Everyone loves an ICW Sunday eh. That sense of anticipation from the moment ye wake up. The license ye feel ye have tae pour a hauf at 9 in the morning. A temporary quencher for that yer unwavering thirst, but it’s no a thirst for further haufs (even though they will most likely be consumed over the course of the evening, if thats yer thing) it’s a thirst tae see a variety of, highly skilled, decidedly sweaty men, knock 11 shades of shite out each other. Orchestrated violence right on yer doorstep. Some of the best storytellers in the country gien ye yer fix for 12 quid a month. Old Firm derby type anticipation, except ye dont hate anycunt in the crowd cause they’re shirt is blue or green. The only wans ye really hate are the few wae howlin BO.