To a lot of folk, wrestling is an escape. Its the thing you look forward to at the end of another month of monotony. Its a way of life to many. Its the thing all of yer life’s furniture is pointed at (wee metaphor there…I think..its a something anyway) When something in your life becomes almost an obsession. When you dedicate hour after hour on it. Its biggest show becomes your biggest show. Its most important night becomes your most important night. To many people who have followed ICW for a sustained period, Fear and Loathing 7 was fucking everything. With a card fitting the stage it was set to be played out, and emotional investment in pretty much every match, it wasn’t hard to get excited.
Despite months of patiently waiting for it, when it rolled around, it felt like it was too soon. I was gonnae get new shoes. We were gonnae hire a party bus for the journey from the centre of Glesga to the Barras (approximately 15 inches to the left of the centre of town, but thats at least two sips ah tonic) Everyone was gonnae wear kneepads, and we were gonnae get there early to sell raffle tickets and hand out chibs to folk in the queue, cause this was serious business. The Barrowlands Ballroom was going back to an era where folk gave more than a passing fuck about what they were seeing. When folk preferred to see a show with their eyes instead of behind a camera on their phone. An era that I sound like I know things about, almost as if I was there, when I’m actually making this shite up as I go along. Luckily there will be none of that on the actual wrestling side of the review cause ITS ON THAT INTERNET INT IT. ICW On Demand has launched baybay, if you’ve not seen the show and planned on using this review to find out what happened. Don’t be so fucking daft. Go here, sign up, watch the show.
I’m gonnae spew hunners of shite about it anyway, cause why break the habits of a lifetime eh.
It began with Billy Kirkwood and Sean David accompanying the first wrestler out to the ring, both wearing fetching backless dressew. Legs for DAYS they boys have got so they huv. I swear, Billy done this wee half pivot, half pout and we saw at least half of his peni…..naw haud on, I’ve got this jumbled up I think. Sean David wisnae even there ffs. Nae excuse for this anymore is there? Now that On Demand exists, the days of these reviews being ridden wae mistakes are OVER….probably.
It actually began with Mark Dallas announcing to the world that Sweeney’s a Da. His wife gave birth that afternoon. That made ICW Fear and Loathing 7 his daughter, and like any good Da would, he kicked everycunt out immediately, and told them to stay the fuck away from his daughter till she’s at least in her mid 30s. When Sweeney tells ye tae dae something, ye dae it. Even Dallas left, and within half an hour, The Barrowlands was completely empty once more. Nah I jest, Dallas went on to call Vince McMahon, a bully, and a “turkey necked abomination of a man” before he shat in an envelope, addressed it to WWE HQ, attached it to a Frisbee and fired it towards the sun. He thought he was done tae. No more announcements or threats to be had, until a certain consultant by the name of Mr Toal urged him to tell us whit?
THE WHOLE FUCKIN STORY.
The whole fuckin story is ICW return to The Barrowlands. Wrestlemania night. Barrafuckinmania. Only excuse for no being there is actually being at Wrestlemania and even then…NUT. You made the wrang decision mate.
Kenny Williams(c) vs Kid Fite vs Big Damo vs Joe Hendry (ICW Zero-G Title Match)
Yer man Fito embodies what ICW is all about. Its only fitting that the man who was an ever present on ICW shows until very recently is the man who had the privilege of being the first wrestler to step in the ring. He did have a couple of burds with him, unfortunately none of whom were Billy Kirkwood in a skirt, but thats life, was still nice to see so much of Courtney and Leah Owens. Leah looking particularly fetching in her low cut dress and Divers mask combination. Here’s where I get a bit torn though. Ye see, I’m all about equality. I believe women should have equal pay, equal rights, the right to vote (I mean, its mental that they still dont have that) They should have the right to chose which recycling bin they use for auld christmas cards. AW the rights. I also believe every man on planet earth should donate one of his baws to a woman, so everyone has at least one. Or if you’re one of they burds who keeps her mans baws in a glass jar, give him one back eh. He deserves it. I had a point here, so we’ll swing back around to it. Aye. Equality.
See this “get yer tits out for the boays?” patter. Its outdated guys. We really need tae stop that. I mean sure, they were wearing lovely shiny dresses and looking gid, but both Courtney and Leah Owens are trained pro wrestlers. Its disrespectful to be shouting at them to whap the dids out so it is. So when Fito promised that if the crowd were successful in completing a Mexican Wave, he would be get the lassies to get them out. Fucking disgraceful so it is, but listen. There’s a point I think even the most morally conscious man gets tae in a scenario like this, where the battle for equality slowly but surely gets overtaken by the excited teenage boy who still exists deep in yer psyche. That excited teenage boy is sitting at the edge of the couch at this point, wae a pillow covering his stauner, feverishly muttering “here…I might actually be about tae see some tits here” and once that happens, seeing tits is ALL that matters in the world.
It looked like that dream was dead when Joe Hendry rudely interrupted the diddy show for a sing song, but at least we did see one tit, as James R.Kennedy and Timm Wylie flanked him on the way to the ring (see I was gonnae say a pair of tits, but Timm Wylie scares me..it works better as a joke though, so just imagine I did say that, without the repercussions of me actually saying it being involved in any way) after we fell in love with Joe Hendrys face, big Damo came out to his usual rousing tune, but this time it was introduced by the Father Ted theme music, and from that point on I don’t remember a fucking thing. Being able to scream yer lungs out for a tiny wee bit of a TV show’s theme tune is why wrestling is better than other things. Kenny Williams dived out to his usual eardrum demolishing pop, and yer man had a fuckin HOVERBOARD mate. I don’t think it actually done any hovering, but it looked impressive. Its been a meteoric rise for our Kenny over the past year, considering this time last year his role and Fear and Loathing was being part of a video package, to be the man charged with setting the tone for the biggest show in ICW history a year later is a brilliant achievement. One he’s achieved through the three pillars of pro wrestling… hard work, dedication and murdering his ex tag partner Christopher.
Might aswell talk about some wrestling eh? Joe Hendry got cheeky wae Damo early on, attempting to attack him from behind, so Damo chucked him outside, into a woodchipper he fashioned out of some auld cider cans a tree he uprooted on his way to the venue, leaving Fito and Kenny to battle in that ring. They exchanged some lovely stuff, with Fito getting the better of the early exchanges with a smashing armdrag, and a standing double stomp. Joe Hendry tripped him up and jumped in for a shot of his own, but got scudded in the corner with a forearm, before Kenny hit that back elbow. Kenny might aswell have been on the hoverboard mate. Yer man was floating above everyone so he was, but not in the way that he might’ve wanted, as he had his heid taken clean aff by a huge Damo lariat. The clothesline from craggy island they cry it, and that’s where Kenny’s heid eventually landed, before Damo took a heidless Kenny, and Joe Hendry up for that double fallaway slam/samoan drop thing he does, which is essentially him throwing two grown men over hid heid like empty sweetie wrappers. Kid Fite retorted with the auld snapmare, big kick to the chest on Damo, before ducking a Kenny Williams crossbody attempt, only for Joe Hendry to catch Kenny intae a powerslam. Followed that up with the Freak of Nature to both Kenny and Fito, before Kenny used Joes back as a springboard to dropkick Fito clean aff the apron, into the same DIY woodchipper Hendry found himself in earlier. For the shortest match of the night, it had plenty to whet the appetite. Kenny swerved it up on us next, taking out Joe Hendry with the usual through the middle rope dropkick, but instead of hitting the suicide dive on the other side, he dived through the middle rope, landed on Damo and hit the MOTHERFUCKIN QUIFF BUSTER OUTTA NOWHERE. Make a vine ootae that shit.
A pair of powerbombs from Fito on Kenny nearly got the job done, before Damo broke up the pin and powerbombed Fito on top of Kenny. Joe Hendry hit a move on Kenny next that he calls the “Christmas Gift” but its more of a Gutwrench Facebuster type thing, as opposed to something ye might want for Christmas. Mate. If yer gonnae call a move The Christmas Gift, at least do it on top of some Scaletrix or suhin. It all backfired on Joe spectacularly when he summoned Timm Wylie on to the apron to set up a steel chair for him to assumedly chuck Kenny towards. Kenny reversed the chuck, and Hendrys skull met the steel. A cheeky rollup later and The Bollocks had retained the belt.
A fun, fast paced, frenetic, fantastic opener. So many adjectives starting wae ‘f’, cause alliteration is fun. Know what else is fun? Intergender scrapping.
The Bucky People (Kay Lee Ray n Stevie Boy) vs Carmel Jacob and Liam Thomson
Had nae fuckin clue this was two out of three falls until the first fall happened and people kept on wrestling. Wee Man cut a beautiful promo before it btw. Nae point me typing out what it said when you can watch it On Demand for only £3.75 but the jist of it was as follows…
- Carmel has a tash
- The Wee Man loves The Bucky Squad, and Glesga
- DAVIE BOY…THIS WANS FUR YOOOOOOOOO….
It started with a double suicide dive from The Bucky Collective, as Carmel and Liam were doing their usual slow villain walk to the ring, whilst taking the specks of folk in the front row and standing on them. You specky bastards don’t get to see their match, and you especially don’t get to see Stevie and Kay Lee kicking the match off with a double suicide dive, only for Stevie and Liam to make their way into the ring, and Stevie to get caught with a swift rollup for the first fall. Scores on the doors. Bucky People 0 Liam Thomson and Carmel 1
ICW were using an 18 foot ring for this show, which for folk like Stevie Boy means one thing…HUNNERS OF FUN. He responded to the disappointment of being pinned for the first fall by clearly the top rope with a huge dive, before flying haufway across the ring with a beauty of a crossbody. Big rings are smashin n aw that. Really love a big ring myself. Gives ye more room to maneuver, and its always good to maneuver in a nice spacious ring, but big rings dont stop ye getting backdropped on the ramp do they? No. The answer to that is no. Cause Stevie was tossed so far in the air, he was able to high 5 jesus himself (wisnae actually Jesus, Paul London was up there trying to fetch that t-shirt that Kid Fite got caught in the rafters) before landing flush on his spine. Back in the ring Stevie was isolated, and had the broken back he sustained moments earlier compounded by folk kicking it a lot. Namely Carmel and Liam. Teamwork making the dream work, as they kept the pressure on wae quick tags. Carmel hitting a braw snap suplex on Stevie. They had him isolated aye. Long way from home. Not a sheckle in his pocket to phone a friend, but Stevie always has one thing in his locker. He has HEART mate. Although you shouldn’t keep your actual heart in a locker btw. Pretty essential that it stays in yer body, but the point is, that after a furious rally, where jabs and a mad Satellite Russian legsweep were delivered, Stevie made it 1-1 with another sexy wee rollup and we were down to that ever so familiar next goal’s the winner scenario. Half time score Bucky Folk 1 Liamel Jacson 1
Double clothesline to kick the last fall off was nice and that, but it was a warm up. It was filler for the inevitable. The inevitable being an absolutely ROASTIN hot tag tae Kay Lee Ray. Stevie had been getting his jaw tapped for the best part of 5-6 minutes at this point. If they were The Road Warriors, Stevie would be Hawk (and by that I mean..hes often fawin aboot steamin) and Kay Lee was Animal, stomping her foot on the apron, telling the ref he’s missing some BLATANT cheating, before the hot tag finally came, and Anima….I mean Kay Lee Ray went RADGE. Missile dropkick for a 2 count on Carmel, before the springboard elbow was caught beautifully and turned into a German Suplex by Carmel. Liam hit the backcracker out of the corner after blocked a kick quite beautifully. We entered intae the domestic violence awareness portion of the match after that, with Liam hitting a sitout powerbomb on Kay Lee, followed by Stevie bursting Carmels eyesocket with a superkick.
It came down to Carmel vs Kay Lee of course. The biggest rivalry in Scottish history containing two sets of fannies (closely followed by Celtic vs Rangers…see…I wisnae being crude…I was setting up an anti Old Firm joke…even though I support one of them…) so aye. Kay Lee hit the Backslide Facebuster thing she does at the second attempt, before her Swanton attempted was stopped in its tracks by mad Sean the ref getting chucked into the ropes, and Carmel caught her with the top rope DDT to seal the win for The Power Couple.
FINAL SCORE. The Bucky People 1 Carmel and Liam 2
Mind I was chatting about folk returning earlier aye? Good. Thats pertinent for this next bit, because Carmel and Liam decided victory was not enough. They had to compound it by kicking Kay Lee and Stevie when they were quite literally down. Liam had a burst nose anaw, and used the excess blood to write “Bucky Bufties” on Stevies back, and that wis the last straw for a certain someone. A man who it feels like we haven’t seen in years because of the amount of shows hes missed…in reality its only been about 3 months, but still. DAVIE FUCKIN BOAY IN THE HOOSE. Spear for Liam. 3D for Carmel. Swanton from Kay Lee tae Carmel. The Buckys had cleaned house.The Power Couple might have won the match, but they were FLATTENED by the Bucky Barrage. Here’s Davey fuckin boaaaaaaay pointing angrily cause Carmel stole the Dairlyea Dunkers out his packed lunch box. Cunt wisnae even meant to return at this show, but he was so irate at this theft, he showed up in his gear and went mental.
The New Age Kliq (Chris Renfrew, Dickie Divers and Darkside) vs The Sumerian Death Squad (Tommy End, Michael Dante and NO ONE ELSE AT ALL)
Really. There’s nothing to see here. The NAK came out as usual, pointing at folk and calling them dicks. I’m sure theres a selfie cuttin about that a guy took of Renfrew pulling out a razorblade and cutting the cunts eyelids aff for having the audacity to pap him, but aside from that these were your standard wrestling entrances. Two teams that hate each other, seeing a year long feud have its culmination at ICWs biggest show. Nothing more, nothing less. Sure. The Sumerian Death Squad changed their entrance up a bit. Its a big show, and they’re intimidating, creative cunts. Of course they done something a bit different. Had a burd singing “Where Is My Mind” as they slowly made their ascent to the ring. Dante had a bodybag slung over his shoulder, but even then, the first thing that came to mind was that it was some sort of symbolism or suhin. Some arty thing that would be explained at a later date. The body actually in the bag was William Grange. Returning to take revenge on Divers for leaving him and becoming immortal. They laid the bodybag down, and Dante took a big sip out of a bottle either containing blood or ribena. Perhaps a combination of both. Spat it on the bodybag and blew the fucking roof off the place. The bodybag wisnae rigged with a Ribena activated bomb btw. I dont mean he actually blew the roof off the place, I mean the bodybag opened, and a human climbed out that evoked a 1,600 person simultaneous orgasm.
Welcome back Mikey Whiplash.
Remember chaos? Remember how this match was gonnae redefine what the word means? Throw a re-invigorated Mikey Whiplash intae the mix, and you have yourself spontaneous combustion masquerading as a wrestling match. They crowd just had enough time to turn their underwear round tae the dry side, before The SDS + Whiplash and The NAK faced off. Mind when The Shield and The Wyatts first came face to face and there was pandemonium before anycunt had swung a punch in anger? This was the Glesga version of that. It was that reaction, with petrol chucked on its heid, and full bottle of Orange MD chucked at it, setting the fucked alight. It was ON like Donkey Kong, or Awesome Kong, or Cheech and Chong, or Sisqo singing The Thong Song. Everyone bar Chris Renfrew and Tommy End cleared the ring, and thats when kicks tarted fling. Numerous scuds to the jaw from the unregistered deadly weapons known as “Tommy Ends gutties” but after taking about 80 kicks, Renfrew rebounded off the roofs and took Tommy heid clean aff with Greetings From Silent Hill (thats a big bastardin lariat btw, for anyone who isn’t aware) A serious of reversals after that, was brought to an end by a Tommy End standing double stomp. Divers and Dante got a shot after that, with Divers displaying the most impressive Snapmare/Dropkick combination in wrestling today (naw YOU’RE exaggerating) before we finally caught a glimpse of Whiplash daein that wrestling thing he’s ever so swell at.
Darkside got him in the corner and dislodged his jaw with a dropkick off the ropes, before Whiplash went uppercut daft. Sending Darkside to the corner with a couple of them, only to see his flying uppercut attempt caught wae the STONE COLD STONER fae Renfrew…1…2..NUT. Dante broke up the pin, then became one third of something quite beautiful, as Whiplash dropped Renfrew with the Death Valey Driver, right on to Tommy Ends knees, and as Renfrew stoated about looking hauf deid, Dante caught him with a huge clothesline. This shit was almost too much to take in. The three headed snake aren’t the only squad who can do triple team shit though. High knee from Divers in the corner, Darkside big boot, followed by those two sending Whiplash towards Renfrew aw the opposite side for the flying single leg dropkick. AW the triple team moves. Then everyone had a wee shot of kicking everyone else. Single leg dropkicks, spinning kicks, teenage kicks right through the night, culminating in a flying knee to the jaw of the returning Whiplash fae Divers. Divers looked to have this in complete control. Hit a Pumphandle Slam on Tommy End anaw. Looked really fuckin good for a bit. Then it all went a wee bit wrong. The SDS started doing that amazing double team thing where it gets really fuckin difficult to keep up with what they’re doing (unless you have the ICW On Demand service, for the low low price of £3.75, where you can watch it over and over again until yer eyes go square and crawl oot yer heid) first thing was Tommy End tossing Divers towards Dante for a powerslam, and they hit a tandem lariat/kick, before it all ended in the bridging full nelson suplex from Whiplash on his return for the pin.
Scintillating shit from start to finish. The Whiplash return was perfectly done. Almost too gid. Its an alliance that makes all the fuckin sense in the world tae. Keep that shit together, keep them feuding forever. Fuck this being the end of the feud, the feud before this didnae have Mikey Whiplash. Its a whole different thing altogether eh? Lets start it again and never ever stop it. Getting a bit carried away here. We’ll move on. Even with the addition of Whiplash, the SDS are still outnumbered. There was one NAK member not present for that 6 man war, and that might’ve been due to him being a wee bit busy trying tae murder his cousin.
BT Gunn vs Wolfgang (Last Man Breathing Match)This match was big. Thats stating the blatantly fucking obvious like, but to me it was just as big as the main event. It had just as much emotion, and seemingly genuine animosity as the main event had. To the two men involved, it was the culmination of years of hard work, having grown up together in life and in the wrestling business. To have the chance to stand toe toe toe with one and other, as relatives, wrestlers and pals, in such an iconic arena, when its filled tae the fuckin brim with feverish Glaswegians (and the odd cross eyed tcheuchter) must have meant everything. It was a match which could, and definitely might have main evented the show if it wasnt for Drew returning and facing Jester for the belt. These two have been trying to kill each other for about 6 months now. Literally tae. That’s not overstating it at all. The NAK genuinely thought they had killed Wolfie in London, and Wolfie lit the fire of this feud back at Still Smokin by chucking BT from 30 feet in the air. Throwing folk from 30 feet up in any environment other than a wrestling show gets ye the jail. In wrestling it gets ye a round of applause.
BT came out in his customary intense, brooding fashion. There was a noticeable change in his demeanour round about the time he faced Joe Coffey earlier in the year. A focus in his eyes amongst the madness that comes wae being an oddity. A focus in his performance. A focus in the tit destoryers he calls “chops”. That focus, and the fact that he’s got a squad of stone cold killers tae call upon have had him once step ahead of Wolfie throughout this feud. From the Rob Cage decoy, to the heartwrenching conclusion to the dog collar match where it looked like the cousins had found common ground, only for “Tam” to choke “Barry” out wae the collar at the last minute. That’s who it came down to at the end of it all. isnae about wrestling anymore. As Wolfie said in the wee build up video before it started, this was about two men who were willing to let the thing that bonded them in the first place become the thing that tore them apart. This was Tam vs Barry. Last man standing? Nah. This was more like last man breathing, cause to keep either of these cunts down for a 10 count, you’d need tae fuckin kill him for real. Wolfie came out on his motorbike, cause this was The Barras mate. If you’ve got a motorbike, pretty much yer only option in this situation is tae be driving that fucker to the ring. Like so…
They done that wrestling thing for a while, and it was fucking glorious. Leathering each other with rapid right hauns, before it rumbled on to the wee start bit of the ramp, where Wolfie started slapping the security guys aboot. The kind of slap that says “here….see you…I’m aboot tae dive on this cunt, and yous wee fannies better catch me” and low and behold they did. At least there was more than one guy who took the brunt of it this time, but Wolfgang is still a very large man, and him clearing the top rope with that dive will never not be a heartracing, baw tingling affair. I suppose you could say this shit had got going by this point eh?
If the dive didnae signal the start of the homicidal carnage, yer man BT firing out the chops in the corner certainly did. Or if ye didnae deem THAT enough, Wolfgang knocking BTs teeth clean oot and sticking them up his arse in one motion with the big lariat MUST have done the job. He signalled to the crowd that he was about to throw a cousin at them after that, but BT wriggled out of the Gorilla press to hit a superkick, only for the big man to rebound off the ropes and clean BT out wae the spear. Make nae mistake, this was a fuckin fight. This was two men, using their own bodies as chibs. The most effective chib of all insnae actually a chib at all though. Its fear. Neither of these cunts had a fuckin smidgen of that and that’s why this match was so fuckin engaging.
A series of reversals culminated in a standing double stomp fae BT, before they went reversal daft again, this time Wolfie getting the knees up to block the senton, before the sucession of reversals was brought to an end by a fuckin stoater of a slam dunk from Wolfie as BT went for the springboard elbow. Yer man Wolfie had heard plenty about BTs chops. How they’re the best in wrestling, and how he actually chopped Lex Lugers lung clean oot one night at the Garden, so Wolfie decided to sling a few of his own. They made a fair auld noise tae, as BT stumbled to ever corner to get chopped daft, but BT Gunn has never lost a chop war. Even when he stood toe to toe wae Ryoji Sai, he got the better of him. Some people are born with gifts. Things that emerge from an early age that makes ye think “here, he’s gonnae be right good at that”. Diego Maradona was really good at kicking a fitbaw. Steve Jobs was really good at coring apples. John Smeaton was really good at kicking fires in the baws, and BT Gunn was born with the ability to cause vital organ failure by slapping folk in the chest. He chopped Wolfy a few times, before pink bellying him tae fuck, but yer man Wolfies been on the sharp end of that his whole life. Cunt’s immune tae it now, so Wolfie no sold the fuck out of the pink bellying, before lifting BT above his heid once more and chucking him into the crowd.
Trust. That’s why these matches are always so good, because these two have the ultimate trust in each other. The trust that ye only give to a few people in life. A trust that makes potentially life threatening acts seem fine. The Swanton landed after that, cause yer man Wolfie was not content tae even see if throwing BT at a crowd of people would dae the job. The Swanton didn’t do it either though. BT somehow got to his feet at an 8 count, and when Wolfie charged at him in the corner, BT dislodged his jaw with a pair of vicious superkicks, only for Wolfie to duck the third yin and hit a powerbomb. Fuck knows how either of these cunts were standing. A gorgeous Tornado DDT from BT somehow reversed the momentum and all of a sudden it was Wolfie flat on his back. Soon as he made it tae his feet? CHAIR TO THE DOME. A chairshot tae rival the one BT hit him with in London, and that yin sent Wolfies right temple clean oot his heid. Wolfie made it to his feet once more, so BT decided it was time. Sorry to all the grannies, grandas, aunties, uncles, maws and da’s. Even the rest of the cousins. Wolfgangs life was about to be at its end. Its never good when yer cousin kills ye though. My cousin wis responsible for breaking my thumb once, and I’ve been sending him shite wrapped in jaggy nettles through the post ever since. I dunno what a murder does to the cousin relationship tbh. Probably ends it considering one of them would actually be deid, but aye. BT went up to deliver killer boots on the chair and it landed. Wolfgang has perished.
He didnae really die, but the next sequence of the match really should not have been possible. Not after the doing they’d already dished out to each other. How the fuck? They were jabbing each with even more pace and force than they did originally when the match started with a jab war, how the fuck is even MORE intense after 15 minutes of war? The jabs were followed by both running the ropes and hitting huge forearm smashes, before a double clothesline floored them both. Legitimately deid this time. They must fuckin be. How can any human emerge from a battle like this with a heart that continues to beat?
They actually used each other to get tae their feet after that, but as soon as they’d helped each other up, BT sent Wolfie back to the mat with the codebreaker. BT took him uptop for fuckin…something. I dunno. A superplex or suhin. Or maybe he had a tank filled wae Piranhas set up behind him for BT tae gently nudge him intae it, and have them eat him tae death, cause fuck all in the match was gonnae get the job done it seemed. Whatever BT had planned didnae materialise though, as Wolfie hit a powerbomb off the middle rope to SURELY end it. Surely that was it. Wolfie finally had BTs number (well he probably has his actual number, since they’re cousins n that, but ye know whit I fuckin mean) and that was indeed the case. He was down for the 10 count, but the move took so much out of Wolfie, that he was down for a 10 count tae, and this battle of two Scottish Wrestling titans ended in a fuckin breathtaking draw.
Fuck knows how either of them done any of the shit they done in the last 5 minutes of that match. The exhaustion I’ve felt from watching it has put me out of commission for the past 5 days, wae a drip fulla pot noodles and melted Irn Bru bars in my arm, so fuck knows the toll it would’ve taken being actually involved. I reckon that powerbomb legit kept them both down for a count of 10. That was a shoot so it wis. The actual finish involved a Renfrew run in being thwarted by Divers tripping over his shoelace and tripping Renfrew up, and BT and Wolfie both laughed themselves intae submission. Fuck knows how Wolfie had the air in his lungs to grab a mic and cut a promo, but thank fuck he did, cause he revealed that at the Square Go, it ends. Once and for all. BT Gunn vs Wolfgang in a FUCKIN STEEL CAGE.
One more time boays aye? Why the fuck no. Chucking each other about in a cage is probably the only sort of pain they’ve not inflicted on each other so far.
Oh and since its half time, have a look at the pretty picture David J Wilson took of the aforementioned dive from Wolfie. Its lovely. Stare at it for a bit. Let it relax yer mind, cause theres still about a million more words to go.
Paul London and Brian Kendrick vs Polo Promotions (ICW Tag Title Match)Paul London and Brian Kendrick are probably going to go home. Its awrite. We can all make our peace wae that eh? People have families tae see, and electric meters tae keep running. Its not possible to stay in Scotland forever. For anyone really. Even folk who live here, tend to take ‘measures’ to sometimes feel like they don’t. Measures like a hundred measures of vodka, dropped intae a bath filled with tramadol and chewable eccies. Its an expensive escape from the grind, but by fuck is it worth it. One dunt of that cocktail, and you’ll think yer dug is talking to ye, only to realise that ye never actually had a dog, and in fact, you haven’t even been born yet. This is all part of a dream that you in a past life is having. In your past life you were a guy called Dirk, who referred to instruction manuals as “articles” and tbh wae ye mate, ye were a bit shite. Aye so…. wrestling.
I was highly amused by a few things in the entrances. First of all, Brian Kendrick growing increasingly impatient, as Paul London done his usual Intrepid Traveller entrance, before wandering down tae Tam Shepherds joke shop, and getting himself some fake dug shite for the flight home. “The last time I did this, the lady next to me actually thought she’s pooped in her sleep, and when she discovered it was plastic…SHE THOUGHT SHE’D POOPED PLASTIC!” he told the shopkeeper, as London performed a self High 5 and started humming Original Prankster to himself as he skipped all the way back to The Barras. By the time he arrived, Mark Coffey were Brian Kendrick were already doing that wrestling thing folk keep telling me about, but before that, Polo and Coffey performed soe tandem air rowing in an effort to warm up for…eh…something. Maybe the wrestling match that was about to start, or maybe some actual rowing. Fuck knows. Coffey and Kendrick kicked us off with some brutal chops and forearms, before a Tornado DDT gave Kendrick the opening to tag London in. The bold yin burst in with the sunset flip and the middle rope moonsault, before Polo and Coffey worked the auld magic. The boaysies. Forming like voltron once again. It takes a special bond to precede any important event with some simulated rowing so it does. Jackie Polo backed up some stellar work from Coffey by performing his favourite wrestling maneuver, the highly technical and EXTREMELY dangerous scoop slam. Mind they “dont try this at home” adverts? They only ever happened cause some many children were getting burst spines from botched scoop slams. Thats a true story so it is. Do not scoop unless you’re professionally trained in the art. Mark Coffey came in and hot one of his own, before Polo hit a TRIPLE scoop slam. Mare scoops than a jakeys stag doo (christ thats awful patter, I’ll spend the rest of this review trying to think of something better, if its still there when ye actually read it, feel free tae fuckin heider me)
Brian Kendrick got back in after the scoop slam procession, but found himself on the sare end of a double team shoulder barrage in the corner, before fighting his way out with a heel kick to the jaw. In came London and out came AW the dropkicks. Every single variation of the dropick imaginable occurred, even the wan where he hi-jacks a hot air balloon, has Jackie Polo dangling off the edge, and dropkicks him intae the sea. Dropkicks are nice and all that. I enjoy watching them, but Mark Coffey scudding folks heids off with that huge lariat is the business. Its a shame it had tae be Londons heid, especially since in was in the midst of being extremely confused by the “ooh aah Samaras” chant (looks fuck all like Samaras btw, yer all on crack) Scoop slam from Coffey, followed by the middle rope elbow drop from Polo has yer Polo Promotions in the drivers seat. Ready to park the motor in Shiny Belt Drive, but Kendrick had other ideas, hitting the ever so flippy, but always lovely Sliced Bread, closely followed by the Shooting Star Press from London surely for the win eh? Games a bogey there? Naecunt kicks out of the Slices Shooting Star Breid Press. Naecunt. Mark Coffey broke the pin up though, and immediately sent London on a one way ticket tae fuck out that ring with the deadlift back suplex. Kendrick vs The Boaysies. The faint smell of a 2 on 1 ambush was in the air, as Polo flung Kendrick straight in to another Back Suplex from Coffey for the uno..the dos…the tres. Nae idea why I went Spanish there, but that does not matter. What does matter is that your NEWWWWWWW ICW TAG TEAM CHAMPIONS are the good folks at POLO PROMOTIONS.
London and Kendrick are legends, and their visits is undoubtedly the most I’ve enjoyed the in-ring work of “imports” ICW have brought in (Fergal disnae count) so it was sad to see them drop the belts, but at the same time…YASSSSSSS. The weird period of seeing Mark Coffey beltless and dejected is over, and Jackie Polo has a title in ICW. Happy fuckin days….for a bit anyway.
Polo decided tag team triumph was not sufficient enough for his nights work. I’m no sure if thats his dedication to giving folk their moneys worth coming in tae play there, or his dedication tae ripping the cunt out of Lionheart, but he really needn’t have bothered either way. Ye see. For all Polo’s words about Lionheart shiteing out of his challenge tae face him that night were effective, as soon as Hearto’s music hit, it all fell apart, cause Lionheart done a strangely intriguing thing. Lionheart cut a shoot promo…..on himself.
Initially when he was chatting thing he was gonnae cut a shoot promo, I thought he was gonnae say things about Jackie Polo, which admittedly I got a wee semi for, cause its getting to a stage now where I’m thinking Jackie Polo is just Jackie Polo. There’s nae real guy behind him. It isnae a brilliantly constructed character, Jackie Polo is just Jackie Polo. He really does carry a Polo mallet everywhere he goes and he uses it as a sort of V.I.P area rope at the back of the bus, so he can sprawl out on all 5 seats. We were disappointed though. I bet ye Lionheart did do a lot of Polo digging. Probably since their last confrontation at Still Smoking, he’s been scouring the internet for something…ANYTHING, but after continually coming up with fuck all, he decided fuck it..I’ll cut a promo ON MYSELF, and that’s exactly what he done. Revealing that he’s adopted, that he cheated on his burd of 4 years with a married woman and he brought up a story from about 10 years ago involving him stealing a prisoners uniform when he was a prison guard to join the queue for methadone. I wasnt sure if that was true initially but apparently it is. Quite ballsy of him to bring something like that back up when most folk had no idea, and the folk who did know had probably long forgotten about it. He undoubtedly has the fire back in him, and thats a fire that comes from having that physical fitness back. He told Jackie Polo he wasnt cleared to get physical with him, but guess whit troops? HE LIED.
A flurry of jabs ensued, before Polo managed to get Hearto in the corner, stomping a mudhole in him and walking it dry. Then Polo had 1,600 folk holding their breath in unison as he set Hearto up for the Stylesclash, only for Lionheart to fight out of it, and hit the Rock Bottom. Polo was dragged to safety by the other half of your NEWWWWW tag team champions, the real deal Mark Coffey, but Hearto had one last surprise for Polo. Hearto vs Polo was finally happening. Barramania. March 29th. Fittingly just over a year after their first scheduled match was supposed to happen. The man who has been a standard bearer for Scottish Indie Wrestling over the past 10 years, against the cocky upstart, who splits the crowd right down the middle between people who consider him a genius and Scotlands BEEEEEST wrestler, and those possessed by almost a feverish lust to see his baws removed from that Union Jack singlet and tucked securely up his arse. Without detaching them. As much as Hearto got the better of the confrontation, Jackie Polo still walked away with a shiny belt, and a pinfall over a former WWE Champion (Brian Kendrick’s reign was real, I dont gie a fuck if it was a Championship Scramble match mate, for a few minutes, Brian Kendrick was THE TAP BOAY) so all in all, a decent nights work for a man with a broken neck.
Noam Dar vs Joe Coffey (Deciding match in best of 5 series)I’m no an emotional guy. Outwardly anyway. I’ll occasionally have a John Legend sesh where me and the big mans melodies get a bit greety together, but in public, I keep it stony faced and funky. I keep it stern like Jonas Thern. I no sell every emotion, so naecunt can tell the difference between sarcasm and “I’m sorry Mrs Davis, yer husband’s passed away” Its a skill. One I’m very proud of and one I take very seriously, but the whole fucking thing goes out the windae here doesn’t it? My two favourite wrestlers in Scotland, going one on one at the biggest show in Scottish Wrestling history, and the outcome actually matters a fuck? Too much. I don’t think I’ve ever been so personally lost in a match. It lived up to its billing. It was the best wrestling match of the night. It was the best wrestling match I’ve ever fuckin seen….probably.
ICW seem to be regarded as the natural air to ECWs throne as the cool alternative to mainstream wrestling, a company not scared to take it to the limits. A company that embraces its fanatical fanbase. A wrestling company for the fans, but ICW also do that thing ECW used to do that many folk forget about. ICW put on some of the best technical wrestling matches in wrestling today, and Noam Dar and Joe Coffey are at the forefront of that. If Noam Dar is Dean Malenko, Joe Coffey is Eddie Guerrero. If Noam Dar is Chris Jericho, Joe Coffey is someone who had a really good feud with Chris Jericho. If Noam Dar is Hulk Hogan, Joe Coffey looks at Noam Dar being Hulk Hogan, raises his eyebrow and goes “here mate…you’re too good at aw that wrestling tae be Hulk Hogan” . They bounce off each other beautifully is my point here (aye…sometimes I have points)
Their entrances were spectacular. Joe coming out painted up as The Iron Patriot, to a fucking deafening Iron Man chant. If Joe Coffey has ever felt unappreciated in ICW, that reaction proves beyond any shadow of a doubt that folk love the cunt. Rightly so. The caliber of his matches of late (and by “of late” I mean over the past 2 years) have been fucking off the scale. Jackie Polo claims to be Scotlands BEEEEST wrestler, but as much as I love Jackie, he’s no. Its one of these two. Its both of them. Awww I cannae decide. Noam made an equally spectacular entrance, as a very Scottish Star Wars (Dar Wars) monologue played on the big screen, before yer man stoated out to his usual tune with YODA by his side. Yoda Toal to be precise, and after that erection inducing patter, they done a bit of wrestling.
A pair of collar and elbow tieups to start cause this was WRESTLING. A wee “fuck yer Coffey, we want tea” chant cause apparently we were bringing 2012 back. Nah mate, fuck yer chant, we want better chants. Chants befitting of the masterpiece unfolding in front of your very eyes. Chants that took the same amount of dedication, and hard work that it took Noam and Joe to get as good at wrestling as they undoubtedly are. Unless you’re willing to put in the hours in the chant gym, and the years of repetition, and hard work honing yer craft in the chant ring, take yer chants, turn them sideyways, and stick them up yer bellend. They got in amongst some chain wrestling, before Noam stepped over an attempt by Joe to trip him up, just like his wrestling hero Cristiano Ronaldo would. They exchanged shoulderblocks next, with Joe of course winning that battle, cause he’s a real life tank wae human skin, but yer man Noam rebounded with a beauty of a dropkick. Fuckin…..wrestling mate. A strength test. Another scenario where the Jewdi Master is outgunned I’m afraid. Probably isnae a wrestler in Scotland that could hang with Joe when it comes to that. They blocked each other continually. Reversal after reversal. Noam blocked the first spinning lariat attempt, before they broke and heard exactly what the crowd though of their efforts so far…fuckin..fuckin….YASSSSS.
Never let this stop. For the love of fuck, just keep it going. Even things like sideheadlocks, and leapfrogs seemed huge in this match. Every wee subtle nuance meant the fuckin world. Noam hitting the dropkick to the knee with Joe hung up on the ropes. Ye really should work the knee if yer finisher is a kneebar. Its smart strategy. Folk regard the Jewish as clear thinkers. Accountant, Rabbi and hilarious pro wrestler are yer three career options as a Jewish man. Noam will probably have a shot at all three, but right now he’s daein no bad at the last yin. Sent Joe to the corner with some Khali chops before catching him flush on the chin with a stoater of a dropkick. Fuckin….wrestling. Every paragraph of this is ending wae “fuckin…suhin” cause this is too fuckin good. Jew King Sharp running in to the Iron Wall. Trying to Khali chop it to its fuckin knees.
The Iron Man hoisted Noam in the air, before catching him on the way down with a thunderous uppercut. A pair of splashes in the corner was followed by a Springboard Crossbody from the top rope, where yer man Joe, a fucking HUGE unit of a man, propelled himself from the middle to the top rope. The swings in the DDT position from Joe after that, was followed by a beauty of a butterfly suplex, before he went up top and got caught. A noam forearm (tee hee, that rhymes…nearly) took Joe aff the apron, before Noam landed a suicide dive on his chin. Then it got a wee bit cheeky. Noam is a cheeky cunt though, thats part of his charm. Cheeky wee bastard wae an erse that wont quit. He gets tae mocking Joes chest beating antics while slapping him in the face, but Joe has this defence mechanism for folk who slap him in the face. It gets activated after the third slap, and it leads tae him KNOCKING THE UTTER SHITE OOT YE. Frenetic forearms sent Noam to the corner, before Noam ducked a dropkick which instead caught the referee dancing Eddie Sideburns. Sending him to the corner to slowly die from a pair of burst lungs. Throughout this spectacular both men have had moments where they’ve been conflicted. Both men have had been challenged by their own moral compass. To scud the opponent with the hammer or to not scud him. To leather the opponent with the steel chair or to…sit on the steel chair. To use the force….or not. Joe Coffey decided he was going to use the force of a steel chair, with the referee down and out, but there was a more spectacular force at play as well. An intergalactic force, coming from Yoda Toal, the force was successfully repelling Joe’s attempt to end this feud with unscrupulous deeds, before Joe produced a mischievous half smile, and a rueful shake of the heid as he dropkicked oor Toal clean out the ring. The thing Joe failed to notice is that Yoda dropped his light sabre, and Noam had scooped it up while he wisnae looking. One lightsaber blow to the napper lately, surely that was it. The first feud to be ended by a big shiny stick,. since The Big Boss Man shoved his big shiny stick up Al Snows arse, but mind the refs doon! Aw naw. Would the wielding of Noams stick even be worth it? Joe kicked out at two and the battle raged on. Thank fuck for that. This can’t ever end. Please don’t let it end.
They exchanged blows on the top rope, with Noam winning the exchange with a powerbomb, before Noam got the kneebar locked in. Champagne supersareknee on the mat, as Joe crawled towards the ropes to break the hold. They knocked the living fuck out each other on the apron, with Joes attempt at a German Suplex being blocked before he sent Noam to the floor with a huge lariat to the back of the skull. A thing of fuckin beauty this match. I realise this bit of the review is pretty much literary masturbation, but I also couldnae gie a fuck. If you witness two people exhibit the thing you love so brilliantly, I think its pretty normal to go a bit mental for it. Nae regrets. Noam probably regretted not smashing Joe a bit more thoroughly with the lightsaber though, as Joe sent the JewDiePies heid into the front row with the Discus Lariat. Even without a heid, the wrestling instincts were still there for Noam cause he somehow got the fuckin shoulder up. Christ knows how. He didnae actually get decapitated like, that was hyperbole, but he might aswell have been. They wailed on each other some more.
Forearms, uppercuts, both attempted big boots at the same time, which led to the soles of their boots welding together for a brief period, before two discuss lariat attempts were blocked by Noam as he hit a release German Suplex that served nae purpose other than to anger the Iron Man, as he revved up that engine one more time to hit a picture perfect discus lariat to FINALLY put Noam away. Surely…..fuckin whit? He kicked out again? ONE more HUGE lariat finally done the job and got Joe the pin. Amazing.
I’ve always found “amazing” a bit of a shite adjective. Its overused by dafties talking about Harry Styles latest trendy haircut, or whitever fruit juice Nandos are marinating their chicken in these days, but Noam Dar vs Joe Coffey – The Decider, was fuckin amazing. A fitting end to the best wrestling feud I’ve seen in Scottish Wrestling. They shared a heartfelt embrace afterwards tae, knowing fine well these might be the best matches either of them will ever have. Superb from start to finish. I realise that was the decider, but fuck that. 180 minute iron man SHOW. Noam Dar vs Joe Coffey. I’d take oot a fuckin bank loan just tae book that shit.
Fuckin Martin Stone. I feel personally betrayed so I dae. Not to give away the finish, but you’ve all seen it. Big Martin Stone returned and booted Grado clean up the arse (metaphorically like, I dont think he actually booted his arse) to cost him the win. On the one hand this is hugely exciting. We get Martin Stone and Sha Samuels assumedly teaming up in ICW, as a pair of believable big bow booting cockney bastards. The natural enemies of the Scottish people. The reaction Martin Stone got when he cost Grado the match is something that’s been lacking a wee bit in ICW lately truth be told. The fans are probably a bit overly familiar with the roster, to the point that no one is really hated. Even diabolical heels like Chris Renfrew and Jackie Polo still have huge amounts of support, so it makes sense to present the audience with a pair of bastards they can fuckin hate. So thats the one hand. Thats the logical thinking side of it, the side which realises this is a great thing in a wrestling sense. The adult way of seeing wrestling these days, where we all claim to know how it all works. Thing is, did you enjoy wrestling more as a wide eyed child who believed everything was real, or this current level of adult cynicism you see it with? Of course you enjoyed it more as a kid. As a kid, these were real life superheroes knocking the shite out of each for your entertainment, and do you know what the wide eyed wee dafty that still exists in me to this day thought about Martin Stone showing up and costing Grado the win? He thought this..
FUCK YOU SHA SAMUELS….AND FUCK YOU MARTIN STONE….
There was a match before that happened, and Sha tried to get things going with his customary attack fae behind, only for Grado to block it, hoist the big bear up on his shoulders, and hit an immediate F5. Fuckin…surely thats no it? Big Sha rolled out, before Grado sent him fleeing right back outside with a big clothesline, before encouraging everycunt in the front row to chop him. Yer man’s lucky I wasn’t at the front personally, cause I would have gave him the shadiest look mate. I swear down. Big Sha is the best old school heel in Britain though. Undoubtedly. He’s Grados most natural foe, and their matches make ye feel like a kid again, because the last time you’d have seen matches like them was when you actually were one. Grado’s roll and slice attempt was reversed into a huge spinebuster, and thats when big Sha started to get a foothold in proceedings. Sha gets a foothold in things, by taking his foot, and driving it intae yer skull, so Grado was probably in for a bit of a doing for a while. Sha hit a big suplex, after spending 5 minutes spitting mouthfulls of Blue MD intae folks eyes, and singing a Flower of Scotland parody that went “Oh shower of junkies….when will ye see….a vein again”
Planted Grado with a huge piledriver after that, but it didnae get the job done. Instead his second piledriver attempt was reversed in the Rock Bottom for another near fall. Then Grado went full Hogan….
This is whit I mean though. Old school. The baddie does everything in his power, even pulls the ref in and hits a low blow while the ref’s unsighted, before hitting a huge pedigree for the win….BUT GRADO KICKED OUT AT 1. I don’t think Sha even got a 1 count tbh. Grado had ate his vitamins (theres vitamins in hauf pizza suppers eh? must be some kinda vitamins in cheese anyway, it comes fae a cow ffs, steaks are fulla vitamins) before he rallied with aw the shakes, rattles and rolls and the roll and slice. Wound up for the wee boot only for our Eddie tae once again get in the road and get his front teeth loosened. Grado did eventually catch Sha with the Wee Boot, but it didnae matter a fuck did it. Of course not. Nae ref = nae count. Nae count = nae win. Nae win = awww fuck, there’s Martin Stone.
It was a smashing moment. Heartbreaking and brilliant all at once, as the big man knocked Grado clean out with a chair shot to the dome. The ref managed to count but HE ONLY GOT A FUCKIN 2.
Know why? Cause Grado is a human hero mate. He summons the power of all the good hearted and pure folk in the world in situations like this. Every good memory you have becomes his, every inspiring word you’ve ever read flashes before his eyes, every energy drink you’ve ever consumed gets shot directly into Grados eyeball. All your lifes mysteries are solved. Everytime you’ve had to stand alone gets banished, and only thing that matters is hearing Simon Cassidy call his name in triumph. All of that atmospheric shit would have been applicable here, if it wisnae for Martin fuckin Stone. The chair shot didn’t get the job done, so the big man hopped back in, lifted Grado on to the top rope, before planting him hard with the suspended DDT, which finally put Grado away. Dirty cheatin cockney BASTARDS.
I’ll no lie though, it was worth seeing Grado’s hopes and dreams broken, cause a potential Sha Samuels/Martin Stone alliance in ICW is undoubtedly gonnae be good gear. As a tag team, or even just two singles who watch each others backs, The East-End Butcher and The Guv’nr will be giving us a pair of unfriendly faces to shout obscenities at, and thats never a bad thing.
One match to go then eh…fuck all important though is it….
Jack Jester(c) vs Drew Galloway (ICW Title Match)
It seems a strange thing to be saying, but it honestly hadn’t occurred to me how much this match meant to people tae after it was done and dusted. It was intense during the match, the atmosphere was as hot as an atmosphere gets when all the folk involved in it have been standing up for 3 hours, but I think the magnitude of it didnae quite hit him till we were stumbling up the road to the catty, and saw a guy in a Jester tap actually punching fuck out of some shutters. Seriously. He was stoating up the road, steam coming out his ears, jabbing shutters. I’ve never worked in a shop personally, so I’ve never actually came in close contact with a shutter, but I assume they’re made ootae some kinda metallic element eh? Something that might break yer fuckin knuckles if ye continually punch it. I got tae the wrestling with a goth lassie who occasionally loses the power in her legs due tae wrestling related things, but this cunt even topped her at her worst. Absolutely fuckin wailing on these shutters so he wis. Because a pre-determined event didnae work out like he wanted it to. THAT’S what this match was. Billed as the biggest match in Scottish Wrestling history, and whether you gave a fuck about it personally or not, it definitely was. It had a build up, and an emotional pull to it that has only ever been rivalled by BT vs Wolfy, so the fact that we had both of those matches on the same card makes us privileged. Me and you. The lucky wans.
Jester’s had that belt for 385 days mate. Anything a man holds on to for that long other than perhaps his wife, must mean a helluva lot tae him. As physically impressive, and undoubtedly gifted as Drew is, his former best pal wisnae about to give up the strap, without a helluva scrap, and thats what this was. At times a bit gruesome, some might say even a bit ugly, but sometimes matches of this importance need that. That element of “I’ve no got a fuckin clue whits gonnae happen here, but somecunt might die as a result of it” Jester hoisted the belt above his heid, perhaps for the last time, before scudding Drew over the heid with it to get things going. Game on.
When somecunt pulls yer jaiskit over yer heid and kicks ye in the skull, thats when ye know yer in a proper Glesga fight. Jester done just that, before leathering Drew into the crowd. A legdrop on the apron had Jester in the ascendency early, but all of a sudden we had a FUTURESHOCK OUTTA NAEPLACE for a 2 count. Too early tae be shocking folks futures Drew mate. He didnae let up there though. Reversing Jester Pedigree attempt into a backdrop on the ramp before we went walkies through the crowd and they scudded each other aff everything. Jester had a wee problem though, there was a cut on his heid and that shit was gushing. Drew being the pal that he is helped him out by scooping hunners of it off is forehead and smearing it on his own chest, an act of valour that was rewarded by Jester smashing Drews heid with a door. Yer man likes blood ye see. Taking some of his hard earned claret and smearing it on yourself is tantamount to blasphemy for Jester. He continued the assault by leathering Drew with a chain, before Drew turned the tables (wee joke there, it’ll make sense in a minute) by setting up a table! (see…hilarious eh?) but Jester had it well scouted. Laid Drew out, before taking to the stage and daein a running Mick Foley elbow drop, but he didnae catch all of it cause the table refused to yield. Maybe it had been re-inforced by the wee bits of skull Noam Dar left in the ring earlier in the night when Joe Coffey discus lariated him intae next month, but it didnae break. Jester instead flung it at Drew for a bit, before we finally took the battle back tae that squared circle type thing. Know the wan? The wrestling ring? Aye..that yin…
Jester brought the barbed wired bat out to play, but if theres one thing Drew will defend with more honour than any title that he might wear round his waist, its that coupon of his. Nae way he’s a marketable asset if his teeth are replaced wae wee bits of barbed wire, so instead he grabbed the bat and rammed it intae Jesters skull, as a look came over him of almost disbelief. What in the name of fuck was happening to him. He was almost possessed with a unbridled lust for belts, and blood. He went up top after some chair shenanigans, but Jester tossed a chair straight to his heid and caught him with the tombstone. Surely no…not like this…1…2……SHOULDER FUCKIN UP. The war rages on.
Drew planted Jester with a piledriver to get himself back intae it, but that only brought a 2 count tae. Both men were down, but yer man Drew propelled himself to his feet Shawn Michaels style…straight into a skull shattering chairshot. Pedigree after that (which Jester calls the “drop to the dungeon” apparently, hauners tae Billy Kirkwood on commentary for that) and that still didnae get the job done. Only one thing was gonnae do it. It was gonnae take extreme measures. A big sharp thing that has occasionally been known to open wine bottles, and has also acted a removal tool for stubborn bits of food in yer teeth, but for the most part, its used as a chib. Jesters chib of choice…but Drew ducked….TOMBSTONE outta naewhere. 1…2…AW YER FUCKIN JOKING.
He kicked out. The vicegrip Jack Jester’s had on that belt was never gonnae end with his own move. The very move that has put away so many opponents. Broken so many dreams of the supporters of his foes. That wisnae it. If he was going to drop the belt, this was undoubtedly a very worthy man to be dropping it to, but he was gonnae have tae drag this cunt up the top of the high flats in Possil and chuck him off for the pin. Or maybe a second Futureshock might do the job eh? That’s slightly less severe than throwing a man off a building but still serious business. The Futureshock did indeed hit the mark, and for the first time in welll over a year, Jack Jester was pinned in ICW. DREW GALLOWAY IS YOUR NEWWWWWWW ICW CHAMPION.
They shared an extremely sweaty, emotional hug, before Jester departed beltless and Drew took centre stage to have a right good greet. You greet away Drew mate. You earned it. This match took place just over 2 years after Drews mum sadly passed away, so it had extra significance for the big man and he shared a wee moment with us all. It was an occasion befitting of tears I reckon, as ICW ushers in a new era. A new era that happened to be the first ever era the company ever ushered in, but the Galloway era number two is gonnae be bigger, and better than the one that began in the Mayhill Community Centre. Just like the company itself, Drew has matured and grown in that time and with him at the forefront, ICW are on a seemingly unstoppable upward curve. Although theres one thing yer man Drew will have to be mindful of. A certain Mr Renfrew still has a cash in to sort out, and a certain Mr Renfrew has been waiting on the very moment Drew got to experience at the Barrowlands for a very fuckin long time. A moment he undoubtedly deserves, but a moment he’s fast running out of time to grasp.
Overall. Fear and Loathing 7 absolutely gubbed me, and I’m sure everyone else involved in it. None of us will ever be the same. I hope yer all very aware of it. Ye might thing you’ve been doing the same stuff as usual since it finished, but ye actually haven’t been awake at all. This review is a figment of your imagination. Imagine spending so long in yer imagination reading my pish, I mean ye must be proper annoyed at yerself now? Here’s a pic of Drew wae the belt tae cheer ye up x
Credit as usual to the bold David J Wilson for the smashing pics.