The Importance Of Accountability


This will be the last thing I put on the internet for a while. At least in article form. I hope it’s informative at least. It will not make you like me and in fact if you went in to this liking me you might not after. But that’s cool.

From the ages 13-24ish I was suicidal. In deep denial about it but suicidal. I did not give a shit about living for myself. Only thing that kept me alive between 18-24 was the dog. Before that I really didn’t know suicide was a proper option. As weird as that sounds. I thought that option belonged to an upper echelon of sadness that I wasn’t qualified to reach. Anyway. That is not hugely important it’s just a scene setter I guess. 

I’m not going to drone on about bipolar but I do have it and have had it since I was around 17-18. I’ve known since I was 23-24 and went from a very depressed and unproductive man to someone using the self esteem fuel from a good twitter response to my early articles to fuckin…write 45 articles a day. It felt like that anyway. It just would not stop. Yet I never chased a diagnosis for years nor did I ever tell any therapist of manic spells or any of that. Treat me for depression and fix it so I can be normal please.

No matter what I done I was still very lonely. Every person who’s ever got close to me I’m convinced they are deluded and will one day see what a prick I truly am. The good twitter feedback gave me an attachment to the place I still can’t get rid of. It gave me my best friend and so many others who are vital in my life. It gave me my partner of nearly 6 years. It gave me too much for me to know when to leave it alone.

I have to write about this a bit. Accountability is important. I emotionally abused that partner during this manic cycle. I was callous and hurtful. I refused to listen and continued being an absolute pest of a person. Still am. As much as I don’t identify with my behaviour as a stable person I am well aware it was all me. This is not an attempt at gaining sympathy or forgiveness. It’s an attempt at owning it without excuses. 

The mental health shit was horrible but she was trying to fucking hard to get me the help I needed and I done nothing but resist that help and betray her. I regret it and will always love her but I am fully aware of why that will never be reciprocated again and I can do nothing but respect that. Now. I was so deluded for so long I assumed it would all be fine and continued to fuck up in an attempt to make it fine when in reality. It never really could be again. I just needed to shut the fuck up. Section me and remove all stimulus so I don’t wreck the gaff. By gaff I mean life.

It was realising I wanted to die again when I was so settled in that relationship that really sent me into overdrive. Why? Not now please. I have so many reasons to live. Nothing really entered my mind when I was destroying it all so any attempt to excuse it or come up with reasons has been cowardly. A way of finding rhyme or reason for actions that didn’t have any. They were designed to hurt. 

I done the same to my wee mum. The only one who has always tried to help. The only one who saw the depression probably before even I did. I said horrible heinous things to her. There is no excuse for that either. I left a pile of victims and proceeded to blame them for everything while I wandered about Bearsden asking for sympathy cause I was homeless due to my own actions. My mother would never see me in that situation unless I’d really tore her to shreds and by god did I do that. I am so ashamed of it but I done it and it was no ones fault but mine.

That’s what accountability is but. I’ve been playing at it man. Admitting my shit and padding it out with reasons. Reasons in this context are still excuses. I was still doing that shit as recently as yesterday after my latest fuck up which hurt more folk. This is why but. This person said a bad thing first. Arsehole behaviour.

This won’t be an easy bit to write and again not an excuse. Over this period of madness a deeply buried memory resurfaced. It’s my story to tell. My pain to own. Too often I’ve taken the pain of others and decided to shoulder it. It’s wrong and not helpful. So is divulging that information to anyone else. I done all that bad shit. Taking my hurt out on people who done fuck all but try to help me. 

I was sexually assaulted when I was 8 years of age. It has also happened twice as an adult but neither of those times could be a root cause about me being weird about being touched since I was wee. None of it explains why I immediately piled weight on and isolated myself even back then. It happened and it’s okay. I am trusting the process right now and waiting patiently for counselling. I am also considering going back on medication because my moods and actions are still not in control at all. I like how creative being off everything makes me but loathe every other aspect of it. 

This is where I hope this is informative I guess. You can stop all this. There were stages where I could have halted it. I should have been sectioned and should have gone willingly. It would have fast tracked a lot of the stuff I’m waiting on right now such as proper counselling. Please listen if the people closest to you see you falling apart and are so concerned they feel you need serious help. I was so delusional I felt invincible for a while yet at the same time was convinced I’d die any day. It was scary as fuck. Admitting I’m truly scared has always been an issue for me though. It gets buried deep and out comes a huge arsehole. 

For so much of my life I have been nothing like the guy I wrote about above. Yet it was still somehow all me. For most of it I have been a very caring, kind and loving person. Supportive to a fault. Not bigging myself up too much because I feel anything but that guy right now but it is true. I am a good person at the core and someone who has the ability to be a positive influence on peoples lives. Basically I’m heavy nice right. Good to others. Yet still I done all this bad shit and blamed it on the fuckin pandemic or whatever. I won’t be that type of arsehole anymore. I’m not hiding from it.

Writing has always been the outlet but like with everything else in my life, I cared about it too much. It hasn’t been fun in so long because I put massive amounts of pressure on myself and care so much about what people think it colours every piece l do. This is the least I’ve cared about how something is received in a long time. It’s the truth and as honestly as I’ve written in a long time. There’s a bit of peace in that.

Guess that’s what I’m looking for. Peace. Mental clarity. A day where I don’t have a panic attack. All that shit stopped during the Bearsden spell and that’s because reality didn’t exist. I was in survival mode and living off adrenaline,

Nicotine and biscuits. On reflection I’d now call that period the worst of my life and without two of my dearest pals I would not have survived it. Every day I wanted to die but pretended I didn’t. They pulled me back from the brink constantly without even noticing. I didn’t deserve it but their loyalty and support kept me on this earth.

Right now I do not want to die. I am also an uncle again to the two lights of my life. Angels who will never see hardship if I have anything to do with it. Those two changed my whole outlook on life. I needed to be better for them so they have me forever. I needed to grow up and have a house of my own where I could babysit them. Be a real difference and not an occasional visitor. Be their uncle. 

I’m a brother again as well. That’s not something i thought would happen either and it’s all early days but my family are there for me again. They always were. I was just too off my fuckin rocker to see it. Somehow I’m accepted as a son again too but I see and understand the hurt my parents still carry.

It’s going to be really hard moving on. Necessary but so hard. I didn’t mean any of it and wish so much that I could go back and change it all but I can’t. I was a horrible partner for a small period of a long relationship but ANY period of doing what I done is too long. Years of soundness only matters if you keep that shit up. I was a horrible ungrateful son. Venom ridden. A terrible brother. An absent uncle. A lying shit of a friend. A bad bastard basically.

I’m not now. It is over. The mania is gone. Reality is here. It is time to leave it all in the past but I felt writing this was necessary. None of the other articles I’ve wrote about this have been anything like the truth. I’ve danced around it so much my feet are fucked. It was time to step in the shit. 

I’m getting the help I need to prevent this happening again but all of it is part of me now and denying that is not healthy. I’m here to own it. I’m sorry. 

The Bipolar Diaries – Part One – Mans first mania

Now I’m almost out of the manic cycle I was in I am able to make sense of a lot of things I never could before. If I’m honest with myself I first read up on bipolar disorder when I was around 19-20 and fuckin. Shat myself. It was too familiar. Always assumed people with bipolar were locked up and that assumption seems fairer now when we’re not even 3 months away from a time where I absolutely should have been. I lost my shit mate. Some people thought I was bonkers. But I just thought I was free.

Anyway this is not going to be another long and arduous thing about how shite my life’s been lately. I’m sure that’s been covered adequately. This is more about how scary serious mental illnesses are.

article I wrote about Mauro Ranallo where I fully realised I suffer from the same illness

In the space of three months I went from a sad man with some stability to a lunatic living in a homeless unit. I still live in a homeless unit like but the lunatic side is long gone. Same guy I always was just a bit lighter and now less hairy. Getting off topic again here guys. Bipolar disorder aye. It is genuinely as if there’s two brains. One deals with logic and little else. For 99% of my existence that brain has won. I avoided anything that didnt make sense to me and over the years that’s led me to avoid far too much. The other brain is where the creativity lives. The reckless streak. The pain. That brain is active all the time but working at maybe 15% capacity mostly. Enough to keep ye interesting. 

When mania hits I’d say that side goes from working at 15% capacity to fuckin full steam ahead 110% madness. It sneaks up on you too. Thinking it’s under control to an extent and a week later you’re literally sleeping in a wrestling school because no one will have you and you’ve shoved everyone close to you away so forcefully they’re floating doon the Clyde on a wee dingy boat wondering what the fuck happened.

Anyway the first time I was manic that I can recall was when I was about 18-19. I was gambling online anyway. Nae job. Chasing a wee thrill and thinking if I got the right accumulator up I widnae need a job. Gambling habit quickly became gambling addiction. Lies and lies about it. Where did yer money go this week Martin? 

Spent it mate. Next question. Don’t ask why yer wee change dish is lighter either. The dug ate all yer 50 pences.

Never had a fuckin scooby this was the first manic spell until I’ve thought back. I also briefly tried online dating during this spell when I was 18 and by that I mean I had PlentyOfFish for one week. Messaged one lassie a shite joke and immediately closed the account cause she patched it. I’ve always been really good at knowing when burds like me. You could call it my superpower (but you definitely shouldn’t). Took about 5 year after that to try again cause my man. I was a bit too busy being sad all the time to be mackin hoes.

Point is. I recognised then something was badly wrong with me. If I had got the right help I might not be where I am today but all these wee hardships have shaped me in to a better man. A man who’s starting to believe he’s decent after so many years of just not seeing it. At all. I never saw what anyone saw in me. Even my partner of nearly 6 years. I assumed every passing year was a fluke. She’ll see one day yer fuck all mate. The beard masks the misery that is your withered coupon. Might as well blow it apart. How could anyone stay with a person who is. Well. You. 

There have been maybe 6 manic periods in my life in the last 13 or so years and I do learn from each one. I also don’t mind that ratio considering I’d only had one very mild manic episode in 6 year before this lockdown induced pull ridden madness took over. The first one taught me gambling is a serious issue for me and I should not do that if I want to stay mentally healthy. It taught me that I hate lying to loved ones yet I will continue to do it when I’m manic. When I did have a burd during the most recent manic spell I tried to counteract this need to lie by telling every truth that popped into my head. Yet I was still fuckin lying at the same time. Honestly it’s like two brains wae boxing gloves on steady boxing each other. Fuckin rotten

Mania is essentially arrogance mixed with bravado mixed with constant soul sucking guilt. All of these things create an adrenaline bubble that carries you, yer wee heid and yer wee tired body all the way to the fucking moon. 

Doing this shit pill free right now. It’s a laugh. If by ‘a laugh’ you really mean ‘throw several busses on top of me and jump up and down on them till I’m flatter than the hoose bitter’

Despite the difficulties I’m genuinely doing as well as i possibly can be at the moment. For every day day there’s 5 good ones. I know how to cope with this better than I ever did and writing this stuff down is important. It’s a form of therapy for me that I ignored for too long

This will be part of a wee bipolar series btw. I have other manic spells I can remember and wee other bits and pieces. Cheers. God bless x

That Time I Went Mental – A Brief Diary


Connie gave me the idea to write down the different stages of this spell of madness in a diary type thing but my mind is extremely clear so I’m just gonna bundle it all in to one big nightmare of a thing and hope it makes sense. Connies ma best pal and managed to help pull me through this somehow. So cheers. Ya goon.

this is me and my gran just cause

Basically i spent most of the first two months of, for the lack of a better term, being quite homeless, as a mad marauding writer. Convinced that all this hardship would make me fuckin. I dunno. Who’s a good writer? We’ll say Russell Brand. I was awrite wae just fuckin suffering for weeks because the nick I was in was not a spectator sport. I counted and at the very end of my mad spell I was taking 9 different medications. 5 prescribed and 4 I was bumping on the reg. This is how I’ve always dealt with the mania that I didn’t fuckin know was mania until 4 months ago. Imagine realising so much shite that’s happened in yer life that made ye think ye were a terrible person was literally because of an undiagnosed mental illness? That shit is fuckin scary. I stopped taking everything immediately bar venlafaxine and even that went after 3 months. It had to happen. I was not myself and the only way to get back there was to be in my right mind. Stop numbing it and feel it.

Not only did I remember my whole fuckin past, I even started remembering wee details of the shit I done when I proper melted the fuck down and I won’t lie to ye. I was a lunatic. How the fuck I interviewed Grado for an hour and a half escapes me. I’m embarrassed to even ask the poor man for round 2 in case he thinks he’s gettin invited to a ket den.

Point is. I am embarrassed every single day by these actions and I had to write something that made sense in order to let that go. I’ve been lucid for 7-8 weeks but memory is a fucked up thing and I was entirely blocking large chunks of the shit I said and done. The misguided attempts to make situations better than continually made them worse. It’s hard to shut the fuck up when you experience mania. I’m trying man. Anyway here’s another 4000 words 

(Jkz)

In the space of 3 months I went from someone in a stable job, stable hoose, stable relationship, stable enough mental health to a guy who had. None of that. It’s rebuilding bit by bit but it’s still far too fuckin slow for me. Forgive me now. I’m okay and so fuckin sorry.

It disnae work like that bro. People need to get there when they get there. I should have been sectioned without question, but I was too manic to see it. So my brain decided to go a mad journey instead and I found the trauma where a lot of my stuff comes from. A deep childhood demon re emerged and it’s sound now cause I’m big enough and sexy enough to slay it. 

It’s almost like I was on pause. There’s this whole patch of life that seemed to bring a fresh disaster but I’m still here. That’s really the main thing for me. I decided I wanted to keep being alive and I most certainly am. Skint as fuck. But mostly awrite.

It’s lonely n that. I’ve never lived alone or been entirely alone for long periods. It’s different from shutting yersell in a room where other people are constantly in the house. But I needed it to heal. I needed to be sober and alone to realise why I was so irreparably fucked. 

It’s hard when it all unpauses cause everything and everyone I loved still matter to me the same amount. It’s just that they don’t see me how they did. Finding people’s boundaries with that is still a struggle. People are exhausted by constant sorries. Concise and meaningful mean more. 

Don’t let this shit win if any of this is familiar to you. I am alive and healthy in the mind and body. Just stressed oot my nut and sad in spells. For numerous reasons but this isnae really about me. It’s a story that should be taken as a cautionary tale. If the people closest to ye think ye need serious help. They are probably right.

I said and done heinous shit. Not my character at all. I feel now I did that because a combination of substances made me see nothing but death. That was all that was left for me. To die. So I pushed everyone who meant anything to me away. I was subject to some form of abuse every day in Bearsden. I wasn’t safe anywhere bar big Andys and he’s a saint. He let me shake in his living room as all they pills left my system and I’ll never not owe him for that. 

I’ve been convinced my mental health was gonnae kill me for years. Probably up until 2013 when I finally got help. Then it came back 2 years ago. Imagine dealing wae that when yer happy and in love. Looking at that person and still knowing something inside you was corrupt and ye might need to leave them. Horrific. It’s selfish to keep being with someone when ye feel so awful about yersell but love means ye help when the person needs that help.

In the span of about a week I fucked up more than I’d done in the previous 31 year of my life. Somehow I’m still hopeful. I’m a son again, a brother again (brother brother), an uncle again, a fuckin writer again sometimes. It’s getting there but PTSD is a bitch. I didnae get it till i had it but it’s like yer nerves are on fuckin fire and the touch of literally anyone is taken as an enemy attack. It’s dire. 

All that deep seeded stuff will need therapy. I get that. I might need some form of medication if the anxiety and shakes from the PTSD doesn’t stop but I don’t want to die anymore. I believe writing will be my job when I’m settled and I’m more than happy to make dolla bills doing something else until it happens. The key is to never give up. I gave up on writing a long time ago I was just too much of an addict to fully let it go and now it’s the only addiction I want any part of.

Look out for the book. Dropping whenever I get a laptop charger. Sorry for being such an exhausting cunt but I’m sound now. Mostly x

The Lockdown Breakdown Part 2 (Aka the last ever EVER article on snapmerr nex dot com)

Lockdown Breakdown Pt 2 (Or the last ever EVER article on Snapnexx dot com

Apparently I’m not done talking.

If you know me at all, you’ll know that for the past 6 weeks. I’ve not stopped talking.

At all

Even when the pills left, I was still talking a lot

Even when the booze left, I was still talking a lot

Even when all those things stopped interacting. I was still talking too much. Less. But too much

Oversharing constantly because I was so used to being to spill my thoughts and feelings at will with mr mrs. Then in one day I blew apart all my close relationships bar one and honestly. I don’t have a fuckin clue how that poor lassie has put up with me. I think if I didnt show improvement pretty quick she would have been done as well. She was fuming and in an 8 year friendship had never quite seen this rotten wee side of me.

She kept the faith cause I hadn’t directly hurt her and I will never get over that. I earned that with her. Took me a while to accept that I had earned that but it was the start of me getting on a path to believing im not the worst cunt on planet earth.

When you aren’t what I’d regard as a “fuck up” its real hard to accept even a brief flirtation with that. But i was. I was a fuckup and I fucked up and now I need to shut the fuck up but a few more paragraphs of shame first

Bipolar disorder is very……I’ve know I have since I was about 16 in all honesty. I haven’t slept consistently without drugs since then. When I’m as sober as I am all the fuckin time now. This is what I remember it being like. 3 or 4 days of good sleep sometimes, followed by 5 or 6 with 3 hours a night, then a big sleep and so on and so forth. The only pattern you’ll see there is “erratic as fuck”

Weirdly its the only part left of me that is that erratic. I’m in a lot of pain emotionally. But I’m channelling around 80% of it creatively. I’ve written a book and know what mate, no one will ever hear it but I’ve written and performed music. About 10 songs. If anything is given me some sort of hope that I could write lyrics for others even if doing music isn’t my personal thing. I love hip-hop and I love wordsmith’s who unashamedly damage people with linguistics.

“Bipolar but im focussed in both minds” – Shogun

That’s a big part of the healing process. Allowing others being creative as fuck to stimulate you. Mauro Ranallo calls his bipolar disorder a superpower because the level of sheer obsession he had with his craft was unhealthy but it made him outstanding. It made him a source of impassioned knowledge in a business full of absolute wrong uns, idiots and creeps. I can relate to that in a sense that Mauro just wants to go, do his job, and be on his own after. When your bipolar and on a major comedown, all other people can do is get you into trouble.

I’m rambling but im writing this with a breeze hitting my big stupit forehead outside Drumry station. I write everywhere now. Its a way of leaving wee pieces of myself all over Glesga and when I’m ready I’ll go back to these places and pick up all these wee broken pieces and make some kind of mad mental jigsaw out of them. For now? They can stay where they are

I didn’t want to talk about the assault. I still don’t as I realise how triggering that can be. Its not for a public forum anyway but a lot of my worst actions were indications that I was gonnae be a cheating bastard and well. I physically cant do that anyway. I couldnt even do with my partner of nearly 6 years right now. I can barely look at the fucking thing if im honest. Boggin.

I was a liar. I am a fuckin arrogant wanker when I’m proper manic. Its subtle but day on day if its really fuckin bad I lose sight of myself and just fuckin lie. I’ve done it since I was 15 stealing my Da’s painkillers cause I knew something was wrong with me and they helped but I had no idea what. I’ve lied about stealing pills for years because its the only thing I’ve ever stole from anyone who matters. (stole a few hearts in ma time but eh?!)

When yer manic. It all stops mattering. Consequences dont exist. Its only the truth baby. Truth or consequences? Or is it both. Its usually both eh. One comes with the other.

I’m no a liar anymore. I don’t want to be ever again. There are various stages you can stop this behaviour before it gets really out of control. I saw all the signs and ignored them. Got to be strong Marty boy. She needs ye. Yer auld man needs ye. Yer maws holding the whole team up somehow. Help them all. Be stronger you fuckin weak cunt.

But my shoulders buckled. And I left.

I made things worse but I hope keeping physical distance will count in my favour soon.

See to be honest mate. If you had a lassie like I did for 5 and a half year. Try no emailing her 500 times a day saying sorry.

I’ve stopped now. They all know I’m sorry.

I’m really. Really. Sorry.

But I’m me again. A better me than I was. I’ll be a me with a gaff, a me with new close pals, a me with a job and an active pursuit in making writing my job.

I will achieve all these things. Alone.

Then I’m open to whatever comes. I hope its a nice gaff party in a few weeks time and inviting people I miss a fuckin lot. Wid obv be up tae them but a date, time and place would exist and if I see some familar faces. Great.

Until then.

Snapnexx out

Thanks for enjoying the content over the years. xx

Martin John Smith (im gaun full name as ma author name) signing the fuck off. Hopefully to sleep for 40 hours but I somehow doubt it mate

The Lockdown Breakdown (Or How Realising I Was Bipolar Probably Saved My Life)

First and foremost. I have bipolar disorder. I was instantly discharged because of the handle I managed to get on it rather quickly. Discharged minutes after I was told I have this. Told other meds would be considered if another spell happened but they were fairly happy to discharge me. Fuck knows how a manic spell where I managed to ruin everything doesn’t quite count as one that means you need more meds but im so glad I didn’t get them. I’m off everything and haven’t had this clarity of thought in a few years. Everyone in the room kinda knew it had really been this all along. I basically gave my life story to a doctor and she recognised it as bipolar as fuck. Yet there I was. Calmly telling her how I was actually awrite despite the wreckage that was my life.

This isn’t a short story loosely based on the events of the past 4 weeks. It is the events of the past 4 weeks. Or at least as accurate a description I could possibly lend to the act of chucking a grenade into the middle of your life and watching it explode. Then laughing right in the face of the wreckage and vanishing.

It was me who done this you see. The reason I’m writing this in Kelvingrove Park before I go to my third different hotel in a week because I don’t feel safe in my homeless digs. I done it all. Being at least a few stages removed from being properly manic has made me see. It was all me. Any mistakes others made were directly related to me losing my fucking mind. I hold no grudges over anyone I just fucking. Miss my people.

I also managed to ruin a 5 and a half year happy relationship. Yes neither of us were happy when it ended. My fault again there (A pattern will begin to emerge here guys) but we were happy. I cherished her until I didn’t. For me trust has always been the biggest thing and we always had it, then I started lying and felt her trust for me go away. I done a plethora of idiotic, destructive things that have clearly left bruises. I accept that. I accept there’s a healing process there and it will be a while before she can have me around at all. Even if its not. What it was. I don’t spend 5 year with folk without loving them that’s for sure. I don’t think about people every day unless I love them. I’m sure the love is still reciprocated, but I was a cunt and I’m being treated as such. Fair.

Wanted to kinda get the personal shit out the way before I really go in to the bipolar stuff. I could spend all day rattling on about how much I miss my people, but I’m sure if anyone follows me on twitter you’ll be fucking sick hearing about it by now. If anyone hasn’t though, just know. I miss ma fuckin dug mate.

I’m going to try and explain the logic behind me really losing the plot. Bear in mind this 6-7 week spell of nonsense was my first proper manic spell in 6 years. I had some brief flirtations but she always brought me back. Kept me grounded.

Nothing could keep me grounded this time. Every single thing that could go wrong did. Thats how it felt anyway. For context, I decided to isolate due to asthma when Corona really kicked in. I got really weird about anyone being anywhere and was adamant rules were to be followed to the letter. Not a bad thing, but when you then turn around, lost the plot, and never stay in one place for longer than 3 days, ye could imagine how that might negatively impact the people who were affected by my militant attitude towards it when it started eh? I lost my job due to isolating as well and that when it really became time to just. I dunno. Walk about all the fuckin time and buy cakes outta shops.

I’m also 31 and never smoked fags regularly till 2 months ago. Of course I was losing my mind. Who starts smoking in their 30s unless they are firmly in the grips of a breakdown?

I’m a liar when im proper manic. Its hard to admit because in general that is not me. Lies give me fuckin knots in my belly. I don’t identify with being a liar but when I’m manic and on certain meds? Second nature. Well second nature would imply I ever had any talent for it. I don’t

I lie terribly because I have a horrible all consuming conscience that really, deep deep down, always kinda wants caught. I was stealing painkillers from both my partner and father and firing that on top of a cocktail of drugs to try and sort my brain out I was a fuckin chattering looney. Would not shut the fuck up.

As much as I got some control over the proper wanting to die self loathing side very fuckin quickly when I left my house, that’s just because I had fuck all mate. The thought of dying barely matters when you look at your life and realise…shit….here it is big man. This is what ye wanted eh? Truly on your own. No even the wee dug fs. She probably still likes me but. There’s always a positive in any dire situation

My positive? I can do this. I didn’t even think me plus a partner could contirbute to me getting a place. That’s how much I’ve always looked down on myself and my propsects in life. I don’t see the next step. Only the really sticky step I’ve been on for what feels like forever. Convinced someone somewhere is gonnae see the talent and publish something I write one day. I’ve written on a semi professional basis since I was 24 now. Maybe 23. Its earned me the grand total of about a quarter of what I’d make a year working in a corner shop. Yet something in me still believes. This will take me somewhere.

Its took me here. I’m still sitting on the same bench in Kelvingrove Park I was when I started tapping away. To tell the gods honest truth I’ve never felt more tired which is how I know beyond dispute that it really is finally over. A couple of days back all of this plus abother 10,000 words would have come out and none of it would have rang true. Know what really fuckin bugged me though? She’s no heard my voice in 4 weeks right. YET wis able to tell me I wasn’t stable yet via email. Like.

How dare she be so right?

I’m finishing this outside The Kelvingrove Art Gallery which is currently shut. She always wanted to bring me here and it was always one of they things we could have done one day. We had nothing but time.

If there’s a lesson I’m going to take from all this is why put off something you could be doing right now? if it helps you forward. Do it. Big Andy taught me that amongst othert things and Big Andy is truly the only reason I’m able to write this at all. If it wasn’t for him, I’d have sunk at some point in all this. If it wasn’t for Con Daverad anaw. My very sick best pal who never stopped believing in me. Even when I stopped deserving her belief.

I’m getting there. I might have a house next week and it’ll mean no more impromptu hostels to get away from the wee prick across from me in the digs. Once that situation is settled I imagine a lot more things currently bothering me will fall into place. Right now its fuckin hard but. I literally walk by places I spent some of my happiest times in ALL the fuckin time. All they are is memories now. There’s a strong possibility that’s all they’ll ever be.

But I made my shitty wee bed and now here I lie. Hoping for the next 31 year to be a lot less stressful than these ones have been.

I’m pure sorry if you’ve bore the brunt of this shit in any way. There’s big gaps where my memory is at best very hazey. I mind all the shit that ruined my relationships with partner, mum and dad though so that was good of my brain eh? Keep aw the real dagger in the heart stuff, but forget the 40 times you went to Scotmid for the same cake.

If lockdown has led to a worsening in your mental health issues or even the appaearence of a mental health issue has happened for the first time you MUST speak out. This nearly killed me. The only reason I feel good day to day (most days) is because I feel like I’ve been handed a second chance at life. I was ready to go. That’s the truth of it. I was trying to leaving a shitey legacy behind so no one would really care if I died or not.

But yer boy lived

Miss you Da x

5 Reasons Yokozuna Is Amazin

1 – He was a great wrestler
2-A good man

3- ppppppft NAAAAH THIS AINT NO LIST ARTICLE SON. But it made ye click it eh. I’ve got ye there.

No one mentions him in their favourites of all time. No one talks about how fucking terrifying a man is when the literal act of sitting on you could take you out. Thats not slagging the big hero by any means because he could fuckin move. Even when he really got huge man could wrestle. But could you have pulled a better lead villain out your arse than a man that size with that much ability? The way he sold everything The Undertaker done is underappreciated art. The Hulk stuff proper got him over as the baddest baddie. The stuff with Bret Hart was just perfect but thats just Bret I guess. Point is the man was very good and I dont hear it discussed enough so hopefully this bucks the trend and gets the wrestling universe buzzin about Yokozuna

I wont stand for it any longer guys. Watch auld Yokozuna matches. Tell yer pals 1993-1994 would have been FUCK ALL without the big guy. He’s no here to blow his own trumpet anymore so I felt like doing it for him. Feel daft calling this an “article” but if news sites can put up 50 word snippets and call it wrestling coverage then I can damn sure call this a fuckin article. God bless Yokozuna, and of course Mr Fuji

My Names Martin Smith, and I have bipolar disorder

It was always too scary to think about. When I was 15. Alone. Pacing around my room. Overthinking every interaction that’s happened to you that day. They all must hate you. Your mum doesn’t even like you but she has to tolerate you. Dad too. It was all so lonely and so very low for long spells and then it would all get so fuckin fast. Heart racing, bullet just about to land on yer jaw type of adrenelaine.

Everything’s a problem that needs fixed NOW. Everything needs to be in order. Organised. Yet somehow everything constantly stays messy because you move about so much and pick up so many things just to put them down somewhere different so the mess never stops. Lose a key? You are the worst person in the world for losing this key and if you don’t find it you’ll get another row for being irresponsible. Forgetful but so productive when its channelled right. Destructive as fuck when its not.

The point in that wee bit of speil I guess is just to come to terms with the fact that I’ve been aware of bipolar disorder since I was that age, had a decent grasp on what it was and truth be told I’ve always known. Doctors have asked countless times if I was ever considering suicide and I always said no. I never wanted to admit to the manic spells so I accepted depression and tackled that when it’s never really been that.

Things that have happened during this horrific time have profoundly affected my life. The world is crumbling and black people still can’t feel safe to walk the streets without having some fuckin psychopath choke them to death. I lost my way and it came back. First the depression. Sleeping in till 4pm and being glad for it because it meant the day ahead would be over sooner. Then came the mania

I realise no being able to sleep isn’t a bipolar diagnosis by any stretch but sleeping 5 hours in 4 nights and still being able to sit here and write something semi cohesive isn’t normal. Writing over 300,000 words worth of blogs in a year isn’t normal. The manic stuff can be productive but its only because channelling it into a passion chases the dark thoughts away. I’d rather have 100,000 thoughts about wrestling running through my head at the one time than a constant stream of negative feedback I never fuckin asked for. When your thought process is so fast you can’t control it, its a very scary thing for that thought process to be telling you that you are useless in every way. A stain on society. Scum. Everyone would be better off rid of you anyway you clown. Go jump in front of a bus and save everyone a lot of hassle.

But I know its not like that. I know that a small pocket of people I cherish would be devastated by losing me. I’m picking this article up after a 14 hour sleep and completely re-organising my room as soon as I woke from that sleep because that’s what bi-polar disorder is. Its everything and nothing at the same time but the feeling of it all is so much more extreme.

That’s why I feel even my closest pals are sick of me because there’s constant intrusive voices telling me that every single thing I’ve done in my relationship with these people is wrong and they hate me for it but I now know thats not true and I know theres medication out there to treat this condition that I am not self diagnosing. This is a condition I know I have and having the blessing of having a partner who has studied this shit for over 5 years and got a masters in distinction done me the kindness of monitoring me when my behaviour changed and as soon as I said I felt I may be bi-polar she just nodded and told me she feels I show a lot of the signs. I know I do. I know I have it. I am at peace.

If you are a person sitting there feeling any of this hits home then do whatever it takes to keep yourself there. Wrestlers too. Guys I know the community was ripped apart by Adrian’s death but it will not be in vain. We will educate people in the industry that feeling low is ok and there’s support from peers and professionals that can keep your outcome being the same as one of the most talented wrestlers this country or any country has ever seen. Its just so endlessly sad that he was the only one who couldn’t see it. I have an interview with Jackie Polo recorded that I jus’t haven’t been able to write up yet because it is so packed with that feud and every single bit of what Adrian brought to this scene. So guys, if you’re reading this keep the fuckin chin up and remembering you’ll be out there doing your thing soon

I’m gonnae make a career of writing about this industry and knowing that settles me so much. This is my job.

I’m gonnae finish this off just by saying im here if you need me. Even if I dont know ye fae Adam. I’ve got my people. I’ve got my partner for life who has basically nursed me through a near death experience all while struggling herself. Wonderful parents. Four of the best pals a guy could ask for (and many more but four bestos) including my brother from another mother who’s just experienced the highest high life can bring, my Sellik bretheren and fellow Wolfe Tones fan who loves gettin me drunk, and my special big guy who shares my love of Chris Jericho and a handsome lookin dude. Then there’s the lassie one who I recently told that I really all women just beautiful and if i was a single man I’d totally winch anyone who identifies as a woman as long as they fancy me and I fancy them. That’s true pal shit. Then there’s the mother and father who have worried about me endlessly and seen me fall apart but have been right there to pick me back up again. I will be fine. I will fight this. And to Drew, just…..thank you.

Wrestling With Depression In Isolation

This article isnae really about anything so I wanted the photo to be something in wrestling that makes me happy. A lot of folk fire digs at ICW these days and everyone has a right to an opinion but it has always been an enjoyable wrestling product. A show that has often given me a bit of relief in depression filled days. I know at some stage I’m gonnae have a laugh at ICW and usually its Jack Jester and Sha Samuels who provide that.

Just a couple of pals from opposite ends of the social spectrum having the time of their fucking lives together and I’ll tell ye what, there has been some high quality tag matches throughout their run. Kez Evans and Leyton Buzzard have grown from prospect to fully patched in members of the main event mafia (I’ve been gettin in to sons of anarchy sorry) and both have offered engaging characters while improving week after week in the ring. I’m no really sure if this is a wrestling article but those are indeed wrestling opinions.

I’ve never felt this bad. I think its important to admit that if this piece of writing will mean anything to anyone. I have not wanted to continue living my life. I was fired from my job because I have depression. I am so fucking lost. But I have people. Before I didn’t have people or any desire to find any but I have Emma. She has been incredible. I’ve cried. I’ve shook countless times. I’ve been snappy. I’ve been needy. I’ve been distant but shes stuck with me through it all despite the grief she has suffered recently.

That’s what keeps me going. My cousin Robert who is so used to being around people and doesn’t understand why he can’t see anyone. I’ll go see him from a safe distance for a wee half hour and make a difference to the world. I have to be doing something or its just constant. The self doubt. The suffering feeling that you’ve wasted it all. Every single step has been a mistake. But this one wasn’t. Writing about this art-form. This sport. Whatever you want to call it. It has changed my life for the better and that’s what keeps me coming back to it.

I met my best friend who joined a team of best friends that I bonded closely with by going to ICW shows. I miss that but I realise life moves on. I met my missus because she followed me on twitter and saw me on a night out after and ICW show where I was steamin and gettin people to chop me in the Cathouse. I was a wreck but she had DM’d me and I replied that night. She might tell ye I patched her that night but I will tell ye this; Aye I definitely did patch her but in my defence I’ve never been able to believe an attractive female would want anything to do with me and by fuck is she stunning. She disnae even realise how much she’s just. I’m just lucky as fuck and we’ve got through this shit together but right now this is a sticky patch for me and I’m hoping writing this does me some sort of good. Maybe reading it will do someone else some good.I hope so.

This shit has been hard man. I lost my job. I’ve no seen my nephew and niece in nearly 3 months when I was seeing them every other day for weeks before hand. Life has been turned upside down and my wonderful partner has had to deal with losing her gran to this horrendous disease. A disease that has tore the arse out this country because rich idiots decided we needed to keep the fitba on one more weekend. Lets just see what happens eh troops. A few thousand die? We’re trying our best. 50,000 die? at least we’re all clapping. Where’s the PPE? Where’s the security for the working man? Where’s a law that says people cant lose their jobs because a pandemic has knocked fuck out the world. Wrestling is still on and I’m appreciative of everyone who’s putting themselves at risk to produce entertainment at this time but I do find it hard to watch at times.

That’s why the slagging of NXT UK gets me because its just snobby. Its based on a judgement of what NXTUK’s existence has meant for everyones favourite promotion without giving the product even half a chance. I get it. I’ve been a snobby cunt about stuff before but look at that roster. Wolfgang, Tyler Bate, Mark Coffey, Joe Coffey, Dave Mastiff, Ashton Smith, Noam fuckin Dar, Flash Morgan Webster. Mark Andrews, Walter, The Other Imperium Guys, Kay Lee Motherfuckin Ray, Toni Storm, Viper and so on and so forth. Ye telling me they aren’t a top class collection of wrestlers and if they’re given a good platform to do their thing that they aren’t producing a weekly wrestling product worth watching? Cmon noo bro Yes this venture has absolutely hurt independent wrestling but people are getting a wage and getting better at their jobs. Don’t hate, appreciate.

I guess what I’m trying to say is its alright to be fuckin away with it right now. Smoke the jeebs, drink the beers, do the fuckin yoga. Just cope with it. That’s all we can do. I’m gonnae be quiet for while as I try and work my way through the worst spell of anxiety ive ever experienced. Anxiety attack after anxiety attack. I fell and have a stoater of a black eye because I was pished and decided to try n dae a rolly polly aff the toilet pan. I’,m struggling. I got the sack. If you’re struggling my brithers and sisters I am right there wae yees/ We can do this together. I’m gonnae do it by playing NBA 2k20. relaxing with a pretty lady, chatting to the main troops and just trying to get through it till I can see my sister, lil man and my lil lady again. I’m gonnae go see my wee gran anaw. I really want to interview Bret Hart Never take yer maw and da for granted. They have been absolute saints throughout this horrendous spell. The wind beneath my fuckin wings. Be safe and take care of each other.

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.

drewww