Liverpool ya gorgeous bastards. Well done tae yees. Ye fuckin get it. One thing I wanted out of travelling to all these shows was to feel like an outsider at some point. I wanted to feel like a fan that disnae have a fuckin CLUE what’s going on, cause that would mean whatever City I was in had taken ICW to their hearts and made the show their own, and thats what yer looking for. Don’t host the show…BE the show. Newcastle and Dundee both done excellent jobs like. The Newcastle show in particular was ROWDY, but I never felt at any point in those shows that there was some exclusive shit going on that I knew fuck all about. Some shit the people from that city go daft for. Liverpool had plenty of that shit. Along with an abundance of other good shit. I feel like I’m saying shit too much, but as long as ye read this once we’re past the watershed it’ll be grand. WRESTLING…tassles n that.
Kenny Williams vs Stevie Boy vs Danny Hope (ICW Zero-G Title Match)
Right away I didnae have the beginnings of a fucking clue what was happening, and thats what separated Liverpool from the rest crowd wise. They were presented with someone they were supposed to go daft for, who isn’t an ICW regular and they done it. With Kenny Williams and Stevie in the ring, ready to fire in tae their one on one match, some music I’d never heard before played, and a man I’d never seen live before emerged to a rapturous response. Danny Hope aka the tassel guy, aka tasseltastic, aka his burd brought me to a tasselclimax, aka I’m gonnae wrap this stupid patter and talk about the match.
Apparently Hope comes from the Scouse wing of the NAK, cause the card was subject to change fuckers. Hope stuck himself in the match, and Liverpool went daft for tassels. Put it this way for the ICW regulars, Kenny Williams was in an ICW ring and he actually wasnt the crowd favourite. It was something fucking…spectacular. The action was frantic, as Danny Hope started like a house on fire. On fire wae RAPID HIPTOSSES! ma man, a hiptoss for you (you being Kenny), a hiptoss for him (him being Stevie), errybody catching a hiptoss. Stevie counteracted that with a double missile dropkick, before everyone forearm smashed everyone else in the gub. Hope was getting Hulk Hogan pops in front of the Liverpool crowd. Everycunt was daft for tassels. It was like he rolled back the years, to Tasselmania 3, where he lifted Andre The Giant (in this case thats Kenny and Stevie welded together) clean above his heid and body slammed them clean through the earths equator. It didnae quite work out that way though. This is more like if Hogan got toed in the bollocks by eh…..the bollocks I suppose. Through the middle rope dropkick, followed by the suicide dive had Kenny in control, and somewhere in the mix Dannys manager Lisa Fury toed The Wee Man in the baws, before a frantic exchange involving that middle rope catapult clothesline (dubbed the Ambroseline cause Dean Ambrose does it, and I think it sounds heavy coo) from Kenny led to Kenny retaining with a bridging rollup.
It was strange to see Stevie and The Wee Man skulk off, as they were the heels almost. As close as anycunt in this match got tae supervilliany anyway and they weren’t welcome at the Jefff Jarrett strutting party. All the strutting. Only the bollocks, the tassels and his burd were invited. Everyone went fucking daft, and I quite honestly didnae have a clue what was happening. Wrestling in a nutshell baby.
Grado vs Sha Samuels
A hero like Grado is only as good as his greatest nemesis. For ages it was assumed that was Mikey Whiplash. So disgusted by Grados daft antics, and how they reflected on British Wrestling, that he seemed hell-bent on killing the poor bastard. Grado earned his respect though. He earned a handshake in the middle of that ring, because he brought it. He had the chops to tell the story Whippy vs Grado needed, and took some serious punishment along the way. Ultimately, thats what’s needed to earn the respect of Mikey Whiplash. Prove you can do the job you call yourself a “professional” at. Sha Samuels isn’t the same kind of enemy. Sha Samuels is a masochist. Sha Samuels came to maim. Sha Samuels was sitting with a 0-1 record against Grado, the loss picked up in one of my favourite matches of the year in London, and he wasn’t leaving Liverpool without evening the score. Know what I love about Sha Saumuels though? I FUCKIN HATE SHA SAMUELS!
Thats a beautiful thing in modern pro wrestling, where fans think they’re too cool for school. Cannae let the heel know he’s doing his job well by actually booing him can we? Well aye…aye we fuckin can. And I will continue to boo Sha Samuels, whilst quietly respecting the fuck out of his work, cause thats what wrestling should be about eh? Oh aye…wrestling. The match. Lets talk about that.
Grado got majorly cheeky early on and dragged Sha round the front row, encouraging folk to chop him. I refrained personally, cause that means he’s entitled to chop me back, and I like my diddies unblemished. Grado got tae splashing in the corner, before Sha counteracted the roll and slice with a huge lariat. Big man’s back in business. As a “fat Cantona” chant echoed round Liverpool, Sha continued to pile on the misery for Grado. Mixing in biting, elbowing and choking the poor cunt wae a scarf. How fuckin DARE you. Ya swine. Grado rallied with some shake rattle and rolling, roll and slicing, and looked to have the momentum behind him for the win, but yer man Sha wasnt leaving Liverpool without the win. I fuckin told ye that earlier. Ye no listening? Big man pulled the ref in real close, close enough tae smell his bottom lip before KAPLOW…a devastating blow to Grados baws, followed by a pedigree type maneuver gave Sha the win, and took us to 1-1. Cheatin big BASTARD.
Jack Gallagher vs Kid Fite
If the crowd were a wee bit low after seeing Grado toppled, they were brought right back up with this. Not only was it a beauty of a match, but it had the added crowd pleasing element of FITBAW STUFF! Thats right, Jack Gallagher, the most polite looking technician in wrestling today, came out to antagonise folk, and it was strangely intriguing. Proof that no matter who it is, if you chuck them out there wearing a football top of a team the locals would consider rivals, they’re gonnae get hated. Especially if that team were the ones that stopped the locals celebrating their first time win since before most of them were born. To the Liverpool crown, Jack Gallagher in a Man City top was tantamount to Sgt Slaughter waving the Iraq flag back in the day, and his cheeky patter could get itself to fuck anaw. The only thing that could save them was a right good Glesga boy, by the name of Fito.
Yer man Fito has never been better. Taking on all comers and having superb matches with them. All very different opponents too. A guy like Gallagher, who gets the action going with a snapmare followed by a dropkick, is a far different prospect to a guy like Rampage Brown, who gets the action going by flinging ye aboot like an empty shellsuit. Fito unleashed some heavy chops, before Gallagher took control once again with a whole bunch of technical stuff. Dropkicks, an abdominal stretch type situation, some suplexing. We then got into an exchange of striking, before Fito got the upperhand with a big kick to the chest of the apron. Following that up by scudding Gallagher into the barrier, and tanning most of somecunts beer. A brainbuster, followed by an F5 type move brought Fito a near fall, before Gallagher hit the top rope flying shoulderblock thing he does. Not entirely sure if its a shoulderblock, or a flying forearm, or something else, all I know is that yer man gets HANG TIME on it, but the corner powerbomb followed by the sitout powerbomb saw Kid Fite prevail. Good overcoming the evil Manc BASTARD. The stuff mediocre daytime films are made of.
Jack Jester and Frankie Sloan vs Polo Promotions
If you were to make a daytime film out of this it would be more of a documentary, entitled “how to make folk fae Liverpool pish, shite and ejaculate on themselves all at once” bit of a long title right enough, but its a working title. We’ll fix it. Calm yer jets. Jester comes in his gear, with the shiny belt in tow, but the problem wae that is…nae match! Nothing scheduled anyway. Instead we got storytime. As Jester sat in the middle of the ring with his legs crossed and encouraged us all to do the same. With the weight off our collective feet, and joy in our hearts, we were treated to the charming story of how Jester had to come to Liverpool to learn his trade. Things weren’t always so fruitful back in Scotland ye see. They used tae train ye by throwing empty milk crates at yer heid, and seeing how many you could repel with standing dropkicks. So he came up to Scouseland, where he learned his shit. Not just wrestling shit either, life shit. He learned the ancient art of gettin blazin, and pumpin anything wae a pulse, and he learned his stuff from none other than the legend himself. The bold Frankie Sloan.
Jester brought Sloan out to a thunderous pop, before promising him, that in front of his hometown crowd. He could have a shot at the big yin. That shiny belt that everyone from Sabu to Dickie Divers has failed to take off him over the past year. Frankie Sloan gets a go at it. Liverpool was hyped. Ready to see their hero write himself into ICW folklore. Crowd at fever pitch, ready and waiting, and its only right that the KING OF CHAT emerged to have his say.
He had a pop at Frankie still lacing up the boots and going out there at his age. Should’ve got out the game ages ago mate, become a globally known promoter like JAAAACKIE POLO. Sloan and Jester had heard enough. In that ring. Tag match. 2 scallywags and one belt, vs the well oiled, internationally recognised dream team of Jackie Polo and Mark Coffey. Or for the French speaking amongst us…BONJOUR POLO PROMOTIONS…Je M’APPELLE WRESTLING, OUI? Or suhin like that.
Mad Frankie rolled back the years to kick things off with a scoop slam, some leg droppin, and a flying jab which landed flush on Polo’s finely chiselled jaw. Polo and Coffey took control with some cohesive tagging, as they managed to isolate Sloan, giving him a right good leathering in the corner, but the bold yin busted oot of jail with a crossbody. He got the HOAT TAG in tae Jester, and the boys combined for a double clothesline. Coffey did get the bridging belly to back suplex in, before we got to the finish. Polo coming close with the Polo Plex, before Sloan knocked Polo off the top rope with his very own mallet, straight intae the Tombstone from Jester to give Sloan and Jester the win. Quite weird that the wrestling match was almost an afterthought here right enough, as entertaining as it was, the thing that followed nearly blew the fuckin roof aff Liverpool. If it had a roof like. It disnae. Its a city. Cities dont have roofs. This isnae a fuckin cartoon mate. Anyway aye…Polo wasnt pleased with how things unfolded, and naturally he had some things to say about that.
Aw Jackie. I love ye man. The fact that more folk aren’t aware of who he is and the level of commitment he brings to being an arsehole in the wrestling world is a travesty. He lives the gimmick. To the point that I’m almost certain this is just him now. If he was someone different before, that person disnae exist anymore. He’s Jackie Polo. And Jackie Polo does not conform to the boundaries you live yer life by. Jackie Polo will re-enter the ring after his team’s defeat and he will say the H word in Liverpool. Aye…the H word. Not Heroin. Not Harry Redknapp. Not Heavy D and The Boys. The other wan. The bad yin. He mentioned *gulps* Hillsborough…..
This was obviously planned, and he didnae have a go at the Hillsborough disaster before we have another scandal on our hands, but he did say the word…in Liverpool. The context being that it took a good Glasgow man like Kenny Dalglish to bring Liverpool back to its former glory after that disaster. You could feel the mood change as soon as he said that word though. It’s a soft spot for folk. Naturally so. So there was two ways for Jackie, and the other Glesga folk in attendance to make it out alive. The first one would be to simply brandish a pair of finger guns and shout loud enough to convince folk they’re real, loaded pistols, before backing out the side door quietly. The second way was probably a bit more plausible. A scouse hero had to put Jackie Polo on his fuckin arse. He didnae even need to be a real guy. Someone fictional…almost mythical would do. That someone was JIMMY FUCKIN CORKHILL.
Out the bold yin comes, to a jazzed up version of the Brookside theme, and as he bobbed and weaved in front of Polo’s face, whilst Polo asked who the fuck he wis. WALLOP thats who I am. Landed one clean on Polo’s jaw and everyone went fuckin nuts.That in a nutshell is why I loved Liverpool. Cause I didn’t personally identify with that moment at all. I’m Polo daft, and I never really bothered my dick wae Brookside, so I personally didnae really much care for it, but thats fine. I’m one guy. EVERYCUNT else loved it, and that’s what’s important. It got the reaction it was looking for, and gave the local crowd something to buzz about. I went for a pish at hauf time, and I was greeted by a roomful of guys wae their dicks in their hands, talking about an old school soap character. Only in ICW.
Wolfgang vs Chris Renfrew
I’m no big on cliches or that. I’m no big on such patter as “and on this occasion, the Wolf certainly WAS hungry” cause its too easy, and cheesy as fuck to read. Having said that, Wolfgang most certainly DID look hungry when he strolled on to face one of his chief tormentors over the past year. Chris Renfrew was a problem that Wolfgang saw a chance to eradicate and as the Liverpool crowd was suffering from a serious Jimmy Corkhill comedown, maybe they needed Renfrew to get a doing to bring them back up eh? The trouble there is, Chris Renfrew disnae give the beginnings of a shite about your needs, wants or desires. Fuck you. Wolfgang survived one attempted murder in England, would he survive another?
They leathered each other on the outside for a bit. Jabs, and chops rained down as the first ever “briefcase wanker” chant started since Renfrew won the Square Go. It’s not like we dont fuckin have The Inbetweeners in Scotland, why was this just happening now? Liverpool…I dunno man. They fuckin got it. They were like the auld Glesga crowds before everycunt got a bit too familiar with folk and seemingly a bit shite feart to bam them up. This is what wrestling is. You’re supposed to chant daft shit at folk. Stick yer “this is awesome” up yer fuckin hole. This isnae Malibu. We’re no evaluating the work of some fanny daein tricks on his skateboard doon the boardwalk, or something. This shit isnae gnarly mate. Its wrestling. Its rough and rugged. This match was the definition of that. Some Killabama Slama action, followed by the missile single leg dropkick had Renfrew looking large and in charge, before Wolfie battled him up top, and missed the mark with a Swanton attempt. Renfrew’s momentum was derailed once more when Wolfie caught him with a codebreaker, before the second Swanton attempt hit the fuckin mark. Vengeance for the hungry eh….vengeful Wolf. The metaphors are fuckin baws in this yin, but never mind that. RENFREW KICKED OOT. Renfrew was also locked in a spine crunching Texas Cloverleaf at somepoint, which I have nae personal recollection of, so instead of telling lies and recalling my memories of the event, here’s a lovely black and while photo of it courtesy of David J Wilson for you viewing pleasure.
Renfrew knew he was on borrowed time. Nae way he was surviving another Swanton. So the briefcase wanker, picked up his wanky briefcase and skelped Wolfie over the dome with it, only for the big man to get Ultimate Warrior on us all and no sell the fuck out of it. He got the demonic, deeply swedgered look on his coupon and said come ahead. Hit me AGAIN. Aw jesus FUCK. This isnae yer run of the mill Wolfgang, this was ZOMBIE WOLFGANG. Only a bullet through the brain was stopping this juggernaut.
Nae bullets came. Instead 3 powerbombs came from Wolfgang, before Renfrew came close against with the Stoner. It was about that time for the cavalry eh. Divers and Darkside emerged from the shadows, wielding hammers and bad attitudes, but Renfrew took them out by mistake, and one awkward spear later, WOLFGANG had toppled the bad guys.
This particular group of bad guys dont much like being toppled though. They decided to kill Wolfie after all. Divers and Darkside held him still as Renfrew lookin to bring his existence to an end with a hammer to the dome. Shame that. I hear he’s quite fond of being alive. It helps him dae stuff. Lucky for him he had some unlikely knights in shining armour in the form of a Death Squad. A death squad who lately seemed to be using their insatiable capacity for destruction to do good deeds. Or at least deeds that weren’t inherently evil. Stopping wolves being murdered falls into that category eh? Smashin. Glad we got that cleared up. Part of the reason The SDS were out was so Tommy End could cut a spine chilling promo in that accent that makes my baws jump back into my body, and hide themselves behind my kidneys. It was time for Darkside and Divers to step the fuck up.
Darkside and Divers vs The Sumerian Death Squad
After the expected early explosion from the SDS, with Dante flying about dropkicking people just as nature intended, and Tommy End kicking people in the chest just like Satan intended, but after Divers took a bit of an early doing, it was actually Darkside and Divers who had the best of it for the most part. Divers turning things round with a superkick, before a succession of quick tags kept Tommy End isolated. Norther Lights suplex from Darkside in the mix anaw. It was like watching the Rock n Roll Express, or Deuce n Domino in their prime so it was. Proper teamwork making the dream work. The Dante got the hoat tag, and went a wee bit radge.
If you’re not from Scotland, or even if English isnt your first language (I think I’m speaking directly to Tommy End here, if he reads this, which scares the shite out me..awrite Tommy? eh…hows the eh…being terrfying working out for ye?) going “radge” is another way of saying “going aff yer fuckin nut” and if you don’t understand what that means either, I dunno man. I give up. Dante battered them awrite? That’s what we’re trying to say here. He went fuckin mental. Then the SDS finally started busting out their eye watering array of double team moves, before Darkside derailed Dante with a double knee takedown. A top rope German Suplex followed, before Divers hit a flying elbow, but despite their surprising amount of dominance in the match, Darkside and Divers would not prevail. The SDS combining to break Divers in half and take the win.
0-2 for the NAK on the night, and another attempt to murder Wolfgang stopped in its tracks. The only thing that could redeem this was the oddity taking on the chosen one and emerging victorious. Or if he didn’t emerge victorious, at the very least he wanted to leave with Drews soul. Drew probably had a thing or two to say about that right enough, cause he’s really big and enjoys kicking people in the face. What unfolded was one of most brutally hard-hitting, storytelling ridden, pieces of wrasslin artwork I’ve seen in a long fuckin time. Lived up to its billing, then bent its billing over, got it nice and moist, and pumped it rotten.
BT Gunn vs Drew Galloway
Matches like this are a big part of the reason that Drew saw opportunity in front of him after his WWE release. He was involved on WWE Tv shows right up until the week he was released. He did appear at Wrestlemania this year. Things were fine. If they gave him another proper go at it, he’d have likely smashed it, but they didnae, and if he kept on going down the 3MB route, there’s nae scoop for him to be a storyteller. Nae scope for him to properly unleash all his god given tools. Nae scope for him and BT Gunn to knock lumps oot each other. A free Drew has ALL the scope for that. He can do whatever the fuck he wants, upto and including snorting toilet duck aff yer Da’s favourite sandals. Instead of engaging in debauchery like that, he’s chosen to have really good wrestling matches instead. Probably combined wae some mild shenanigans like, but mainly the wrestling. Mainly telling beautiful stories with guys like BT fuckin Gunn. BT Gunn has been flawless for far too long now. He was born to wrestle, and he was born to be very fucking good at it. Stick a mercurial talent like BT Gunn in the ring with a beast like Drew and you have a wrestling tapestry, weaved by the tender loving hand of violence, and big boots tae the jaw.
The first of those jaw scuddings happened at the first bell, as Drew crouched down to summon the power of a thousand gods as he does before every match. No this time mate. Chew on this SUPERKICK. BT Gunn living by the age old motto “he who hingeth aboot…geteth hee haw” Drew scooped the bottom half of his jaw aff BTs kickpad, performed some emergency surgery tae re-attach the fucker (he swallowed it whole, and regurgitated it back tae its usual position) and got to work himself with a big boot to BTs dome. Everyones slinging big kicks. FUCKIN RUN…DUCK….HIDE…ITS GETTIN A WEE BIT WILD UP IN HERE. The kicking continued, this time in drop form, as Booty connected with a missile dropkick, followed by yon roll through and kick to the face he does on the mat, usually accompanied by a big high-pitched scream. Drew responded with a picture perfect vertical suplex, before the first exchange of chops occurred, stripping the top layer of skin aff both of their chests, and I think Drew lost his left nipple, but don’t quote me on that eh. Then the action came tae us! How convenient.
Drew blocked a suicide dive with a big uppercut, before chucking BT about like a burst fitba. The problem with flinging a burst fitba about is that ye run the risk of coming into contact with the thing that burst it. In BT Gunns case, the thing that burst his fitba was a big fucker of a hangnail, and in this metaphor, that means even whilst yer flinging him about, he can still cause ye harm. Did that make sense aye? Good. After chucking BT off some poles and walls, he hoisted him toward a doorway, and of course BT climbed up. Cause the cunt has no regard for his own safety, or the safety of the Liverpudlian public. Diving cross body, with nothing to break his fall but the man Drew himself. Check it. It really happened. There’s a photie…
A million more chops followed. So many fuckin chops in this match. I genuinely never thought I’d see someone match BT for his chops, but Drew fuckin did. Actually seeing BT wince a wee bit when he took them said it all. They were fuckin killing each other. BT got that combo in with the chops, chest kick and senton, finishing off with a Superkick before Drew dislodged his two front teeth with another flying big boot. A superplex followed by a beauty of an ace cutter had the big man in control, before he finished Booty off with the Alabama Slam off the ropes, and a variation of the Tombstone as a nod towards his pal Lee. Anything you can do..eh..I can also do. BT Gunn wasn’t going to be defeated. Even if he was technically deid. Renfrew wisnae letting the NAK go 0-3 in Liverpool, so the ref got pulled out, battered a wee bit, and the match was declared a no contest. The NAK were there to take Drew out, but he had hauners in the unlikely form of his former best pal.
Aye…Jester fuckin saved him from certain death, purely so he could make sure he gets the chance to kill him at the Barrowlands I imagine.
An all out war broke out, with the baddies smashing the goodies, and vice versa, only for a flummoxed, screaming Dallas to plead with them. “WHYYYYYYYYYYYYY DONT YEES HINK AE THE FUCKIN COMPANY YA CLOWNS! IF YEES WANTAE KILL EACH OTHER, WAIT TAE FEAR AND LOATHING. THE MORRA NIGHT, JESTER AND DREW WILL TEAM AGAINST BT AND WOLFIE” Awwww aye, and other thing, Sha Samuels vs Grado part 3 also happens at Fear and Loathing, and guess whit Sha, Grado’s got two words for ye…
The ring cleared, leaving just Grado and Sha, and Grado send an already satisfied and smiling crowd hame with another bodacious pop. ICW Liverpool. You were magnificent. Send my regards to yer maws and aunties x