Stevie Boy – The King Who Would Be Champ

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When Simon Cassidy blew the proverbial half-time whistle at the last ICW Fight Club taping, nothing significant was supposed to happen for the next 15 minutes or so. It was time for a pish, maybe a fag, even a drink at the bar, a wee catch-up with a fellow wrestling loving pal. It wasn’t time for someone to officially take the mantle as the undisputed Da. That’s exactly what Stevie Boy done at that show when he sauntered out with his stablemates Aspen Faith and Lewis Girvan in tow and told the crowd the meet and greet with a hardcore icon they were promised at the last show would finally be delivered. The last show was the scene of Stevie Boy’s win over ECW legend and when he took to the mic afterwards, he (for the lack of a more accurate term) heavy wound the mad cunt up. To the point that he was chucking chairs with reckless abandon and wondering what one of these almost identical hairy deviants had dared to call him a “piece of shit”. It was Stevie mate, and what of it? What Sabu didn’t know when he was taking a mad ragey was that he was living up to his lofty reputation and being homicidal, suicidal and death-defying all at once by taking on the don. The leader of The Filthy Generation. Stevie ‘effin Boay.

I’m not entirely sure if Stevie’s intention that night was to have Sabu thirsting to legitimately murder him, but how he handled it is a big part of the reason he’s correctly no longer seen as someone who might be ready for the top one of these days. Instead he’s now seen as someone who can get there now. He’s mixed it with the very best in the ring and produced stunning wrestling matches but we’ve known he can do that part for a long time. He’s gradually gone from someone who had never been near a mic to a guy who is one of the very best in the country on it. The only ingredient missing to make a champion is belief. Swagger. Knowing that you are one of the best, and carrying yourself like you are THE best. The one and only. When Stevie pissed off a legend to the point that he basically flushed money down the pan by refusing to do his meet and greet that took baws. Big ol cojones. But to come out at the next show and tell the crowd they WOULD get their opportunity to meet a hardcore legend and that legend was HIM. Basically scooping up Sabu’s potential earnings from his meet and greet and sticking them in his own back pocket. That’s the very definition of swagger. That’s how a hardcore icon handles his business. That’s how a CHAMPION handles his business. That’s a man who can and very well might win a certain over the top rope battle royal happening on Sunday. The show is named after his favourite hobby after all. A right good Square Go.

The King Of Insanity

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The King Of Insanity match at The Hydro might not have been a style to everyone in the world’s taste but any wrestling fan with a basic understanding of ICW and wrestling in general would have got just what a monumental thing it was for Stevie to win that. In there with three men more experienced and accomplished in that style of match. Two former ICW Champions in Mikey Whiplash and Chris Renfrew and the longest reigning Progress Champion ever in Jimmy Havoc. Esteemed company and not only did he win the match, he done it by taking all three of the men in it out one by one. There was no sneaky pin after someone else had done the body-ing, yer man straight up bodied all three of them on his own. Renfrew put through the stage. Havoc incapacitated by being tied to the ropes and Mikey Whiplash Canadian destroyer off a fucking ladder all the way to hell. Last year’s Hydro show was excellent from end to end, but the fact that Stevie Boy and BT Gunn both had career defining nights made it feel a bit more special. A pair who have been seen as almost undervalued in the past, on a collision course to the very top. Now BT Gunn has all the belts and his former stablemate/best mate/protege is on a homicidal rampage, it seems like only a matter of time before they face each other again in an ICW ring. Sunday night may dictate both the circumstances of that face off and what’s at stake when it happens.

As much as Stevie most likely took great pride in winning the King Of Insanity match in the fashion he did, he is the leader of The Filthy Generation mate. None of them are lo-rider driving technical wizards called Eddie but they will lie, cheat and steal at any opportunity and having a shot at the big one to be cashed in any time he fuckin likes will be something hugely appealing to a violent opportunist like Stevie Boy. He’s probably already pricing shotguns right now so he can shoot whoever holds the gold right in the belly. Keeping them breathing just long enough for the 1,2,3 before watching the life slowly drain from their eyes. The Square Go being on the horizon is almost poetic. With an army at his disposal now and the prospect of entering the match with a weapon (perhaps the aforementioned shotgun), on the hot streak of his career. The stars seem to be aligning for the former Bucky Boy to become the Bucky MAN. I mean eh….the former ned to kill the competion DED. I mean eh……Stevie’s gonnae win the fuckin Square Go mate. Deal with it.

Teamwork makes the dream work

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While Stevie definitely has all the tools to add his name to the illustrious list of Square Go winners, that doesn’t necessarily make him the favourite on its own. Not when Lionheart, Mikey Whiplash, Kenny Williams, Aaron Echo, Mark Coffey, Jackie Polo, Chris Renfrew, Iestyn Rees, Sha Samuels and the like are involved and have their own very particular set of skills. Skills they’ve gathered over many years in wrestling. One thing that very well might edge Stevie in front of the competition is the troops. The team. His own personal squadron of scumbags. His chances of winning it greatly increase when Lewis Girvan and Aspen Faith are on his side and more importantly, understand their roles. They are both very good and would be more than capable of becoming ICW Champion in their own right if they won the Square Go, but when they aligned with Stevie and accepted filth as a lifestyle, they bought into something bigger than themselves. Their involvement and potential alliance with Stevie within the match isn’t just an advantage for Stevie himself. It’s an advantage for The Filthy Generation as a unit. Kay Lee might even be involved too (not completely sure if she’s still in Japan or not) and if that’s the case, try stopping the mad cunts, but for Lewis Girvan and Aspen Faiths part, they need to understand that helping Stevie win is helping The Filthy Generation take over. Stevie with the Square Go briefcase. The Kings going after the tag titles. Kay Lee Ray no doubt having her eye on the womens title. The Square Go isn’t about self-interest on this occasion. Buying in to the “every man for himself” mentality is counter productive. Team up, pap cunts out, and you hold the keys to the castle. A licence to ambush and batter fuck out of whoever might hold the title at any given time. The lunatics literally running the Asylum. Fuck.

The Best Laid Plans Of Mice And Filthy Bastards

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While Stevie’s hot on form and everything seems just right for him going in. It’s the fuckin Square Go. Unpredictability is what makes it my personal favourite show of the year and one of the highlights on the UK wrestling calendar, so even if there’s a plan in place, Stevie still might not win the Square Go. That’s the nature of the beast and a testament to the strength of the field going in to the match but one thing that’s absolutely certain is that the man is ready. The apprenticeship has been served. He is no longer under the learning tree of anycunt. Now folk look up to him and rightly so. He has been one of the best wrestlers in Scotland for several years, but the evidence of the last few months of 2017 and the first few months of 2018 would suggest that Stevie himself believes that now. He is no longer a prospect. No longer a good tag wrestler with potential. No longer talented but maybe not imposing enough to be a top guy. Any fault you could possibly find in his arsenal is gone and all that remains is a maniac with the biggest set of baws in the company. Maybe the world. In a match that requires you to be more than a wee bit mental to win it all, surely that gives him a fighting chance at the very least. Then again who needs a fighting chance when you have a whole generation of mad murderous bastards at your disposal?

Thanks to David j Wilson as usual for the wonderful photos

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ICW – Jimmy Nails Revenge Review

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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.

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ICW – Jimmy Nails Revenge Preview

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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.

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PBW Academy Attack 2 Review

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Coatbridge bore witness to the dawn of a new era on Saturday night, and it didnae even know it. Whilst locals tuned intae Ant and Decs Saturday Shite Takeaway, or whatever other pish was on, some may have even been shuffling intae one of the local pubs for a spot of karaoke, but if ye weren’t in that wee chapel that I cannae mind the name of, yer Saturday might as well not have happened. Ye might as well had a game of chappy, except the only door ye chap if yer own cause yer too much of a fearty tae play the game right. Aye thats right, in this metaphor I’m trying to claim you played the game wrong by no coming to the wrestling. Did ye catch that? It wisnae really an option for you to attend though, as it sold out weeks in advance. I queued up months before it wis even announced to get my ticket, cause I just had the sense something huge was the horizon. Slept in a tent wae a big stain fae some cunt pishin on it at T in the Park anaw. Brutal. Well worth it though. Pish patter aside, it was hugely encouraging to see the amount of raw talent coming through the ranks at PBW. Plenty of debuts were had, with a few still in their first few matches tae, but no one could be disappointed with their efforts. There wis matches and aw that tae, so I might aswell say some words about them eh? Bored ye wae this patter long enough.

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ICW – A SHOW IN LONDON REVIEW

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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.

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ICW Show Me Your Lizard Review

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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!

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ICW Still Smokin Review

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“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

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