ICW – Jimmy Nails Revenge Review

 

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.

ICW – Jimmy Nails Revenge Preview

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.

WWE Extreme Rules Review (By Davie Curren)

In 1970 Diana Ross left The Supremes to pursue a solo career. She believed she was bigger than the group that made her famous. She wis a prick.

In 1987 Shelley Long left the cast of Cheers to pursue a film career. She believed she was bigger than the show that made her famous. She wis a prick.

In 2014 Martin Smith began writing for Fighting Spirit Magazine. The trend continues.

(He’s a prick).

He believed he could use ‘aw these wee twitter fannies’ as stepping stones. As cheerleaders, fawning over him and giving him maximum exposure, for nothing in return.

Do you think you’re his friends? Are you wan a they wanks at the latest ICW, that seen Jack Jester dae that Sheamus spot Marty hates, and gave him a knowing look, thought ye were having an inside joke with Marty? He doesn’t think of you as friends. He doesn’t even think of you as human beings deserving if respect. He thinks of you as a pageview. Another number on the tally as he climbs his way to the top.

He used you, and you are all so stupid that you are happy for him? You congratulate him, as if writing 600 words for a magazine that you probably don’t even buy is somehow a success. As if you had a hand in that success. As if he appreciates you. He doesn’t. As if he respects you. He doesn’t.

He doesn’t even respect you enough to review the latest WWE PPV. He doesn’t even respect the art of journalism enough to watch the event live. He slept through it, in a plush hotel in London, most likely funded by his sugar daddy, the editor of FSM. He doesn’t even respect you enough to ask someone else to review it. I asked him. I put aside our petty differences, I got over the horrific way he has treated myself and my writing, I reached out. For you guys. And he said ‘aye if ye want, gie they dicks suhin tae read’.

Welcome to my Extreme Rules 2014 review!

ICW – A SHOW IN LONDON REVIEW

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.

ICW – A Show In London Preview

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.

ICW Show Me Your Lizard Review

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!

ICW Still Smokin Review

“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

Insane Fight Club – A Review

Be something else.

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.

ICW – The Goggles They Do Nothing Review

So Edinburgh got pumped again. In perhaps the most chaotic way yet. Admittedly I missed the first show ICW ran in Edinburgh, but unless there wis a tank and an incredibly hungry Lion involved somewhere, there’s nae chance it matched the carnage that came wae ICWs first ever Edinburgh Street Fight. Glesga’s been tore enough new arses, it wis time tae show the capital how orchestrated violence can look so convincing sometimes, it leads tae the polis being phoned. I reckon the polis showing up is a sign that yer doing it right more than anything else, so I’m sure everyone involved wurnae bothering their arses when it occurred. Before that utter mayhem got under way, we had a stoater of an undercard tae get through, so I’ll try n walk ye through it eh. I know the Square Go review wis a wee bit sketchy on the details, but I have various personal excuses fur that naecunt will really gie a fuck aboot, so we’ll move past it eh. Water under the bridge.

I got in 5 minutes late, so unfortunately I missed most of the bold Billy Kirkwoods patter, but I didnae miss him introducing his broadcast colleague for the evening and I didnae miss how much of a hilarious cunt he is. It wis yer DCT, retired ref and 2 time Square Go entrant (totalling about 3 seconds of action) and he wis now apparently a PIMP, as he came strollin oot shirtless, wae Leah Owens in tow, and the maist baw huggin tights on ye’ll ever see. Tae cut a ong story short, if ye ever need DCT, just dial 69-69-0-0-0. Also, if ye were in the crowd, you’re carrying DCTs wean noo, and it already has a tash.