WWE In Your House 1 Review

WWE started the In Your House shows at a troubled time for the company so there’s some absolute screamers on the early ones that will make you feel silly for hating on some of the modern stuff.  First up however is Bret Hart. Might as well tell yees since he’ll feature heavily in these reviews, I fuckin love The Hitman and as much as everyone is entitled to their opinion, if you disagree you are wrong and I am entitled to hate you for it. 

Bret Hart vs Hakushi

Double fuckin duty on this PPV btw. When Bret should have been in the main event every show he was still happy to do what the company needed. That included occasionally pulling double duty when WWE needed him to. Which in 1995 was a fuckin lot. Hakushi was a strange one. Clearly very good in the ring and had a look that made you take notice yet he never really took off in WWE despite coming in during a lean period. This match has always been an underrated wee gem of a scrap. Bret works with such fluidity that he regularly made terrible wrestlers look decent, decent wrestler look great, and great wrestlers look like suplex kings. Dons of the ring. 

Hakushi tries to sneak up on Bret a few times in this but his cat like reflexes saw many of these sneak attacks turned in to some manner of arm drag. Hakushi hit a Vader Bomb for a near fall while Jerry Lawler watched it on a wee screen slevvering. Bret gets tossed out and kicked a bit by Hakushi’s manager, a man in a white suit with white facepaint. One of many illegal incidents that occur in Bret Hart’s matches over the years as his foes realised his good nature was wide open to exploitation and deception. Hakushi all over our Canadian hero while women and children all over the world weep at his plight. 

Mad handspring back elbow from the Kush master had him right on top but Bret kept swinging. Even after a sexy tilt o whirl backbreaker Bret refused to lose. The diving headbutt didn’t even do it and the springboard splash was a move too far. Bret turned this technical masterpiece round with a bodacious bulldog, before an atomic drop followed by a skelper of a clothesline had Bret firmly in control. My man could wrestle on every match on the show and would still look like he had a few headlocks in the tank by the time the main comes around. He even broke out a suicide dive on Hakushi’s mad manager before succumbing to an aerial assault moments later from Hakushi himself in the form of a glorious middle rope moonsault to the outside. Alongside some absolute shanners in the early In Your House shows theres a few gems tucked away. This being one of them. Bret rounds it off with a lovely wee Victory Roll round off a tremendous opener. A true gem on the network. 

Razor Ramon vs Jeff Jarrett and The Roadie

This won’t get the same treatment as the opener purely because its not very good. Jeff Jarretts wore a singlet in this era that made him look like a big guitar. If yer man actually was a guitar he’d never be done pluckin himself that I will tell ye. Razor hits a big thunderous clothesline over the ropes on JJ before Jessie James comes bolting round the corner to attack the bad guy from behind. By bad guy I don’t mean his nickname at this time, I am referring to him calling Martina a dumb female dog on twitter as such actions are the very definition of being a bad guy.

Its mostly JJ vs Razor and Jeffrey had the IC Title so fuck knows why they didn’t just have that be the match after Razors partner the 1-2-3 Kid was attacked in a hate crime by the numbers 4,5 and 6. The future outlaw finally gets in and does some jangly elbow drops before swiftly getting the human guitar back in. Razor goes for the Razors Edge right next to the ropes which always bugged me cause even a successful Razors Edge in this scenario chucks the opponent clean out the ring. Probably to his death. Finishers are supposed to finish the match, not your colleagues life. Stay safe. Stay 2 metres apart at all times. 

Double J gets a bad rap sometimes but he always has been a talented wrestler. One of the best at being an absolute pain in the baws to the point that you want to slap the smug aff his mug. On this viewing this wee match was actually far better than I ever remembered but The Roadie took me right out of it by getting the hot tag and following it up with an ice cold knee drop off the top. Looked like he seen a tenner while he was in mid air and tried to catch it with his knee. 

Razor finally sees the plan that was there all along. The course of action he should really have taken from the start as he decides to launch Double J right at his partner. Finally separating one goon from the other before putting this entertaining wee scrap to bed with the Razors Edge. They obviously do big Razor immediately after the match because there’s two of them and one of him. That’s just science. I think you’ll find the man who ended up trying to save Razor to be Just Incredible but after he tries and fails he gets some top quality hauners from the debut of Savio Vega as Vince McMahon asks “Who’s this guy?” on commentary. You own the company mate. Whit ye askin me for? Check payroll. 

Mabel vs Adam Bomb

This is that shit we came to see. Two hefty big heefers, wailing on each other for the right to just be in the King Of The Ring tournament. Why these two behemoths had to suffer the indignation of having to qualify is a question I doubt we’ll ever see an answer to. Truly baffling. Adam Bomb’s gimmick is exactly what it says on the tin. He’s a damn bomb. End of story. 

I love Mabel in this era because he’s the only tag team guy to ever go solo without breaking up with his partner. He threatened to eat wee Mo’s leg while he slept if he even thought about trying to go out on his own so he was forced to be his valet. No even a manager. No advice was sought from Mabel at any time, he just liked knowing Mo was there.  

Adam Bomb is apparently mad over in 1995 and has a “Bomb Squad” in the audience which just sounds plain dangerous. Bomb hits a couple of early cross body type situations making a pure mockery of my earlier jab at the mobility of these competitors. He goes for one crossbody too many but and Mabel just squashed him. One way to stop a bomb going off eh! Smother it in belly. R.I.P  Big Daddy V.

The Smoking Gunns vs Yokozuna and Owen Hart (c) – Tag Title Match

Never had a minute of time for The Smoking Gunns. Liars is what they are. I’ve seen at least 10-15 of their matches and at no point during that time were either of these wrestlers having a fag. Not a cigar between the cunts. No even Bart having a bifter. Billy lightin a ciggie. Fuck all. 

Yoko was near his fattest at this stage and it constantly impressed me how well he moved even when he did go from huge to suuuuper huge. Maybe I just romanticise his career but I’ve always felt he was underrated as a baddie. There’s something terrifying about a man who would have you beat by performing the simple act of sitting on your throat. 

Yoko and Owen boss it early, being villainous as fuck, before The Pornstashe Billy Gunn reverses some serious offence from Owen to get over and tag Bart who tries a pin after one scoop slam meaning you can add “bad at making decisions” to the list of negatives alongside “known liar” and “terrible cowboy”. Yoko turns the tide back in the favour of the MLSC (Maple Leaf Sushi Connection) by hitting a big leg drop on the outside on Bart before rolling him back in for Owen to get the pin. This was certainly a wrestling match. R.I.P big Yoko and of course The Rocket x

Jerry Lawler vs Bret Hart

Bret comes out limping but its a RUSE. A play right out his opponents playbook which is absolutely fine if you’re the patron saint of all that is good and pure in pro wrestling. Bret goes to work with rapid jabs. Properly chucking this sentient jobby all over the squared circle. Bret Hart had free condoms on his desk at home during this period so he could feel like he’s running a clinic at work AND at home. Bret nails Lawler with a move called the piledriver which was outlawed in 2002 when Chuck Palumbo done it the wrong way round and broke Scott Nortons big toe. It was big news at the time. Look it up. 

Hakushi and his mad mime of a manager appear just as the ref gets his foot all tangled up in the ropes. The reek of tomfoolery swept the arena as ‘Kushi hit a trio of diving headbutts before Lawler took the pin with the worlds slowest rollup. Seriously Bret’s shoulder were down for about 3 and a half minutes. Another example of how much of a team player he is letting leery Lawler have body contact with him for that long. 

Right so in between this match and the main event Todd Pettengill and his pal Samantha Pittengell give away a hoose in Orlando? Is this a thing WWE done in 1995? Raffles for hooses? Its all mail entries and the burd jumps in a massive box that contains every entry before emerging from the pile and leaning over to whisper “I farted on all these envelopes” softly in to Todds ear. Michael Rappaport won the house and turned it in to a gigantic Biggie Smalls poster.

Diesel(c) vs Sycho Sid  – WWE Title Match

I unashamedly have lots of love for both these big lumps. Kevin Nash has always been my guilty pleasure in wrestling. He has never not looked like the coolest guy you could ever meet. I feel safe looking at him know what I mean? He looks like he has patter and gives out some real warm cuddles. Sid I always liked for the opposite reason. A terrfying veiny man. As if someone put a terrifying heid on top of the worldest angriest penis and taught it how to wrestle. Individually they were always excellent when working with guys like Bret Hart and Shawn Michaels, but put them together? Well lets just say this. It was nae Mabel vs Adam Bomb. I’ll tell ye that for free. 

Sid completely no sells a couple of decent clotheslines before the Deezman fires himself into the ropes and takes Sid down with the runner. Ted DiBiase manages Sid at this stage of his career before he went solo and started doing they promo’s where he’d talk in a really breathy low voice. Really wanting the people to smell what he had for his dinner. Do you smell what the Sid was chewing? He gets Diesel outside and hammers him in to a post and its all just real slow hard hitting stuff while Vince says stuff like “OH NO!” pure dramatically. Vinny Mac really knew his product wasn’t great back in 1995 and really makes a point of trying to put the talent over on commentary. Love the wee inside jokes with other commentators giving it “You dont run this place Mr Commentator Man” cause he actually does. Quite famous for it in fact. 

Sid boots Diesel for what feels like hours before locking in a Camel Clutch for even longer because that’s what this match really needed. Something to slow it right down. Send the crowd home nice and relaxed. The REAL aim of pro wrestling revealed right there. Diesel eventually starts to rally but he’s been in the Camel Clutch so long they’re actually having RAW around this match. Whole show happening with these two in the middle and a sleeping ref waking up every 3 or 4 minutes to ask Diesel if he wants to give up. Diesel finally gets loose just in time for France 98 kicking off before he raises up with some elbows to the gut before Sid hits a chokeslam and a powerbomb rapid style. He inexplicably took ages to cover him despite the powerbomb being his finisher leaving Diesel free to hit all three of his moves, the last of which being a spine shattering Jacknife Powerbomb that would have undoubtedly got the job done before Tatanka interfered and led to the DQ. 

A mild beatdown ensues from heel Tatanka and Sid before Bam Bam Bigelow sprints after him and breaks up the scrap. I have no memory of these sets of guys ever being aligned in any way but thats 1995 for ye baybay. 

Hope you enjoyed the first review of this new veture. Let me know what you thought! Unless its negative then keep it x 

Drew McIntyre – The First Ever Scottish Born WWE Champion

drewwwwwwwToday Drew McIntyre is the fighting pride of Scotland. A hero who brought good news in a time where you would have been forgiven for forgetting is existed. There was once a time where not everyone in Scotland loved Drew Mctinyre. As unfathomable as it might seem now, there was a time where not many people believed what happened at Wrestlemania 36 was possible. When Drew was released from WWE in 2014 his stock was low. He’d admit it himself. If he continued to just be happy to be a part of the show then that’s all he’d have ever been.

Happy is a major stretch but I don’t think Drew was on the verge of quitting at the time his release came. It might have taken another year or two before he finally broke but the company done the hard bit for him and cut ties. For the first time since he was 20, Drew McIntyre was officially Drew Galloway again and that wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. He needed to be Drew Galloway again. For himself and for the people who did still give a shit. He needed to give them reasons to keep believing and he needed to find ways to get the rest on board.

The best wrestlers are able to create a feeling with their work. A feeling that draws the audience in even if that audience hates you. Drew understood that after his release there would be a period he’d be wildly popular, but it wouldn’t be everlasting. People get it. We’ve all got eyes. He’s comfortably six inches taller than every other person in Scotland. He looks like someone made a sculpture of a greek god out of granite and taught it how to decapitate folk with dropkicks. No matter how successful it got for Drew in his time outwith WWE it was always his destiny to go back. How long it would take was entirely up to him.

He knew he needed to work harder. He took on a travel schedule that bordered on insanity when you don’t have a major company setting everything up for you. By his own admittance he had to grow up and learn how to do it all on his own. If he had to be in Glasgow 24 hours after a booking in New York, he’d be in Glasgow ready to go. If he needed to be in Australia 45 minutes after he’s main evented the Citadel in Ayr, yer man would make it down under in time to help the crew set up the ring. He was just everywhere. Somehow. People were invested even if they weren’t fully sure if he was their guy. They wanted to find out.

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He became a figurehead for a plethora of companies but the one that mattered most to him was always ICW. The first company he wanted to appear for after his release was ICW. Fuck the 90 days, let’s do it now. The bandwagon all of a sudden was hurtling towards The Barrowlands as Drew looked to dethrone the champion who had reigned supreme for a year. His best pal Jack Jester. He was one of the folk who still cared when times were hard and Drew wasn’t even on TV pre 3MB days. A true friend who saw that Drew just wasn’t the same guy who had left for the WWE. Drew Galloway wasn’t this big surly guy who instantly mistrusted anyone he didn’t know, but Drew McIntyre was. Drew Galloway wasn’t a guy who was settled in his role as comic relief on Monday Night RAW, but for a time Drew McIntyre was. He had to find that guy again and start kicking down doors.

The 3MB stuff wasn’t completely useless. He bonded with Jinder Mahal both in 3MB and when they were both released on the same day. If you’d have told them they’d both win the WWE Title within 6 years they’d have laughed at you. Jinder might have anyway. Drew would have joined him but in the back of his mind he’d have known it was possible. He just had to make it possible. The tools were always there. The other purpose 3MB served was Drew discovering the heid removing scud missile that is the Claymore. 3MBs trouser situation was very leathery and very very shiny, Drew slipped and basically fell into a big single leg dropkick and it looked good so why the fuck not? Fast forward six years and the big man has whole arenas counting down from 3 before he hits it.

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That’s what Drew does better than most. He makes people give a shit. When he papped Brock Lesnar out of a Royal Rumble he was dominating it was an announcement that the time for fucking about was over. No more aimless stables. No more “one of the favourites” for the Rumble. No more assumptions that he’d make it to the top one day. It was happening NOW. His first World Title win wouldn’t be on one of the weekly shows, or a wee run of the mill PPV with a mad gimmick. It was happening in front of the biggest crowd wrestling pulls on a yearly basis. 70 odd thousand in a stadium. Millions gripped at home or in the pub. All eyes on the moment Drew slayed The Beast. Then it happened. It all changed. Fuck.

When the whole thing started I think most people assumed Wrestlemania would happen whenever it could happen in front of an audience. It was admirable that WWE were giving it a go and doing the weekly shows in the safest environment they possible could at The Performance Centre but it didn’t seem likely that Wrestlemania 36 would still happen.

While I’m not entirely sure why it actually did go ahead, they done an excellent job making it something that didn’t make the current blanket depression we’re all suffering from feel worse. It often made life feel normal at a time when it…well….isnae. It was occasionally gripping at a time where the only thing you can remember gripping you is the fear. The cinematic stuff was proper escapism and certainly in Taker and AJs case, still very much felt like wrestling. Drew’s moment deserved an audience but more than anything else it just deserved to happen.

If they were going ahead with Wrestlemania 36 in front of an audience of Mojo Rawley, Mojo Rawley if he was in the NFL, Michael Cole, Byron Saxton and JBL then having Brock Lesnar beat Drew would have been the worst climax to a Wrestlemania ever. It just wouldn’t make sense. Brock is at his very best when he’s just beat the guy everyone wanted to win and crowd is sickened by it. With no crowd it could only be Drew. People needed the moment. They needed to feel something that wasn’t deflation.

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If you’re Scottish the feeling was nothing but joy when the ref counted three after the last Claymore. The match would have gone a lot longer and would have been a hard hitting work of art if it was in normal circumstances but for the time they had, they managed to tell a story. A guy who was F5’ed out of his loafers in the final throes of the 3MB days managed to take 50 of the fucking things and still kick out.

When Drew re-signed with WWE he returned to a name that had once represented everything he hated about his career. It was attached to unfulfilled potential despite the early success he had with it and he needed to turn those failures into titles. He needed the name to provoke excitement rather than indifference followed by the faint sound of an air guitar. He needed the name to be taken seriously again. Winning the NXT Title was the first step but then an injury robbed him of the best part of a year of this redemption. Lesser folk might have let it get to them.

Waiting all that time to get back to the big time just to see all his momentum derailed must have been crushing. How often have we seen it as wrestling fans over the years when someone who had the world at their feet is never quite the same after an injury when they were heading for the top? Drew wasn’t letting it happen this time. Coming back from an injury is nothing when you’ve come back from the dead. He left a silhouette of that 3MB guy behind him, forgot how to shave, and learned how to boot the utter shite out of folk again.

Brock Lesnar’s role in the whole story should never be understated. Think what you like about Brock, he maybe gives a shit what 4 or 5 people actually employed by WWE think so the idea of him giving a fuck what people on the internet think is hilarious. He comes in for his shift, sells everything thrown at him, leathers folk he doesn’t like, has one of the best talkers of all time do his talking for him, and he goes home to ride Sable as your World Champion.

What he done for Drew at the Royal Rumble was unprecedented. No one who isn’t already a legend in wrestling has got the better of Brock so decisively the first time they properly went toe to toe. It would have been 100% believable if Brock went on to win the whole thing so the fact that Drew crashed the party half way through and booted him clean over the ropes (assist to Richard O’Shea for the wee baw boot beforehand) before staring through him as if he was saying “Ye sure there’s no one worthy of a shot of that title?” was remarkable. A huge moment in an era where not a lot feels so significant.

The whole story from the start was designed to make Drew looked as strong as possible. Brock almost scoffing at the locker room and deciding to win the Royal Rumble when he already had the Title just for the fuck of it was begging for someone to dislodge his jaw. He needed to be put in his place but the fact that the guy who done it had never even had a shot at the WWE Title never mind won it made it special. It was Drew’s arrival at the top table as the expense of one of the most dominant forces to ever step inside a wrestling ring. Whenever Wrestlemania was going to happen the moment was always going to be he is and as much as the official attendance will always be an eerie wee zero, we were all there with the big man in spirit. The World Champion is from Ayr, Scotland and that will never be anything other than a beautiful thing no matter how chaotic the world gets.

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Drew McIntyre’s Road To The Wrestlemania Main Event

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When Drew Mcintyre was released from WWE in 2013 there was no precedent there for a return that could yield any real success. Sure WWE had re-signed guys in the past and used them but never to any kind of meaningful extent. The biggest part of that is probably due to many of these talents not having a wrestling background or any kind of real love for wrestling before they were signed, so once the WWE journey was at its end, so was the wrestling one. Any released talents with a bit of name value will give the indies a wee taste of the exact act they seen on TV for years (rumour has it some will even refuse to lose on said indies because it would send shockwaves round the wrestling stratosphere if Chavo Guerrero loses in Saltcoats) but won’t make any big attempt to deviate from that act. Even guys like Cody Rhodes, who has since gone on to re-invent himself and revolutionise wrestling in many ways, struggled to separate himself from his WWE past when he first started making appearances outwith WWE. It was never the done thing until Drew took approximately an hour to lick his wounds after his release before deciding the only way to respond was to really fucking respond. Attack is the best form of defence as they say, so Drew decided to defend his reputation by attacking the whole wrestling world.

He started in the most natural place possible. Glasgow. In front of a 1,000+ crowd who were all there for ICW pre Drew Galloway. They had been there for many months before as ICW worked towards one of the biggest shows in their history, yet few could have anticipated the change of gears that was to come for the company on that night. As good auld JR would say, business well and truly picked up that night when just a few short days after his WWE release, TAFTKA Drew Mcintyre re-emerged as Drew Galloway and threw petrol on the already roaring ICW fire, taking the company and his own career to another level. Few would have predicted that night that Drew was just 6 years away from Claymore Kicking Brock Lesnar out his boots and out the ring on the way to winning the Royal Rumble, but you could feel something special was happening. It was like the shackles had been taken off and years of frustration melted away in the form of the absolute tanking he gave the NAK that night. Seemingly in aid of his auld pal Jack Jester before he turned on him as well and kicked off one of the most engaging feuds in British Wrestling history. Jack Jester vs Drew Galloway headlining the famous Barrowlands Ballroom for the ICW Title.

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He spent the next 3 years of his career conquering the wrestling world. Putting himself through a schedule that would make WWE talent wince. Putting his physical and mental health in jeopardy to chase this dream all over again. This time Drew wasn’t going to rest on his laurels. He no longer existed as a wrestler with a steady job, frustrated but almost content to wait for a proper opportunity to come along as part of the WWE family. Drew knew that if he was ever going to achieve what he wanted to in wrestling that he was going to have to show them why they were wrong. He was going to have to show them exactly how Drew Galloway makes wrestling companies better. Particularly the ones who show enough faith in him to have them leading the charge as their champion. Every company he touched in that time he made better. ICW done incredible numbers and had some of the most memorable feuds in their history happen while he was there both as champion and in his time without the title, following Grado’s victory over Drew in front of an unprecedented 4,000 strong crowd at the SECC.

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ICW would go on to top that number the following year after pulling 6,000+ in at The Hydro but the feud that took ICW to a 4,000 sell out well in advance of the show was Grado vs Drew. Never has a more effective portrayal of the battle between good and evil been portrayed in a wrestling ring as the towering madman prepared to behead ICWs favourite son only be be thwarted by a herculean effort from Grado that sent the SECC wild when he eventually dethroned the champion a year after he’d taken the title from Jack Jester. Many bigger foes, both in size and reputation, had tried to take the title that Drew had turned into a World Title during his reign but none had the almighty pull of 4,000 fans almost unanimously wanting you to do it. It takes a special kind of villain to make that kind of scenario possible. It takes a special kind of wrestler to turn people shedding tears of joy at the sight of you, to them baying for your blood in just over a year, but that’s what Drew is. Special.

His impact was felt all over the world as he took the Evolve Title soon after his release and was a mainstay there until his re-signing with WWE. Drew sent the video of his ICW return to Mick Foley who was so taken aback by the reaction and subsequent kicking he handed out that he texted Triple H and told him to keep an eye on that big Scottish unit they’d just released. Ironically the same Mick Foley would help Grado end Drew’s ICW Title reign as he took up the role as commissioner for the night, but he has forever been one of Drew’s biggest advocates. The more you look at Drew’s tenure away from WWE the more it looks like a hugely impressive audition tape to be a main guy in WWE. Dealing with an insane amount of travel, making an impact in locations on all corners of the globe, and having a genuine will to study the game he was already better than most at to become one of the very best on the planet, which he undoubtedly is now. Suddenly there was an upside to being released that few had ever seen before. Sure working with WWE is the most secure job you can have as a full time pro wrestler, but there is so much more to the pro wrestling world than one massive company. There’s audiences all over the world looking for talent that makes them stand up and take notice. Drew didn’t take his release as the end of the journey, more of a diversion than was still leading him to where he wanted to be. Something that felt like it was destined for him from the moment he stepped in a wrestling ring. Becoming WWE Champion.

The Greatest Royal Rumble? 

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WWE Champion Brock Lesnar entered the 2020 Royal Rumble at number one, insisting that no one on the roster came close enough to be considered for a title shot on that show. He was booked for a shift anyway and when you’re on that rota, even if yer Brock Lesnar, you better haul your arse in tae work. Brock decided not to fuck about, and if there was to be no title match he’d just go ahead and win that big battle royal everyone goes on about. Perhaps earning himself a night off at Wrestlemania this year when he secured the main event spot against himself. If they insisted on having him compete that night he could pull Michael Cole up from the announce desk for a game of heiders while Brock vs Brock plays out to a time limit draw.

It was all going swimmingly for Brock as he produced a masterful display. Eliminating 14 competitors consecutively and selling absolutely everything all 14 of them were about. Elias had his sing song interrupted by pure unfiltered rage. John Morrison was launched all the way back to the Impact Zone. Keith Lee was given the respect he undoubtedly deserves as Brock looked in genuine awe at the sight of the big man, asking Paul Heyman “Who’s this motherfucker?!” in the first moment that had looked like anything approaching worry since the match kicked off. The heartwarming reunion with Shelton Benjamin made you genuinely believe Brock Lesnar actually has friends for a minute before he tossed him out. Kofi Kingston and Big E made you believe in magic for a minute but he was too smart for all of them. Even when Braun Strowman joined Keith Lee in the ring, they decided fighting each other was a better move than joining forces to get rid of Brock and they got what they deserved. Despite his amazing music that Brock bopped along to like a King of all the Da’s, MVP was never a threat. It all looked a bit too easy until Ricochet appeared.

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Ricochet’s role in launching Drew towards the biggest moment of his career cannot be understated. It was the perfect moment. Hurting from the embarrassment Brock had inflicted on him on RAW the previous week, Ricochet was in no mood to be dumped out quick and had Brock reeling before Brock overpowered him. Only this time he was out of time. The next guy was due in. No time to get Ricochet out before then, deal with him in a minute eh. When the next guy is 6 foot 5, built like a brick shithouse, and absolutely not fucking scared of you, it becomes a whole different ball game. Drew was not having it and if Brock had to be one of the men he took out to get to where he wanted to go, so be it. The assist from Ricochet was just an opening for Drew that he was always looking for anyway. A thunderous boot in the baws from Ricochet stunned Brock, and with him perched just a few yards from the ropes, Drew went for it. Like a predator catching a glimpse of the jugular of its prey, he swooped in in what felt like a millisecond and Claymored the beast over the top rope. 14 consecutive eliminations. Looking like he was going to make good on his promise to chuck all 29 other competitors out. All gone in an instant. All gone because a big guy from Ayr with a degree in seizing the fucking moment decided this was his time.

Here’s the thing about Brock. Brock’s incredible at this. He always has been. Disliking him for having enough name value to be a pro wrestler on his terms is cutting your baws off to spite your dick. Enjoy what he does rather than moaning about what he doesn’t do. He is absolutely capable of phoning it in and producing below par matches but even that stuff has more to interest you than most of what goes on in wrestling. His selling is better than most because he knows selling is about more than making offensive moves look good. Its in every single thing you do opposite an opponent. Getting wide eyed and giving it “A big boy!” when Keith Lee came out is selling the fuck out of Keith Lee’s attributes. Fly kicking John Morrison in the ribs is selling the fuck out of John Morrison deserving a kick to the ribs. Bopping along to MVPs tune is selling the fuck out of MVP having an absolute banger as his tune. Its all selling and his appearance was a masterclass in the art but none of it was more masterful than how he sold Drew eliminating him and that’s why they could potentially have one of the most hotly anticipated WWE Title matches in Wrestlemania history. You could have picked Paul Heyman’s jaw off the floor as he gazed at the big ride that had made short work of his client. Brock managed to tell a story all in facial expressions, as shock turned to anger, anger turned to grudging respect, and grudging respect quickly turned to a need for revenge. Brock Lesnar has had matches with months of build that didn’t feel as significant as this

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The reaction when Drew chucked Roman Reigns over the top to secure his place in history was such a heartening one. It wasn’t the roar of a crowd that was 100% with him and expected his victory from the start. It was a crowd who felt change in the air.

Despite an injury derailing his run as NXT Champion, Drew had done nothing but show the WWE top brass from the moment he was re-signed that he was ready for this. Taking on any and all media stuff the company asked him to do. Producing high quality matches in the ring, although at this point that part its probably the easiest bit for a guy who has wanted this since he was merely 6 foot tall 15 year old. Becoming a constant reminder to the roster that there’s no excuse for not giving this everything. No excuse for becoming complacent and picking up a wage for doing little or nothing. His promo work has been scathing since his return but so it should be. As much as the company is very capable of making questionable decisions at the end of the day its up to the performer to make or break their own career. If you have the audience with you, the opportunities will be there. What each individual does with those opportunities is on them. There’s no doubt Drew was given a big opportunity at Wrestlemania last year when he was put up against the companies golden boy Roman Reigns in his first big match since returning from beating cancer and Drew provided the villain Roman needed that night. He was defeated but just having that match was enough to at least give you the feeling they were considering giving the ball to Drew and the big man was more than ready to Claymore that ball right in to the top corner.

Drrr

RAW the next night told you all you need to know about how people feel about Drew being the man to face Brock at Wrestlemania. He got an ear bursting reaction as he emerged to address the crowd and let them know who he intended to face and wasted little time in telling everyone he is not afraid of Brock Lesnar. Respectful of him and wary of what he can do physically but there is not one bit of fear in the man who must feel the long road to becoming WWE Champion is nearing its end. As he looked to the heavens after his win, no doubt paying regard to his mum who always believed he’d get there and his old mate Lionheart who would have been so proud to see someone from the same wee town in Scotland as him fulfilling his dreams, you could tell he felt the hard work was finally getting him where he wanted to be. There’s only one thing left for the big man to do. Slay the beast. Become the main man WWE sorely need to lead the next generation. If there’s one thing Drew has proved beyond any reasonable doubt is if you are a wrestling company and you put your faith in him, good things happen.

 

Dealing With Suicidal Thoughts

rockbrella

About 4 months ago I made a decision for the wrong reasons. Mistiming my medication and taking two doses close together had led to some unpleasant side effects. Ultimately all it was was one uncomfortable day, but I resented having it at all and stubbornness got the better of me so I decided that day that I was done with anti-depressants. All they’d ever be to me was a sleeve of false promises and night sweats. A sleeve of taking a week and a half to ‘finish’. Side effects that induce more sadness than the huge amount you have to deal with on a daily basis anyway aren’t worth having I decided. So it was time to stop and time to figure out another way. At the time it felt right. Even my doctor bought my convincing speech about how ready I felt and was completely happy for me to go for it. It would be unpleasant initially then the reset button would have been hit and a clean slate existed. After about a year of uncertainty and discomfort. Not knowing if I’d ever made any headway with my mental health stuff ever again, I finally felt like I’d taken control. I was wrong.

Coming off Sertraline and deciding to throw myself head first in to being the best damn writer/retail employee the world had ever seen was never going to work. I done it at a time where neither of those things made me feel like I had worth so when the medication I was taking that helped with that stopped being a factor, my self worth plummeted. The doubts I had about my abilities as a writer and the chances I had of ever making it a full time career became overwhelming. It got to a point where I didn’t want to write at all. In fact, saying I didn’t ‘want’ to is inaccurate. I couldn’t. My brain would offer stiff resistance to any attempt I made and it got to a stage where even trying was such an exhausting prospect I just blocked it off completely.

Anti depressants aren’t addictive in the sense that if you stop taking them, your body doesn’t crave that substance. Instead there’s a period where you’re body I suppose re-adjusts to not having that wee top up of the chemicals your brain is missing. That for me lead to some horrendous stuff. Headaches, extreme light sensitivity, nausea, concentration problems and general erratic thought processes and feelings. Stopping taking them cold turkey may have been a reason it was all so intense but make no mistake about it, for a long long time I felt like utter shite. Worse than I did when I was on the medication. Yet I made the decision to sit tight and stick it out. Once it was finally gone then it was a fresh start. The clean slate I’ve always wanted since I was about 12-13 and I first remember really experiencing depression.

I remember quite clearly the first time I realised something might not be quite right. Having celebrated every Celtic goal I’d seen in the first 13 years of my life (well I can’t remember the first few but I’m sure as I baby I was whipping aff the nappy and swinging it above my tiny heid in celebration, shite fleeing everywhere) with reckless abandon, Celtic scored a late goal to win at Tannadice I believe. At that time I had Glandular Fever and had been bedbound for several weeks. I was just starting to feel a bit more physically normal but mentally I was a bit. I don’t know. Not myself. The goal went in and I felt….nothing. No emotion. Nothing but confusion existed. Why didn’t I care? When was the last time I really cared about anything? It stuck with me and maybe if I addressed it all back then rather than around 10-15 years later things might have been different.

The years rolled on and shite things happened. Things I wasn’t really old enough to understand or process correctly. I didn’t fully realise it then but it was all serving to break me down bit by bit. My ability to cope was non existent and slowly but surely I slipped into a very deep depression.

When I look back on it I struggle to recall of anything that I was really living for. Nothing mattered. The only thing I really wanted is to numb myself to the point that I could get through any given day without intensely hating myself for the duration for it. Even a few hours of relative calm usually induced by tanning a few vodkas represented something resembling a good day. When I really think about my life in my late teens-early 20s it surprises me that suicide wasn’t an issue really. I knew my life wasn’t happy. I knew it wasn’t sustainable. But I never had ‘suicidal thoughts’ and I never understood why. Not feeling suicidal was one of the reasons I never went to the doctors about my issues years ago because depression to me meant that suicide is very much an active concern. As long as I had a sports team to follow or a tv show to get into I had enough reason to keep breathing but truth be told, I wasn’t finding reasons to live, I was finding reasons to continue existing. It wasn’t a life.

When I started attending wrestling shows and eventually started writing things about them that was when the first real upturn in mental health happened for me as an adult. I began to feel ok about myself. Even pretty good at times. Things weren’t perfect but they were so much better. I was pursuing relationships. I was hopeful about the future. For years I had felt lost and like I had no place. I had no role on this earth.

Suddenly I found my voice and as cheesy as it sounds, it was liberating. To feel heard. To feel worthy of being heard. I went to a doctor about my mental health for the first time ever because for the first time ever I felt like I actually had something to lose. That it was vitally important to get help and get some defence mechanisms in place to deal with this shit if it gets bad again. I went on medication and after a few weeks I felt something. A shift. It provided enough calm for me to really tackle what made me think the way I do. Trying to get to the core reasons for me hating myself so sincerely. It really worked for a while. Medication plus 7 weeks of CBT (Cognitive Behavioural Therapy) had me feeling better than I ever had as an adult. At the age of 25, for the first time ever I felt equipped to deal with whatever the world might throw at me.

Life continues to happen and it doesn’t really care about all the progress you’ve made. How proud you are of yourself for doing all those things you’ve been putting off. It doesn’t care if you’re waking up happy every day because of that new relationship or that new job or that new shirt you bought with all the exotic birds on it. Life will still throw stuff into the mix that threatens to fuck with all of that and maybe I just got a bit cocky. Maybe I was so convinced I had all the right defences to deal with whatever that I didn’t even fully realise when something was starting to break me down. My partner had to deal with something terrible and instead of recognising the effect the whole thing had on me, I ignored it. I put my own feelings in a wee box and volleyed it into the clyde.

A few years floated past and without fully realising I was back at my worst. My self confidence had slowly started slipping away and things that brought me nothing but joy became stressful. If I’m really honest with myself for the best past of the past 2 years I’ve been right back at my worst point except this time there was a wee difference. The overall feeling was very similar to how I’d felt for years before but this time there was a wee voice in my head urging me to end my own suffering. A wee voice that never speaks directly to you but serves to radiate this feeling of discomfort with your own existence.

At first I felt guilty about it. After all, years ago when I felt similarly bad, I had very little I could point to as reasons to keep going. Now I had a relationship with someone I love very much, a wee niece and nephew that need an uncle who regularly threatens to disown them if they don’t commit to supporting Celtic, and I also have this. It might not work out the way I want it to and that’s ok, but being a writer gave me that self worth I’d been missing for what felt like my whole life. It showed me I was good at something and more importantly, it made me really believe that was the case.

I was able to accept people’s praise and slowly but surely started to make an impression writing about pro wrestling. To me all of these things were reasons why I shouldn’t have any inkling about taking drastic action yet there I was. Every single day. Waiting for it to pop into my head. It wasn’t a question of if it was going to, it was simply a question of when. The voice grew stronger to the point that on my worst days, that’s all that was really on my mind. Rampant anxiety with lashings of ‘you should really just kill yourself big man…fuck this carry on’.

It never made sense to me so I tried ignoring it. I tried pretending it wasn’t there. I thought coming off the medication I was on at the time would serve as some kind of distraction and that would somehow lead to me snapping out of that way of thinking. To tell the truth I was desperate. I lined up a bunch of interviews as well. Maybe writing could save me. It had before after all. It was the only thing I could think of that made me feel good. Made me feel like I was making progress. None of that was the right thing but I didn’t want to acknowledge the fact that I wanted to die. It was my way of guarding against that feeling. Guarding against really experiencing it. It just didn’t make sense. Why was I quite content in this wee depressive bubble for so many years when I had fuck all, yet now I have lots of reasons to live my brain is telling me to give up and end it. Why now?

I knew it was time to talk. I needed help. After 3 spells of CBT I was finally referred for proper counselling sessions and after a couple of months of not feeling any improvement, I discussed the possibility of going medication again. As convinced as I was before that I was done with it, it was a much better option than the other thing. The other thing meant it would all be over forever and the idea of that consistently sent me into panic. The idea of my niece and nephew growing up without my infinite wisdom. The idea of my mum, dad and sister having to bury the very person that brightened up the joyless existence they were suffering through before I was born. The idea of Emma going to see marvel movies with another dude. A dude who probably talks a bit more than me but I’d imagine had some kinda breath issue. Nothing dealbreaking but every now and the you get a wee waft of something unpleasant and wonder to yourself if this dude has bee brushing his teeth with soor milk. I had to somehow chase those thoughts away.

Recently the guilt I’d been feeling about those thoughts has started to subside. I think I get it. A wee bit anyway. The more I ignored those thoughts, the stronger the voice got. The more I ignored it, the worse the guilt got. When I started facing it head on and started questioning it, that was when it eventually started to quieten slightly. It started to make sense to me why I didn’t think about suicide when I truly had nothing to live for (in my mind anyway) I didn’t want to die because I didn’t give a flying fuck about myself. I didn’t care that I was suffering.

As long as I wasn’t in physical pain, I’d come up with a way to cope with the mental suffering that at least meant I could continue existing. I could quietly live out the rest of my miserable existence, hopefully getting took out by some act of god to save anyone the bother of having to blame themselves for my miserable existence coming to an end. You have to have some kind of self worth to really consider suicide. There has to be some kind of self compassion there to want your own suffering to end. You have to give a fuck about yourself and that was the difference between back then and the way I feel now. Back then I hated myself so much I felt I deserved the suffering.

Now? I quite like myself sometimes. At least for a long time I did. Long enough that when I started to hate myself more and more, I still remembered what it was like to not feel that way. It felt wrong to feel so low as opposed to it just becoming normality. I began to realise thinking about suicide and the voice getting stronger the more I ignored it meant I had to speak about it. It was clearly the only way. I had to give it a voice so I could understand where that voice was coming from and why it was there in the first place. I wouldn’t say I’m out of the woods yet, but the voice has got quieter and the new medication I’m on seems to be settling in quite well. Low on side effects and day to day improvement. There is still a long, long way to go for me, but I believe if I continued to ignore these feelings that it would have at the very least led to some kind of attempt to make it stop.

We have all been touched by suicide in some way. Everyone in Scottish wrestling has had to deal with it head on in recent months after the tragic death of Adrian ‘Lionheart’ Mccallum. It is killing people every single day. Yet some still regard it as a selfish act. Some still regard it as a shameful way to die. Something to be covered up. The only thing that stops it being such a powerful, overbearing force is to normalise speaking about it. Normalise speaking about it as early as possible because no one commits suicide the first time they think about ending their own life. Its a voice that starts off as on occasional whisper and slowly develops into a screaming nightmare. All happening behind the eyes while you attempt to keep your exterior as normal as possible. No one can know. No one can ever know.

If you’re feeling suicidal or even just feeling particularly low, please speak to someone. Anyone. You deserve to feel better. You deserve to live happily.

Numbers to call if you feel the need

Breathing Space – 0800 83 85 87

Samaritans – 116 123

Dealing With Suicidal Thoughts

rockbrella

About 4 months ago I made a decision for the wrong reasons. Mistiming my medication and taking two doses close together had led to some unpleasant side effects. Ultimately all it was was one uncomfortable day, but I resented having it at all and stubbornness got the better of me so I decided that day that I was done with anti-depressants. All they’d ever be to me was a sleeve of false promises and night sweats. A sleeve of taking a week and a half to ‘finish’. Side effects that induce more sadness than the huge amount you have to deal with on a daily basis anyway aren’t worth having I decided. So it was time to stop and time to figure out another way. At the time it felt right. Even my doctor bought my convincing speech about how ready I felt and was completely happy for me to go for it. It would be unpleasant initially then the reset button would have been hit and a clean slate existed. After about a year of uncertainty and discomfort. Not knowing if I’d ever made any headway with my mental health stuff ever again, I finally felt like I’d taken control. I was wrong.

Coming off Sertraline and deciding to throw myself head first in to being the best damn writer/retail employee the world had ever seen was never going to work. I done it at a time where neither of those things made me feel like I had worth so when the medication I was taking that helped with that stopped being a factor, my self worth plummeted. The doubts I had about my abilities as a writer and the chances I had of ever making it a full time career became overwhelming. It got to a point where I didn’t want to write at all. In fact, saying I didn’t ‘want’ to is inaccurate. I couldn’t. My brain would offer stiff resistance to any attempt I made and it got to a stage where even trying was such an exhausting prospect I just blocked it off completely.

Anti depressants aren’t addictive in the sense that if you stop taking them, your body doesn’t crave that substance. Instead there’s a period where you’re body I suppose re-adjusts to not having that wee top up of the chemicals your brain is missing. That for me lead to some horrendous stuff. Headaches, extreme light sensitivity, nausea, concentration problems and general erratic thought processes and feelings. Stopping taking them cold turkey may have been a reason it was all so intense but make no mistake about it, for a long long time I felt like utter shite. Worse than I did when I was on the medication. Yet I made the decision to sit tight and stick it out. Once it was finally gone then it was a fresh start. The clean slate I’ve always wanted since I was about 12-13 and I first remember really experiencing depression. I remember quite clearly the first time I realised something might not be quite right. Having celebrated every Celtic goal I’d seen in the first 13 years of my life (well I can’t remember the first few but I’m sure as I baby I was whipping aff the nappy and swinging it above my tiny heid in celebration, shite fleeing everywhere) with reckless abandon, Celtic scored a late goal to win at Tannadice I believe. At that time I had Glandular Fever and had been bedbound for several weeks. I was just starting to feel a bit more physically normal but mentally I was a bit. I don’t know. Not myself. The goal went in and I felt….nothing. No emotion. Nothing but confusion existed. Why didn’t I care? When was the last time I really cared about anything? It stuck with me and maybe if I addressed it all back then rather than around 10-15 years later things might have been different.

The years rolled on and shite things happened. Things I wasn’t really old enough to understand or process correctly. I didn’t fully realise it then but it was all serving to break me down bit by bit. My ability to cope was non existent and slowly but surely I slipped into a very deep depression. When I look back on it I struggle to recall of anything that I was really living for. Nothing mattered. The only thing I really wanted is to numb myself to the point that I could get through any given day without intensely hating myself for the duration for it. Even a few hours of relative calm usually induced by tanning a few vodkas represented something resembling a good day. When I really think about my life in my late teens-early 20s it surprises me that suicide wasn’t an issue really. I knew my life wasn’t happy. I knew it wasn’t sustainable. But I never had ‘suicidal thoughts’ and I never understood why. Not feeling suicidal was one of the reasons I never went to the doctors about my issues years ago because depression to me meant that suicide is very much an active concern. As long as I had a sports team to follow or a tv show to get into I had enough reason to keep breathing but truth be told, I wasn’t finding reasons to live, I was finding reasons to continue existing. It wasn’t a life.

When I started attending wrestling shows and eventually started writing things about them that was when the first real upturn in mental health happened for me as an adult. I began to feel ok about myself. Even pretty good at times. Things weren’t perfect but they were so much better. I was pursuing relationships. I was hopeful about the future. For years I had felt lost and like I had no place. I had no role on this earth. Suddenly I found my voice and as cheesy as it sounds, it was liberating. To feel heard. To feel worthy of being heard. I went to a doctor about my mental health for the first time ever because for the first time ever I felt like I actually had something to lose. That it was vitally important to get help and get some defence mechanisms in place to deal with this shit if it gets bad again. I went on medication and after a few weeks I felt something. A shift. It provided enough calm for me to really tackle what made me think the way I do. Trying to get to the core reasons for me hating myself so sincerely. It really worked for a while. Medication plus 7 weeks of CBT (Cognitive Behavioural Therapy) had me feeling better than I ever had as an adult. At the age of 25, for the first time ever I felt equipped to deal with whatever the world might throw at me.

Life continues to happen and it doesn’t really care about all the progress you’ve made. How proud you are of yourself for doing all those things you’ve been putting off. It doesn’t care if you’re waking up happy every day because of that new relationship or that new job or that new shirt you bought with all the exotic birds on it. Life will still throw stuff into the mix that threatens to fuck with all of that and maybe I just got a bit cocky. Maybe I was so convinced I had all the right defences to deal with whatever that I didn’t even fully realise when something was starting to break me down. My partner had to deal with something terrible and instead of recognising the effect the whole thing had on me, I ignored it. I put my own feelings in a wee box and volleyed it into the clyde. A few years floated past and without fully realising I was back at my worst. My self confidence had slowly started slipping away and things that brought me nothing but joy became stressful. If I’m really honest with myself for the best past of the past 2 years I’ve been right back at my worst point except this time there was a wee difference. The overall feeling was very similar to how I’d felt for years before but this time there was a wee voice in my head urging me to end my own suffering. A wee voice that never speaks directly to you but serves to radiate this feeling of discomfort with your own existence.

At first I felt guilty about it. After all, years ago when I felt similarly bad, I had very little I could point to as reasons to keep going. Now I had a relationship with someone I love very much, a wee niece and nephew that need an uncle who regularly threatens to disown them if they don’t commit to supporting Celtic, and I also have this. It might not work out the way I want it to and that’s ok, but being a writer gave me that self worth I’d been missing for what felt like my whole life. It showed me I was good at something and more importantly, it made me really believe that was the case. I was able to accept people’s praise and slowly but surely started to make an impression writing about pro wrestling. To me all of these things were reasons why I shouldn’t have any inkling about taking drastic action yet there I was. Every single day. Waiting for it to pop into my head. It wasn’t a question of if it was going to, it was simply a question of when. The voice grew stronger to the point that on my worst days, that’s all that was really on my mind. Rampant anxiety with lashings of ‘you should really just kill yourself big man…fuck this carry on’.

It never made sense to me so I tried ignoring it. I tried pretending it wasn’t there. I thought coming off the medication I was on at the time would serve as some kind of distraction and that would somehow lead to me snapping out of that way of thinking. To tell the truth I was desperate. I lined up a bunch of interviews as well. Maybe writing could save me. It had before after all. It was the only thing I could think of that made me feel good. Made me feel like I was making progress. None of that was the right thing but I didn’t want to acknowledge the fact that I wanted to die. It was my way of guarding against that feeling. Guarding against really experiencing it. It just didn’t make sense. Why was I quite content in this wee depressive bubble for so many years when I had fuck all, yet now I have lots of reasons to live my brain is telling me to give up and end it. Why now?

I knew it was time to talk. I needed help. After 3 spells of CBT I was finally referred for proper counselling sessions and after a couple of months of not feeling any improvement, I discussed the possibility of going medication again. As convinced as I was before that I was done with it, it was a much better option than the other thing. The other thing meant it would all be over forever and the idea of that consistently sent me into panic. The idea of my niece and nephew growing up without my infinite wisdom. The idea of my mum, dad and sister having to bury the very person that brightened up the joyless existence they were suffering through before I was born. The idea of Emma going to see marvel movies with another dude. A dude who probably talks a bit more than me but I’d imagine had some kinda breath issue. Nothing dealbreaking but every now and the you get a wee waft of something unpleasant and wonder to yourself if this dude has bee brushing his teeth with soor milk. I had to somehow chase those thoughts away.

Recently the guilt I’d been feeling about those thoughts has started to subside. I think I get it. A wee bit anyway. The more I ignored those thoughts, the stronger the voice got. The more I ignored it, the worse the guilt got. When I started facing it head on and started questioning it, that was when it eventually started to quieten slightly. It started to make sense to me why I didn’t think about suicide when I truly had nothing to live for (in my mind anyway) I didn’t want to die because I didn’t give a flying fuck about myself. I didn’t care that I was suffering. As long as I wasn’t in physical pain, I’d come up with a way to cope with the mental suffering that at least meant I could continue existing. I could quietly live out the rest of my miserable existence, hopefully getting took out by some act of god to save anyone the bother of having to blame themselves for my miserable existence coming to an end. You have to have some kind of self worth to really consider suicide. There has to be some kind of self compassion there to want your own suffering to end. You have to give a fuck about yourself and that was the difference between back then and the way I feel now. Back then I hated myself so much I felt I deserved the suffering.

Now? I quite like myself sometimes. At least for a long time I did. Long enough that when I started to hate myself more and more, I still remembered what it was like to not feel that way. It felt wrong to feel so low as opposed to it just becoming normality. I began to realise thinking about suicide and the voice getting stronger the more I ignored it meant I had to speak about it. It was clearly the only way. I had to give it a voice so I could understand where that voice was coming from and why it was there in the first place. I wouldn’t say I’m out of the woods yet, but the voice has got quieter and the new medication I’m on seems to be settling in quite well. Low on side effects and day to day improvement. There is still a long, long way to go for me, but I believe if I continued to ignore these feelings that it would have at the very least led to some kind of attempt to make it stop.

We have all been touched by suicide in some way. Everyone in Scottish wrestling has had to deal with it head on in recent months after the tragic death of Adrian ‘Lionheart’ Mccallum. It is killing people every single day. Yet some still regard it as a selfish act. Some still regard it as a shameful way to die. Something to be covered up. The only thing that stops it being such a powerful, overbearing force is to normalise speaking about it. Normalise speaking about it as early as possible because no one commits suicide the first time they think about ending their own life. Its a voice that starts off as on occasional whisper and slowly develops into a screaming nightmare. All happening behind the eyes while you attempt to keep your exterior as normal as possible. No one can know. No one can ever know.

If you’re feeling suicidal or even just feeling particularly low, please speak to someone. Anyone. You deserve to feel better. You deserve to live happily.

Numbers to call if you feel the need

Breathing Space – 0800 83 85 87

Samaritans – 116 123