete turnaround from the last time they had a proper promo-off the crowd were for Hearto. They sooked in every word he said, and regurgitated big cheesy grins and YASSSS’es, as he makes an analogy about him bein a Lion in a cage, and once the necks healed up, the Lion comes oot the cage, and rips Jackie Polos dick aff. Presumably to use as a neck brace, cause no that I’m a dick spotter or that, but unless the cunt’s stuffin the singlet, Jackie Polo is packin a whopper. He makes reference to Polo coming oot team handed and insists that while he cannae take on all 4 of them on his own, he did have some pals along with him………

DOOT DA LOOT DO DO…DO DO (I’m no even gonnae try n dae it, I’m already botching it…aye, its the Still Game tune)

JACK, VICTOR AND BOABY THE BARMAN! No fuckin WAY man. Its not a new thing tae see Greg Hemphill in a wrestling environment right enough, but in a Still Game context, with his pals in tow? Aye. Intae it. They take a shot each of going up on the ropes, wae Greg and Ford Kiernan receiving rapturous applause. Boaby got some boos, but I imagine thats more down tae his shite patter in the show than any ill feeling towards him as a human man. The point is they were oot for a few reasons, first and foremost, they were there tae leave all of Jackie Polos nursing sare jaws, as they each delivered a stiff right hand tae their opposing foe. Down they went, Coach and Stu departing the ring in the process as Polo took a wee breather out on the ramp tae hilariously munch some cake, and pass wee bits of it to folk in the crowd. He was undeterred by the Still Game hauners, and looked decidedly unimpressed by Lionheart delivering a spine shattering Rock Bottom tae Rosalita. Jackie Polo’s just a guy enjoying some fuckin cake ma man. Nothing more, nothing less. Couldnae give a fuck what’s happening in the ring, his job was done. The Still Game troops handed out some free tickets to their stage show, and despite my own good good personal friendship wae Greg Hemphill, I unfortunately couldnae grab one for myself. Ford Keirnan got everyone chantin the theme tune anaw (that thing I tried tae do earlier..mind?) and it was all a smashin time. A moment tae please everyone, including the folk who might’ve just bought a ticket out of curiosity. They go hame and tell everyone about how they saw the Still Game boaysies knock fuck out some weird looking folk. They make their way up the road, Polo completely ignoring them as they go past, and it looked like we had the face-off we had all been waiting for. The physical confrontation between Polo and Hearto. Lets…doooo…this! That wisnae the last of Heartos hauners though. He had one more foe to chuck in Jackies direction, and it was a guy Jackie’s had a few run-ins with in the past. The Barlinnie Badman (thats fuckin terrible patter..one more go) The Head Honcho of Heidbuttin (spose that’ll dae, its still no great though) SWEENEY.

Sweeney is the only man that provokes a reaction from Jackie Polo that isnae smugness. Its like he gets the fear stuck up him when Sweeney’s after him, and he walks, talks and acts like a man that literally has something stuck up him when Sweeneys aboot. A fear truncheon, right up the farter.

We Fell In Love With Joe Hendrys Face 

I love Joe Hendry, but after a good half hour of Jackie Polo doing his best tae annoy the fuck out of anycunt who might consider themselves a living, breathing human, listening tae him chant in his wee blue pants wisnae whit I was after. Fuckin SILENCE for a minute mibbe. Out he came though, with his band Lost In Audio, and his talent agent James R.Kennedy smiling and approving of every move Joe made. I cannae remember the specifics of the early tunes on the set, bar his wee rendition of “If You Want Some…Come and Get Some” but then he made me remember why I started loving Joe Hendrys work to start with, and suddenly the fatigue and weariness that came along with standing for 2 hours and having tae see Jackie Polo side eye a guy in a dress as if he wanted to ride her (him? it?) stupit, just melted away. Joe Hendry makes things better. Even his own segments which didnae really grab me to begin with. He does a wee parody of “We Found Love” by Rhianna, replacing the lyrics with “We Fell In Love With Joe Hendrys Face” and circling the the ring high fiving adoring fans. He even stuck the mic intae someones face and gave them a wee chance to give their opinion of the Joe Hendry concert so far, to which the rapscallion responded “Yer a wank!” Or something along they lines, the point here is that the Commonwealth Games are in town, and that means a lot of foreign faces in the crowd, so clearly this cunt wis speaking Albanian or suhin, and in his language “Yer a wank” means “PLAY THAT FUNKY MUSIC WHITE BOIIII” Next up was a parody of “I Want It That Way” by the Backstreet Boys, this time replacing the lyrics wae “We love Joe Hendry” or “Joe Hendry always brings me a pic n mix when I’m on my break at work, so he’s probably quite sound” I actually don’t have a fuckin scooby what he sang at that point, I just know I liked it. Then it happened. The shite hit the cyclone. The excrement hit the airwaves, the fuckin…….BEAR IS HERE. 

We hear a voice in the distance. Gruff and serious as fuck. “JOE HENDRAY…..UP HERE YA CUNT” and there he wis, brazenly getting a pint of Guinness poured to him by Boaby the Barman. Who encourages him tae get down tae that ring, and set about they pricks. So wae beer in hand, and the ring a-callin’, big Damo the Bear, had a Joe Hendry tae be maulin.

Joe Hendry (Global Hero) vs Damo (Scary Irish Bastard)

Dont fuck wae Damo man. Don’t poke the bear. That’s a saying for a reason, because when bears get poked they tend tae take it out on yer jaw. They tend to completely ignore the fact that you’ve just Irish Whipped them into a barricade. Didnae even look like the big brute felt a thing, before he responded in kind and caved in MMMMGH JOE HENDRAY (Global Hero)’s chest with the big Senton against the barrier. If there’s a sarer looking move in wrestling today, it involves juggling chainsaws. That’s aw I’m saying tae it. In terms of aesthetics, thats the sarest looking shit happening right now.

Joe Hendry is undeterred by the sareness, because ye see, lately Joe’s been proving that he’s a lot more than just a guy who’s decent on the mic and likes a wee sing song. He cannae be defined by his ability to insult 1200 people simultaneously. He’s a man of many talents, some of them illegal in certain states in America (Its a thing he does where he makes his nipples rotate wae the power of thought, get him tae show ye it the next time ye see him stoating about Tescos or somethin) and one of those talents is that he’s a pretty fine wrestler. For a cunt who’s only been training for about 16 months or so, he continues to improve and look a lot more comfortable in there as the matches go by. This match saw him bust out a fuckin suicide dive nae less, before once again hitting the logic defying Fallaway Slam on a man who weighs about the same as an Ice Cream van filled wae pound coins. He stays on top with a barrage of kicks, and for a while Joe Hendry had it in him tae slay the beast. Damo rallies with an outburst of uppercuts, before he done that other thing he does that looks like it makes peoples chests disintegrate. Ye know the one aye? The one where the man who once stopped a moving bus wae his bear hands (get it? it should be bare hands, but im saying bear cause he’s a….oh forget it) stands on yer chest for a few seconds before dropping all his weight on ye Senton style. Clean up on aisle ribs, Joe Hendrys ribs are all over the camp here. The Human Senton machine continues the relentless onslaught with the Rolling Senton for a 2 count. Joe Hendry clinging on for dear life, found it in him to hit a DDT out of nowhere, and if my recollections are collect, he hit the AA soon after for a 2 count cause I mind being like that “Was that the AA” and folk around me were lit that *nodding* so I follow the nods. His reign on top was short like leprechauns, and Damo hoisted him up for the Electric Chair Driver to put Hendry away, only for the ref to get pulled out, and that’s when it got…fun. The enforcer of The Kennedy Administration Tim Wylie was put to the sword by a huge kick to the chops, before Damo turned his attention to the bollocks himself, the gid apple amongst the bad oranges. The boiled egg amongst the fried yins. The poached egg amongst the…too many egg analogies? Aye I thought so. Kennys a good cunt though, and he assures Damo he does not want a piece of him. Instead he indicates that he wants peace wae him!
He tells Damo to hing tight for a second, as he fetches him a chair. Kenny had an idea. He produces the pink chair that changed Bobby Roberts career, but Damo isnae too enamoured with that choice. So the bollocks does a bit of clawing, and produces a wee alternative that might remind Damo of home. A fuckin green steel chair. At this point yer going through the realistic spots that could be coming up involving Damo, Kenny, Joe Hendry and a chair. A few. Not many, for theres a few out there. Maybe Kenny grabs the pink chair, Damo grabs the green one and they leather Joe Hendry in harmony. Anything would sound more realistic than what actually happened, as Joe Hendry found himself slumped on his arse at the corner. Kenny carefully held that aforementioned green chair in front of the face of “the guy from Sky Sports 3” before Damo climbed up on the top rope at the opposite corner, and proceeded tae fuckin FLY across the ring tae hit the Vandamintor (aptly named the Van-DAMO-Nator) and knock Joe Hendry clean out the ring (beautifully sold btw) sending the top half of his jaw and his left arsecheek haufway back to Edinburgh. I dunno if this severs Kennys ties with The Kennedy Administration, that’s something that’ll be ironed out in due course, but I do know this. I went tae a House Party on Sunday, and witnessed a Dublin Brownbear fly from one end of a wrestling ring to another, and its things like that which makes this wrestling shit all the more mesmerizing. Whit….the…fuck.

Damo and Kenny are pals now, and that makes my heart sing. Lets chat about a couple of guys who used tae be pals, but not so much anymore, Kid Fite ad Liam Thomson. In fact, its got quite bitter between the pair, as they engage in yer classic Glasgow vs Edinburgh war. I feel like a traitor for being so intae Thomsons work since the split, since I’m a Glesga boy myself (shut the fuck up right, I’ve got a G66 postcode, and live in a junkie hotspot, I’ll call it Glesga all I fuckin want) but there’s nae denying the wee arsehole heel persona with Carmel providing more than adequate hauners is working for him. As for Kid Fite, its been hard for him to top his exploits with Paul London at Still Smokin, and it seems that every time he tries tae gather some momentum, Thomson’s there to derail it. So no more fuckin shite. Lets fight. Right now. I quit match. Former pals in a battle tae the death, or at least till one of them wishes he was dead.

Liam Thomson vs Kid Fite (I Quit Match…It actually happened this time)

There’s nae stronger urge written in to a man DNA than the one that tells him to protect his woman against danger. Well….maybe the one that tells him tae protect his woman against no getting a healthy dose of the boaby is a wee bit stronger. In fact, theres one in there that gies us superhuman strength when it comes tae batting folks hands away when they try tae lift a chip aff out plates, but listen. That urge tae protect yer woman against harm is up there. At least top five. So Liam Thomson’s level of risk taking and perseverance in this…brutal brawl wis nae surprise when he was fighting for the honour of his missus, the wonderfully evil Carmel. Kid Fite was fighting for one thing and one thing only. The honour of his city. He’s a Glesga boy through and through, a fact that his decided ginger baws will attest to, and if Thomson thinks pulling that soor face, and calling Glaswegians aw the scumbags and bastards under the sun is scaring anycunt, he’s sorely mistaken. Kid Fite took it upon himself to defend the honour of his city by perpetuating one of its negative stereotypes and dragging Thomsons wench out to the rig by the hair, leaving Thomson but to do the noble deed and fight for her honour.

The brawl kicks aff with a suicide dive from Thomson, followed by both men being sent crashing through a barrier by a Kid Fite Senton. Carmel took a scoop slam on the outside at some point early doors anaw. I’m no sure if this was around the same time period, but they battled on one of the ledges that too ye tae the higher up bit at the bar, and I’m pretty sure Kid Fite won the battle of wills while they were up there, before diving on every cunt, but I might be mistaken there. Back in the ring, Fito busted out the Snap Suplex. I feel like I’m being awfy repetitive saying it every time he does it like, but the man knows his way round a suplex. This yin looked half suplex, half brainbuster to me if that makes any degree of fuckin sense ataw. Probably no eh? A missile dropkick from Thomson, led us to a finish that belonged in a Shakespeare play, or eh…something by a slightly less famous playwright, but still braw anyway? We get a table set up in one corner, and a chair set up in the other and after an exchange of forearms between the former best of boaysies, Kid Fite gained the upperhand once and for all by putting Thomson through the table with a release powerbomb (I’m almost sure this is how it went down, If I’ve fucked this up well…I’m no that sorry tbh, we’ll get tae the right finish in the end, don’t fret) before sending him heid first through the chair at the other end. And tying him up in the ropes. Liam Thomson had come up with a number of ways to refuse tae say I Quit throughout the match “Fuck Glasgow” popped up quite a lot, I believe he urged Kid Fite tae suck his dick at some point anaw, although that might have been the other way about, but this time after he refuses to give the fuck up once more, Kid Fite gets a wee bit serious. Kid Fite brings Liams wuman intae the mix and tests his resolve in the worst/best possible way. With Carmel stricken in the middle of the ring, Kid Fite grabbed a steel chair and made Liam Thomson very aware that if he was to continue to refuse to yield, he’s have nae choice but to leather Thomsons burd. Hard. One thing I’ve no seen a whole lot of in my time watching wrestling is females taking a proper tanking wae a chair, and whilst I don’t conisder myself to be be a squeamish cunt, I’m still not overly keen to make a habit or seeing such things, so I was a wee bit relieved that despite Thomsons refused to quite wae his burds welfare on the line (I think he thought she could take it…him giving up would have been an insult tae Carmel and his capacity to get the shite knocked out of her and keep coming back for more. Or mibbe he’s just intae burds getting their ovaries panned in wae chairs, either way, he was not giving a fuck) but it was a whole other story when Fito pulled the baws out. That was plenty.” I quit. Put yer sack away. Its done. You win. You and the ginger jiblets have won the day this time Fito, but mark my words! One of these days!…One of these days” Or words to that effect, it was along those lines anyway eh?I’m still no entirely sure if they did break that table in the corner btw, I may have dreamt that, but I’m almost certain that happened, anyway. A night at the ABC just disnae feel right without Kid Fite gettin his jollies, and he finally got that moment hes been waiting for since the moment he first met Thomson, and stared longingly at the permanently frowning coupon of his. He finally got the chance to dip his balls in his mouth. Is there any simpler way to one up yer enemy than that? If there is, I’m yet to be introduced to it man. There’s nae verbal or physical insult that matches “How did ma baws taste?” is there? I’m Liam Thomson and Carmel daft, but on this occasion, Glesga toed yer arsed, and dipped its ginger baws in yer collective gub. With a run of 4 shows coming up on their turf, you’d imagine there’s gonnae be plentiful chances for revenge, but they’d have to be willing to revisit the site of their trauma. They’d have to be willing to revisit Kid Fites hairy satchel.

Joe Coffey vs Jack Gallagher

Sometimes Joe Coffey has brilliant wrestling matches. Pretty much all the time really…like, I’d say the only time he’s not having brilliant wrestling matches is when he isnae having wrestling matches at all. The rest of the time (thats the time where he IS having wrestling matches, in case ye were struggling to keep up there) he’s having incredibly engaging, storytelling ridden stoaters wae…well, everycunt. Everyone thought he was having the best matches of his career wae James Scott, then hi and BT Gunn knocked the 11 shades of shite out each other and ye wondered whether that might’ve even topped the matches against the man now known as Darkside. Then after a controversy ridden heavyweight slugfest wae Damo, he went and had a captivating intricate encounter wae Noam Dar in London. All of those matches were stellar. If I’d to pick a favourite, I’d say the one wae Noam just edges it, perhaps partly cause it was so astounding to see two guys who’d never wrestled a singles match before have such chemistry, but the one thing all the matches had in common is that the crowd were beating their chests in unison for the Iron Man, but he wisnae quite the Iron Man yet was he? Sure…he won that 30 minute iron man match, and he’s been going by that name since, but can ye ever really be the true Iron Man without an entrance that lets cunts know they’re in the presence of a superhero?

Enter Joe Coffey, enter guitar, enter that burly big bastard strumming along to the Iron Man tune, painted up like a fuckin rockstar superhero, and destroyer of your vaginal walls. I apologise if thats overly graphic, its only a laugh! I’m no being serious. He widnae cause ye tae collapse in on yourself ataw. I’m sure he’s a gentle and thorough shagger. He initially emerged to his usual music, before it slowly faded in tae him fuckin playing Iron Man as he emerged to a rapturous pop. Ye got the feeling people needed this. The hardcore wrestling fans needed this exhibition, and it was starting off a lot flashier than anyone anticipated. Joe Coffey knows what needs tae be done if he’s to set himself apart from the chasing pack. As much as having the best match on the card most nights does for your reputation, it still isnae enough. Ye need to do things that make your name shine brighter than anyone elses. There’s various ways of making that happen. Having a unique moveset? Got that locked down. An intimidating aura? Aye. An aptitude for spinning his fellow man round in circles hunners before they hit a major whitey and spew intae the referee’s back pocket? Thats there tae. But the one thing he’s always been missing is playing the guitar on his way to the ring, and practically shaggin everyone in the room as he does so. “JOE MERCAAAAAAY!”

We were brought back down to earth by Jack Gallaghers much more low key, but heavy charming entrance to “Help” by The Beatles. That says it all about the type of wrestler you can expect when ye watch Jack Gallagher. He’s simply a different sort. One for the purists, but with a quiet charisma about him. One of my favourite discoveries from going to a few SWA shows over the past year has been the stellar work he’s produced, and how remarkably over he is for a wee ginger English fella. He felt a bit superhero like himself. Or maybe no superhero strictly, whit’s Zorro? Not technically a superhero, but a vigilante wae a sword. That’s the kinda feel ye got from Gallagher. The Iron Man vs The Ginger Zorro, putting on a wrestling clinic.

Wristlocks started us off, cagey beginnings. A precursor for the beautiful wrestling tapestry these two were about to weave. A kick the the leg from Gallagher took Coffey down, before he locked Coffeys leg. Joe regained his vertical base and decided the ring wise big enough for both of them, and sent Gallagher out of the ring, heading somewhere towards the merch table wae a shopping list in his back pocket that just said “One Jamie Feerick T-Shirt pls” Its like when gaffers used tae send their apprentices oot tae the B n Q tae fetch them a “Long stand” Its a rib. Yer just gonnae stand there waiting on this non existent Feerick merch until you can wait to more, and ye go oot and make one of yer own. “Have No Feer-Ick it would say” with him on the front pointing to himself jovially. Whit the fuck am I even talking about man? Stunning wrestling match tae be reviewing here. Heid in the fuckin game. A strength test between the warriors is won by Joe, as he takes Jack off his feet with a Snapmare before locking in a wristlock. Hard. Gallagher breaks free in time for another wee bit of showboating in the corner, as he goes heidstanding again, before landing a beezer of a high dropkick. Joe Coffey took control again with a stiff shoulderblock, following that up with a wee bit a swinging. Cause as well as being the Iron Man, he’s the king of the swingers. The Jungle V.I.P. He swung Jack round, and round again, before snapping his spine in three. How so? a Boston Crab that’s how, but Hoe’s Boston Crab isnae the average Boston Crab is it. He locks that fucker in tight. Shoot style, strong style, sare style wrasslin. Jack Gallagher did eventually get free and rolled Joe intae  wee baw for his troubles, before finding himself truly in the submission hold trenches when Coffey laid him out with a Snapmare and LOCKED in a wretched chinlock. Absolute fuckin agony ensued. Women and children crying (an over 18s show anaw, but every child within a 5 mile radius of the 02 burst out in tears in sympathy of Jack Gallaghers chinlock predicament) Coffey breaks the chinlock monotony with a dropkick of his own, before starting off a fucking brutal barrage that he sling in Gallaghers direction. The two hard Irish Whips to the corner were solid magnificently man. It was like Gallagher was keeping all the air in his body in the exact spot that Joe was hitting wae the whips cause Gallagher went down like a sack of spuds both times. If anyone went intae this unaware of Jack Gallagher, they were certainly aware now. Very fuckin aware indeed. Jack Gallagher is as legit as they come, book him forever. An encapsulating exchange of heidbutts, uppercuts, chops, forearms and trident launching followed as these two stood toe to toe. Gallagher dazed Coffey once more with another peach of a dropkick, before taking it back to the ground with a single leg takedown, intae a sleeper. Go tae sleep Joe. Ye know it makes sense. A match in 2014 ending on a sleeper? You’d be an innovator man. Folk would tell this tale for years to come. Joe would not surrender though. Not tae the sandman, and certainly not to the Ginger Zorro.

Uppercuts took Gallagher into the corner, before Joe hit the usual barrage of splashes. Well no really a barrage, just 2 this time, followed by an inch perfect Bulldog from the corner. Spinning lariat attempt blocked, and all of a sudden Gallagher looked like he was closing in on creating a wee upset when he floored Joe with a Missile Dropkick, before landing with the Swanton for a two count. That put the fear up Joe, and he debuted a new kind of swing in response. A swing where as the man himself described it, he kinda has the opponent hanging backwards on his shoulder in the Alabama Slam position, before spinning him hunners and ending it all by sending Gallagher towards the canvas wae a brutal thud. Arse collapsed clean oot the poor cunt, and he was unfortunately put out of his misery soon after when Joe sealed the win with the Spinning Lariat, releasing us from the hypnosis of wrestling greatness they had us under.

I fuckin hate “this is awesome!” chants. I hate people no fae Malibu, or some other ridiculous American beach toon ever using the word ‘awesome’ actually. It reminds me of the Miz, and over excited weans talking fizzy juice in auld adverts, but on this occasion? Aye. That was fuckin awesome. Sometimes there’s nae other way of describing it. If its awesome, its awesome. The Ginger Zorro might have been put to the sword, but I hope tae fuck its not the last we see of him in ICW. I cannae see any reason why he wouldnae be booked forever. He seems like a nice lad. Good to his mammy and that, and he also has this unbelievable capacity for daein really good wrasslin. Seems tae make a habit of it so he does. What a man.

Jack Jester vs Martin Stone (ICW Title Match) 

Martin Stone is one of my favourite ICW surprises cause I’ll no lie tae yin, I wisnae that excited about the main event. I realised who Martin Stone was, and why I should respect him and expect that the match would be a hard hitting battle, but with nae storyline heat and admittedly a huge amount of ignorance to how talented Stone was, I expected little from the match itself would grab me. Perhaps stuff that went on afterwards would make up for what the match lacked, but the match itself I was barely arsed about. I was incorrect to adopt that stance, cause big Martin Stone knows. The big man knew what was coming after him, and knew the job him and Jester had to do in order too add gravitas tae it. He knew he had tae punish Jester without weakening him enough tae make what immediately followed the match irrelevant. A hard defence for Jester was needed, but no enough that it leaves him a pile of mush afterwards, and that’s exactly what we got as the big man came strolling out with the game face well and truly on, giving every single person in the place the middle finger as he graced us wae his presence, dressed in Shield gear, which provoked a fuckin dire “yer just a shite Roman Reigns” chant. For that chant tae work ye need tae bear some sort of resemblance to the cunt in question don’t ye? Anyway, wrestling n that.

Martin Stone kicked us off by blootered Jester from behind, before Jester hit him wae a splash in the corner, followed by the bulldog. Splash and bulldog daft the night is yer ICW. They get to scrapping on the outside, before both of them came crashing through the barrier next tae us. Up to the bar we go for some light refreshments and spot of flying, as Jester hit the Elbow Drop off the bar. A spot that’s become synonymous wae his reign, but one ye’d think these challengers would have well scouted by now surely? Jester takes a sore dunt to the heid as we made our way back intae the ring, where Stone locked in a stiff chinlock. Awrite, I know its only a fuckin chinlock, but he’s a big guy wae big erms. It looked sore. He had it in for a while tae, before Jester regained his vertical base wae a shimmy and shake, and sent Stone somewhere towards next week wae a chinbreaker. Hit that elevated pedigree thing he does soon after a bit of a battle on the top rope, and I still have nae idea whit ye call that thing. I’m sticking wae elevated pedigree, cause that’s what I’ve always called it, but I’ll get the brain trust together and we’ll see if we can come up wae something a wee bit sexier eh. The brain trust is just me, Scott Norton and the tall cunt Ricky Gervais cuts about wae, but we get shit done. Stone kicked out anyway, and sent Jester to the corner with a dropkick, before hitting a thunderous lariat in the corner, seemingly gearing up for the win, and some of the crowd were actually behind the angry looking big brute, but he had his attempt a corkscrew attack turned into a Tombstone, and that was all she wrote for the first portion of the main event. As much as it wisnae a classic, it done the exact job it was intended to. The champion knows he’s been in a fight, but its not a Jimmy Havoc type of fight, where ye need tae go in tae the hospital for a full body scan just in case you’ve broken…well everything. Stone gives Jester the thumbs up on his way up the ramp, while Jester seemed tae want another square go wae the big man. He was worrying about the wrong baldy guy though wasn’t he

*I GOT YOU IN MY SIGHTS, NOW I’M GOIN FOR THE HEADSHOT……*

HERE WAE! HERE WAE! HERE WAE FUCKIN…aw fuck. Out comes the cavalry. Knowing fine will pretty much everyone Jester can call a friend is incapacitated. Nae Buckys, nae Wolfgang, nae Red Lightning on the scene, Grado was probably still nursing the wounds fae Mossy pulling his small intestine clean oot his arse, so who does that leave? Nae cunt. Darkside and BT Gunn attack Jester first, with Darkside haudin Jester in place for BT to deliver a thunderous superkick, and they summoned the main man to have his moment. Ladies and gentleman, and particularly those of you who describe yersells as “NAK 4 LIFE” this was it. That burst briefcase was finally gonnae turn into a title, Renfrews second of the evening, and the NAKs third in total, meaning they run the show. Meaning they monopolise the money and they aren’t just some backstage kliq, only ever showing solidarity in their waee baw patting backstage meetings. Nut. These cunts are the real deal. Renfrew gets on the mic and tells Jester what he already knows. You’ve got no friends left pal! 4 of us, one of you, come up off that belt before ye lose a few more portions of yer jaw, and maybe some of yer sanity tae. Then the lights went out, and for 10-15 seconds, not one person in that venue drew breath. People at the bar fell through trap doors as punishment for being at the fuckin bar when this shit was going down. Aw..deary…me.

IT’S DREW FUCKIN GALLOWAY….AHHHHHHHH

Huge boot to the chops of Renfrew, and he got a swift hit in on everyone else before the numbers game took over. Wait a fuckin minute though, have we even broached the subject ataw yet? I don’t think we did. THAT’S DREW GALLOWAY. First ever ICW Champion, and the man who spent the last 7 years of his life living the dream. It maybe didnae feel like a dream a lot of the time when he had to endure the years of jobbing, waiting for his next chance tae shine. Maybe that tsunami inducing pop he got when the revealed his glorious coupon gave him something back. He might no be under the bright lights and televised glare of WWE, but Drew Galloway is a fuckin storyteller again. Drew Galloway is back to doing the thing that he always dreamt he’d do. He’s known fuck all but wrestling his whole life, and he knows he has all the tools to be one of the best. Must be hugely frustrating to be kept on the sidelines when ye know that beyond any doubt, you’re a damn sight better than a lot of the fannies being given a shot at the top (The fuckin Miz, and the holey as fuck Figure 4 of his. Holier than the gammy eyed version of Shawn Michaels that rose from the ashes of a pill popping shagger in 2002) With ICW Drews time has come again to tell us some stories. To do the thing that he thought he was signing up for when he first joined the WWE. A series of unfortunate circumstances led to Drews position in the company not being very strong, but does that mean he didnae deserve at last one more run at it? Of course not. We all make mistakes, but Drew is clearly a very dedicated cunt and he’s in the shape of his life. Pretty much ticks every box WWE ever gibber on about, so why the fuck not? He deserved another shot, but their loss is our gain.

Drew gets the upperhand once more, and cleans BT Gunn out with as stiff a clothesline as yer ever likely to see. Divers got backdropped oot the equation, and that left Drew to leather fuck out of BT with some frenetic jabs in the corner. Sare hits. Darkside almost got the better of him out of nowhere though, with that same kick to the napper that took Damo off his feet, before seizing his opportunity to lock in the Triangle choke. Only for Drew to deadlift him right aff the mat, and smash him back down. Renfrew had got back to his feet by this point, but he sadly kissed the ream goodbye for another show when Drew kicked his briefcase right intae his coupon. Blood, spunk, teeth and kitchen utensils covered the 02 ABC as everyone wae pulse and two eyes went fuckin wild. BT Gunn took a fucking sickener of a Futureshock DDT tae round aff the NAKs involvement in the piece. Listen troops, it might not went quite tae plan, but ye still crashed a party you deliberately weren’t invited tae, and took come a couple of shiny belts. No a terrible nights work is it? Renfrews time will come. Nae need tae fret there. Theres a fucin army after Jester now, but at least he has one ally eh. A pretty fuckin impressive one at that tae. Thats Drew Galloway mate. The guy who ran the show before fucking off to WWE. The pick of a stellar bunch who came through at the same time as him, a bunch which included Jack Jester himself. Him and Drew share a seemingly heartfelt embrace and as nice as that wis….get it oot ma face eh. Drew Galloways back and all he’s gonnae dae is batter some bad guys, give his pal a cuddle and big sloppy kiss on the belly button and go off hame? Aye right. Drew Galloway wis back to cause a stir, and he done just that when him and Jester saluted the crowd seemingly on their way backstage. Not so fast Jester pals. Drews got a special delivery for ye.

Cause all of sudden ye seen it change. As the camera zoomed in on Drews face as Jesters was busy whoopin up the crowd. He went fae high fiving strangers, and slippig burds the digits, tae lookin right annoyed. He went fae doing the dance Carlton n Will do to Apache! in The Fresh Prince of Bel air, to Drew lookin like he wanted to kill. One of the harshest lessons he might have learned in WWE is that ye have to adapt or perish. Its as simple as that. Every now and then yer gonnae have to put an old pal to the sword, and thats exactly what he done and he laid Jack Jester out with a devastating kick to the belly. NOW WE’RE FUCKIN TALKING. Drew Galloway isnae back for some swift one time hauners, Drew was back for good. And he was coming to put ICW well and truly on the map. He implores Jester tae stay down, practically fuckin BEGGED him. Please stay down. He did not heed Drews instructions. Drews firing in tae a majestic promo about all sorts. How the 02 ABC wis the place to be, and the Commonwealth Games was nothing but a bunch of fairy boy nancies beating each other at synchronised swimming, and professional chasies. Utter garbage. Jester keeps getting fuckin up though. Theres the pride of a champion, the theres just being a daft cunt. Fuckin STAY DOON n let the cunt talk. He didnae stay doon, so he got put doon. Launched off the stage by Drew through two tables that awaited him down below. A fucker of a bump for an already knackered back. Give Jester his due, he’s forever taking horrendous hits and coming back for more, but it feels like his time wae the strap is coming to an end truth be told it feels like everyones chances have diminished wildly now this big handsome specimen is on the scene, as he takes hold of Jesters belt and stoats towards the ring, telling us of his lifelong desire tae entertain the fans. All he ever wanted to be was a wrestler.

When he climbs back in that ring, wae belt in hand, it just looks like it fits. He’s the first Scottish World Champion that never wis. A travesty. The way he carries himself and the way he performs in that ring DEMANDS gold. Joe Coffey is close tae being in the same bracket in that regard, and a feud between they two would probably cause me tae punk myself intae oblivion, but this isnae the type for daft fantasy booking. This is about events that actually occurred. This is about Drew cutting a promo about how he had to do a bit of soul searching lately. When the dream hits a roadbump, there is always that lingering though of giving it up. Its no for you Drew son. Get a normal job, become a semi-professional snooker, or a part-time juggler. Maybe even a chimney sweep. Whitever it is, its away from the grind, and heartache that comes with being a professional wrestler. You don’t want tae be travelling up and down the country bursting yer arse in different towns ever nice just to make ends meet do ye? Well…..fuckin right he does. And the only ends he’s thinking about meeting is the end of his right boot wae Tommy Ends face (someone book that match btw..the noo. As long as its no in Slovenia, I’m there…dont fuckin asked why no Slovenia either, its none of yer business kid) He speaks about his desire to be the fuckin best. Thats what 1314 is. Inspiration. Its a reference to the battle of Bannockburn where the Scots overcame the odds to deafeat the English and its a fuckin genius angle to come back wae considering the independence debate referendum is coming up. It commands interest on both sides of the border. Just like the Scots did back in 1314, Drew is gonnae overcome the odds to become the best in the world and lead ICW to the promised land of a TV Deal. He spoke about looking at himself in the mirror and giving him a right good slap. He can look at himself in that same mirror today and call himself one of the greatest storytellers in wrestling today, because he captured that moment tae fuckin perfection.

He speaks of the most ruthless man in wrestling calling him the chosen one. That never changed. He’s still the guy, and if ye use him right (right is this btw, this right here, as much as he turned the 3MB negative intae a positive, it wis still way beneath his level so it wis…..his last singles match on RAW wis jobbing tae a toaty wee bull, and when that yer position in the company, its probably time tae boost eh.
When used properly, he insists Drew fuckin Galloway IS the business. He’s not a cog in the machine, he’s no a spoke on the wheel. He’s no a shiny in yer fitba sticker book. HE IS the sticker book. He’s coming for Jack Jesters belt, and when he gets that belt in his hands he can take ICW to the next level, then he dropped one of my favourite lines I’ve ever heard in a promo, so gid I’m gonnae stick it in a wee quotation bit n everything

 

I’m not a good guy. I’m not a bad guy. Drew Galloway is an entity.

Drew Galloway is an entity. Drew Galloway is gonnae lead us into the promised land. Drew Galloway is the fuckin guy, and he seems genuinely fired up and happy to be back home. This is where ye belong Drew. For now anyway. Just as Scottish Wrestling is gathering some traction on its own, its most heralded export couldnae see himself left out of the picture. It disnae need tae be the machine. It disnae need tae be THEM who tell ye what’s good wrestling and what isnae. You can come tae that conclusion yersell. You can make it happen. Believe in ICW. Believe in Drew ‘fuckin Galloway.

Overall….aye. Exhausting. As a wrestling show, it wisnae my favourite of the year, but as an occasion. An event….aye. It was something else. Something special. Surprise Devitt will never be topped in my eyes, but in terms of the magnitude of Drews return and what comes with it, that closing segment means….everything. Means more than Jack, Victor and Boaby scuddin some bampots. It means more than CM Punk showing up. It means more than Stone Cold Boaby Roberts raising hell. It meant more than the night Red Lighting retained the belt in the fatal 4 way at Fear and Loathing 2 years ago, even though his hilariously exuberant celebrations wid say other wise. It meant the fuckin world. ICWs here, and it’s only getting started.

I believe Shug would probably consider his Hoose Party a success eh? Even if the big bad wolves took away his pals belts, he sent the vast majority of 1200 hame happy, with plenty of stories tae tell. Tell everycunt ye know. ICW don’t do sports entertainment. ICW do storytelling, and Drew Galloway has come back home tae tell us some stories.

 

 

 

 

 

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