Match of the night is a fairly pointless thing eh? Well, it’s all about how the person calling it sees wrestling. Beauty in the eye of the beholder and all that shite. Ye could ask 10 different people the question and get 10 different answers, so I never really overthink it. Whichever one stands out in my mind as the one I enjoyed most at the time get’s the MOTN tag, and we move the fuck on, but see since Helter Skelter finished its the fuckin ONLY thing I’ve been able tae think about. Because EVERY match had a case for it. Every match done the job it was supposed to do and more, and they were all fucking superb. I’ve switched between three different matches, before finally deciding on one, and tbh, I’ve forgot pretty much everything that happened on the show as a result. Tiny wee brain exhausted, so this is where the review stops. None of yer usual hunner million words. Its done. I’m oot. Retired at 25. Nothing left to give. We’ve had a good run and that eh? I enjoyed it. We all got sweaty together, and enjoyed shoutin in the direction of guys who could undoubtedly batter us, but I’m calling it. No even gonnae say what I decided on for MOTN tbh, it’s no important anymore. What’s important is that you take care of yourself, and those you hold dear. It’s only wrestling ye know?
PSYCHE! Fuck that. Settle yersell doon, and be prepared to enjoy one of this most extensive, exhausting reviews of a wrestling show ever written, because Helter Skelter was my favourite ICW show to date, and in a year where there’s been some total stoaters, that’s saying a lot. There’s always something you could cite as a reason that even a brilliant show could’ve been better …”that show was braw, but if Rampage Brown was on it, it would’ve been better” or “that show was brilliant, but if Paul London and Brian Kendrick were on it, it would’ve been better” or “that show was pure hefty gid, but if Johnny Moss flingin Wolfgang over his heid was on it, it would’ve been better” or even “that show was gid, but it lacked Marty Scurll spitting his chewing gum intae the crowd, locating where it landed on the floor, putting it back in his mouth, then putting it in his opponents mouth and an act of unrivaled mockitness” Well all of those things actually did fuckin happen on Sunday. More things happened tae. Wrestling things. Belts defended. Honour defended. Burds taking bumps. Boays taking bumps. Bears taking bumps. Technical masterclasses. Feats of incredible strength. Marty Scurll rubbing his chewing gum in Hep C and sticking it in the mouth of a man named “the bollocks”….everything. Read about them in more detail below if ye want. If that’s not yer thing, then why the fuck are you here? Away n watch a Hollyoaks omnibus or suhin and leave this shit to the adults, cause ICW had its biggest crowd in England to date to be entertaining, and by fuck did they deliver.
Kenny Williams vs ‘Party’ Marty Scurll (ICW Zero-G Championship Match)
Perfect opener to get everyone engaged right away, cause unless you’ve been entombed by Yokozunas deid body for the past year, you’ll know fine well Kenny Williams is the bollocks. Everycunt in Newcastle seemed tae know, cause the looks I got for having his Kenny Is The Bollocks t-shirt on ranged fae the disapproving “that cunt’s tap says bollocks on it!” fae the non wrestling fans, and “MATE! LOVE THE T-SHIRT!” fae everyone who knew what the fuck it actually meant. He’s no just over as fuck in Scotland, it’s everywhere. The Kenny Williams experience on tour. Everycunt’s got a wee tribute quiff, and shares in DeLorean are through the fuckin roof. Where we’re gaun, we don’t need fuck all but a shiny belt, a variation of dropkicks, springboard elbows and all sorts of other heavy good flippy shit. ‘Party’ Marty is one of the top guys on the indie scene down south, so anyone who just wandered along to the show out of curiosity not knowing much about ICW will have probably known who he was. So everyone was intae it from the word go. An important element involved in getting everyone intae it was the fact that the match was fuckin spot on.
Anyone who still wasn’t fully intae it taking the factors mentioned above intae consideration is obviously a fuckin weirdo, so Party Marty spitting his chewing gum out, it landing on the floor (right next tae Chris Toals foot…one of the perks of being right at the front is gettin tae dae a bit of toe spotting) and him running out, scooping it back up and putting it back in his mouth would have got the weirdos on board. Even if that wisnae quite weird enough for some, him getting Kenny on the deck, scooping the boggin chewing gum out his mouth, and sticking it in Kenny’s surely would have hooked them in tae. So that was us set. Everyone hooked in and ready for some serious shit. Kenny sent Scurll to the outside early with a dropkick, before landing a suicide dive and introducing everycunt to the pace of the match they were out tae be seeing. Fast as fuck. Linford Christie on poppers type of speed (never took poppers btw, if they don’t make ye go faster, I can only apologise for my lack of soft drug knowledge) Scurll wasn’t to be outdone though, hitting a suicide dive of his own, before teasing a second one only to pull the rug out fae under us like the dastardly bastard he is. Two suicide dives? For a crowd fulla dirty travelling jocks and Geordies? naaaaaaah. No the day mare. He did hit Kenny with a flying bum smash though (that sounds a bit aff…he didnae pump him in mid air like, just knocked him down with the aid of his erse) before another suicide dive attempt was blocked. Kenny’s always been fond of the middle rope springboard elbow, but he’s added a wee “dih dih neh neh” tae it while he’s mid-flight, cause its a nifty wee back to the future reference, and also cause charisma is as charisma does. Or suhin, I dunno whit that means, but the match was superb. That’s all ye need tae be taking out of this incessant babble.
Kenny nearly took the win with a rollup shortly after, before Party Marty hit a superkick followed by some variation of suplex I cannae mind, and then a pumphandle intae a shoulderbreaker. For a pair of guys that look like invited guests tae a Geordie Shore house party, these two can fuckin fight. Scurll tried to lock the Crossface Chickenwing in for the win, but a reversal intae Kennys patented Quiff Buster (thats what he calls his Satellite DDT btw, I actually asked him directly, turned up at his front door wae a tray of Ket laced Brownies and asked whit was fur inner initially, but that got KB’d. Apparently its a bit of a faux pas tae try n get Kenny Williams fulla Horse Tranquilisers…who knew eh) to seal the win in his first title defence. A belter of a defence it was tae. A dominant and impressive a champion as Mark Coffey was, he wasn’t Zero-G. Thats why the contrast between him and Kenny made for such cracking matches. Mark Coffey is as G as can be. Centre of gravity daft. Kenny Williams and his aptitude for the flippy side of things will go about putting the “Zero” back in tae the “Zero-G” Title, and that’s probably the worst thing I’ve ever wrote. Heavy cheesy eh. Kenny is the fuckin Bollocks awrite.
Joe Hendry had some words for Kenny after the match, so we’re nae doubt leading naturally to those two having a rerr battle. It’s quite cool how naturally its panned out too. Kenny the oppressed, struggling away in the Administration. Underappreciated and unloved. He found love in the ICW fans, and somewhere along the line, the same fans found love in Joe Hendrys face. Even if his attempts tae get a chant going “just by pointing at his face” died on their arse. Cannae win them all Joe mate. Kenny gives him the middle finger before departing backstage for some One Direction-esque celebration. Daein fake cocaine aff a Chippendales tits or something.
Then one of my favourite non ICW cunts made his ICW debut, and I that was it. Hooked for the rest of the night. The Bollocks followed by by The Damage. Thats whit I’m calling ye Rampage, and I realise thrusting a nickname upon a scary big unit like Rampage Brown probably isnae advisable, but fuck it. He is the damage. He causes the damage, and he causes that damage by hitting people really hard. Usually in the face.
Kid Fite vs Rampage Brown
When I first saw Rampage wrestle at SWA Battlezone last year, I shamefully knew next to fuck all about him. He was just a name, and a few comments about how good he was on Twitter. That’s all I knew. So when him and Joe Coffey handed us one of the best matches of 2013 on a silver platter, it was as taken aback as I’ve been by anything in British Wrestling, because Rampage went fae just a name, and a guy shouting at children during his entrance, to one of my favourite wrestlers in the space of 15 minutes. He makes ye believe. Everything he does looks fuckin…sare. Kid Fite is fae Maryhill, a place where having a haircut anything above a number 2 is considered “poofy as fuck” and has taken on some of the hardest bastards up and down Britain in his career, so tae see big Rampage clean him out with a big lariat, and rag doll him from corner to corner with one of the hardest Irish Whips I’ve ever fuckin seen, introduced anyone who might not know what Rampage is all about to the level of ferocity they were in for. In other words. Rampage Brown came to cause some fuckin damage.
Some brutal forearms and a Samoan Drop kept the big man on top, but Fito turned the tide by catching rampage with a skelper of a kick off the apron, and that was when the Glesga came seeping out of Fito. That was when the “I dont gie a FUCK how big this cunt is, as long as I bob n weave, make the big bastard dizzy he’s gettin knocked clean oot” Whipped the big man into the barrier, big the damage responded with some serious damage. Dropping Fito on the floor with a scoop slam, with Fito coming back with a flying senton on the outside. Fito had a head of steam, and when that happens, Fito is always thinking about the win. Cause the win leads tae celebration, and Fito celebrates his wins a wee touch differently than most folk. Fito celebrates his wins by exposing us all to blinding copper tinted shine coming aff his bawsack as he dips it in his opponents traumatised gub. He wisnae getting ahead of himself yet though, hitting Rampage with a dropkick in the corner, before the The Damage dislodged 5 or 6 of Fito’s teeth wae a huge boot to the chops. Scooping them intae his gub, and spitting them out he was Gangrel, and Fito’s teeth was yon fake blood gear he used tae spit all over himself. Fito’s gumsyness didnae derail him though. Busting out the Side Russian Legsweep, before getting proper bold and trying to get Rampage up for a Suplex. Nae chance mate. Not tae say Fito’s a weakling or anything, but getting Rampage up for a Suplex is the type of task Johnny Moss looks at n goes “fuck that shit” so Fito’s chances were slim, but somehow he fuckin done it. I’m no sure if it was a straight up suplex or a brainbuster tbh. Too busy ejaculating somewhere in the direction of my shoes tae fully pay attention. Whatever it was, it got Fito the three count. Rightly so. If the smaller guy gets the big unit up for an impressive move, it totally loses its significance if the big cunt no-sells it anyway, a lovely, surprising end to another stoater of a match.
It wasn’t quite the end of the shenanigans though, as Fito did indeed whip the baws out, ready to nestle them softly intae Rampage’s wiry cloud of chin pubes, but the big man got the fuck outta there. Rampage must be about 18-19 stone of pure solidness, and he moved like early 2000s Rey Misterio tae get the fuck outta the way of the Teabag. This is a man that faced a combat machine and chokeout specialist in Samoa Joe at Progress recently, and stood his fuckin ground and then same, but the sight of the teabag had him running for the hills. Proof that no matter what frightening stuff ye might face in yer life, nothing will ever be scarier than the prospect of a guy fae Maryhill sticking his baws in yer mouth.
Rampage has ICW written all over him, so I’ve always been a bit surprised since I first seen him that it’s taken this long for him tae debut. Hope he’s a regular from now on. I’ll fuckin go tae Leeds, pick him up and take him tae shows myself if transport is an issue, and I cannae even drive mate. The thought terrifies me, but I will learn how, purchase a motor, and use it tae exclusively drive Rampage Brown tae Scotland and back. Thats how much this needs tae fuckin happen. Feart of motorised transport is he? He’ll only go on a private jet? Well then we pull our money together, completely neglect our families and things like buying food and clothing for 10-15 years and buy a fuckin jet for the big man. Is that too far aye? Felt like it was too far. On wae the next match then eh? Why the fuck not.
Mark Coffey vs Stevie Boy
Troops I’ll no lie tae ye. I’m no adjusting very well. I thought it would be fine. The Zero-G Belt has found a good home….a worthy home, but Mark Coffey without that belt? I dunno. It looked wrong. Both entrances were a bit off because these two usually have a lot more wae them. Mark Coffey usually has that shiny belt he wore so well, Jackie Polo and a sense of “I’m better than you, and I’ve probably shagged yer maw” about him, but that had melted away a bit. He was reduced to merely a man. A man who wanted to knock fuck out of Stevie Boy and get back on track after two losses in a row, but still not a man accompanied by the usual swagger. Stevie Boy usually has a whole squadron in tow, with the entrance resembling a touring, patter laden rave, but as he stated in this months Enter The ICW, Stevie’s having a wee shot of making it on his own. Nothing but an ice-cold stare, a sense of independence and a set of brass knuckles wae Stanley Blades sticking out of them for backup. One of the symptoms of grief is seeing the thing you’re grieving for in other places. Hallucinations if you will. Mark Coffey keeps seeing the Zero-G belt everywhere he goes. Absent mindedly pushing his trolley roon Tesco the other day, he thought a box of Shreddies was his belt and was seen angrily barking at staff tae “fasten me!” and when he seen Stevie, he immediately went fae sizing up his opponent, to sizing up his former prized possession. ITS MA BELT. COME HOME TAE DADDY. But as he rushed towards Stevie Boy, he quickly became…well, he became Stevie Boy and Coffey became so possessed wae blind rage he straight up flung him across the ring. Letting out a faint, heartbroken cry of “YOU’RE NO MA REAL BELT!” and all of a sudden we had a match, with real wrestling moves that actually happened.
Stevie was startled by getting flung aboot like an empty crisp poke, but it was only empty cause all the crispness wis in the sexy armdrag he busted out to assert himself in the match early. I reckoned this would be good, because its a similar dynamic to Mark vs Kenny wrestling wise, but mainly because they’ve both got something to prove. Mark looking to prove that he’s still one of the main cunts and Stevie looking to prove that he needs no allies. All he needs its a song in his heart, and a standing shooting star press in is moveset. Always looks like he heavily takes the brunt of the standing shooting star press when he hits it, and he did indeed hit it after Coffey had his Pumphandle Slam attempt blocked. Coffey retaliated with a powerslam, before a brutal exchange of jabs and forearms led into a suicide dive from Stevie. A missile dropkick from Stevie followed as the battle kicked intae high gear, Coffey cleaning Stevie out with a brutal forearm, before hitting the bridging backdrop for a 2 count, but just when it looked like it was the standard Mark Coffey dominant win on the cards, tae get him right back on track, he took his eye off the ball, and in very uncharacteristic fashion, found himself on the sharp end of a sneaky one. After a superkick fae Stevie, led to a punishing back and forth, ending in Stevie sneaking behind Coffey and flipping him over for the win.
Skants pulled doon and erse skelped (figuratively of course) Mark Coffey is clearly adjusting as poorly as I am to his lack of shiny belt. Get it fuckin rectified and win something soon eh. Belt bearing just suits him. There’s nae two ways about it. I floated a theory as to where a Mark Coffey losing streak could lead, but I got very excited about that theory and dont wish tae speak its name in case it jinxes it, but aye. Put it this way, if you’re having trouble at work, and one of your co-workers is a close family member, he would you naturally look to unload some of that misery on? Especially if that family member is thriving and you’re struggling. Your brother gets a promotion, he gets fancy facepaint, a cool mask, and he gets all the good shifts, while you’re searching for answers. Maybe the answer is to stoat right up to him, stand face to face and tell him to come ahead. Big win for Stevie right enough, off the back of his singles win over Renfrew, he’ll be going after that Zero-G belt, but there’s an oddity to go through first. A man who’s poor heart was shattered intae a million tiny bits when Stevie double crossed the NAK earlier in the year. He saw Stevie as an ally. A brother of sorts, and now he sees him as nothing but an empty vessel, wae “marked for death via superkicks” stamped on his forehead. Aye. BT Gunn vs Stevie Boy is gonnae be fuckin lovely.
Jack Jester vs Liam Thomson vs Damian O’Connor (ICW Title Match)
I reckon there was a natural lull in terms of interest in this beforehand, because everyone assumes Jester vs Drew will be for the belt. As much as Damo was impassioned in his promo before it, there’s very little anyone could to convince me Jack Jester wisnae leaving Newcastle still the champion, so for this match to come from nowhere to become one of, if not the best defence of the belt he’s had says it all about this fuckin show. I’d say only the Wolfgang match in Edinburgh could top it for drama and entertainment. As good as both Devitt matches were, it didnae make sense for Prince Devitt to become ICW Champion, so they were more like exhibitions. This felt like a proper title match, and for a while it had ye convinced there was a chance he might not retain. Title matches without that feeling can lack a bit of storytelling, cause stories where you already know the ending are always fuckin shite. Thats why folk go apeshit about spoilers, because it disnae matter how much good shit is in the bulk of the story, if ye know the ending, it disnae matter a fuck. It was also good to see Jester continuing to dip back intae his old ways. The real Jack Jester. Somewhere along the road of this title run, the line he went from being an sick bastard that the fans of ICW loved because of how extreme he was willing to be to get the job done, to a poster boy. Mr ICW. Corkscrew for show more than anything, jaunty wee chants fae the crowd. That’s not what Jack Jester is though. Tae me, much like his adversary Jimmy Havoc was very much born to be a bad bastard in wrestling. Jack Jester was born to be a fucking nutjob. The air of menace about him came from the unpredictability, and for a while he was predictable. For a while it felt like the clock was ticking till Renfrew eventually cashed in and took advantage of Jester taking some heavy tankings and emerging with the belt, then Drew came back….and it all changed.
Thats why when they yin went to the bar after the opening gambits, we had yer usual bar tomfoolery. Folk spraying beer at one and other. Damo spraying beer intae his own mouth, cause he’s Damo, and that’s how he deals with that particular liquid. But we also had Carmel getting involved and we had Jester laying her the fuck out. After he landed the elbow drop off the bar, and the three of them wound up back in the ring, Carmel was no longer at ringside, because deid bodies aren’t permitted to be at ringside. Due to them being…ye know. Deid. When it got back in the ring that’s when the brawness unfolded. Damo hitting that double fallaway slam/samoan drop move where he basically picks two grown men up like they’re a coupla bags of marshmallows, and chucks them over his heid. It was a tale of two chest stands after that, with Liam Thomson taking the usual Chest Stand/Senton combo, before Damo’s attempt at doing it on Jester was thwarted by Thomson pulling him down for the Backcracker. Gorgeous wee spot so it wis, but I might be a bit biased due tae the massive unrelenting stauner I have for the Backcracker as a move. Jester tried to get the job done with the Tombstone, but his first attempt was blocked. Usually the tombstone means game over, so it not getting the job done first time shot the match intae life. Everyone coming close tae winning it. Damo hit the Rolling Senton on Liam Thomson to come within a fuckin bawhair of it.
Then a bunch of things happened that I had a wee bit jumbled up first time, but that’s been straightened out. The cold hard facts of it are Damo hitting the Van-Damo-Nator on Liam Thomson. Jester hitting the Futureshock on Damo (I had this as Carmel initially…cause ye know…they’re totally alike…….) and Carmel breaking up the pin. Jester hitting Carmel with a chair up top (I think thats one bit I had right actually) and Thomson trying the backcracker on Jester, only hor Jester to hoist him over his shoulder, delivering the tombstone to retain. Nae patter. Nae shite. Facts.
The finish was similar to a lot of Jester defences, but the way they got to that finish was engaging as fuck. Belter of a match. Helter skelter of a match or eh…something. A gentlemanly handshake between Jester and Damo ensued as a cuttla screaming banshees to my left urged Damo not to do it. I suppose some folk had their hearts set on the big Irish bear having a belt tae keep his breeks fae falling doon. I widnae have hated it myself, but Jester vs Drew has to be for that belt. If you’re selling something as a prizefight, there needs to be a coveted prize up for grabs. They’re gonnae tear the roof aff the place regardless. Even if the match turned out to be utter pish, the sheer emotion in the place would be enough tae cancel it out. Glasgow might spontaneously Burst intae flames on November 2nd 2014, and I cannae fuckin wait. Bring it on.
Wolfgang vs Johnny Moss
How can they no just leave the poor cunt alone? It’s no like they’re responding to all this success he’s been having against BT Gunn by sabotaging his other matches. Nah. Cause he’s 0-3 doon tae BT Gunn in the series. Aside fae a few instances of Wolfy throwing BT from great heights, its been BT Gunns feud. He’s used everything from dopplegangers to attempted murder tae get the job done, and here, him and Renfrew just used plain auld cheeky bastardry to derail Wolfies best efforts to ignore the bullies and keep leathering the bald guy throwing him clean over his heid every few minutes.
Thats what Mossy was particularly intae in this match. Feats of strength that had ye scoopin yer jaw up off the deck. As they started out with a shoulderblock standoff, Mossy decided he couldnae be fucked. They could keep slinging shoulders at one and other in vain till it was chuckin oot time, or Mossy could toss Wolfy haufway to Sunderland with a belly to belly throw. He decided Sunderland was the best way to go, and from that point on we had something that looked, felt and kinda smelled like match of the night. Know that way a match gives off an odour of gidness? Nah? Just me? Well this had it. It was overtaken by the main event purely because they were both fucking superb, but the main event had a clean finish and I’m intae clean finishes. A lot less mopping up and changing of drawers involved than there is in a dirty one. There was also a sustained period of crowd stuff, we actually seen all of it, and it was all fucking cracking, so that was an unexpected wee addition to it. A Johnny Moss dive kicked that off, wae him bursting his mouth in the process, before they exchanged forearms, and chops near, in, around and on the bar. Before Mossy planted Wolfgang wae a DDT on the bar. It was a cracking bit of storytelling, as they continued to knock fuck out of each other all over Newcastle, then the bad guys showed up. This wisnae the standard “NAK come out and cause havoc” type of deal right enough, cause Wolfie was fuckin WINNING. He came from seemingly out of nowhere and dived on everyone, before clunking Renfrew and BTs heids together, and leaving them stoating about like a couple of junkies on a comedoon tae reconvene the heavyweight scrap him and Mossy had been having in the ring. Would this be the first time Wolfie came out on top?
I’ll no keep the suspense going much longer there. It wasn’t. The NAK scooped themselves up. Renfrew stuck BT in his front pocket like a maw kangaroo carrying its demented young, and they sleekitly hopped round the ride of the ring and crouched at the corner. Ready tae pounce. Wolfgang took Mossy out with a spear, before the big man done that amazing thing again and flung Wolfgang clean over his shiny dome. This time with the release German Suplex. Wolfie looked like he had it in the bag though. There was a shining wizard in the mix, and the big man rose to the top rope, looking like he was gonnae somehow put Johnny Moss away, under all that pressure. A feat not to be scoffed at generally, never mind managing it while yer cousin and his mental pal keep trying to fuck it up for ye. The word “trying” would imply that they failed though eh? Of course they didnae though. They never do when it comes to Wolfie, unless Wolfie comes at them team handed, but where WOlfie has occasional allies, willing to stand shoulder to shoulder with him temporarily in the name of all that is good and pure in the world, the NAK are a fuckin brotherhood. They form like fucking voltron and they’ll throw everything they have at ye if they think it’s gonnae help them get the job done. Renfrew distracted the ref just as Wolfie thought the job was a good yin, and steel shaped skelp came flying toward him at the hand of his cousin. Within seconds a certain win whilst overcoming the odds for Wolfie, had turned into Mossy gien it laldy as your victor. He unfortunately didn’t join the NAK as an occasional enforcer, but he didnae seem arsed at their involvement either. It helped him get the job done so fuck it. Up the road wae a win in the back pocket.
Renfrew and BT chuckled their way backstage as Wolfie was left pulling his hair out wondering what he needed to do tae get a fair fight. Against anyone. Not just BT himself. Every time he things he’s out? They bastards pull him right back in and he’s fucking sick of it. So he’s got a plan. I could explain that plan, but yer better hearing it in his own impassioned words eh? There it is in the video below. Wire in.
Joe Coffey vs Noam Dar
Still the tantalising main event to go. One of the biggest matches in ICW history, as the most dominant team in the company were set to go face to face with one of the most prestigious teams in wrestling, so what did we have as filler before that? Oh…the two best wrestlers in Scotland going at it again aye? Just that? Fair enough.
With the best of 5 series sitting at 2-1 in Joes favour, something very strange occurred. I’m Joe Coffey daft right. I love both a healthy amount. Me and Noam share a bond that some of the greatest love stories ever written couldnae match, but even with that, it still takes a fucking lot for me tae actually root against Joe Coffey. As a fan, it’s just not something I do. With this feud its been fairly neutral, but mate. We need that 5th match. We need that “next goal’s the winner” scenario to unfold, because if all the matches to this point have been fucking unspeakably braw, imagine what a decider will be like? Too good. It had tae happen. So any means that Noam used at his disposal to get the job done, for once it was cool. If he pulled a hammer out this time, and took it tae Joes temple, it was excused. As long as Joe didnae die from the blow, and it led us to a 5th match. Noam knew tae. Noam needed that 5th match to happen also, cause as Joe stood on the apron, beating his chest and hailing the Newcastle faithful, Noam kicked him clean aff the apron, before landing a suicide dive flush on his jaw. Bada boom. Flying Jew in the room. Forearms went flying, before Noam blocked Joes splash attempt. A procession of reversals ensued, with Joes attempt at the Double Underhook swing being blocked, before Joe eventually got it going and finished it off with a suplex, and another splash attempt was countered with a big boot to the chops, Noam tossed in a release German Suplex. It was another cracker of a battle. Would have easily taken MOTN on most cards, but this wasnt yer run of the mill card. This one was a bit special eh?
Some pinning combinations, lead to numerous one and two counts, before both came close with their trusted submission holds. Joes Boston Crab and Noams Champagne Superknee bar bringing them both within bawhairs of glory. So close they could taste it at the back of their throats. When yer tasting bawhairs and Kid Fite’s shift ended 2 hours previous, that’s when you know you’re locked in a proper fuckin battle. A single leg boston crab was the next hold to come close to getting the job done, before they got back to leathering each other at full pelt. Joe succeed with a splash. Uppercuts were slung, then something beautiful happened. When a guy hits his finish. The one that usually takes every other opponent out, and his opponent kicks out, that’s the ultimate mark of respect between opponents. Thats when we knew they probably loved each other a wee bit, and were well on the way to being best pals, cause Joe near took Noams heid off with the Spinning Lariat and the Noam KICKED THE FUCK OUT. Joe had the series in his grasp man. It was there. So close he could almost taste it. But defeat was snatched from the jaws of victory, as another series of pinning combinations led to the Champagne Superkneebar. Joe fought as hard as he could, but even if he did hold on a bit longer and get to the ropes, the damage done might have led to him losing anyway, and would certainly have seen him rendered too much of a limping mess to make a scrap of match number 5, so he tapped, and we have us a fuckin decider.
Noam let us all know the score just in case some of us weren’t keeping count. 2 each. Next goal wins it. Before he took his incredibly sweaty erse backstage. How do I know he was incredibly sweaty? Well…I’ve got eyes mate. He looked really wet, but he also gave me a cuddle on his way back, and I’ll no lie tae yees guys. He smelled magnificent, cause he was radiating the sweetest odour of them all. The sweet sweet smell of success.
And a wee bit like Hanukkah tae. Round the ears smelled awfy Hanukkah-y.
The NAK (BT Gunn and Chris Renfrew) vs Paul London and Brian Kendrick (ICW Tag Title Match)
Just this left aye? Thank fuck we had a low-key main even to bring us down from all the incredible shit we had bore witness to in the rest of the show. A wee something to take the edge off. As a couple of American jobbers came over to provide a wee bit of cannon fodder for the mighty NAK. A 5 minute squasher to send us all hame. Just wht the doctor ordered eh? NAH I’M ONLY PULLING YER PISSER TROOPS! Fuckin hook, line and sinker. Got ye there. This shit was just as incredible as it promised to be and then it was so much fucking more. Paul London and Brian Kendrick apparently hadn’t teamed together in a long while. I thought that’s how most people booked them tae, but seemingly not. ICW needed this though. A similar sort of thing to Devitt going for the Zero-G belt. It shines a light on the product that a wider audience sees when you stick legends like London and Kendrick in a fucking beautiful, tear inducing war of a main event with some shiny belts on the line. They entered together, but London still done a wee bit of his Intrepid Traveller patter, giving the screaming translucent goth tae my left a big cuddle anaw, and rendering her nothing but a puddle. As the security guys scooped her remains intae a plastic bag, a wrestling match broke out, with the NAK entering with purpose. As Chris Renfrew said, even outwith Glasgow, ICW is still their turf. They control the elements, and as much as there wasn’t the usual, almost cocky demeanour about Renfrew and BT, there was a quiet confidence. Like they were sure, that no matter how they one threatened to pan out. They’d come out on top somehow.
The battle that followed was almost too much. I expected the NAK to win beforehand, but there was at least 5 occasions where the win looked certain for one team, only for the other one to somehow thwart it. It was a tremendous bit of storytelling, that took the match to a point that no matter who ended up winning, everyone looked fuckin dynamite. They started with a heavy striking session, before we had a spot of outside action. Renfrew got tossed into a wall, and took a backdrop on the floor. That cunt takes far too many backdrops on to unpadded surfaces btw. That shit can’t be good for ye long-term. London hit a beaut of a dropkick before BT and Brian Kendrick got in amongst a chop, and forearm war. Brian Kendrick is a former WWE Champion (they don’t recognise it cause they’re fucking…I dunno…communists or suhin, but for a few minutes, he was the guy who held that belt) and BT Gunns chops nearly ended the cunt. London missed with a splash, before Renfrew nearly decapitated him with that life ender of a lariat he calls ‘greetings from Silent Hill’ . London and Kendrick got a head of steam after that though, it was like the venue turned intae a level of Super Mario Bros, and the two of them gubbed a star each. At least flower power anyway as they took Renfrew and BT out with a double baseball slide. More chops from BT, leg to the top rope single leg dropkick from Renfrew as the NAK took control. That led to that lovely combination BT and Renfrew do where a BT Chop, leads to the opponent being laid out across Renfrews knees, before BT runs the ropes and hits a Senton. Renfrew and BT were putting a hurtin on oor Spanky, but Spanky proved just why they fuckin SHOULD be acknowledging his glorious WWE Title reign, by breaking out of a double suplex attempt with a double DDT of his own, and that mean it as HOT TAG TIME. That meant it was PAUL LONDON TIME.
A crossbody from London, and a lariat from Renfew claimed a casualty from each team, as the matched kicked intae hyperdrive. Kendrick his his finisher (‘The Kendrick’ or ‘Sliced Bread’…whichever ye prefer, I wasnt sure, so I looked it up and both seem acceptable) for a two count. A couple superkick led to a coupe kickout before The NAK hit Killer Boots. Killer fuckin Boots to put the legends away. The only thing that could conceivably get the job done eh? NOPE. Kendrick fuckin kicked out of Killer Boots. Oh my word. A superkick/Stone Cold Stoner combination was next to fail, with London making the save before Kendrick hit Sliced Bread against after stopping a double superplex attempt from BT and Renfrew by powerbombing Renfrew. Shooting Star Press from London for the win aye? 1…2….BT GOT THE SHOULDER UP. Fuckin….how?????
Renfrew tossed London to the outside, before him and Kendrick got intae a scintillating exchange for the grand finale to this war. Kendrick ducked the big lariat, Renfrew blocked Sliced Bread, Kendrick blocked The Stoner, only for Renfrew to break the series of reversal with a HUGE powerslam. Lights out surely? This time? Kendrick rolled through though. He rolled through and 3 seconds later, The NAKs third reign as ICW Tag Tea Champions was over. Brian Kendrick gaining the 3 count for his squad with the small package. PAUL LONDON AND BRAIN KENDRICK ARE YOUR NEEEWWWWW ICW TAG TEAM CHAMPIONS.
Usually “imports” winning belts is a bawache, but Paul London and Brian Kendrick are ICW to the core. Two of the soundest, most down to earth guys on planet earth seemingly. They must be totally unaware of how fucking brilliant they are or something, but them winning the belts and carrying them for this tour makes all the sense. Especially sine they’ll be ar Fear and fuckin Loathing, as well as Leeds and Birmingham. So we’ll see the boaysies back in Glesga. Whether they still carry the belts or not remains to be seen, as they’ve got a certain pair of Dutch psychopaths to take on first, but this was a lovely moment regardless. Naw NAK interference, or any hint of any shenanigans, just a fucking tremendous battle that ended with London and Kendrick winning fair and square. Maybe theres a rematch somewhere along the line, but ye get the feeling Renfrew and BT have some personal loose ends to tie up, so maybe not. Even if there isn’t, this match will go down as one of the best in ICW history. Have a wee look at the finish if ye like. The video’s below. Treat yerself.
If yer intae a bit of rough justice, Wolfgang knocking lumps out of Renfrew and BT after the match with some sort of blunt object might’ve taken yer fancy. A slice of retribution for Wolfie, but you’d imagine it wont be enough to quench his thirst for his cousins blood. He needs the full retribution pie. I reckon there’s one more scrap left in them and its gonnae burn the East End of Glesga to the ground.
Even a few days removed from it, Helter Skelter just edges ahead of the pack as my personal favourite ICW card to date. 10 out of fuckin 10. Everything seems perfectly poised for the rest of the tour to be stoating, with Drew set to appear in Dundee and Liverpool. Jack Gallagher returning to take on Kid Fite. London and Kendrick assumedly defending the straps against the SDS in Leeds, and a whole host of other brilliant shit confirmed. The Magical Mystery Tour is well under way, but the rest of the dates will need tae involve a Meteor Shower, or one of they tshirt dispenser things ye see at American sporting events, cept the ICW one is filled wae eccies and white lightning (that’s not another sibling of Red Lightnings btw, I mean the drink) Or aye….I dunno. Wrestling.