Six weeks in a fuckin row ICW. Really? I cannae dae it. It’s too much. Yees dae realise how much these shows suck the life out of people eh? If you’re a living breathing human, and you’ve been to ICW on a Sunday…the Monday after is not gonnae be pretty. Even if you don’t drink/partake in any other forms of intoxication, it’s still gonnae be a weary day. Making us do this 6 WEEKS IN A ROW(7 weeks out of 8 if ye were in London) is just cruelty. Intolerable cruelty. Or it would be if this wasn’t the best indie wrestling company in the fuckin world, and we weren’t all wrestling daft. Lets fuckin do it. Leg 2 of the big 6 week, jaw scuddin, arse booting, back cracking, bottle smashing err yer fuckin heid extravaganza. The Fringe run. Colt Cabana. The ICW roster. Burning Edinburgh to the ground. Figuratively like, but if a small fire breaks out somewhere, I wouldnae be surprised. Hopefully its somewhere in the vicinity of Tynecastle. Anyway. Wrestling show. No a lot announced for it so this will likely be havering nonsense. Lets do it. Shall we? Continue reading
I just…..I cannae.
I wasn’t ready. Was anyone? It’s too fuckin much. He can’t go. Whit in the name of fuck are we supposed tae dae now? Fergal Devitt wisnae an import. That’s the thing about it. He might not have been on every show, but he wis a member of the ICW roster. Ingrained intae the fibres of the place, just as much as a Joe Coffey spinning lariat, or Jester fishin somecunts eyeball out wae that corkscrew. On a personal level Devitt vs Wolfgang was the match that re-ignited my childhood passion for wrestling, and turned it back intae an all consuming, at times heart wrenching saga and for that I’ll always be grateful. It was only my second ICW show, and it persuaded me that ICW was something I needed tae see more of and since then, wrestling has been the one. For better, or worse. In sickness (so much fuckin sickness) and in health, till death do us part. I took wrestling’s hand again that night, and it took mine. He can’t be fuckin gone. Mind the BT Gunn match anaw? The chops. Aw the fuckin chops. Another work of art, and Surprise Devitt remains one of the best moments of my humble existence. I wis on the floor I’m told. I cannae mind it myself, cause I blacked oot briefly, but I’ve been told his presence on the top rope that night reduced me tae human rubble. It’s all done now. The thing that provided so much beauty, sometimes through flawless wrestling, and always through that endless array of abs the cunt seems tae have, is no more. His journey with ICW is at its end. So d’ye know whit? Before I attempt tae string together some shit about what was imo the strongest ICW show of the year from top to bottom, I just wantae say thanks. Thank you Fergal Devitt for being so incredible at what you do. A lot of folk are worried that he’ll get lost in the shuffle in WWE, but they need not be concerned. If he’s as good as we think, he’ll be absolutely fine. Cause true talent always rises. Always has, always will. Unless there’s some kind of howling element about yer personality (for example, shaggin wee dugs…a la Dave Batista) if ye’ve got the talent, it’ll happen.
Newcastle for fuckin wrestling eh? Whit are we even daein? Is this real? Before London I’d been to England once in my whole life, and it wis purely so I could give it the middle finger when we got tae the border. Fuck England. Independence now ya pricks. Nigel Farage is a re-incarnation of Hitler, and that 5 chinned BNP cunt looks like a taxi driver you’d suspect of fingerblastin his passengers against their will. Whit dae ye even call that cunt again? Nick Clegg! Thats the wan. Aye…fuck him.
I jest though, England’s lovely if ye don’t mind English people, and eh…wrestling’s good! ICW’s taking over the fuckin world anaw. First Glesga got conquered, now Edinburgh gets pumped repeatedly, London got sold out and pillaged for everything worth having, and now Newcastle’s gettin fuckin invaded. London had a few of the diehards doon, but Newcastle’s getting flooded wae disorientated, drunk Scottish folk. Absolutely swarmin the place in the name of grapplin and good times. I really hope I meet one of The Geordie Shores, and if Peter Beardsley disnae tweet me back about catchin a pint wae him and either Ant or Dec (the wan wae the biggest foreheid, I think thats Ant) I’m gonnae be raging. So if ye like Jimmy causin Havoc, The New Age Kliq slingin hunners ah kicks (this is awful patter, I’m truly sorry) and eh…..Fergal fuckin Devitt. ICW – Jimmy Nails Revenge has got it aw. Ye still no planning on coming? Newcastle too far away is it? You’ve got work on Monday. Excuses mate. Fuck work, fuck yer bellyachin, just fuckin shut up and get tae Newcastle.
Fuckin Edinburgh mate. I’m sorry if kickin aff wae “fuckin” wis unsettling for ye, but its best out there now, I promise I’ll no dae it again, tae the next paragraph at least. So Edinburgh. Been gettin acquainted wae it more and more since ICW are there aw the fuckin (aw ffs, thats the last time but, swear down) time noo, and I pretty much follow these cunts. We are wrestling supporters, faithful through and through. Its no bad. I feel like I’ve become more used tae the pace Embra folk go at and after gettin bumped intae quite a lot initially. I think its almost a warning for outsiders. They can smell it aff ye. Ye no used tae Edinburgh now? There a wee shoulder barge for ye. If ye can survive the initial shoulder barge barrage yer wecome back. Simple as that.
Fuckin London man. Before we get tae what was a belter of a wrestling show, I’d like tae give ye a few tips on how tae survive this hunner mile an hour pit of terror if you’ve yet tae experience its wonder. Firstly, if ye get on the London Underground…that’s yer first mistake right there. Don’t dae it. I’d been on it 5 minutes, when it made its first stop and a wuman actually dragged her son aff the train by the throat. The problem wae that is that I was between her and her son and she managed tae drag him off without me moving. I swear tae fuck this wean passed through me like a fuckin ghost or somethin. A chill raced doon my spine as I seen him emerge fae me like I was a magic lamp, and he wis poppin oot tae grant somecunt three wishes. Second tip I’ll gie ye is for Scottish folk only. London does not go at our pace. Glesga pace is leisurely. Even if its gaun a bit quicker than ye’d like, naecunt will shoulder barge ye oot the road if you’re choosing tae cruise. Minimum speed for pedestrian travel in London is 50mph. Ye fall below that, cunts will make a point of clattering any luggage they have with them aff yer dome. If they knock a tooth out, they present it tae ye as a warning. “Speed up, or we take aw yer front teeth….warned”
I jest though. From the little I seen of it, London seemed gid. Its essentially Glasgow without the Sectarianism or sense of belonging. Its essentially Glasgow but bigger, faster and the supporters of English fitba teams are actually English and not glory hunting wanks. Its essentially Glesga but its no. Its just no. Its no Glesga.
Was heartening tae hear aw the ICW chants in the queue. The megabus destroyed me but, so I looked upon them less as “ICW Regulars” and more as “People I could lean on tae stop mysell falling through the bar like Del Boy done that time in Only Fools” So aye. A fuckin wrestling show eh. Long winded shite intro oot the road. Sorry for keepin ye fae the good stuff.
After the opening lingual delights fae yer Billy Kirkwood, he introduced his broadcast colleagues for the evening, yer Veronica LeStrange and the returning Dr Sean David. Proving that the combination of smashin patter, smashin dids and eh…Dr Sean David, gets over no matter where ye are. Then we had two former best pals knockin the shite out each other tae kick us off. Intae it? Course ye are.
Fuckin London. Petrified.
Soon as I wis informed its a half hour drive fae the bus station tae the venue, I started freakin the fuck out. A half hour drive between places in the same city? Fuck sake. I’m so gonnae die here. London’s too big. It needs tae be a lot smaller or we’ll aw just end up deid. Or at least wae sick doon us. Right doon the front ae yer jumper. Mom’s spaghetti. Nae two ways about it. It took cunts ages tae get intae a routine wae Edinburgh travel that didnae involve blind panic, and now its London. 8 hours on the bus. Only an ipod and a notepad wae survival strategies scribbled in code tae keep me company. Lets dae it.
Wrestling though. It’s aw for wrestling. It’s aw for showing these English punters what ICW is all about, by filling London fulla confused Scottish people, have them inevitably get frustrated, and start fuckin wreckin the place.
Show Me Your Lizard was quite a beautiful saga when ye think about it. A show that sold out over a month in advance without a match announced leaves the company with a bit of a unique perspective, because really, they’re under no obligation to announce anything. So instead of announcing matches to cultivate ticket sales, say nothing. Make it a big surprise. Leave the possibility of the whole thing being a front for an adult orientated Singing Kettle show well and truly open. ICW weren’t quite that bold, but with only 4 matches announced, there wis plenty of scope tae make it a night packed with twists, turns, stauners, heart attacks…mare stauners….probably tears, blood? Aye I reckon there’s gonnae be some blood somewhere, and most importantly of course…hunners ah fuckin wrestling!
We had out obligatory opening gambits from the bold Billy Kirkwood, and his co-presenter of ICW Worldwide Veronica LeStrange, and naebdy gets a party started like Billy. That man has called me a sexy motherfucker on countless occasions now, and it still gets me soakin every time. Nothing can really compare tae the level of satisfaction ye get from knowing that a hairy, tatooed man fae Ayrshire finds ye sexy. So with nipples suitably pointed, and baws with a warm welcoming glow aboot them, we were introduced tae his co-commentator for the evening. The recently retired Jackie Polo. Still favouring the neck injury he picked up fae cunnilingual activities wae yer maw and/or sister, he stood by his retirement announcement and spoke of his future prospects as a top class talent agent, and full time advocate for the wearing of suit jaickets without the accompanying suit troosers..anyway. WRESTLIN!
So Grado isnae at this show. That is a disappointment of course, as Grado certainly adds something to every show he’s on. Nae doubt he’d do the same at this one, but Grado disnae make ICW what it is. Grado is one of a great number of talented, important people who are part of making ICW one of the most diverse and entertaining indie wrestling companies in the world. So if you’re a cunt going tae tomorrows show with a negative mindset cause of Grados non involvement, either sell yer ticket tae somecunt who wants it, or sell yer arse for choclate buttons. Just dont fuckin detract from the show that does take place wae any kind of incessant Grado chanting, huvin BO, or being a wank in any way, shape or form. Ta much. x
“Tell us the whole fuckin story!”
The line which started the evenings festivities off would become the unachievable goal. How the fuck can ye put the events of that show intae words that accurately depict the organised chaos that unfolded? Ye just cannae. I’ll dae my fuckin best, don’t get me wrang, but it aw went by in a beautiful haze tae me. I don’t think anyone in that building on Sunday night wisnae utterly gripped by fuckin….everything. Every wrestling show I’ve seen until last night had some sort of lull. Even if its brief, there’s ALWAYS somethin that makes ye think “wish they’d hurry this up” but that lull didnae exist on Sunday night. All that existed was a permanent rush, and people occasionally collapsing wae pish runnin doon their legs in excitement/shock/abject horror. Wrestling is beautiful. Wrestling should be yer happy place. If it isnae…make it yer happy place. Make ICW and Scottish Wrestling in general yer happy place.
The evening began wae a quick brief from ICWs top brass. The guys in black suits that’ve swung mare golf clubs at baws than Tiger Woods. ICW owner Mark Dallas, his chief lieutenant Chris Conscience, Sweeney and various other hired killers. One of the men in the ring was former ICW roster member and resident ‘bag ah washin’ Jamie Feerick, who was there tae plead for a return to the fold, and was swiftly bounced oot the ring by Sweeney, flung wae such venom that he when he stood up he found himself at the bar in Box orderin himsell a Jackie Polo tae calm doon. The main point in the whole saga was for Dallas tae reveal that ICW will be running shows at Studio 24 in Edinburgh EVERY FUCKIN SUNDAY during the fringe, meaning along wae getting tae see aw yer usual homegrown talents, ye get a weekly fix of a certain Mr Cabana. I’d imagine a lot of Glaswegian kidneys will be going on the black market around that time cause we’ll aw be in dire need of cash if we’re moving tae Edinburgh, unless somecunts got a mile long couch we can aw kip on.
Aye so…after that there happened tae be a wrestling show, and it was a wee bit special
Still Smokin’ will be like an adults only version of Pat Sharpes fun house. A whole lotta fun, prizes tae be won, its ICWs new crazy show, where anything goes! (cept instead of prizes, its belts, and this intro falls on its arse if yer not a child of the 90s) I spose I thought that analogy works cause Fun House is fairly choatic n that, and ICW is along the same lines, I dunno, I didnae really think this through, but aye! card’s armed tae the teeth, there’s gonnae be technical wrestling, wrestling where ladders are used as devices of destruction and probably some wrestling that isnae on the originally scheduled card. Basically if yer intae wrestling, ye’ll be intae this, cause its wrestling from top tae bottom so it is. Did I mention wrestling aye? Aye good.