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.
Studio 24 might be my favourite venue ICW run regularly. That’s no bias towards this particular show either, cause some nice things happened in it (we’ll get tae that eventually, calm yit) that were mare joyful on a personal level, I just mean in terms of atmosphere and crowd interaction, its always a fuckin braw time. The only downside for Glesga punters, is that its in fuckin Edinburgh, and while I quite like Edinburgh these days, its ratio between shops that sell tartan memorabilia and chippies is not fuckin favourable. We must have stoated by at least 10 of these stupit shops fulla tartan hats, and mugs that say “Bonnie Scotland – Home of Bravehearts, not just hunners ah junkies askin if ye’ve got a spare 20p for an imaginary bus” before we could locate somewhere that can sell ye a fish supper. But see if ye go tae Edinburgh for professional wrestling shows and miserable Hibs fans? Sunday May 25th 2014 wis the Da.
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.
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.
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
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.
If ye want eh. Nae pressure, but if it’s in ye, then be something else. If it’s in yer heart, and ye wake up every morning knowing that the only way tae achieve true contentment is tae dae that thing that a burning passion for exists inside yer fuckin soul, then dae that thing. Dae it tae yer hauns don’t look like hauns anymore. Dae it tae feet swell up tae twice their normal size (in fact…don’t dae that…thats probably not healthy, and it’s a fine way tae burst a pair of slippers) Dae it tae people get sick of ye tellin them about it, and when they get sick of it? dae it a few times more. Be who you are. Don’t let anyone marginalise and belittle you for having dreams. Even if those dreams urnae entirely based in reality.
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.