Every great mutiny needs a rebel. Every uprising needs bravery. Anytime a metaphorical David like Joe Coffey stands in front of a real life Goliath in Drew Galloway, he needs something extra to get the job done. He needed an army, and on the night of March 29th, 2015, Joe Coffey had his army. The best part of 1,600 all chanting his name. All proclaiming that they believed in the mighty wrestler. They believed in the Iron Man, and they believed in the man behind it all. The rebel. Joe Coffey. No matter what you think of big Drew joining up with TNA, or if you question where his loyalty is, the fact is, he took that belt all across the globe and exposed ICW to people who might never have known it existed. Even if he did decide to go full-time with TNA and used the ICW belt to wipe his arse on the way oot the door, he has done plenty of good since returning and aside from that… he’s had some fucking good matches. On this night, he was not the returning hero. On this night he wasn’t the famous face everyone wanted to have a song and dance about. On this night, to many, he was the enemy.
It was a night full of war. People who were once united, tearing each other apart. People who very recently became engaged hitting each other wae steel chairs. People who have always hated each other finally having a suitable audience in which to punch fuck out each other in front of, and of course we had Scotland vs England (+ Maryhill and whitever part of Greece James R Kennedy is fae) because in a night full of war, the auldest war in the book had to be represented. Know who else had to be represented? Wankers. Enter Red Lightning.
People might think calling Red Lightning a wanker cuts him deep. He sure acts like it does, and to be fair, if I’d stepped out in front of a sold out Barrowlands and told 1,600 people good news (that news being that ICW are running the SECC for this years Fear and Loathing) I’d take the huff if they all called me a wanker anaw. What people might not know/tend to forget is that the reason Red Lightning is being given that treatment is because he’s the best villain in Scotland. Theres nae edge to Red Lightning that makes it cool to like him like yer Jackie Polo’s and yer Chris Renfrew’s. Theres nae recognisable catchphrases. There’s nae sense that deep down he might be a decent guy. He’s a prick. And if he sees fit to bar you from the SECC, he’ll dae it. Red Lightning was so good at being a prick when he had the ICW Title, “fans” used to attack him. That happened more than once, and that was before this wrestling carry on was a big deal and ye could even think about selling out venues like the Barrowlands or the SECC. Ordinary people united in mild disgust for the deplorable man they saw before them, but that deplorable man was a champion, and the same people have saw the metamorphosis from singlet wanker, to shirt and troosers wanker. Still running the fucking show. If you like it or not.
Team ICW (Noam Dar, Kenny Williams, Joe Hendry and Grado) vs The 55
Speaking as a completely impartial observer….fuck The 55. As a journalist who was at this event covering it for Fighting Spirit Magazine, in my professional opinion…fuckin FUCK The 55. If I was to comment as a well respected media professional, who’s conduct in venues up and down Scotland has been lauded by all comers, I’d say FUCK THE 55, AND THEY PAIR OF TURNCOAT RAT BASTARDS KID FITE AND JAMES R KENNEDY. If you want my opinion off the clock, as a wrestling fan and keen wearer of Kickers trackie bottoms, I’d have to tell ye that I fuckin despise The 55, and everything the dirty bastards stand for.
When team ICW made their individual entrances everything was dialled up to a hunner. Joe Hendry made everything in the world better, and made a hot dog magically appear in everyones pocket who attended the event. The fair city riots caused by yer Noam Dar claimed more casualties than usual. Kenny Williams was feeling the power of 1,600 folks love, and Grado didnae need a prayer. He had a squad. Fuck yer 55. Scotland! THEY CAN TAKE OUR LIVES, BUT THEY’LL NEVER TAKE…..OUR WRESTLIN!!!!
As The 55 trudged to the ring, middle fingers and baw flicks for anyone who chose to dissent against them, Noam and Kenny took matters into their own hands, landing square on the 55s collective jaw with some suicide dives. That led to everyone battling through the crowd, as Grado, Kenny Williams and Noam Dar stood on the stage. Seemingly waiting for Joe Hendry to use his persuasive tongue to persuade The 55 to stand where they needed to stand for this spot to work, and by fuck, they certainly done that. Noam and Kenny jumped aff that stage with reckless abandon and dunted everyone in sight with a pair of stage dives. Grado made full use of his own athletic ability by hitting Sha Samuels with a wee shake, rattle and roll that cause him to tumble down the ramp to nestle safely at the side of the ring for whit? A roll n slice? Why the fuck not eh. He went for it but found nobody home and with that, the “mad brawling ootside the ring” portion of the match came to an end. Everycunt get on the apron. We’ve got an 8 man tag to hash out.
Kenny Williams was on the sare end of all of Kid Fite had to offer early on, as Sha Samuels stood on the apron shagging an effigy of Nicola Sturgeon and tattooing “I’m a jock cunt” on peoples hands and making them slap themselves. In the early stages this match was a series of underhand tactics fae The 55 and red singlet Fito spitting on people, before Grado finally caught the hoat tag and in his came with rights to everyones jaws. A roll n slice for Kid Fite, before Bram scudded him intae next Tuesday. Joe Hendry was unimpressed with this scudding and reacted by picking Bram up, fallaway slamming him tae fuck, and stoating about the ring proud as a peacock. The pride was speared clean out him by his former Kennedy Administration comrade Timm Wylie, before Bram hit Kenny Williams with a stoater of a popup powerbomb, which seem to irk his team-mates. Akin to someone gouging the eye of yer team-mate on the rugby field (nae idea where im going with this, I dont watch rugby) its only right that you respond to that by taking turns to kick the perpetrator in the jaw, and that signalled the start of the “everycunt smash Bram in his stupit TNA jaw at least 3 or 4 times” portion of the match. The last of the blows coming from the wee boot of Grado, as all four members of Team ICW piling on top of the big bearded bawbag, only for James R.Kennedy to pull the ref clean oot the ring when he was due to count the three. Bastard. Cheating bastards the whole lot of them. Coming tae OUR country and stealing OUR wrestling victories. How fucking dare they. Look at them. Proud of their deplorable actions. United in scumbaggery. Sickening.
Kid Traitor and Kenny Williams had another wee scrap to themselves, with Fito near bursting Kenny with the powerbomb against the turnbuckles, before tossing Kenny in the general direction of Bram for the big man to chuck him off the Kingston Bridge via a release belly to back suplex. Noam Dar almost got the win (a win they should have already had in the bag btw, did I mention that? Interfering with refs is cheating James R Kennedy, and so is pulling them out the ring when they’re in the middle of a count x) as he hit Fito with the Fishermans Brainbuster for another two count. Timm Wylie took the Trip Around The Globe to surely give Team ICW a well earned, morally concious victory, but of course, when there’s steel chairs about, there will be members of The 55 to scud Joe Hendry over the heid with them. This time it was Bram, and the chairshot to the napper gave The 55 another win. The pricks.
Bram had the audacity to leather Grado with the chair after they’d stole the win anaw. This stable has no morals, and will likely lead to the crumble of the Scottish empire. You’ve all been warned. Grado challenged Bram to a match at Shugs House Perty 2, and called him for all the bastards in the process. Probably because he’d just battered him with a chair.
The 55 is absolute solid gold, as much as this match felt a wee bit rushed (I’m not a big fan of 8-10-12 man tags unless they get huge amounts of time to tell a story) it was the perfect opener. Got the crowd in fine voice and established who the goodies (Scottish people) and baddies (English people and Kid Fite) were early on. Sha Samuels is a fuckin genius at winding folk up on that apron tae. I swear at one point he took a figurine of William Wallace out his tights, and bit the heid aff it like Ozzy Osborne and screamed “I WISH I COULD GO BACK IN TIME AND DO THAT TO THE REAL WILLIAM WALLACE….FACKIN EAST YOU CUNTS”
Mikey Whiplash vs Lewis Girvan
Mikey Whiplash has always appeared to be a troubled soul. An undoubted genius in the ring who seems to feel the weight of his immense talent and the things he’s done in the past heavily. A part of me genuinely thought these video packages distracting him may have been coming from himself. Maybe there were two Mikey Whiplash’s, and the rotten, blood hungry sicko who left ICW before returning as part of “Legion” never actually left. That side of him wanted to remind the current bastardised version if what he really was. We did find out who was behind the video packages at Barramania, but it was something altogether more “shite yersel” inducing than it being Mikey himself. It was someone who represents everything Mikey used to represent. Lack of regard for ones own safety, lack of regard for the safety of others, a thirst for blood. Except the person in question doesn’t work alone. Much like Mikey at his most demonic, when he was flanked by Kay Lee Ray, Jam O’Malley, Carmel and Lolita. The group this person belongs to was already force, but after this night they became devastating. And it all started here. Mikey Whiplash staring evil in the face, and watching as it spits blood at him.
Before all that unpleasantness we had quite a beautiful wrestling match between Girvan and Whiplash. Because of course we fucking did. Mikey Whiplash in terms of pure talent is the best pro wrestler currently residing in this country, and he had a big hand in teaching Girvan, so how the fuck could the match itself disappoint? These cunts could have a chinlock challenge and still make it intriguing. Atomic chinlocks, top rope chinlocks, a chinlock through a table. STANDING chinlocks. Aw the chinlocks. The match didn’t start with any chinlocks, but we had a variety of other holds; Girvan managing to fight out of the headscissors with a headstand before imitating Whiplash’s wee move where he claps his feet when he’s in the same position. Cheeky. Devilsome almost. Enough to make Girvan a legit suspect as the one who’s been torturing Whiplash from afar? Well…naw. I told yees earlier the one who done it as part of a group. That was just the last paragraph, yees forgot already? Lewis Girvan walks alone. Fuck sake man. Thats the modern world for ye. Nae attention span for anything. Anyway…back tae this episode of Adventure Time I was revie…..aw this is the other thing? The wrestling one? Nae bother, so Girvan got Whiplash in the bow and arrow, before turning it into a wee pin. Shooders doon for 2. A wee look of shock on the face of Whiplash tae. How dare this young upstart get wide and try tae win the match.
They exchanged holds and pinning predicaments in quite beautiful fashion for a while after that. With all the twists and turns Barramania took, its easy to forget some folk set some of their valuable time aside to do some exceedingly good wrestling. So brilliant it evoked a “this is wrestling!” chant. Don’t we all love those eh? See if I dae have an audience, and my voice matters a fuck, I will use it to wipe this chant aff the face of the fuckin earth. I get what people mean by it n that. They mean “this is proper wrestling! none of that blood shedding muck we all go daft for” but still. Its all fuckin wrestling. Imagine ye done it in other places. Imagine Barcelona fans signing “this is football!” when they’re passing rings roon some mob (often Celtic) at the Nou Camp. It wouldn’t make sense. Imagine yer stoating oot Murrayfield after seeing Scotlands latest embarrassment (another rubgy reference, where the fuck are these coming from?) chanting “THAT WAS RUGBY”. Would folk accept that? So why do we need to put up wae it at the wrestling? Anyway, this was indeed wrestling, and Whiplash continued to display wrestling things. Uppercuts, snapmare, crafty wee legdrop, and even a backbreaker. Wrestling moves in the wrestling match. Who’d have thought it eh.
Lewis Girvan was probably a bit fed up with getting wrestled haufway to buggery, so he broke up the chain of sare moves aimed at him, by aiming himself at Whiplash. Sending him to the outside before landing erse first with a huge dive over the top rope, then delivering a double stomp to the back and a kick in the chest back in the ring. More wrestling moves from Whiplash followed. He’s pretty good at them so he is. A lovely wee spinning sitout suplex followed by a slingshot brainbuster. Top rope European uppercut followed by a wee double underhook powerbomb. Whiplash was doing that wrestling thing wae much proficiency, but he missed the mark with the clothesline, and took a superkick to the jaw. Down ye get. Up top for the double stomp to put the old timer away. BUT MIKEY DODGED IT. Death Valley Driver delivered…game over……
Or maybe it was time to play a different game. Lights off. Once again Mikey Whiplash is tortured by his own reflection. His own almost desperate face masking that desperation with aggression “You know what I’m capable of….show yourself” were the words, but the way Whiplash stops in awe every time this video plays suggests that he fucking fears whatever’s behind it. Why would anyone have such an insistence on not letting him forget who he used to be? Maybe who he still is? The face of fear sauntered down to the ring without a care in the world, and the lights came back on to reveal what could only be described as an oddity (hint hint eh) This oddity looked at Whiplash, seemingly wearing a mask made of human skin. Perhaps the skin Whiplash shed to become part of the three heided snake known as Legion. He spat the very same liquid at Whiplash which led to his resurrection, but this time it lead to Lewis Girvan rolling him up for the pin. Girvan correctly got the fuck out of there without milking the win too much. Whoever this is didn’t target Mikey Whiplash to cost him a win against Lewis Girvan. It was bigger than that. There was more violence to come.
The mask was off and there we had it. BT Gunn. Of course it was him. The NAK were not at full capacity when the “three headed snake” got the win over them the last time at The Barras. BT Gunn was too busy trying to force a certain someone to open their eyes. BT Gunn never forgot. BT Gunn never forgot what happened that night and what Whiplash used to be, and slowly but surely he used it to wear him down. He rolled to the outside, grabbed a Kendo Stick and proceeded to knock the living shite out of Mikey Whiplash, before tying him to the top rope with cable ties and wrapping a barbed wire halo round his head. This was also “wrestling” but with biblical undertones to it. The angel left helpless, crucified for his sins. The demon with his blood soaked hands walking away. Satanists rejoice. BT Gunn is back.
Mark Coffey vs Stevie Boy
I’ll no waste yer time singing the praises of these two, I’ve done it a million fucking times. You all know how good they are, and it was a wee bit of a travesty that they were on this card without any build. Mark Coffey in particular, who has done fuck all but good in ICW since his first smell of the vaguely pishy Glesga air when he arrived back from Japan. Never mind but eh. You know fine well these two are gonnae go out and knock seven shades of sports entertainment out of each other regardless. Mark had DCT and Coach Trip in tow, all bearing the brand new “WE BAD!” foam fingers, which is fucking genius. Costs much less to buy and much less to make than a t-shirt, so everycunt with any affiliation to Polo Promotions probably went home with one. Wondering “whit in the name of fuck am I gonnae dae wae this noo?” A lot of comedic pointing thats whit. Point at fucking everything. The world is your pointing lobster.
I always fuckin loved The Coffeys ICW theme, and ye scarcely hear it anymore because Mark is often in tag matches with Jackie Polo and Joe’s a big superhero n shit, so it was nice to hear that again. Mark Coffey got on the mic for approximately 12 seconds and asked us who wis bad (its them….they bad) and The Wee Man came out to poke fun at that fucking “Lardo” musical he stars in down in London (for anycunt who disnae know, they ripped off his character completely because they’re nae talent snivelling wankbags) before calling Polo Promotions a troupe of “purple peados” Admittedly there’s too many tashes in Polo Promotions to rule it out as a possibility, but judging by the size of they foam fingers, they’re more into fingering giants than weans. Too far aye? Mark Coffey and Stevie Boy. Wrestling. Read about it.
It started with some collar and elbow tie-ups, both of which ended wae Mark Coffey chucking Stevie across the ring. Davey leaned in at that point to give Stevie some advice, or perhaps to say “here mate, Mark Coffeys flingin you aboot lit wet washin” either way, he had some sort of input, and after that yer man Stevie went nuts. Chucking dropkicks and spinning heel kicks about, before flying to the outside with a dive that caught DCT and Coach Trip square in their respective gubs. Mark Coffey had slid out the road of course, because he’s cerebral as fuck mate. Got a 2 in his standard grade maths and didnae even study. Stayed up aw night the night before tanning pieces n wine gums and playing Tekken. A dropkick met Stevie when he eventually realised Mark had pulled a fast one, and that was followed by the most ruthlessly efficient snapmare on the show. Perhaps in wrestling history. Sliding seamlessly intae a chinlock Randy Orton would salivate over. Stevie was taken to the edge. The chinlock taking him to the brink of his untimely demise, but he STOOD UP. He said NOT TODAY MARK. Your chinlock was a vicegrip of efficiency but it will not defeat me. They ran the ropes and Stevie busted out an arm drag, before missing with a split legged moonsault, because Mark Coffey knows. Cerebral mate.
Mark went in for the kill wae the big lariat, sweeping Stevie 20-30 feet in the air. This was a Billy Gunn selling the clothesline fae hell type of bump from Stevie. Once he landed back to earth around 15 minutes later, we were already in tae the next match and he landed arse first on Lionhearts heid to give him the win via DQ. Jackie Polo was right. Its been a stitch up all along. In all seriousness though, DCT jumped intae the ring and asked Stevie if he wanted to take the “moustache ride from hell” before The Wee Man jumped in and booted him in the baws. Coach Trip turned him inside out wae a clothesline in response and caught a Davey from Spearey Boy….I mean….eh. Aye. Davey and DCT battled to the back and that left just our two warriors. Face to face. Jabs to cheeks. A forearm war, was ended with Mark Coffeys pumphandle slam attempt, but Stevie blocked it, only to run beak first intae a huge forearm followed by that picturesque bridging back suplex for a two count.
Lovely finishing sequence this was btw. I felt the need to let ye all know how much I’m enjoying it midway through watching it back, cause its that good. Coffey came off the ropes straight into a superkick, followed by a jumping neckbreaker for another two count, and Stevie went full on supersonic after that. Nae mare 2 counts, nae mare near misses. Two superkicks and a the MOTHERFUCKIN CANADIAN DESTROYER gives Stevie the win.
Entertaining as fuck. Two of my favourite cunts making the most of their time. Give them all the opportunities. Create a third singles belt, call it the InterCuntInental Title and have the two of them knock the utter fuck out each other for it for the rest of eternity.
Jackie Polo vs Lionheart
These two really hate each other. This feud was the one that convinced me Scottish Wrestling was real. These aren’t just guys fucking about for fun, there’s a seriousness about making this a full-time gig, and for Jackie Polo that means being Jackie fuckin Polo every single day. So if he’s Jackie Polo every day, and Jackie Polo hates Lionheart, that makes this real eh? As real as anything gets in wrestling anyway. Lionheart also hates Polo, but not because he recognised one day that Jackie Polo was everything he hated, its simply because Jackie Polo made Lionheart hate him. He stood in front of him and told him he was bad at his job and said it with a smile on his face. Then when Lionheart came close to retirement and even death, Jackie Polo told us all the neck break done was speed up the inevitable. He was gonnae bow out as soon as Polo beat him at Still Smokin anyway, so the neck break saved him the embarrassment of having to kiss Jackies arse. Lionheart and many of his peers naturally weren’t too pleased with what Jackie Polo had to say, but Jackie Polo disnae give a fuck, and never will. He used the injury to keep this feud hot, and continued to provoke enough real hatred from Hearto to make the match emotionally charged enough to still have relevance and that skill should not be ignored. Is there anyone else capable of that in Scotland? Keeping that level of engagement from the fans, no matter if ye love, hate or carry a complete indifference towards him?
There was a surprisingly muted reaction from the ICW fans to Lionheart’s return. Maybe because he had already made his full return to in-ring action and this wasn’t his proper “comeback” or maybe cunts just really love Jackie Polo. Fuck knows. To an outsider it would be difficult to see how you could side with Polo in this one, but there’s an honesty and brashness about Polo that ye need tae see up close to really appreciate. Is there ever enough charisma that can override mocking someone breaking his neck though? Judging by the foam finger currently residing in my room, it would appear there is eh. Ach well. Wrestling. They didnae even get through the intros without leathering each other with mad frantic jabs, but as frantic as Polo’s jabs might have looked, they were all landing square on Hearto’s neck. The plan of action was clear. Stand on Heartos neck until it gets sare enough to pin his shoulders to the mat for a count of 3. Simple. Oh and btw, I never mentioned Jackies singlet in the opening bit did I? So here’s a photo demonstrating both the neck standing strategy and the aforementioned singlet all in the one go. A wee bit of self BDSM fae Tam Kearins as well. Drink it in.
Hearto looked burst early on. It looked like this wouldnae make it past the 5 minute mark as Jackie done a happy wee dance all over Lionhearts upper torso, but ye dont come back from a broken neck without knowing how to fight. You don’t become a professional wrestler without knowing how to do backdrops, and Lionheart combined the fight and the backdrops to reverse an extremely cheeky attempt from Polo to hit the Styles Clash on the stage into a back bodydrop. I said to my pal on the way in “if he wins it, it’ll be wae the Styles Clash” and he was already teasing it! Tune in to the rest of the review to see if that prediction was right (spoiler alert…it wisnae)
Lionheart had a wee spell of having the upper hand after that, but he always looked a wee bit puffed out, and Polo seen his chance to fire Hearto towards the corner with a hard irish whip. Anytime Jackie Polo took Lionheart off his feet in this match, he took a moment to look around the Barrowlands. Almost as if he was overseeing the landscape he was about to conquer. There’s nae doubt that no matter how little regard Jackie has for “Adrian”, a win here would be one of the most notable of his career. As much as Adrian might hate Jackie, it takes two to tell a story and that’s what wrestling is. Storytelling. When all the passing fads have been and gone, thats the one constant. Wrestling has always been about telling stories in that ring, and you don’t have to like the guy you’re in there with to do that effectively. There’s nae doubt Jackie Polo and Lionheart were doing that here.
The next portion of the match saw Jackie tell the story of “that time I methodically battered Lionheart while he looked on the verge of physically and mentally breaking down” Not a bedtime story for the bairns, as Polo hit a pair of scoop slams before locking in the Camel Clutch. If theres one move that screams out “sare….that’s gonnae be sare…on the neck in particular, but just in general….quite sare” its the Camel Clutch. The Iron Sheik put it in on Bob Backlund when he was aff his nut on downers back in the 80s and actually tore his heid clean aff. The Bob Backlund you see wandering about looking like a confused bingo caller these days is a decoy. Like when yer goldfish dies when yer wee and yer maw buys a new one while yer at fitba training. Anyway, aye. Still in the camel clutch, Jackie rolled it intae a sexy wee pin for a 2 count, before going straight back to the Camel Clutch Lionheart fought out of it, but he took more clubbing blows to the neck and shoulder, before busting out the oldest equaliser in the book. Polo going for the Styles Clash again……BLINDSIDED BY THE BAW HIT. Low blow. Air evacuating Scotlands BEEEEEEEST lungs at a rapid rate. Advantage Hearto.
Jackie sunk to his knees and prayed to a god that he don’t believe in. Cause when yer baws break, no they dont break even. Jabs to the heid, before Lionheart found that fire from somewhere to hit a beauty of a dropkick, but once again his rally was floored. Big lariat coming out the corner taking Hearto down. Here’s another thing about Polo, he gets folk excited for fucking scoop slams. Either we’re all idiots (likely) or there’s a genius about that. Another collection of scoops and Jackie was ready to fly. Up top for some ruthlessly efficient thing like a great big double axe handle, or a pointy elbow drop, but Lionheart was in full on survival mode. Chucking referee Tam Kearins into the ropes to cause the second baw hit of the night. Jackie Polo’s tactic of working the neck certainly made logistical sense, but Lionheart targeting Jackies baws falls under the same bracket, because in case there’s anyone reading this who disnae have baws, or anyone who maybe has them and forgot they existed, getting hit in them is fuckin sare.
The baw attack was followed by an exchange of jabs and forearms between the two, with Lionheart hitting the auld Brogue Kick in the corner, Superkick, Rock Bottom, deid. 1…2….NUT. Frog splash will surely dae it. Up he went, down he came, its over… NUT once again. Knees up from Polo. Was it to be his time? He rolled him into a quick pin for another two. Another scoop slam procession followed by a shoulderbreaker had Lionheart down once more, and ye actually seen Polo playing to the crowd a bit at this point. A smart man. When they’re on yer side, go with it. He hit the pointy elbow drop next and started to get that “how will this cunt no stay doon?” bead of sweat running down his forehead. Ye have to commend the storytelling from top to bottom really. At nae point did Lionheart look like he had control of this match, but he had two flurrys of the Lioheart of old that made you think he had it. Polo went to the outside for that Polo mallet, only to look at the broken pile of wrestler he saw before him and decided he didnae need it. Mistake. Hearto came out with a beauty of a superkick and went on top for the win, but yer man Polo was playing Possum as the Americans say, or “he wis fuckin at it” if you prefer it in Scottish, either way, he leapt up as soon as Hearto went on top and after a wee shoogle on the ropes, he hit the Superplex, followed by the Polo Plex for the win.
Jackie Polo talks a good game, but his dominance and the almost calm air he had about him throughout what could have been a proper fuckin brawl was probably the thing that gave him the edge over Hearto. Or maybe its because wrestling is pre-determined and it was decided that he would win beforehand. Who the fuck knows. What isnae in any doubt is the fact that the match lived up, and told the best story of the night. A story that probably isnae over to tell the truth, because Jackie absolutely slaughtered Lionheart verbally after the match. Telling him that a whole list of people “dont buy it”. Dixie Carter, John Lauranatis, Bill Watts, Rick Steiner, Rick Steiners Da, Rick Steiners maw, Mark Dallas, Nicola Sturgeon, Pat Sharp and even Matt Jarrett. Naecunt buys it and they never will. Incompetent, overrated and no longer relevant. Harsh, sincere sounding words, but I reckon the only reason he got away with saying them without a proper fight breaking out is the fact that there might be one more match in this. Maybe the SECC needs the sequel.
Dickie Divers vs Chris Renfrew
“There is no BT Gunn, his days in ICW are finished, me and BT Gunn are the NAK, always were, no BT Gunn, no NAK” Chris Renfrew
No BT Gunn = no NAK, so a more demonic version if the already quite evil BT Gunn means a more demonic, more evil version of the NAK eh? We’d soon find out, but before that we had to find out if Divers really was about to die. Renfrew stoated down to the ring without the NAK music for the first time in a long time, with a silent hill themed entrance that needs some of David J Wilsons fine work to describe it properly…..Divers dies. Simple as that. I asked Renfrew and Divers some questions before this match (with the intention of writing a preview article which never got finished) so we’ll use the quotes to help us tell the richest story possible here eh. This all happened because Divers forgot where he came from in Renfrews eyes. He forgot that Renfrew saved him from obscurity and brought him in to the most dangerous stable in Scotland, and when he stepped out of line, he ruined that. The brotherhood was no longer. No more solidarity. No more wee tender moments. No more Divers face on a cake. Divers had to die. One question I asked them both was did they think BT Gunn or Darkside would have tossed themselves out of the Square Go if Renfrew asked them, and their answers proved once and for all that the damage done between them was irreparable.
“Yes and they would have agreed no questions asked.” – Chris Renfrew
“Of course he wouldn’t. He sees them as being above me, as being better. Part of the reason I changed my mind was that very thought.” – Dickie Divers
The unrest was there. Divers questioned the brotherhood and in Renfrews eyes, he stole a moment that wasn’t his. The end result is not reversible though. No matter if Divers made it out the Barras with his life in tact, Divers still won the 2015 Square Go and since then he’s won a fair few other matches so maybe it wisnae a fluke. Divers has possibly had this fire in him all along, and just needed that extra wee push to bring it out. This might be the Divers the world was always supposed to see. Or maybe………..Divers dies.
The early part of the match was less of the violence we expected, more of a coupla brothers knowing exactly what the other one was about to do at every turn. Divers trademark running knee to the jaw was blocked. Renfrew’s trademark (since shedding about 4 stone anyway) missile dropkick missing the mark by miles. They know each other like the back of their hand, except the words “Divers must die a slow and painful death, perhaps involving maggots eating his eyeballs” were on the back of Renfrews hand, reminding him of the task at hand. Aw Divers had on the back of his wis his weeks shopping list, and “dont let Renfrew kill ye” written on his fingernails. Divers followed Renfrew outside where he ducked a clothesline to suplex Renfrew on the cauld hard ramp. Sare yin. Renfrew responded by backdropping Divers into the crowd, urinating directly intae his left eye from the commentary box, and diving straight on to his dome with a double axe handle. Divers blocked a suplex attempt on the outside and climbed up the one of the barriers, daein the whole good guy thing and getting the crowd on his side with various hand gestures, but while he was busy fighting all his natural villainous instincts and being someone he probably isn’t, Renfrew grabbed a chair and chucked it straight at his melt. Divers might no be deid yet, but hes getting there.
Missile dropkick (aka kiss kiss Mollys lips) took Divers down and Renfrew jumped back up like fuckin Shawn Michaels or suhin. This is not the often puffed oot, kinda tired looking Renfrew who once walked ICW alone, a figure of frustrated, untapped potential. This was a Chris Renfrew ye really believed COULD kill Dickie Divers. Probably by pulling his kidneys out his arsehole and feeding them to him. A pair of kicks, followed by a mad flying kick gave Divers a wee bit of respite, but a Stone Cold Stoner later and yer man was laid flat out once more. Only for a 2 count right enough, cause Dickie Divers is a plucky bastard. Thats one facet of Divers that Renfrew cant claim to have built. He’s always been a scrapper. He fired back at Renfrew with a few of they running knees to the jaw, but he was caught and planted with a sitout firemans carry slam (Renfrew probably has a cooler name for it right enough, but we’re aw aboot eh fundamentals n accuracy here eht snapmerr nexx) and the famous chair that put so many legends to rest was about to come into play. Paul London, Brian Kendrick, The Sumerian Death Squad, The Queen, The Pope, Freddie Mercury, John Legend, CJ oota San Andreas, Davey Blaze, Alundra Blayze, Jimmy White, Hulk Hogan and now Divers. An illustrious list right enough. All slain with the same blue chair. Divers took 4 or 5 chair shots, but he blocked Renfrews attempt to hit the t-virus on the chair, and dropped him with a DDT. Divers isnae deid. Yet.
A series of chairshots to the back gave Divers a wee bit of swagger for the first time in the match. Similar to the swagger he possessed when he was aligned wae Renfrew. A wee part of him expected death. He’s seen what Renfrew is capable of first hand and when he was faced with the decision to chuck himself out the Square Go or stay in and go for glory, he deliberated for a while. Surely weighing up what would benefit him most. Being the 2015 Square Go winner, of not having the top half of is jaw removed and rammed intae his eyesockets by a man who used to count him as a brother. He decided he wanted the glory, and so far the top half of his jaw was in tact. Driven by the feeling that in the NAK he was an afterthought.
“To be honest, I did say I would do it at first, once I started to go over the rope though I realised not only is this probably the only way I’m gonna get another title shot but for once I could prove I was more than just a lackey and that I should be respected and treated like any other NAK member. He obviously didn’t like the thought of me as more than the sidekick” – Dickie Divers
Maybe he was right eh. Maybe that moment Divers put Renfrew out was like that moment when ye realise yer wee brother has got better at ye at fitba/pool/fifa/pumpin fuck oot yer sister (that last one only applies to Rangers fans)(Nah I’m joking…..kinda). Whitever. Renfrew might blame himself for giving Divers too much. He gave him a focus and purpose when he brought him into the NAK, but when Divers went and grabbed the steel chair wrapped in barbed wire, maybe Renfrew realised he’d given him a wee bit too much of Renfrew. He’d given him to tools to not only fend off what seemed like his certain death, but he’d maybe injected enough evil in him for Divers to fuckin win this thing. Renfrew got wise to it and set Divers up for the T-Virus (double underhook piledriver for the purists) but Divers once again was quicker aff the mark, hitting Renfrew with a back bodydrop on the death chair. The other chair is a legend killer. Its a Randy Orton. Vicious, dangerous, calculated. This barbed wire number is a legend mangler. Its Mick Foley. It was put on this earth to create moments and make people bleed, and aye I did shoehorn a Foley reference intae this, so fuckin whit. They both blocked attempts from the other to Irish Whip them towards that chair, but Renfrew won the war of the whips, sending Divers much talked about coupon towards the barbed wire chair. It might have claimed an eyeball and a wee bit of Divers dignity, but it never let Renfrew claim the victory. Another two count. Clearly fuckin bemused. He had a wee something up his sleeve though didn’t he. He always fuckin does, and when I say a wee something I mean…….aw fuck.
First and foremost, we had probably my favourite move of the evening. I like a good lookin suplex so I dae. Kid Fite has the best snap suplex in the game and I swear tae fuck hes no done it once since turning heel again, cause its too beautiful. Divers caught Renfrew going up top with a similarly beautiful Butterfly Suplex, and Renfrew sold it equally beautifully. Ziggler standard selling. Yer man looked deid. ICW are quite good at swerves. Deception is one of the key things in wrestling, and in this case the fans were led down the garden path wae the promise of untold riches and really good sweeties only to be met by something so evil it was amost beautiful. The genesis of the new NAK.
Lights out. BT Gunn appears in the middle of the ring. Blood sodden, and heart sick at seeing his two brerrs try to kill each other. He deliberated for approximately 5 seconds before superkicking Divers jaw intae the front row. THE NAK LIVES. The night before in Newcastle, Wolfgang surprisingly acted as hauners for Divers and without him being announced on the card, I kinda thought it might lead to him helping Divers at Barramania. Maybe leading to a Wolfy v Renfrew feud for the tour, cause the match they cunts had in Liverpool is underrated as fuck.
What actually did happen was so fuckin beautiful I don’t even have the words. To anyone saying ICW packed too many swerves intae one show, I will say this. Get tae fuckin fuck. And when ye get there, stick a petrol soaked cloth up yer arse and sit on a fuckin bonfire. Wrestling is storytelling. Wolfgang coming out seemingly to help Divers, throwing up the W, and changing it to a NAK sig and joining forces with the guys who legit tried to kill him on more than one occasion (aye…legit…kayfabe…fuck ye) is storytelling.
They wanted him to open his eyes and he did. Wolfgang is now NAK till fuckin death, and a big superkick to Divers jaw, followed by a razors edge/powerbomb allowed Renfrew to get the win. Pandefuckinmonium ensued. 1,600 in awe. Thats what wrestling is. ICW sacrificed what would have undoubtedly been a cracking match involving Wolfie on the card, because they needed him off the card it to create this moment. Him not being on the card initially will probably be used as a reason for him turning, and thats the fuckin stuff right there. Thats how ye tell stories and keep people guessing and now we have a truly fearsome NAK on our hands. BT Gunn might have been reborn, but he’s been reborn into a family. All the bloodshed and pain was worth it. Barry and Tam are re-united. A three man killer boots sealed Divers demise, with BT launching himself off Wolfys shoulders before delivering the final blow. All three of them proceeded to knock fuck out of Divers briefcase and then they posed for this heavy good photie by Warrior Fight Photography. Have a swatch at the bad guys.
What remains of Divers though? How much does this breakup spill intae real life? I mean, if all the wrestlers are out for a pint, is he allowed tae staun wae Renfrew n that, or does he need tae sit wae all the faces talking about who has the shiniest pants? I feel for him. He might have a contract for an ICW Title shot in his back pocket, but it made aw his pals fall out with him and falling out with yer pals is hard going. Ye seen what happened with BT and Renfrew but look how that ended. Their brotherhood ended up stronger than ever. Maybe the same will happen wae Divers and the NAK…or maybe it wont cause he’s deid. Here’s the moment he died live and in living colour. Honestly, I know I’m sooking up their arses cause they make my stuff look magical, but some of the photography in Scottish Wrestling is top notch. Look at this shit.
Layla Rose vs Carmel
I refuse to believe any of this happened. Sure it was a good match n that. But naw. When the “loser leaves ICW” stipulation was put on this, I prayed for a no contest of some sort. Maybe the reformation of the NAK+Wolfie would lead to them coming oot and battering a bunch of burds like the good auld days, but no such miracle occurred someone lost and someone had to leave ICW, but that wasn’t the saddest part. The saddest part came later and I just….I can’t. I can’t speak of it. Not yet.
Layla nearly took Carmels heid off with a big lariat out of the corner, before calling her a “daft dungaree clad cow” in German. Carmel responded to that slur with a dropkick, before they battled for a bit on the outside. Layla chucking Carmel off the barriers, whilst Carmel asked folk in the front row “what’s arse-bandit in German?” turns out its just arse-bandit, but before she could aim it at Layla, she got suplexed tae fuck. Carmel responded valiantly with a Fishermans Suplex. She continued to battle against the bigger, decidedly more imposing Layla Rose, doging a big clothesline attempt with some matrix style evasiveness, but everything felt temporary. Every flurry from Carmel felt like a delay on the inevitable tragedy that faced us. A kick to the gut followed by a clothesline took Layla down, before Carmel went to the top rope, only for Layla to fling her to her certain death. A cover only brought a two count after that, so not even deidness beats Carmel Jacob.
A steel chair might though. A few shots with the chair, followed by that devastating Barbie Breaker on the chair but Carmel continued to kick out. A big bastardin German wuman literally trying to kill her and she continued to fight until the life was squeezed out of her. Chokehold locked in. Referee Sean McLaughlin called for the bell, the final one Carmel Jacob would hear in her ICW career.
Layla Rose is very good, and completely different to anything we have here in terms of female wrestlers, but she ended Carmel Jacobs career and that makes her a bit of a bastard tbh. Nae need for it. Her actions were in the spirit of competition though, thus making them excusable and I’m a tiny wee bit in love wae her so we’ll let her off wae it on this occasion.
One person we won’t be letting off with his misdemeanours is that bastard Liam Thomson. The Wolfie swerve was huge, The BT Gunn rebirth was stunning, but neither even came close to the actions of Liam Thomson. I’m not one for suspending disbelief and buying into storylines or that BUT HOW COULD YE YA FUCKIN RAT. Thats yer fiancee. He came out and said really nice things about how he was looking forward to spending the rest of his life with her and how this was “her moment” but just like Carmels own moment of humility when she congratulated Kay Lee Ray at Gigawatts last year. It was all a ruse. The sincerity was nothing, and as the crowd rose, united in respect for the talent they were about to see depart the company, her own fuckin fiancee hit her wae a steel chair. Steel chairs are heavy, are but nothing weighed heavier than the hearts of a nation after seeing loves young dream die before our very eyes. Thomson ripped the wedding band off his finger, put it in his betrayal ridden gub and spat it at poor Carmel. Nae fuckin need.
Drew Galloway (c) vs Joe Coffey (ICW World Heavyweight Title Match)
Drew Galloway is the current ICW Champion. Drew Galloway won the WWE Intercontinental Title. Drew Galloway currently needs tae check about 15 suitcases in at the airport every time he travels cause he also has about a million other belts. Any match Drew Galloway has in ICW, he goes in as favourite. In pretty much every setting, he has a physical and mental advantage on his opponent. Drew Galloway is the guy. There is no one who can topple him in this company. It would need tae be everyone on the roster sitting on him and Divers cashes in, and jumps on top. PILE ON. Aye. No one in this company can match up to Drew. Not many in any company can, but then….
DOO DOO DOO DOO DOO, DO DO DO DO DO DO DO DO DO
Joe Coffey is no ordinary man. He might give up a size and weight advantage tae Drew, but there are few professional wrestlers who have the thirst Joe Coffey has to evolve, and adapt his character. Joe Coffey needed something that gives 1,600 people the reason to beat their chests in unison and unite behind the the king of the jungle. The mightiest cunt this side ae the Clyde. The Iron Spartan. Joe fuckin Coffey.
His entrance was a grand affair. Look how shiny ye wis. If ye stuck a pair of red pants and a helmet on the big disco ball at the ACB, you’d have Joe Coffeys Barramania look, but it WORKED. It was grand enough and intimidating enough to immediately get most of the crowd on his side. Madness int it? The ABC was split for Drew vs Renfrew, but this crowd was undoubtedly in favour of Joe. Perhaps Drews TNA affiliation was behind the unrest. Maybe folk just assumed he was away again, but it was a million miles away from the adulation fired in his direction when he first came back. Theres nae doubt that Joe Coffey was their guy and that only way Drew could get them back on side was having a fucking stoater of a match with the best wrestler in the UK, and maybe cutting a wee promo saying he can dae whit he wants afterwards. Maybe they things happened, maybe they didnae, what did happen was Drew emerging wae all his shiny belts, and being met with a very Scottish response. Murmurs of “check this braggin cunt oot wae aw his shinies” swept roon the Barras. Green eyed. Envious. Would you no be though? Look at the cunt ffs.
Born for belts. Since day one he’s been the guy. It was up to Joe Coffey to prove he was up to the task of being the next “guy”
Fair play to Drew, early on he got in amongst it and gave as good as he got wae all yer wristlocks, hammerlocks, side headlock takedowns and aw that wrestling patter. It was intriguing to see Joe mix it up in that way with someone the size of Drew. He had nae trouble chopping the big tree down, but when the big tree got to chopping him, things got a bit more troublesome for the Iron Man. Drews chops were vicious, but Joe got a few belters in himself before nailing a short armed lariat in the corner. Out the corner for some rope running and a kick from Joe was met with that flying single leg dropkick thing Drew does that basically looks like it kicks cunts hearts out their chests. Against pretty much everyone else in ICW apart from BT Gunn, Joe Coffey wins a striking war. Joe Coffey kicks cunts in the chest and those cunts go the fuck down. Drew Galloway is a different kind of everything but. Every single bit of the cunt is different fae anything Joe has ever faced in ICW and that means innovation. Beat him wae yer brain. Keep the big yin guessing.
Joe wasn’t fucking having it was he. Up he got and he forced Drew into the corner before hitting two big splashes and the bulldog. The half crab had Drew near greeting, before Joe chucked him out the ring for some outside stuff I was actually very intae. A lariat took Drew over the barrier, and they scudded each other a bit, before coming back to the ringside area only for Drew to catch Joe in the ring apron when he was going for a cheeky wee baseball slide. Look how sleekit this is. Obviously Joe Coffey cannae win the ICW Title if hes caught in a ring apron, cause ye cannae score pinfalls or submission wae the ring apron wrapped roon ye. Just not possible neither it isnae. Fair play to Drew. Sound strategy so it wis. He eventually let Joe loose, but here’s a wee screener of this bedlam I just described. Really paints the picture so it does.
A pair of clotheslins had Joe spitting his teeth out, but he kept inviting the big man on. Overhead belly to belly suplex wis next as a wee look of frustration came over Drew. Perhaps he did underestimate our Joe a wee bit, or maybe he wis just fuckin knackered fae shaggin aw the air hostesses during his flight over here. Either way, yer man was looking to end this fast. Joe had other ideas, almost catching Drew off guard with a few sexy rollups, then we went for a wee shot of the swings, before Joe catapulted Drew intae the corner only to be greeted by another stoater of a boot to the face. Joe’s fighting spirit and determination was seeing him give as good as he wis getting in this yin, but also. Drew is huge. And when he kicks ye, it knocks the wind out of you and yer entire family tree. Mark Coffey wis in the back having asthma attacks every time Drew punted Joe, and yer mans no even got asthma mate (well he might, ye never know, if anyone can shed some light on the situation it that would be grand, I care about the Coffeys respiratory health and you should tae)
One of the wee things I liked about this match was that some of the jabs and forearms were wild. It looked like a fight. One forearm from Drew in the corner in particular looked liked it knocked Joes throat in the general direction of his spleen, and he used that opened to go up top. Fuck know what he was going for up there, but it was met with a mid-air spear from Joe, before the mighty yin made a rare foray to the top rope himself for a big superfly splash on tae Drews back for a near fall. He went for the deadlift German Suplex after that, and mate that’s just….aw Joe. I know ye hit Damo wae it last night, but did that not knacker ye big man? Drew is about 17 stone of granite. Not a wise move. Drew reverse it and German Suplexed Joe neck first to the turnbuckle before hitting him with another one of they devastation kicks to the heart. That’s what I’m calling that big single leg dropkick from now on. Its the heart kick. Creative license n that. Deal wae it.
Joe responded to getting his heart kicked out his chest by killing Bobby Roberts. As Drew dwelled in the crowd, Joe went up top once more but caught nothing but Bobby Roberts with his flying crossbody. As Drew shot a cheeky wink and smile tae the camera. This isnae the Khali kisscam big man, I know yer proud of yersell for evading the crossbody n that, but keep yer eyes on the prize. They made their way back to that big square thing with the ropes, and out of nowhere DISCUS FUCKIN LARIAT. IS THIS IS. IS JOE GONNAE…………………………….
Naw. I love Tam Kearins as much as the next guy, but there’s nae excuse in this world for him not being upwardly mobile at this moment in time. Aye Joe Coffey jumped on ye mate, so whit? Bobby Roberts took most of the blow. Get yersell fuckin up and get counting this pin. Joes got a belt tae win. He made it back in just in time to see Joe trying to dear Drews heid aff with a crossface type submission hold, before Drew rolled him over for a two. Ye think that part of the match sounded good? Wait till ye hear about the finishing sequence mate. The whole thing was fire.
It started with Joe hanging by the hands from the top rope, only for Drew to pull him into the Tombstone. Joe reversed it into the Sparta Lock, but Drew somehow puled himself up and re-arranged his and Joes limbs into the Tombstone position again. This time hitting the mark for another near fall. They had a wee scrap up the top rope for a bit, with Drew getting the best of it and hitting a big bastardin suplex for the middle rope. I dont even know what kind of suplex it wis. A sare one anyway. The Iron Man kicked the fuck out. The rebel was stirring. Stiff uppercuts to the jaw, followed by yon uppercut Cesaro does when he chucks folk into the air and catches them on the way down. Beautiful, picturesque scenes as Joe hit the deadlift German Suplex on the second attempt. Sorry for doubting ye earlier big chap, we all know fine well Joe could deadlift German suplex Mabel wae Mo in his back pocket. Another huge discus Lariat surely had the job done. I believed. A lot of us did, but when Drew got the shoulder up the arse maybe collapsed out of Joes challenge. He hit him with everything humanly possible, and yer man would not stay down.
Joe blocked a backslide only for the pair of them to flip over handily into the Futureshock position for the 1,2,3. Games a bogey.
Joe Coffey might have lost this, but he got within sniffing distance of the throne. One day this will all be his. One day the rebel will win. For now, Drew Galloway will tour the world representing Scotland in admirable fashion and a lot of us will hate him for it because anytime he comes to ICW, he pins a hero. That’s just wrestling. Drew understands that better than anyone, and he accepts it, but he felt the need to get on the mic and tell us all that he was going nowhere. His deal with TNA dictates that he can do whatever the fuck he likes and he will continue to be ICW to the core. A wee part of me didnae believe that to be the case before this match, but the match and the words that followed allayed some of the fears. Drew certainly isnae going anywhere anytime soon, cause his next challenge is a the biggest, hairiest problem he could have short of a fuckin bigfoot being out to get him. Big Damo closed the show by making a statement. Leaving Drew flat on his back and telling us the eyes of the world were on ICW, and they were about the get a glimpse of their exceedingly hairy future. Big Damo vs Drew in ICW but? I know the big man has his doubters, but yees aw knows that will be fucking fantastic.
Much like Barramania itself. A show heavy on the swerves and light on long talking segments, and tae me thats a winner. Barramania maybe wasn’t quite as good from top to bottom as Fear and Loathing at The Barras was, but it was exactly what it needed to be. It set ICW up for a future full of shit I need to be seeing. I trust many of you feel the same.
Full credit to the talented David J Wilson and Warrior Fight Photography for the images. All credit to ICW On Demand for the screenshots. And all credit to my own fingers for the words. Ta for reading.