ICW – Shugs House Party 2 Review

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Pro wrestling is a wonderful thing. A multi-faceted form of entertainment, its a struggle to understand why some people seem to dismiss it completely. If you’ve gave it a go and still don’t get it, fair enough, but if you dismiss it because it’s “not real” tell me the blood pouring down Mikey Whiplash’s face at the end of his match with BT Gunn wasn’t real. If you dismiss it because its “for kids”, tell me what part of Rhyno driving Kay Lee Ray’s body through a table at full pelt was “for kids”. If you dismiss it because its “boring”, tell me what part of DCT and Viper being joined in beautifully tragic matrimony was “boring”. If you dismiss it because it “lacks decent Phil Collins covers” tell me what part of Joe Hendry….ach you get the picture.

Shug’s Hoose Perty 2 wasn’t perfect. At times it was a bit chaotic. It didn’t have any 5 star classic wrestling matches, but it will go down as one of my personal favourite ICW shows ever, because you felt every single moment of it. The poetry that was Joe Hendrys entrance. The blood soaked suicide pact that was BT Gunn vs Mikey Whiplash. The heavyweight war between Joe and Sha. The dissection of Dickie Divers reaching its end, as he valiantly failed to hold on to his briefcase. The beautifully tragic nuptials between DCT and Viper. The 15 foot dive through a table from Grado, a man often wrongly dismissed as a comedy act. The Wolf butting heads with the Rhyno. The bitter disappointment when Polo Promotions vs Noam and Kenny was cancelled, and finally that fucking ending, and every emotion that came with it. My heart still bleeds for Damo, but that’s ok. It was supposed to. The moment was designed to make you feel, and if you were there when it happened and you didn’t feel it, check your pulse. You might be deid.

The show started with Billy Kirkwood in a dress and WILLIAM FUCKIN GRANGE. My two favourite things in the world right there. Then there was wrestling.

Joe Hendry vs Kid Fite

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For being in “party mode” James R.Kennedy was sure as fuck doing a lot of shouting when he brought The 55 out to open the show. Insisting that Kid Fite had Joe Hendry sussed and that the rest of The 55 were free to leave him to the job at hand to get the party started. The party didn’t actually start until Kennedy crossed his legs and sat in the middle of the ring (because big bad sweary bastards always sit with their legs in a basket) and the lights went dim, as the “competition” that was demanded of ICW revealed itself to be more than a wrestler. More than a hero. He’s your hero again. The rest of the globe no longer matters. Ye see, if yer hero has to cover the whole globe, his presence might be difficult to feel. Spreading himself too thin. So when Joe Hendry told 1,200 people that he would once again be known as mmmmmmmm JOE HENDRAAAAAAY. LOCAL HERO. We felt it. We felt him.

*drum solo*

WE CAN FEEL JOE HENDRY IN THE AIR TONIGHT. OH LORD.

We saw Joe. We felt Joe. For a few minutes, we WERE Joe. As Stone Cold Bobby Roberts donned a gorilla mask and drummed along to the beat, Joe Hendry emerged as 1,200 strong told the world how they could feel him in the dense Glasgow air that night. He might have split his heid in two when he jumped in that shallow pool, but he’s still here for you. One man didn’t feel a thing bar unrelenting rage when Joe made his grand entrance. That man was Kid Fite. He was not in “partaaaaay mode” just yet. He had a hero to kill, and he went to work on the weakened napper of Joe early on. Stomping on the back of his neck and whipping him hard into the corner, before hitting a belter of chop. Joe responded with some uppercuts, as they made their way to the outside where Fito dislodged James R.Kennedys jaw with a forearm smash intended for Joe.

The momentum was with Joe, as he looked upon his foe with the ruthless aggression that all good Phil Collins impersonators should have. Or maybe Phil Collins has been parodying Joe all this time eh? Who can really be sure who felt what in the air first. I know big Phil would have been impressed by a man with a dodgy neck hitting a fallaway slam, and thats exactly what Joe done. Whilst Phil Collins was cuttin about heavin telling 2 Pac, Biggie, Jill Dando and Elvis about Joes accomplishments (whit d’ye mean Phil Collins isnae deid?) Fito was hitting a brainbuster, which Joe somehow summoned enough neck strength to kick out of, before hitting the DDT. Whilst we all felt Joe in the air, its still just one guy. As adept at throwing folk about as he is at chucking massive amounts of beef down his gullet, but he has no noted skill when it comes to splitting yourself into three pieces and fighting three guys at once, so when Timm Wylie showed up on one side of the apron and James R.Kennedy at the other, Joe was caught unaware and Fito rolled him up for the three.

Its good that most folk can’t fucking stand The 55. That’s what they exist for. When bad people do bad things in wrestling its fine to react negatively. Not everything has to be this parallel universe where the villains are the heroes and the heroes are vilified. Sometimes its sound to let the pricks be pricks. Kid Fite does this better than most. Soon as he gets that red singlet on and gets that bulldog chewin a bees nest look on his coupon, thats it. Nae redeeming features about him bar his perennially excellent snap suplex and brainbuster technique. Then again, he could murder your whole family and the suplex tekkers would still be undeniable. 

Mikey Whiplash vs BT Gunn

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Photo credit to the wonderful Mr David J Wilson

There’s been plenty of theories as to why BT Gunn targeted Mikey Whiplash. No one knows why for sure, but when you look at that photo above, it paints its own picture. Maybe BT Gunn targeted Mikey Whiplash because he wanted to be the one to finally kill the one who can’t be killed. It doesn’t particularly matter if you see Whiplash as an angel, demon or anything else. What matters is that you saw a man nearly bleed out for your entertainment on Sunday. A man driven to take risks that would usually be beyond even him, because BT Gunn made it happen. Whilst the NAK vs Legion element is at the heart of this feud, the main reason for it is BT Gunn looking at the ICW roster, and going directly after the only cunt on there who could lay any claim to being as deranged as him. Whiplash stood in the ring in his usual facepaint, awaiting the arrival of the main hell bent on seeing his flame extinguished for good. The oddity stood under the lights at the entrance way, staring down his prey. Ready to offer it up for the final sacrifice.

BT Gunn is probably the one wrestler in ICW who can split himself into two. There’s rife theories that the man staring Whiplash down as BTs music played was in fact Stevie Boy in disguise, but I’m no having it. BT has cloned himself. That skin mask he wears is made of skin he peeled off one of the clones that went wrong, before he finally had the perfect one. It was enough to distract Whiplash for long enough for the real BT Gunn to attack him from behind, and the possible concluding chapter of the tale of two psychos began. BT took his mask off to show the exact same paint as Whiplash, only with the painted on smile turned into a frown. He chucked a trademark chop in Whiplash’s direction as the two went through the usual routine of finding hard surfaces near the ring and tossing each other heid first into them. They made their way up the stairs to the balcony where a wee dose of JAM O’MALLEY OUT OF NOWHERE caught BT off guard. Mikeys former ally taking exception to having his dreds chopped by the NAK in Maryhill the night before, he lured BT back down stairs, where he found Mikey Whiplash staring at him from the ledge. It was a bit Jack Nicholson in the shining, but instead of battering an axe through a door, he tossed his whole body in the direction of BTs face from about 15 feet up. You could easily imagine a demonic smile coming over him as he made the deathly descent. “Hereeeeees Mikey”

They kept on knocking fuck out each other outside the ring, with BT sweeping Whiplash off his feet and sending him face first on to one of the tables where the fans were at ringside before the match finally found its way back to the ring. Wrestling is supposed to shock you, and often blood is used effectively to do that. Its a hot topic. Some people don’t think its necessary in any circumstance. Maybe it isn’t. But you can’t deny that when BT Gunn picked up that implement and drove it deep into Whiplash’s tortured napper, and you saw blood literally steaming down his face that it made an impact. Unsafe, unplanned and unforgettable. What else did you expect from BT Gunn vs Mikey Whiplash exactly? Even if the match was cut short because they were about to be bawdeep in Mikey Whiplash’s blood, it still mattered. When BT Gunn hit the powerbomb on the steel steps and got the 1-2-3, to even the score between the two of them, it still mattered.

It didn’t have the combination of violence and wrestling genius that the match at The Garage had, but it had BT Gunn walking out of that ring looking like a bonafide killer, smearing some of Whiplash’s blood on his chest before departing. Job done. While Mikey Whiplash grabbed a mic, instantly coated in the blood pouring from his head, and well…..he fucking laughed. Of course he did.

Laughed at the nicked artery on his forehead like it wasn’t an issue. Laughed at the fan attempting to inexplicably pick a fight with the guy bleeding profusely for the sake of his entertainment. Laughed at the notion that the end of this battle marks the end of the war. Before he stood up, while the blood continued to empty from his skull, and told the world that The NAK would face Legion in a 6 man steel cage war at Fear and Loathing. The SECC has seen a lot of mental things over the years. Lassies ages ranging from 18 to 81 chucking their pants at Tom Jones. Far too many American folk thinking they’re in England when they perform there, and probably some sort of Monster Truck show that involved big bastardin wheels crushing a ford escort, but the venue will not have seen anything quite like 6 of the maddest bastards in pro wrestling tossing each other around a cage. As good as I imagine the cage match will be, they’d probably be better having this in a proper fighting pit. Or at least get some wild animals to work security so nae dafties think about getting wide and squaring up to guys who take pleasure in pain inflicted on themselves and others. Don’t be a fanny eh. Squaring up to wrestlers isn’t big or clever for a variety of reasons, but the most important one is that they will most likely be much bigger than you.

Joe Coffey vs Sha Samuels

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Joe Coffey wasn’t best pleased with Sha Samuels battering him with a chair at Flawless Victory. I believe he thought it was rude and sare. Sha Samuels doesn’t seem like the type that would give two fucks about that, and naturally that irked Joe. A man used to stealing the show with 5 star classics against the likes of Jack Gallagher, Mikey Whiplash and Lewis Girvan knew if he was going to overcome the Easty Beastie, he’d need to become something that’s out of his comfort zone. Whilst he was painted up impressively as “The Iron Hulk” Joe needed to bring The Iron Brawler to the table for this yin. The only way to slay a butcher is to become more than just meat. Become meat that punches and kicks people forcefully and frequently. Sha came to meet Joe as he entered and they started throwing mad jabs at each other, because in case you fackin mugs didnae quite have the picture yet, THIS ONE WAS GONNAE BE A GOOD OL FASHIONED BAR FIGHT….in a wrestling ring.

Joe chucked some chops and smooshed Sha’s head into the steel steps, signalling his attempt to straight up batter this tube. Sha hit back with some jabs of his own, leading us back into the ring where the bell rang, and the wrestling officially commenced. Lovely front dropkick from Joe saw Sha roll outside for a wee kiss on the cheek and some re-assurance from Kennedy. After being told he’s the fairest butcher of the all, and that he can beat Joe Coffey anyday. In the playgroon, roon the back ae the chippy, even up the roof of the high flats roon fae yer grannies bit. That mug was his. They both grabbed a chair each, and got to wielding them. A craft that Sha is a lot more experienced in than Joe, but it was Joe who got the upper hand. Knocking the chair out of Sha’s hands, before hitting him with a crossbody chairshot to the ribs. The mighty wrestler is a wrestler to the core though. You could put Joe in a triple threat match wae The Sandman and Terry Funk, with barbed wire for ropes and a firepit instead of a wrestling ring, and he’d still find a way to do a bit of wrestling in there. Two splashes and the bulldog took Sha off his feet, before Joe exacted a bit of revenge by taking a steel chair to Sha’s leg. He got the upper hand in a strength test after that, adding fuel to the rumours that he was that shade of green cause he’d scranned a metric tonne of Popeyes spinach before the match, before dragging Sha to his feet and hitting a picture perfect Northern Lights suplex. All in hand for Joe. Better at this brawling malarkey than anyone imagined he would be eh? Then there was Kennedy.

James R.Kennedy of course stuck his neb in again, grabbing Joe Coffeys foot and giving Sha the opening to leather him once more with a chair. A big red devil of a chair. Essentially Kane if he was made out of steel and didnae walk like he had a handful of broken glass shoved up his rectum (aye I know chairs can’t walk, suspend your disbelief ffs) Sha proceeded to smash the chair off every square inch of Joe, then unleashing 4 or 5 jabs in the corner before he inexfuckinplicably SPAT in Joe Coffeys face. I enjoy Sha as a villain. Truly. He’s an excellent performer but HOW FUCKIN DARE YOU SPIT IN THE IRON MAN’S FACE. I mean. That’s Joe Coffey mate. The only DNA that should be on Joe Coffeys face should be that of a superhero, or the tidiest stripper Platinum Lace has to offer. A butcher spitting in a superheroes face should by rights lead to a beheading. That’s the law the last time I checked, and it was a law Joe Coffey planned to see enforced to the fullest when he wrestled the demon chair from Sha, before launching himself off the top rope with a dropkick that sent the chair straight into Sha’s dome. Cutting the butcher open in an act of sheer irony (I dunno if that’s irony actually, probably not eh, point is…he was bleeding) before swinging him about for a few rotations and hitting a beautiful deadlift German Suplex for the win.

Joe Coffey has had better matches in ICW, with folk more suited his style and the pace he likes to wrestle at, but this is perhaps the most important match and win Joe has had to date. It showed that he can scrap with the best of them, and while using weapons isn’t something that comes naturally to him, he used the chair in more innovative ways than most folk who swing the steel regularly. I’d like to see them go again right enough, there’s definitely a better match in them, but this one served its purpose and left Joe looking heroic. 

Chris Renfrew vs Dickie Divers (Ladder match for the Square Go briefcase)

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Divers is supposed to be dead by now isn’t he? Proving a wee bit harder to kill than Renfrew might have thought, but with that briefcase hanging over the ring, and Divers still short of pals, there was no conceivable way Divers was escaping this match still holding that title shot. Ladder matches are no DQ, Renfrew has an army, and all Divers has to show for this feud is a briefcase that no longer even belongs to him. At that moment it belonged to the match, and it was a match he had nae chance of winning. Then again, there was another match Divers supposedly had nae chance of winning. It happened about 6 months before Shugs House Party 2, in the very same venue as the one this match was taking place in (02 ABC, world famous and known for its glorious one-two punch of reasonably priced drinks and friendly staff x) A wee match called the Square Go. Which in case anyone’s forgot, Divers did in fact win. A momentous achievement for him personally, but an achievement that has seen his life and career be put on the line more often than anyone would be comfortable with.

Say what you like about Divers. Crossing Renfrew wasn’t smart and has lead to a world of solitary pain since he was chucked out the NAK, but he’s proven beyond any shadow of a doubt that he’s a guy who can more than hold his own in a big time singles feud. Even in the face of vilification from the NAKs army of fans, and even in the face of being kicked in the face aw the fuckin time. Divers continues to live. Shugs House Party 2 was where it would all come to a head. The champagne had been on ice for too long. It was time for the party to start, when Divers dies. Its a bit of an odd thing for so many fans to be gleefully baying for the blood of the good guy in a feud, but that’s what the NAK have created. An environment where the bad guys are your only hope. Dickie Divers excluded himself from being part of the solution, so in their eyes he’s part of the problem. The problem with this particular match is whilst Renfrew had the advantage in almost every way, the fact that its a ladder match was actually a slight advantage for Divers. Something of a speciality for oor Dickie so it is. Having scooped up the tag titles with William Grange in a ladder match to start the first ever tag title reign in ICW. Divers ladder match prowess didn’t quite level the playing field, but it at least gave Divers a scrappers chance. Exactly what he had when he won that square go.

Renfrew entered menacingly, with Stevie Boy at his side, and a look that said “I’m gonnae eat your vital organs and shite oot a Dickie Divers of my own” but Divers didnae come to the ABC to have his vital organs devoured. He came to throw ladders at cunts, and he done just that when he scudded Renfrew and Stevie with the ladder, before setting it up and diving on their heids. Diving Dickie Divers came for a fuckin fight. Renfrew attempted to whip Divers into the steel steps, but Divers danced to the top of the steps and hit him with a superkick instead. Divers wasn’t fuckin about. He made the mistake of giving Renfrew a chance to catch his breath when he set him up in the corner leaning against the ladder, and Renfrew dodged the big splash attempt, before hitting Greetings From Silent Hill (a big fuck off, trachea removing lariat) to swing the tide in his favour. A catapult into the ladder had Divers dazed, as Renfrew then served Divers up on a silver platter for Stevie Boy to hit a springboard legdrop off the apron. An enziguri gave Divers a few second of respite before a backdrop on to the ladder sooked the air clean out his body. Then there was Kendo. Taking exception to Divers teeing off on the NAK with a kendo stick the night before, Renfrew decided to smash Divers with a kendo of his own. Divers got up and encouraged him to come ahead, and while you’ve got to respect the set of baws the man has. He was quickly floored, and the kendo was quickly mangled to an almost unrecognisable degree. Folk were genuinely asking “is that even a Kendo, or just a generic big stick?”

Renfrew set up the ladders to put the finishing touches on this inevitable triumph, but Divers wont die. Maybe he’ll be the first human to successfully fend off death for good. We’ll all be in our boxes at a reasonable age and Divers will still be cuttin about in the year 2300. The Jackie McNamara of wrestling. Never aged a day from the first time he laced up his boots until his retirement at age 270. He cracked Renfrew with the kendo, and climbed up the other side of the ladder only for it to snap in the middle, sending both men down. Luckily the equipment mishap claimed no casualties and the backup ladder was brought into play. I mind when I used to work wae my auld man as a plasterer (he was the plasterer, I made the tea) that we had a pair of ladders exactly like that go missing in 2007. Not accusing anyone or that, but that set of ladders has any poorly tipexed menchys on it, its ours. Renfrew hit the single leg dropkick off the middle rope, before a second attempt was blocked by Divers, giving him the opening to go up there and reclaim his property. Stevie Boy jumped in and provided a timely intervention, only for Divers to plant him face first with the Unprettier off the ladder. DIVERS WILL NOT DIE.

A stoner off the ladder was the next thing Divers had to survive. I always thought the stunner killed folk when I was wee. It looked like a move that could execute your opponent if delivered correctly, and after Austin won his first title from Shawn Michaels, we didn’t see Michaels for ages. I assumed he was dead for at least a few months, and after Divers took a stunner off the ladder, I assume it was his time. Renfrew went up again, assuming he could take his time cause Divers was deid, but HE ROSE AGAIN. Leathering Renfrew with your run of the mill, household steel chair, before bringing something more sinister into play. A pink chair coated in barbed wire. An implement of death. Smashed over Renfrews back as he bled. Smashed over his back again as he winced and told Divers to come ahead.

The barbed wire came off and Divers decided it looked like a good weapon in its own right and started scudding Renfrew with that, but even if he wouldn’t die, he couldn’t win the match. He just couldn’t. Theres too many obstacles. The next one he had to contend with was Kay Lee Ray. Who delivered a life altering shot to the baws, before Renfrew hit the T-Virus twice. The second time on top of the barbed wire, and that was it for Divers. His heart kept on beating, but Renfrew tore his soul out when he climbed up that burst ladder and reclaimed what he considered to be stolen property. HIS title shot. 

As Divers looked upon the victorious Renfrew in the ring. Surrounded by people he called family. There might have been the slightest hint of regret there. What was it all for? You can understand the competitive spirit taking over and leading him to make the decision not to follow Renfrews orders at the Square Go, but what’s the point in it at all if you end up with nothing? Nae pals and nae briefcase. The NAK marches on stronger than ever and Divers continues to walk alone. Renfrew did call upon the NAK to help him over the line, but wouldn’t you if you could? Thats the luxury afforded to you when you assemble an army, and while Divers proved to be a worthy foe, thee numbers never lie. Chris Renfrew is once again the holder of the Square Go briefcase. A fact that takes on new significance when you consider the outcome of the main event.

DCT and Viper get married 

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The stag got out of hand to say the least. As Mark Coffey, Jackie Polo and Coooooach Trip brought the party into Maryhill the night before the wedding, DCT was nowhere to be found. I used the contacts I’ve gained in my time as a world class media professional to source DCTs wherabouts during the show, and my sources informed me that he was “upside doon and mad wae it, location unknown” I have no idea why he was upside doon, but the blood rushing to his heid brought all the sexy to the forefront and there he was, standing next to his blushing bride to be; flanked by best man Simon Cassidy, Mark Coffey and Cooooach Trip. Rab Florence officiating, carrying out step three in his big Scottish Wrestling blueprint….be a celebrity guest at a wrestling wedding. The wedding surprisingly went off without a hitch, even if Jackie Polo made everyones arse clench up when he turned up late, right at the bit where you’re urged to state any objections you have to the proposed union. He admitted to DCT that he did have his reservations about him marrying “this bitch” but if it matters to DCT, it has his blessing. Of course it does. At Polo Promotions DCT has had the happiest time in his career, and if he feels Viper can help him continue his ascent up the ICW ladder, it can only be a good thing. With that out the road, we had the vows. Vipers detailing the various ways in which DCT will be required to pump her in the coming years (thats what all her patter meant eh? its inneuendo) before DCT used his vows to inform the world that his ride is closing. Which in layman’s terms means that he’ll no longer be shaggin wee dirties in pre ripped fishnets roon the back of the waltzers at the Irn Bru festival.

They said their I Do’s as everyone in attendance wept from every orifice at the idea of DCT never unleashing the beast in our presence. What’s left to do but party eh? The first dance would be to Let’s Get It On by Marvin Gaye. The shaggers anthem, what the fuck else would they play, but as the couple prepared to dance, that fuckin Red Lightning bastard had to have his say. Red Lightning being an authority figure in ICW has been top class since day one. From nice but uncompromising Red from the early Spacebaws shows, to the prick we see before us now, but at Shugs House Party 2, Red dialled it up a few hunner notches. Giving DCT, Viper and the rest of the Polo Promotions troops a wee present to celebrate their love. That present was The 55. That present was Bram.

First of all right. First of all let me say this. Fuck Bram. Secondly the rest of The 55 made sure Jackie Polo, Mark Coffey and Coach Trip were taken care of. Leaving Bram to stare down DCT and Viper. Bram’s a big boay, but surely the collective force of a married wrestling couple could overcome him. He had a trick up his sleeve though. That trick was a baw hit, delivered by Rab Florence to DCT. A celebrity turning heel at a wrestling wedding AFTER he’s married the couple is pure carnage. The centrepiece to their pleasure and their pain, as he urged Viper to calm doon while her new husband nursed the pair of sare baws Florence had just given him. She shoved him out the road as he put on his heel turn hat (a bunnet lined in chains made out of Flava Flavs teeth) only to be slapped and unlawfully winched by Bram. Married to Charlotte Flair and got himself a winch off Viper, maybe I hate Bram for reasons other than the fact that he’s the bearded embodiment of evil. Maybe its been envy all this time (it’s no). Smacking the lips on a lassie is the height of grottyness, even if she is a solid 10. Following that up with slapping her arse then piledriving her through her own wedding cake makes Bram the high priest of dirty bastards. Thats exactly what the big man done. A waste of good cake delivered by a waste of spunk.

James R.Kennedy asked who ICW had capable of saving the day. Sometimes heroes don’t have a big S on their chest, or cut about in a batmobile. Sometime’s heroes are wee chubby guys fae Ayrshire with baws the size of melons and a heart made of freshly cooked square sausages and a dollop of gallusness. Sometimes (all the time) the hero is GRAAAAAAAADO

Grado vs Bram

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I’ll tell no lies. I thought this would be shite. I thought it would be the usual big man vs Grado affair, where Grado gets battered stupid and comes back to win. I was very very wrong. Grado keeps on proving people wrong when it comes to what he does in that ring. The title match with Drew in Nottingham was one of the best ICW Title matches I’ve seen, his match with Jester for the belt last year in Dundee was another belter. The bigger the occasion, the bigger Grados baws get, and the bigger his baws get, the more liable he is to shock us. He stoated down that ramp to stand face to face with the most evil cunt in Scotland at that moment. A motor carrying Piers Morgan, Katie Hopkins and that American dentist who killed the lion could have drove down to Scotland that day and he’d have still been the most disgustingly vile man in the country.

They butted heads before Grado got the jabs going. 500 jabs at least, followed by 500 more, ensuring that he’d be the man to chuck 1000 jabs on tae Brams poor jaw. Bionic elbow for good measure and what else? A German Suplex of course. I’m no ripping the cunt either. Grado hit Bram with a release German Suplex and it’s not like when Cena does a new move and for the first 2000-3000 tries it looks clunky as fuck. It was actually a more than passable German. Not Joe Coffey standard, but good enough. Grado knew fine well to beat a big bastard like Bram, he needed to learn a few new tricks. Sometimes ye actually need a few tricks. Something just jumping isn’t enough. He went for the roll n slice, and was swiftly decapitated by a clothesline from the corner. It was all going so well until his heid was removed from his shoulders eh. They brawled a bit in amongst the crowd, before Bram found a box with wheels on it (aka a wheelie box) and placed Grado in the box almost lovingly, before launching him towards the barrier. As they made it back ringside, Grado set Bram up in the corner before going for another roll and slice, this time the big dastardly bastard moved out the way and Grado roll and sliced his own skull on the barrier. Sare.

Bram went rummaging under the ring and found himself a wee bag of what he thought was something deadly. Maybe thumbtacks, nails or live piranhas. Instead he got skittles. The ol switcharoo in full force, and by the time he was over the shock he turned round and felt the full force of the Rainbow Rock Bottom, followed by the third attempt at the Roll n Slice. This time hitting the mark. He went for the cover by Bram intelligently rolled out the way and thats when it happened. Mikey Whiplash leapt from a ledge earlier in the night in quite majestic fashion in his match. That was our quota for dives that might kill the cunt. That’s all we needed. We’re sorted. Yet Bram and Grado decided it would be a good idea to go back through the crowd and then they got to a table. A table surely designed for snacks and refreshments. Nothing to see here. Bram picked up a chair and Grado ducked the chair shot, before getting a hold of it himself and cracking Bram over the napper with it, and then he stumbled on to that table, and something quite beautiful happened. Grado flew.

Well maybe “flew” is being a bit kind. It was more “falling with style” but Grado isn’t supposed to be the guy that does this. Grado has his own thing. He’s the funny guy, did ye no hear? The one off the tele? The one that’s going to leave this all behind for to become a full time Billy BigBaws in the USA. He doesn’t need to nearly kill himself for this does he? So what does it say about Grado when he chooses to climb up on a balcony that’s over 15 feet high, before tanning a 1L of Irn Bru and jumping off that balcony to put Bram through a table. What does that say about commitment? More than any words could possibly say. He dragged Bram back into the ring, where James R.Kennedy stopped him finishing the job. Chucking a chair at Grado, which he ducked only for Bram to catch it and smash it off Grado’s unsuspecting dome. Spike DDT on the skittles. That had to be it. Not in Joe Coffeys name its not. Out came the Iron Avenger to tell Bram exactly what he thought of him. Launching a verbal tirade that included “Yer beards aw tugs ya big prick” and the distraction was enough for Grado to power up and hit the Wee Boot. Right aff Brams jaw. Grado wins.

From a match I expected little from came Grado’s most significant win in ICW yet. He toppled a giant. He took a 15 foot fall. He left every single bit of himself in that ring, and he left a wee bit of his soul in there too when he took the mic and delivered his most passionate, captivating promo to date. Nae point in my relaying it to you word for word. Watch it. Enjoy it. Grado is here to fuckin stay. If you don’t like it, tough. If you do like it, then I like you.

Wolfgang vs Rhyno

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There’s a lot of unanswerable questions in the world that people still ask anyway. Who’d win in a fight between Superman and Batman? What came first, the chicken or the egg? Who’d win in a fight between Hulk Hogan and the entire black population of the world? The usual ones. There is a question that was once unanswerable, but is no longer, and that’s one you seldom hear, but one that’s about as intriguing as a question gets. Who would win in a fight between a Wolf and a Rhino?

The Wolf and the Rhino locked up early, neither man getting the upper hand, before Rhino put Wolfy on his arse with a big shoulderblock. They battled from corner to corner, before the Wolf took flight, launching himself from the middle rope and taking Rhino down with a shoulderblock of his own. Loosening the middle rope in the process. He had barely scratched the surface though. A middle rope shoulderblock barely matters a fuck when the Wolf can actually fly. They battled in the crowd, Wolfy getting the upper hand, before he jumped back into the ring, ran the ropes and fuckin FLEW. Nah fuck that. He descended magnificently, clearing the top rope and landing all 18 stone of him right on Rhinos jaw. Aye the big man is a terrifying prospect in his own right. He’s been over on WWE NXT mixing it with some of the most talented cunts in the world (Hi Finn x) but he’s probably never encountered an 18 stone bloodthirsty Scottish Wolf who can actually fly. Wolfy looked at Rhino wide eyed after he landed. He sensed that the kill was near. Folk got a bit upset about a dentist killing a Lion. Probably because Lions are glorious creatures and dentists are the devils representatives on earth, but I don’t think anyone would have the baws to take issue with Wolfgang killing this Rhino.

The loose middle rope could have ruined this. It did derail its momentum slightly, but if something breaks, its up to the guys in the ring to make the most of it. Wolfgang used the middle rope to his advantage to choke Rhino before sending him towards the corner with a powerful Irish Whip. Knocking the wind out of the manbeast. Wolfie continued to squeeze the wind out of him with a big bearhug slap bang in the middle of the ring, before the two collided with a double clothesline. Back on their feet, they slugged it out, right hand jabs to the jaw, something that would be impossible if a real Wolf wrestled a Rhino, cause neither of these species have the necessary requirements (aka thumbs) to make a fist. Rhino got the better of it, before taking Wolfy into the corner and hitting a big clothesline (well as big as they get when yer arms are toaty wee, on the off chance Rhino reads this, its only jokes mate, love you x) and he tried to take Wolfy down with a belly to belly suplex, but the big bad bastardin Wolf fought out of it and hit a big splash in the corner. Rhino was dazed but still managed to get a jab to the belly in as Wolfy tried to land a double axe handle, before Stevie Boy turned up, fulfilling his role as designated hauners for the night. Rhino knocked him off the apron, before hitting a thunderous GORE on the Wolf, but the big man rolled close enough to the ropes for Stevie to put his leg on the middle rope just before the three count. The NAK were going for the clean sweep, and nae amount of giraffes, elephants or rhinos were stopping them.

Rhino wasn’t very pleased with oor Stevie and backed him into a corner, whilst Stevie begged for mercy. Usually when Rhino backs folk into a corner, they get eaten. Luckily for Stevie, Kay Lee Ray was there to deliver her second timely baw hit of the night. Stevie and Kay Lee belligerently stomped fuck out of Rhino while Wolfgang gathered himself for one final assault. With a table set up in the corner, and Rhino fast running out of steam, it was time for the big game to be hunted. Stevie Boy correctly got plenty of attention when he joined the NAK. It was a stunning moment and the way he turned on Davey, and that promo he cut at Spacebaws solidified him as one of the main guys in ICW and Scottish Wrestling, but folk forget that on the very same night Kay Lee Ray joined the NAK as well. One of the most talented, well travelled wrestlers in the UK today. The thing that separates her from the wealth of female talent the UK has at the moment is that…well….shes aff her fuckin nut. You’d have to be to agree to take a gore through a table aff fuckin Rhino wouldn’t ye. Even if you were a 25 stone trucker, you’d be shite feart of that situation (probably because truckers dont belong in pro wrestling)  but Kay Lee Ray took it like the champ she is. As Stevie and Wolfy tried to set Rhino up to go through the table, he fought them off and planted Wolfgang with a huge spinebuster, before awaiting Wolfgang returning to his feet so he could Gore him intae next Tuesday. Kay Lee took the hit instead. That’s what good soldiers do. The NAK has more than a good soldier in Kay Lee. They have a queen, and the queen got broken in half when the Rhino mauled her. Full pelt through the table. Kay Lee Ray is dead.

Whilst Kay Lee Ray was impaled by Rhino’s tusk, Wolfgang was carefully placing some brass knuckles on his hand, before knocking Rhino clean out with a shot to the temple.  Jet fuel cant melt steel beams, but steel can apparently kill Rhinos. Wolfgang reigned supreme. The NAK took the clean sleep. Shugs House Party 2 might have saw the dawn of a new, hugely powerful stable, but if the NAK continue to combine as effectively as they have been naecunt’s stopping them. Not Legion, the three man power trip or any cunt else. 

Polo Promotions vs Noam Dar and Kenny Williams

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Folk have said I’m not critical enough in reviews. Maybe I hold back a bit. Maybe I don’t want Scottish Wrestling seen in a bad light, so if a ring breaks, or someone fucks up I don’t say much about it. If I’ve to be brutally honest, then I’ll be brutally honest and say that this match not happening was baws. If it was cut because there wasn’t enough time, or if it was cut to add levity to Red Lightning being a dirty villainous bastard, it really doesn’t matter. The fact that four of the best wrestlers in the country didn’t get to showcase what they can do in front of that crowd is nae good. It was heartwarming to see all 4 men come together and batter The 55 when Red sent them down to deliver another doing, and even more heartwarming to see DCT join the party and get a bit of revenge for his new wife being forced to cut the cake with her skull, before Timm Wylie took a scoop slam off the Polo Promotions boys. Kenny Williams even got in on the scoop slam act, trying and failing to deliver one himself before Mark Coffey scooped him on to Wylie, and while that was all nice, it wasn’t a tag title match between four very talented wrestlers, and it should have been.

Drew Galloway vs Big Damo

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He never saw it coming. Whilst Big Damo was more then prepared for the challenge of taking the ICW Title from Drew Galloway, he was prepared for Drew Galloway and Drew Galloway alone. A daunting task even for a gargantuan man like him, but one he had been ready for his whole life. In Damo’s eyes this is his time. He’s grafted at this wrestling malarkey for over a decade. Even a phenomenal talent like Drew Galloway wasn’t standing in his way. Nothing would. Nothing realistic anyway. Only something completely out of the blue and ‘pick yer jaw off the floor’ shocking would stop Big Damo becoming the ICW World Heavyweight Champion at Shugs House Party 2. Damo entered first, sporting an impressive new look and wielding one of the sticks they use in hurling (apparently called a “hurley” but if thats wrong, blame Wikipedia) because as well as being an exceedingly hairy and exceedingly scary big bastard, Big Damo is also Irish as fuck.

Drew emerged with the same intensity as always, but the demeanour was different. No longer ignoring the dissenting chants of “Drew Go-Away” “Fuck TNA” and “get yersell tae fuck Drew, ya big greek god lookin cunt ye”. Instead drawing the perpetrators absolute daggers. One thing that always shocks me about wrestling crowds is how easy they find it to give men twice their size the middle finger. There was folk who look like they could be knocked down by one of their own farts chucking the middle finger up right in Drews face. Why do folk feel safe doing that at a wrestling show, but not in everyday life? At that time Drew was still supposed to be a good guy, so the chances of him heidering folk were slim, but still. It takes a set of baws to even try it. Drew told the ref to get Damo back. Subtle, but an early indication of what was to come. At the end of the day, if he’s already getting booed and told to fuck off, what’s the point in holding it back any further? Drew Galloway was never supposed to be poster boy. It served him and ICW well, and definitely raised the company’s profile as he trotted round the globe showing off the belt like a proud Da, defending it on multiple continents, but Drew Galloway as a villain is the way Drew Galloway was supposed to be. His best run in WWE was as a bullying big bastard, and in ICW he knew fine well that if he was going to keep his place at the top of the food chain and keep the bear at bay, he would have to return to his old ways. He would have to be a baddie.

They locked up a couple of times, with Damo getting the upper hand to a backdrop of “Fuck TNA”. Damo encouraged Drew to listen to what the fans were saying. Listen to their rejection. Compare it to how they felt a year earlier when Drew stopped Renfrew cashing in and saved Jesters title only to turn on him. Best pals divided by a common goal, but best pals are seldom apart for long. If they’re truly best pals, they were always going to find a way back to each other. Drew escaped the chants and walked up the aisle, seemingly ready to call it quits. He’s Drew fuckin Galloway! He don’t have to listen to this bloody nonsense! International superstar for gods sake! Evolve and Dragon Gate Champion! How dare you losers give him pelters!

The big man made the mistake of going for a waistlock takedown when he did make it back into the ring, which was quickly rebuked by Damo. The beast tossing him from corner to corner, before Drew responded with a big boot. A forearm from Drew barely touched Damo, before he rocked Drew back with a big forearm of his own and urged him to come head. Drew managed to back Damo into a corner before hitting a splash and taking the big man down with a clothesline from the top rope. The shenanigans were done and dusted. It was fightin time. A dropkick took Damo out the ring, with Drew using that opening to thrust his baws towards the crowd whilst flippin the double bird. If anything might give a wee clue towards an imminent heel turn, its a belligerent baw thrust. Damo smiled (not at the baw thrust, just to be clear) and dragged Drew to the outside. Seemingly unaffected by Drews chops, Damo floored him with a forearm before hitting him with the big cannonball against the barrier. Damo seemed in control early, but Drew managed to work up a head of steam (I definitely bumped that line from some early 90s Vince McMahon commentary) when he caught Damo on the apron and smashed him off the ringpost, before hitting him with a hard irish whip to the corner. He then somehow got Damo over his head with a German Suplex. There was a smugness about Drew every time he got a bit of offence in. He even counted down from 3 before hitting Damo with a DDT, but the bear kicked out at one, and Drew looked more perplexed than annoyed. How the fuck…..

How the fuck is simple. He’s fuckin Damo. Things that usually kill the average human don’t even register with him. If that American dentist tried to stick an arrow in his heart, he’d catch it in his teeth and spit it between the cunt’s eyes. He’s not a man to be fucked with, as he dazzled Drew with the Brogue Kick to the back before taking him down with a dropkick. The O’Connor Roll (rolling senton) hit the mark after that, before Damo got to surfin. Standing on Drews chest, before he came crashing down on his ribs with a senton known as The Dublin Drop. Damo was looking to put Drew away with the Ulster Plantation (electric chair drop) but Drew reversed it into the victory roll for a two count. Big single leg dropkick took Damo down once more, leading to Drews first attempt at the Futureshock, which was blocked by Damo. His second attempt at it was reversed into a beauty of a bridging northern lights suplex, but Drew kicked out at 2, and kept the Futureshock locked in. This time finally hitting it. The battle was over. The beast had been slain. Or had he?

Well…naw. He kicked out. As I said before, things that usually kill the average human simply don’t hurt this man. Moves that put away the average wrestler don’t do the job on him. He came to the 02 ABC to win the ICW Title, and only something extraordinary was stopping him from doing that. Something outlandish, on par with ridiculous sounding things like Hulk Hogan being a dirty big racist, and R.Kelly having a penchant for peeing on people. Outlandish things that have no basis in reality 😉 Drew was rightly dumbfounded by the kick out. It was supposed to be over by now. If that wasn’t enough to do it, Plan B would have to come into action. Drew inexplicably started slapping Damo, and that of course only served to make the bear angry. Smashing Drew with a clothesline, before hitting the Dublin Drop for A FUCKIN ONE COUNT. See, as much as Drew will never have faced an opponent quite like Damo, the same goes both ways. Damo usually finds it quite easy to dispose of most folk, but not so much with Drew. He looked at referee Thomas Kearins slack jawed as he asked him if he was sure it was only a one count. Fuckin ONE? This time it was Damo looking concerned. How the fuck do you put a guy away who kicks out of one of your best moves at one? Finally Drew carried out Plan B. Taking Damo up, before planting him with the Futureshock from the middle rope. Game over now. Surely….

Suffering fuck. How? He kicked out at 2. Even Damo shouldn’t have been able to do that. That’s the futureshock from the middle rope big man. You shouldn’t have a skull left after that. Damo came to the ABC for a belt. Nothing was stopping him. Not a fucking thing. Nothing apart from Plan C. Drews final act. Plan C. Maybe C for champion? Drew mistakenly took referee Thomas Kearins out with the single leg dropkick. Undeterred by the lack of authority figures in the vicinity, Drew hit a pouncing neckbreaker before laying Damo out the the Kerb Stomp and covering him for a 50 count. Disnae matter what you or anyone else counts to mate. No ref. No win. Drew went on the lookout for a chair. Plan C mate. C for chair. He swung wildly and missed Damo with the chair, and Damo sent it flying towards Drews teeth with a superkick before coming up with a plan of his own. Plan Van Damonator. The Van Damo-nator hit Drew square on that finely chiselled jaw of his and Sean McLaughlin rushed from the back to count the three. IT ACTUALLY HAPPENED. BIG DAMO FULFILLED HIS DESTINY. HE IS YOUR CHAMPION.

Or was he? That was the thing that made it sting the most I think. The fact that we got a glimpse of what it would have been like if he did win it. He earned it, but it doesn’t matter what you do or what accomplishments you make when Plan C is in action, because Plan C is the one there’s nae defence against, and Plan C was what finally put Damo away. C for fuckin cunt. Three of them to precise. As cunt number one Drew Galloway was handed a reprieve by cunt number two, ICW general manager Red Lightning, who stated that the match would continue as the three count was not made by the assigned referee. We should have known from the start. Why would Red Lightning set Big Damo on his pal Drew in the first place at Barramania? It was all for this. It was all so they could conspire to take out the biggest threat to Drews title in the company. The match did continue, Damo let his frustrations out by chibbing Drew with the belt, but there was still no ref meaning no count. He went for a second Van DamoNator but Drew was playing possum. He got up and chucked the chair at Damo before hauling him off the top rope and hitting the tombstone. Plan C in full effect as the lights went out, and the third cunt of the piece was introduced.

Until this point, I never really “got” Jack Jester in ICW. I’ll admit that. Its a lot like how I didn’t get Renfrew for a long time. It never felt like it was for me. It felt like something for people who’d been following the company for longer. Why is a guy that makes people bleed and its known for being a mad bastard so well loved? It never made sense to me. I don’t think I had ever seen the real Jack Jester until I saw him scare the ever loving shite out of some weans at a PBW show in Dumbarton. I got that. It seemed to fit better. Some people are born for a certain role when it comes to wrestling, and Jack Jesters role is being an evil bastard. Always has been. This is when he finally made sense to me in ICW. It just worked. As the lights went out and came back on to reveal Jester, you just knew. He wasn’t there to cost Drew the belt, he was there to help him keep it. Drew Galloway, Red Lightning and Jack Jester combining to carry out Plan C. C for conspiracy. Damo was the unfortunate casualty of something monumental as Jester toed Damo in the baws, before Drew hit the Futureshock to retain the gold. 

They can all fuckin act, I’ll give them that. Red looked genuinely concerned as he tried to keep Drew and Jester apart. Jester genuinely looked homicidal as he stared Drew down. Drew genuinely looked shocked at the return of his old friend turned foe, but they were all in it together, and they rubbed our noses in it too. The pricks. Popping champagne and jumping about like schoolboys that had just seen their first pair of tits. Red urged us all to kiss his arse as him and his pals disappeared behind the curtain to join The 55 in “party mode”.

It was beautifully done. A tragedy and a triumph rolled into one as Damo had his destiny denied by a trio of pure and utter bad yins. Villains to the core. They always have been. Yer crowd pleasing, corkscrew wielding fan favourite Jester never made sense to me. Red “The Peoples Wanker” Lightning never made sense to me either, and Drew “I love Scotland and all my opponents are amazin” Galloway never felt quite right, but the three of them combined as the dirtiest villains in the company makes plenty of sense. The three man powertrip. The first ever and current ICW champion, joining up with the guy he took the belt from after a more than year long reign and one of the best ICW Champions of all time overseeing it all as general manager. Now we’re faced with the oddly natural situation of the NAK becoming the good guys. Renfrew with that briefcase now represents our only hope of getting out from under this regime. He might not be the GM for Fear and Loathing at the SECC, but Red Lightning is determined to shape ICW the way HE wants it before he’s replaced by Foley for that show, and ICW the way HE wants it has Drew Galloway at the helm, with a shiny belt round his waist. Damo will come again, with a wrath that you’ll never have seen the likes of in a Scottish wrestling ring, but this wasn’t his night. It was never his night. He might have pinned Drew in the middle of that ring, but he could have pinned him a hundred times and they would have found a way to undo it. It was never his time.

Shugs House Party 2 wasn’t perfect. ICW have put on better wrestling shows, but it will always be one of my favourites because it mattered. The ending, Renfrew winning the briefcase, Joe Coffey taking on a different kind of opponent and reigning supreme, Grado leaping, Whiplash bleeding and Wolfy slaying a Rhino. It was the show that shaped the future. It was the show that made your heart bleed for a Northern Irish beast who deserved better, but sometimes in pro wrestling its not about what you deserve, its about what authority figures you have in your back pocket. Look at them with their smug coupons. I would hate it hunners if I didn’t fuckin love it so much. 

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Photo Credit – Warrior Fight Photography

Thanks to David J.Wilson and Warrior Fight Photography as usual. If you want to watch the full show, sign up to ICW On Demand. Its there.

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