The ICW Magical Mystery Tour Weekender…In Review



“How’s yer shoulder?”
“Fucked mate”
“Aye well…ye did take the full weight of a silverback gorilla on it”
“He’s a fuckin Wolf”
“You say potata, I say tottie mate…same difference”

The conversations we have tend to shape the experiences we go through in life. When the one above happened in Dundee, the weekend was already mapped out for us. A combination of sare looking bumps, drinking whilst lying down and completely making things up. Whilst the conversation didnae quite pan out the way its relayed above, it was a very real chat, with a very real security man by the name of Stephen. Stephen was the man who was charged with the unenviable task of catching a diving Wolfgang, as he soared over the top rope like a goatee’d angel, and landed flush on a combination of Dew Galloways face and Stephens shoulder. It was as close as I’ve been to a ‘bump’ in my time going to wrestling shows, and to any folk who think naecunt ever gets hurt in wrestling. You’re wrong. I seen his shoulder. It was actually grey. Usually when a person takes a brunt of a high impact bump, I’d imagine they bruise like a normal person. Black and blue, maybe a wee shade of purple chucked in, but Stephens shoulder was actually grey. He got hit so hard, a part of his body actually aged. I dunno what age he actually is, but his shoulder is now in its mid 60s. Sare. Really nae idea how we got off on a tangent about shoulders, point is, when a wrestling weekender kicks off with a 19 stone man clearing the top rope with a dive, shit is real. Realer than the realest of the real. Dundee, ye best limber up. ICW’s comin in dry.

I enjoyed Dundee for numerous reasons. Weirdly it was my least favourite of the tour shows so far, even though it had 3 of the best matches. I dunno why it wisnae as good as a show overall. There was a tiny wee something missing, but Drew vs Wolfy, Stevie vs BT and Grado vs Jester were all slices of beauty. Stevie vs BT had the highest of expectations and it fuckin surpassed them. When Stevie said he wisnae really comfortable doing singles stuff when I interviewed him a while back, I think he must’ve been winding me up man. Or maybe he’s just one of they humble guys that doesn’t realise how fuckin good he is, but the man is a born storyteller, and BT Gunn is pretty close to flawless these days so the match was fuckin superb. Stevies chest left decimated by chops, but he flung a fair few himself anaw. It was just everything ye  want in wrestling. When BT caught Stevie diving off the apron in the suplex position it was a spot that only the best of pals could pull off. Some of the kicks were brutal. The whole spectacle was a rare time. Wolfie came out and meddled a bit, and one Canadian Destroyer later the room had simultaneously ejaculated. Stevie moves on to meet Kenny Williams, and BT moves on to be awfy fuckin raging at the events that just unfolded. What goes around comes around compadre. Here’s a beezer of a photo of the fabled Canadian Destroyer for your viewing pleasure (all credit to David J Wilson as per usual)


Booty would get his revenge right enough, as the battle between Drew and Wolfgang raged. Drew taking Wolfie clean out the game with a flying big boot. Wolfie taking flight. The match taking about 5 minutes to start because the crowd went daft for that “Drew Galloway” chant, and yer man Wolfgang just had tae join in. When you’re staring that much fun right in the face, its impossible not too. Even Jester was hanging about at he bar singing his heart out as he elbow dropped folk. Oscar Pistorius hummed it as he was going through the set of lies he was preparing to tell in court the next day. “As god as my witness, I did not have sexual relations with that woman! ….But I did shoot her repeatedly…DREW GALLOWAY..GALLOWAY…DREEEEW GALLOWAY”
Drew took the win thanks to BT Gunns interference, but the finish took fuck all away from the artwork that the match was. A proper hard-hitting war. Drew has brought an intensity that few others in wrestling can match, and it has led to pretty much everyone upping their game. Considering everyones game was fairly high up anyway, its leading to some captivating stuff. Particularly from Jack Jester. I’ll tell ye nae lies, his title reign was boring the tits off me for a while. I’d say in between the Wolfgang match in Edinburgh, and Drew making his return, I was fatigued with it. Like most long reigns with an important belt, unless its based round a captivating feud,  it gets tiresome. This was the feud Jesters reign needed to define it. This was the kick up the arse required to bring the real Jack Jester out. The guy who held Grados life in his hands and looked like he was prepared to end it as long as long it meant he entered the Barrowlands as ICW Champion.

I’ve never been more pleasantly surprised to be so drawn in to a match as I was with Jester vs Grado. Anticipated it being entertaining, but I reckoned it would lead to Jester sending a message by decimating Grado, bending his left leg all the way back and sticking it up his arse in the process, sending a sort of “If I can do this to my pal, think what I could to you!” message to Drew, but it didn’t work out that way at all. Grado came within a whisper of a dugs bawhair (that’s no the saying is it?) of winning it a few times. Wee boot against a chair. F5 ON tae a chair. It would appear that Grado’s ability to effectively utilise chairs has improved exponentially from the debacle against Renfrew, where the chair looked like it was hell-bent on making Grado look as stupit as possible. A chair lifted straight fae Tam Shepherds joke shop. This was a different Grado. A focussed Grado. Nae briefcase? Nae problem, I’ll just go ahead and take the fuckin belt. It didnae work out though. He made the same daft mistake as a few others who’d failed to put Jester away despite giving it their level best. He got desperate. He got tae climbing up top and he got causght and tombstoned. Oblivion.

If the first dates of this tour taught us anything, its that Grado is over as fuck. For those not familiar with the use of “over” in a wrestling context, I’m no talking like he’s over in a high school lassie, “OMG…IM LIKE…SO DONE WITH HIM” type of way, I mean the cunt comes out and folk go DAFT. Liverpool as daft for him as any Glasgow crowd ever have. Cunts were shadow shake rattle and rolling in his honour. Overwhelmed Scousers offered up their sisters and maws. Stevie Gerrard apologised to Grado for that slip costing Liverpool the league, and when Grado insisted he didnae support Liverpool, Gerrard ruffled his hair playfully, dismissively muttering “of course ya bloody do ya scally” at him. Grado was a hero round these parts, but one thing that also became apparent about the growing legend of the Stevenston Dream is that he gains favour wae the crowd no matter the outcome of his matches. With someone like Grado, some valiant losses make all the sense in the world, and all three of his losses on this tour so far told the brawest stories. The loss to Sha Samuels in Liverpool heaped heat on Sha, who was already getting his daft gormless coupon in a twist at folk calling him a cockney wanker. Fuck Sha Samuels btw. I know, I must have taken leave of my senses to be saying such things to a big bastardin brawler like him, but I mean it as high praise. Sha Samuels is a bastard. His intention is to make you hate him. As a wrestling character he does that better than….anyone. Unless you’re actually fae East London, or you’ve got a fetish for guys wae hairy chests wearing braces, its impossible to like Sha Samuels on a human level ye know? Ye can appreciate his talent. Even admit to yer pals quietly that “he’s fuckin good eh!” but never out loud. Never where people can see. Its our dirty wee secret. Like that time we watched that lassie dae that thing wae the two ender (whit d’ye mean Jimmy Havoc isnae a lassie?) Seriously though, Grado vs Sha Samuels tells a beautiful simple story, belligerent baddie knowing fuck out of Ayrshires own Buddha. Good triumphed over evil the first time, and the bad guy snatched our Grados gid chain (the wan his maw got him for his 18th nae less) in Liverpool, while closing the show wae having his teeth knocked down his throat set up a third match at Fear and Loathing. A match that if yer no at half mast for, I’d get tae the doctors and make sure yer dick’s still working man. Ye might be suffering fae deid dick syndrome right there. Sha also tied up some other loose ends at the Leeds show, when he called out Mark Coffey and publicly denounced Polo Promotions. Sha Samuels didn’t FAAAAACKIN come to OICEEDUBYA to rely on some JOCK CUNT so as much as he appreciates what Jackie done for him, their working relationship is OFFICIALLY AT ITS END…YOU MUG!

Mark Coffey vs Sha Samuels is like making ye chose between cocaine and betroot. Its like making ye chose between a bacon double cheeseburger and aids. Its like making ye chose between a white russian and being forced tae sook diarrhea oot a tramps arse wae a straw. Its one really fuckin good thing, against a bastard, and its a fuckin injustice that Mark Coffey didnae prevail. Mark Coffey is the the Prince of the Pumphandle, and its a fuckin travesty that this nae good, sour faced, Grado battering TUBE gets tae stroll in tae ICW, and take a win aff THE REEEEEEEAL DEAL. This is the kind of injustice that starts fuckin uprisings so it is. Disgraceful. Keeps Sha looking like the dastardly big dick that he is right enough. The stronger he looks, the more effective it’ll be when Grado slaps him aboot in Glesga, but still, after Coffey overcoming 2 time former ICW Champion Darkside in Dundee, I assumed his journey to the top would be a quick and painless one, but there’s nae accounting for cheating butcher bastards sneaking one against ye is there? As good as Mark is, he’s only human for fuck sake.

Grado rounded off his losing weekend against Jackie Polo in Leeds, where a distraction from COOOOOOOACH TRIP allowed Jackie to roll Grado up, and gain the 3 count wae his feet on the top rope. They tried tae leather Grado after it anaw, but pulled a Ginsters Pie Dispenser ootae his bumbag and drooned the cunts in low grade pork, before once again riding intae the sunset amidst another eardrum shattering pop. GRADOMANIA IS HERE TAE STAY FUCKERS. 2 years in and my nips are still instantly erect when that music hits. Know why? Cause I like joy. My body disnae produce much of it naturally, so sometimes ye need tae go right to the source. Sometimes he need tae make sure no one’s about, the have a wee shot of the big shoot in the park. On the odd occasion, ye need tae jump in tae yer local off license, purchase a big bottle of Blue MD, and down it in a wanner. Sometimes ye need tae stick two Tramadol up yer arse and wash it down with Jif. Sometimes….ach ye get the point. Grado is like someone humanised hilarity, stuck a singlet on it, and sent it out there tae make us happy, and we should appreciate it while we’ve got the chance before he ends up working for TNA, or presenting Catchphrase or suhin.

So with the baddies battering all the goodies in Liverpool and Leeds, surely the NAK were gonnae have a field day. In Dundee, they had mixed success. Renfrew and Divers stealing a win over Joe Coffey and Big Damo, after Coffey thwarted the NAKs attempts to slay the bear before his scheduled match with Renfrew. The NAK dont take kindly tae their murders being derailed though, so Joe Coffey looked set to be the next man slain at the hands of the Kliq. His heid carefully placed in a steel chair, ready to be Killer Boots’d intae oblivion. Mark Coffey wasn’t playing that shit though. He likes having a brother that’s heavy good at lariats, and painting faces so he made the save, and Pumphandled Darkside fae here tae next Tuesday for the win in their match. They rolled on to Liverpool, where Darkside and Divers produced a beautifully cohesive performance against the Sumerian Death Squad. Feels a bit weird using the word “beautifully” in some patter about Dickie Divers right enough, but him and Darkside were daft for the quick tags. Daft for isolating Tommy End and keeping him grounded. Daft for dominance. The SDS overcame them right enough, with all the high-octane double teaming, spearing and double foot stomping you could shake a shitty stick at, but until then Darkside and Divers were proving teamwork does indeed make the dream work. The reason the SDS were out in the first place was tae save Wolfgang from ANOTHER attempted murder from the NAK, after the big man somehow managed to fight off another NAK run in to overcome Chris Renfrew in a stoater of a scrap. Tommy End cut a fuckin promo anaw, and I’ve never been more terrified. I knew his accent would give me the fear if I heard it live right enough, but nothing can quite prepare ye for the reality of it. Spine chilling. This is the SDS making some attempt to be the good guys anaw. Or at least the lesser of two evils, but fuckin hell. Tommy End is too terrifying for words. Most exorcisms that occur these days only happen when folk spend days sitting up watching Tommy End matches. It gets to a point where the person will find themselves involuntarily hanging by the ankles from their ceiling fans, chanting “TOMMY…TOMMY….TOMMY FUCKIN END” in a demonic fashion, whilst a froth drips out their satanic gub. Unless the exorcism is performed in time, the affected person will get to a stage where they’ll begin heidbutting a bonfire, while shouting “STONG STYLE!” at the top of their voice, until they melt and die. The moral of that shite patter is dont look Tommy End in the eye, or you will perish.

The Sumerian Death Squad moseyed on to Leeds where they would face the newly crowned ICW Tag Champions Paul London and Brian Kendrick. Former ICW tag champs themselves, the Satantic jaw scudders wanted the belts back. Leeds were treated to a pair of the best tag teams to emerge from fuckin…existence in the past 10-15 years, and they knocked lumps out each other all over Yorkshire, but after London and Kendrick retained cleanly with the Sliced Bread/Shooting Star Press combo, we witnessed something quite captivating. By his usual standards, Chris Renfrew had been a bit quiet on this weekender. Aside fae accusing everyone in Dundee of shaggin their sister, while watching footage of their brother shaggin the dug. Aside fae kinda trying tae murder Wolfgang a wee bit. Aside fae scudding Damo over the napper wae the mic repeatedly, then trying to murder Joe Coffey a bit anaw. And there was also this hilarious visual representation of the Renfrew/Divers dynamic when they had a wee domestic before Damo flung them haufway back tae Glesga


Aside from the two attempted murders, the scrap wae Wolfie, and square go’ing Dundee, this was subdued Renfrew. Truth be told the most damage he inflicted on anyone up until this point was giving Divers the gift of Johnny Moss in Leeds. Since the show was named “Lucy In The Sky With Divers”  Renfrew thought the best way to toast Dickie Divers would be watching him do the thing he does better than anyone else in the western world. And thats getting flung aboot. Nah I jest, I fuckin love Divers mate. His unbridled joy whenever he got an offensive move in was the best thing on the tour..probably…no really, but it was nice. Mossy knocked fuck out him like. Tossing him over his heid and intae various hard surfaces,leaving his shoulder but tae fuck and his pride damaged, perhaps beyond repair. So apart fae ruining Divers life, the two attempted murders, the Wolfgang match and square go’ing Dundee…Renfrew had been fairly quiet. That’s no fuckin quiet AT ALL is it? Fuck sake. Totally derailed the narrative here like a fuckin ROOKIE. Point in this whole setup is this, the NAK fuckin killed The Sumerian Death Squad. 

No properly killed like. Tommy End killed that wee slice of kayfabe by cutting about after the show getting photos with folk, while I followed him about shouting “yer supposed tae be fuckin deid!” in his ear. The NAK fucked the SDS up though. Despite London and Kendricks best attempts to get in and help their new dutch pals. It all ended so peacefully between them tae, after a match where a lot of people kicked a lot of other people in the face, tae see The SDS and Londrick shake hands was a tear jerking moment. I’ve been told I need tae mention how London had a glow about him, so I’ll dae that now eh. He was glowing. His white pants made him look godly, and Tommy End had NAE RIGHT tae be kicking, and knee’ing his wee face. Fucking fantastic match though, and the kicking the SDS took after it sets up another wae the NAK at Fear and Loathing. Baws oot, waving them aboot for that one. London and Kendrick might end up involved in that yin I reckon. Unless they drop the straps in Birmingham and dae two singles matches at Fear and Loathing. Either way. Folk are gonnae get their shit destroyed and its gonnae be tooooooo sweeeet.

Spose we’ll break up all this wrasslin patter with a wee story eh. Playing it fast and loose wae this one. I will review all 3 shows separately, cause I have no regard for my own sanity, but whilst shit was fresh, I thought we’d pull together thoughts on various things that occurred over the weekend. Here’s some thoughts about the taxi driver we go on the way hame fae Liverpool. Fuck that guy.
We went straight back tae the hotel after the show on Saturday, cause travelling fae Dundee tae Liverpool is quite tiring, and so is tanning bucky and cider on the way there incidentally. When the taxi driver dropped us at out abandoned warehouse masquerading as a hotel, this is how shit went down.

*driver is handed a crisp £10 Sterling note*
“This all you’ve got?”
“This all ye’ve got? Scotch money?”

Fuckin “Scotch” money. Its not a new phenomenon, English folk looking at Scottish money like its taken on the form of an Ebola demon and sneezed intae their maws mooth, but “Scotch” is not a fuckin nationality. Scotch is whisky. Scotch is a weird type of egg. Scotch is fuckin sticky tape. I am not “Scotch” ya fuckin auld dick, and neither’s my exceedingly steamin pal. If yer no happy wae the “Scotch” money you’re being provided with, then whit tae dae is scoop it oot yer wee tray, fold in tae a neat wee rectangle, line that rectangle wae stanley blades and pop it up yer ignorant arse. XENOPHOBIA IS NOT AN AFTERTHOUGHT PEOPLE. Discrimination in all its forms its DEPLORABLE, but my chips n gravy were gettin cauld, so I ended the standoff by shoving 8 quid in change in his coin purse, shitting on the floor, and sticking a wee “Vote Yes!” flag in the shite, and setting the taxi on fire. Spose that negated the need tae pay the cunt, but fuck it. Sometimes anger takes over. Sometimes ye turn into a psycho.

From a situation that was a pile of bollocks, to a match that contained a lot of bollocks (see whit I did there? like a wee transition ye know….link the last thing tae the current thing so it reads seamlessly, then completely fuckin ruining that seamlessness by explaining it here….WRITING 101) as Kenny Williams kicked off a trio of Zero-G Title defences up against his mentor Kid Fite. Their in-ring chemistry was a sight tae behold. Like watching a father and son wrestle, apart fae the father encouraged the son to whip his baws out, before he reaches up, grabs them, and introduces them to the toe end of his boot. Williams retained, and some heartfelt words were exchanged between the baws and the bollocks. I’d never claim tae be a lip reader of any distinction, but I’m fairly certain he whispered “congratulations on having the worlds smoothest baws” in Kennys ear before departing. Kenny has proved he’s every bit as much of a fighting champion as his predecessor Mark Coffey, having racked up his third defence the next night against Stevie Boy and some cunt who must be part of the flamboyant wing of the NAK or something, cause out strolled this cunts wae tassles aw err his gear, talking about making this a triple threat match. That man was Danny Hope and I’ll tell ye something, I did not have a fuckin CLUE what folk were chanting about, and that’s why Liverpool was so fucking good. They didnae just host an ICW show. They took ICW to their hearts, and made it their own. They popped for Kenny, but as soon as a guy they were intae came out, it was all him. Tasslemania, Tassletastic, Fantassledozy, whitever, they were fucking on about, they loved them a bit of Danny Hope, and the match was red hot because of it. Kenny retained and Stevie Boy got his shot one on one in Leeds the next night. Loved the fuckin shite out of that match btw. Stevie Boy is a born storyteller in that ring and I would like him and Kenny tae wrestle each other forever. Or get a rotation on the go with them and Mark Coffey. Telling all the stories. Tell ye whit. If these three keep improving at the rate they are, the future is most certainly fucking bright. Kenny retained wae The Quiff Buster and they shook hands and went on their merry way. Stevie and The Wee Man heel’d it up a wee bit, but those tactics were employed purely tae keep help Stevie achieve his dream. Its been a while since he had ICW gold roon his waist, but it wasnt to be this time. Kenny vs Stevie fuckin NEEDS tae happen again though. And it should involve ladders. Maybe some tables. A smidgen of chairs, but only so we can aw get a wee seat tae catch our breath wae the fuckin flippy excellence we’re witnessing. Kenny is the fuckin bollocks.

The only lowlight of the wrestling side of the weekender was no enough Noam Dar, Joe Coffey or Liam Thomson. I know folk were booked elsewhere and all that, but nae ICW card is as good as it can possibly be without those three involved. Two of them were involved in Dundee though, as was Joe Hendry. Joe took some absolute pelters from Noam and Carmel Jacob, as both questioned his in-ring ability, and his bravery of all things! How dare they! All him and James R Kennedy wanted to do was give Liam and Carmel some early Christmas presents, and convince them that the best course of action was tae leave all this foolishness aside and patch the match altogether. Become Edinburgh pals instead! Noam was having fuckin none of it though. Provoking Liam Thomson by asking him when he stopped being a man. When did ye stop being a wee hardcase. You used tae be Rocky. You used tae be Joe Frazier. You used tae be fuckin…Ricky Burns. A brawler. A scrapper. A technical supremo. And now what are ye? Carmels wee nodding dug. She might as well get Paris Hilton on ye and carry ye aboot in her handbag ya fuckin shell of a man (paraphrasing Noam here like, this isnae me personally calling Liam Thomson out….cause I quite like being alive) and it worked. Thomson and Dar went at it hell for leather, and Joe Hendry added plenty to it tae. Catching a beauty of a suicide dive from Noam early as he went proper radge. Interesting wee finish tae, as Joe tapped out while Noam had the Kneebar locked in and Thomson had the crossface in at the same time. A draw in a triple threat match? Fuckin innovation mate. Was hoping the lack of a clean finish meant Dar and Thomson would have a match tae decide it in Liverpool or Leeds, but its been set for Birmingham instead.

The Liverpool crowd undoubtedly smashed it, but they were aided with a fuckin clinic in cheap pops and cheap heat from ICW. Thats no a criticism like. Cheap pops and cheat heat are a fuckin staple of professional wrestling, and when done correctly, ye can have the crowd eating out the pal of your hand. So when Jack Jester stoated out for a wee chat with the Liverpool crowd, the clinic began. The crowd was already hot after Danny Hope, so when Jester recalled on his 4 years in Liverpool learning his craft, and he reminisced fondly on all the times him and his comrades would get steamin and pish oota hotel windaes, which the crowd went daft for right away. Then he spoke fondly of one of his mentors (emphasis on the “ment” for MENTAL BASTURT) the bold Frankie Sloan. A man who he credited for helping mould him as a wrestler, and a hard drinking shagger at the same time. He spoke of his fondness for Frankie, and how the only way he could truly do that show justice, would be to bring Frankie out and defend that shiny belt against him. Frankie Sloan came out tae a deafening pop, and gleefully accepted. If there was any foolproof way of having a room full of Liverpudlians foaming at the baws instantly, its gettin Frankie Sloan out and having him wrestle for the ICW Title, but the Polo Promotions boys had other ideas. Jackie Polo fuckin outraged that the REEEEEEAL DEAL wisnae getting a title shot, but some auld guy who “should have got out the game years ago” was getting one instead. He advised Frankie to take up promoting like he did, and leave the grind behind, but instead Frankie and Jester summoned the boaysies for a tag match. The match was a rare laugh, and of course Jester and Sloan prevailed, but that wisnae all…

Ye see, Jackie Polo is no ordinary man. Jackie Polo is the undisputed KING OF CHAT and he made use of his degree in patter to drop some bombs on Jester and Sloan. That wasnt how the match was supposed to play out ye see. The REEEAL DEAAAAL and Scotlands BEEEST wrestler were supposed to win. They were supposed to Pumphandle and Polo Plex these cunts tae next Tuesday. It wasnt fuckin FAIR and Polo had enough. He went on to inform the Liverpool crowd that they wish they were Glaswegians, and then he made a vague Hillsborough reference and my arse fuckin collapsed. It wisnae making fun of Hillsborough like, he spoke of how Kenny Dalglish… a good GLESGA man was the catalyst in helping the city get over that tragedy, but even the mention of it in Liverpool felt like riot material. As a cunt wae a funny accent, I immediately started looking for side doors and exits just in case it got a bit hairy. The unrest was palpable. People were fashioning chibs out of their plastic cups that once contained £12 pints of lager (fuckin O2….had tae remortgage my dungeon just tae afford a double jack n coke) The crowd has split off intae gangs, and a cunt wae a mullet poked his heid out of a car windae, whilst clinking beer bottles on his fingers, shoutin “waaaaaarrriors…come out to plaaaaaaay” We needed a hero. We needed a Scouse icon. We needed Stevie Gerrard…but he wisnae available. We needed Jamie Carragher, but he was too busy muttering inaudibly about how West Broms back four isnae uptae scratch this season. So we called upon someone else. Someone a wee bit more fictional than the ones mentioned before. Someone almost mythical. JIMMY FUCKIN CORKHILL



Jimmy Corkhill stoated out, like John Wayne staring down an outlaw in a western. His chosen weapon was a right hook, and Jackie Polo got knocked the fuck out. The crowd fuckin ERUPTED. Threat level wis reduced tae “lets get steamin and reminisce about the time Jimmy Corkhill knocked out some gobby Jock wank”  It was fuckin party time again. Jimmy Corkhill successfully stopped a riot mate. Thats what kinda weekend this was. Know what I liked the most about that segment though? I didnae get it. Personally, it done fuck all for me and thats not a bad thing at all. Cause I’m no fae Liverpool. I was never really intae Brookside, and I find anything that leads tae Jackie Polo being harmed abhorrent, but it wisnae for me. It was for Liverpool. It was for that rowdy as fuck crowd who gave just as much to the performers as the performers gave to them. So a travelling (outskirts of) Glegsa boy like myself wasnt meant tae pop for that. Thats fucking magic. That was one of the moments that made ye think ICW could do this regularly. Tour up and down the country and have cities you’d never dream of losing their shit. Liverpool and Newcastle both bought in fully. Leeds maybe wasnt packed enough to fully get intae it, but they were still treated to a cracking show and they all went home happy. Even if they did go home wae an apology from Mark Dallas as the tag match ended in yet more turmoil, but we’ll get tae that in a minute, first some chat about a couple of new ICW folks….

Jackie Polo wasn’t the only one who got some cheap heat fae the Liverpool crowd, as the Manchester Mean Machine Jack Gallagher stoated out in a Man City top, dropping some fitba patter as a right noise up. The scally that he is! or eh…I dunno. Suhin scouse. Point is, after seeing Jack Gallagher wrestle 5 or 6 times now, and seeing him go about his business almost politely, it was quite refreshing to see him heel it the fuck up, before Kid Fite jumped out tae end all this foolishness about fitbaw and aw that carry on. Engaging oor Jack in a duel, featuring wrestling moves. Kid Fite has tore this tour a new arsehole btw. 4 dates. 4 very different matches. All fucking top notch. He prevailed against Gallagher, before both proceeded tae Leeds. Gallagher taking on Darkside in one of my favourite matches of the weekend, ending with Gallagher passing out in the triangle choke, before Fito faced up against Rampage Brown in his hometown. Aw fuck btw, I forgot tae mention something about Rampage Brown. Its fairly important. Nae idea how I forgot. RAMPAGE BROWN IS THE FUCKIN DA 

When I first heard there was a Leeds date on this tour, I fuckin knew they’d book the big brute, and they didn’t disappoint. Him being in Newcastle was a bonus right enough, and I’ll no lie, I thought their match in Newcastle was marginally better than the Leeds one, but it was a braw sight to see the big yin come out to an ear shattering pop. Well…maybe ear shattering is a wee bit of hyperbole, but it was the loudest pop of the night. Even louder than Grado, and my ain singing and light nipple play during that yin wis loud as fuck. Rampage came out on top with the Samoan Drop, followed by skull smashing, braincell scattering death sentence he calls a piledriver. Him and Fito agreed to one more match to settle it though, and I’m a half mast for that shit. If it happens at Fear and Loathing, so much fuckin YAAAASS. Rampage Brown has arrived in ICW troops, and its not before time. Big man was custom-built tae show up, cause damage and leave. That description is ICW tae the fuckin core…whit else? Oh aye…that tag match.

Wolfgang let Dallas know right away what he thought of this idea Dallas dreamt up, as he was in the middle of about 50 wrestlers during the stramash that ended the Liverpool show screamin “THINK OF THE COMPANY! STOP THIS MADNESS!” but it was never gonnae end well was it. Ye cannae but 4 guys in a ring, and make the wants that want tae kill each other try and co-exist. There’s gonnae be shenanigans. There’s gonnae be BT Gunn tagging Wolfgang by slapping him across the dome wae salmon fillet. There will be Wolfgng hoisting BT Gunn above his head and throwing him at Jester and Galloway like a fuckin lawn dart. There’s gonnae be Drew Galloway ‘accidentally’ kicking Jack Jesters heid clean aff his shoulders, and of course, its gonnae end with all 4 of them doing the thing they were told not to. Knocking fuck out each other. Then everyone else came out tae break it up. NAK included. While Paul London majestically floated about, looking decidedly stoned oot his box, lightly kicking folk in the mooth and immediately asking if they were ok afterwards. Whit a conscientious man he is. One thing was for certain, as the most hungover wrestling show came to a close, there was nae need for Dallas to be apologising for an ICW show ending in chaos, cause thats what why we love this shit. Its a chaotic, wondrous journey and I’m glad as fuck I personally decided to go to every show, cause that weekend was fucking immense. I got tae get steamin and tour about with some of my favourite folk in the world, and I even watched one of they folk genuinely contemplate jumping out of a taxi cause we drove past Paul London on the way to the venue in Leeds. Shit like that makes it worth the travelling aboot. Shit like that is what ICW is all about. Evoking reactions. Telling stories that sets ye apart from the chasing pack and making people buy in.

The weekender was a tremendously exhausting experience. I dunno if this shite summed it up well or not. Couldnae go all that way and write fuck all though eh. I am a journalist n that….sometimes.

As Drew and Galloway try to tear each other limb from limb at every opportunity, with BT Gunn and Wolfgang doing the same. And everyone else seemingly pre-occupied with other shite, theres a bit of menace about Chris Renfrews role in all this. Aye he’s orchestrating a lot of it. A wee attempted murder here and there, but Chris Renfrew is capable of making a lot more noise than he is currently, so it makes ye wonder what he’s got up his sleeve. There’s still the small matter of a burst briefcase, with a very important contract in it and it would be unwise of anyone to forget that. Chris Renfrew is not a man to be slept on. Take yer eye aff the bad guy at your peril.

Match of the weekend – Drew Galloway vs BT Gunn

For me it just edged Grado vs Jester and Drew vs Wolfgang, but all three were fucking top class. Intensity, storytelling and fuckin WRESTLING. BT Gunn was on another level all weekend though. It bends my mind that more folk dont seek that man out. There’s a place for a guy like BT Gunn in pretty much any company in the world, cause he might be the most adaptable wrestler currently plying his trade here. Singles, tag, any kind of opponent ye throw at him. BT Gunn brings it. The match wae big Drew was artwork, and ye should be currently in the process of selling all your belongings, and possibly a kidney so you’ve got enough dough to bribe somecunt tae let ye see it. Or just wait tae the ICW On Demand thing launches and see it there. Either way…dae it.

Credit as usual to David J Wilson for the brilliant photos. Check out more of his work on the ICW Facebook page.



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