(Editors Note: 3 articles in 4 days, Snaps is back. Swearing and all!)
Thatcher Wright‘s entrance music has always been a haunting affair. If someone’s end goal for a piece of music was to make the listener think about death, his entrance music would be that piece of music. It is the pre cursor for bad things happening. Even if those bad things make for good wrestling it still doesn’t make it any easier to hear that eerie wee tune. If the tone of The Ultimate Warrior‘s theme music was the reason he made a beeline for the ring like a madman (although we have to assume cocaine had a wee something to do with that as well) then Thatcher’s music has to be the reason he meanders to the ring like a traffic copper meandering towards an unattended illegally parked motor to slap a fine on it. Pure menace in every step.
He stepped all over the audience’s hopes and dreams on this fateful afternoon and deployed the most dastardly of means to achieve that goal. A goal no one with a pure heart could possibly have wanted to see him reach, but the prick done it anyway didn’t he? Right in front of us all. Rubbing out stupid noses in it. How fuckin’ stupid could we be? Like Maggie Thatcher’s reign of terror taught everyone who had the misfortune of witnessing it. Never take anything for granted. Even things as simple as having milk in the fridge for the weans cereal in the morning. An ending that would put most horror films to shame would all come in good time though. There’s Joe Hendry doing some wrestling and all sorts to come before that. Strap in for day two of CPWs big title tournament weekender.
The show was a bit longer than your average family friendly show and yet it never felt like it dragged at all. A credit to all involved for that. Keeping weans below the age of 8 engaged in the one thing for any longer than an hour is remarkable in itself. Keeping them interested for 4 hours of wrestling is a minor miracle, up there with Marvin Andrews healing his torn knee ligaments by making what you can only assume is some kind of heinous deal with the devil (or god, but they’re the same cunt if ye ask this writer).
Night two kicked off with the first quarter final tie. This is what’s known as ‘business time’. Business is either handled at this stage of a tournament of this importance or well… it’s fuckin’ not. No two ways about it. Either handle that business and make your way to the Semis or fumble it and see yourself out.
It was a heartbreaker to kick us off as well as Leyton Buzzard almost reluctantly put out everyone’s favourite good guy, The Wanderer. It was a crowning moment for both as the hugely popular Buzzard somehow used that popularity and clout to somehow increase the crowd’s already fervent love for The Wanderer.
The Wanderer’s music hit several times over the course of the two days and the reactions only seemed to get more positive each time, The reaction was never more impassioned than it was in the immediate aftermath of this defeat to one of Europe’s best in Leyton Buzzard. Remarkable considering he’d shared the ring with Grado the night before. While an all time great moment with Grado on day one, where his hero helped him earn this quarter final spot, was something The Wanderer would never forget, it was the valiant defeat at the hands of Buzzard that really saw his potential shine through. The Wanderer had wandered into a career defining pair of shows for CPW in Govan and while his hopes of winning the title had ended, he had successfully whetted the appetite to see him reach the mountain top one of these days as Buzzard insisted on being played out by the catchiest theme tune in wrestling. Yes Sir I Can Boogie was put on the back burner as the boys had a wee jig to see The Wanderer out of the tournament. Buzzard advances.
Stevie James was the next to shatter the dreams of a plucky underdog but he done it in a heavy dastardly manner not befitting of the noble standard set by Leyton Buzzard moments earlier. What a mad concept. A villain who has nothing but contempt for the hero of the piece. Steg‘s fairytale run to the title was sadly going to have one of they shite fairytale endings. Think of a version of Cindarella with a different ending where she finds the slipper, sticks it on, and immediately stands on a giant dug shite. Steg never had a hope as Stevie and his Purge cronies gave Steg a hearty pre match kicking. Making Stevie’s run to the semis more of a procession than a challenge through no fault of Stegs. Even a Spiderbam can’t topple a team handed doing at the hands of the hairiest stable in professional wrestling since The Oddities. Stevie advanced with minimal fuss.
Krobar was the next hairy man to chance his arm. His tactic was a bit more old school in the sense that he’s really old, and it’s something you’d try when you were in school. He handed over a note seemingly excusing him from his Quarter Final with Ravie Davie due to an injury, only for him to start smashing Davie with his crutches as he read the note, seemingly written by Krobar’s maw. A wumin to be feared considering she managed to concieve a child with an actual Crowbar.
The blindsided attack gave Krobar the early upper hand and he spent large parts of the match handing out a doing to Davie. These Purge antics led Davie to hatch a plan to derail their dirty deeds for the semi final against Stevie James, but that can all be discussed in good time. He managed to topple Krobar despite the nonsense with an Ankle Lock to book his place in the Semi’s and keep his dream alive. Surely even a generational talent like his best mate Leyton Buzzard couldn’t stop what seemed like destiny. Davie winning his own belt in his hometown in front of his people just felt lke it was right. Unless some other horror of a human being had designs on ruining the party…
We took a wee break from the tournament to establish a number one contender for whoever would emerge as champion as four of the first round losers had an elimination match to determine the champions first challenger. Daro, Mikey Devine, CJ West, and Simon Miller were the the lucky losers and it was a heavily entertaining stramash to ease the tension of the high stakes tournament that had gripped the audience. It mattered deeply to the locals that Ravie Davie fulfilled this destiny and there was a tension about the place as a result. A bit like a final day shootout with the league title on the line in front of your home fans. They’ll back you loudly and proudly, but everyone involved in the equation will be shitting themselves ever so slightly. It comes with the territory.
If Davie was to emerge as champion his first challenger would be one of his closest allies in Daro, who bounced back from losing his tournament match to his tag partner Big Ross Hauser to win a very entertaining four way. Pinning Mikey Devine to secure what would be one of the biggest matches of his career to date. All that remained to be seen was who would be across the ring from him when that day came.
The first half main event would see a real Impact title belt defended in Scotland for the first time in ages. I’m no really your reviewer for spot on dates for such things, so ‘ages’ could be anything from a couple of months to 20 odd year. In this case its probably been since Drew was doing bits for Impact and that show’s what kind of bracket Joe Hendry is in. He is as close to the finished article that Scotland has produced since Drew himself and continues to fly the flag in brilliantly creative ways with Impact Wrestling after a few years in the ranks of ROH. Joe not only manages to continually tick off bucket list achievements, he does it while being more creative with his character and ways to get that character over than pretty much anyone else on the scene. Not just the Scottish scene, the whole wrestling scene.
Mister Manoval interrupted Joe setting out his open challenge by chatting about the good times. Being unfamiliar with Manoval or his history with Joe (gonnae keep using the ‘lapsed’ fan patter as an excuse for not knowing shit) meant it took a wee while for it to be completely clear who was actually challenging for the Impact Digital Media Championship, but it became very clear as Manoval managed to build Judas Grey as a credible challenger for the title with his promo.
The match was a smart way to give the audience a wee breather from the title tournament which was about to come to the most dramatic of conclusions. The match was still significant because it was for a very sexy belt but the result never really felt in doubt as Joe put Judas away with a high impact move I can’t recall the name of right now. Moves and their names dont necessarily matter anyway do they? Wrestling is all about feelings mate. We’ve established that. What was still to come on this fateful night made the audience feel every imaginable feeling. Sometimes all at once.
The second half kicked off what could only be described as a wrestling masterclass from Thatcher Wright. Not a masterclass in a Bret Hart type of way, where everything you see in the ring is inch perfect, this was a strategic masterplan coming to fruition. On paper the odds were stacked dead against the man who is on record saying “having to use food banks to stay alive builds character” and “anyone with less than 50k in their current account should be executed” as his quarter final match kicked off about an hour after everyone else’s Quarters had been dealt with.
Big Ross Hauser had the same set of circumstances in front of him if he was to go on and win it all so you could hardly accuse Ravie Davie of deliberately putting Thatcher in that spot but he showed his cerebral supremacy on his way to securing his semi final spot against Leyton Buzzard via countout. Surely that’s where it ends though eh? Well done for getting this far ya horrenous Tory bastard but it ends against Leyton. It has to. Leyton Buzzard is too good to be losing to someone who looks like a sentient version of the gunk Nigel Farage digs oot his toenails every night.
Ravie Davie was the first to book his place in the Grand Finale that would surely see this generations Flair take on this generations Dusty to crown the first CPW Champion. Every generation has a Flair and a Dusty. I am in no way saying either Leyton Buzzard and Ravie Davie are as good or better than Ric Flair and Dusty Rhodes. It’s more a comparison based on how they make the people feel. Flair always felt like the best of the best because he presented himself that way. It shone through in every aspect of his work. In this generation of wrestlers to emerge from Scotland, Leyton Buzzard is that guy. The guy who works and carries himself like the very best. Then there’s the one who connects with the every man. The guy who connects with the guy finishing his backshift and rolling right on to the morning shift just to make ends meet. The guy who connects with the guy who goes out every second Friday and gets out his dial because that’s what gets him through another working week. Leyton Buzzard versus Ravie Davie was the final everyone WANTED to see but. Few realised however, that it probably wasn’t the final they needed.
Having seen enough of The Purge’s strength in numbers patter to last a lifetime Davie had what felt like 500–1000 weans (was probably actually around 20–30) get in and around the ring, surrounding Stevie James before their semi kicked off. It was a stroke of genius. Anyone who wasn’t really arsed who won that tournament was suddenly on Davies side. The weans involved went from admiring Davie to idolising him. They felt it was destiny and when Davie prevailed to book his place in the final, many of them were planning the victory parade. Open top transit van round Govan to parade the spoils as Ravie Davie sealed his place in the history of a comapany formed off his own blood sweat and tears. One win away from becoming CPW Champion.
Thatcher Wright’s a prick though. We’ve established that eh? But it’s worth repeating. How fucking dare he. Leyton Buzzard had produced two very different but equally good matches to reach the semi finals. Going toe to toe in the wrestling stakes with Sammy D before trying to go toe to toe with The Wanderer in the popularity stakes. Each match ended how most of Leyton’s matches do. With his hand being raised. Yet he could not solve the Thatcher problem. For all his undoubted talent that will surely take him all over the globe, he couldn’t beat the guy who is actually starting to look like the face on the book he carries about. See that thing where folk get a dug and over time they start looking like the dug and vice versa? That’s what Thatcher Wright has going on right now. With every henious deed he gets away with, he becomes more Thatcher. Thatcher emerged and oh boy was that a worry for everyone pinning their hopes and dreams on Davie.
Stan The Slav gave everyone a wee bit of a breather by having perhaps the best gimmick in wrestling history. At the very least he has the best name in the history of names anyway. Stan The Slav. Fan-fuckin-tastic. He beat Leon Graves in the match before the match to end all matches before The Wanderer came out and revealed he and Stan would be tagging together at the next show. Any excuse to hear The Wanderer’s music is a good one if ye ask me, and gave the audience one more reason to smile before their hopes and dreams were robbed from them.
Thatcher Wright wasn’t supposed to win this tournament. It was a thing that never felt possible. He continues to defy the odds to remain on the earth, despite being a person from Scotland who ordered a Union Jack with Maggie Thatchers face on it, so maybe thinking he didn’t have a chance is the reason he managed it. Underestimate him at your peril. He clearly thrives off it.
Danny Cantrell made his presence felt pre match as he made the match no DQ. That led to a series of unfortunate events that included referee Chris Quinn being taken out by Eli Bulwark, clearly still raging from the procession of deidys Davie had given him the night before, and Cantrell himself donning the stripes once more to take over and make sure a steady hand was there to make sure no one was going to screw Davie over.
Danny…..Danny….fuckin…..Danny. Within 24 hours he went from the guy who brought Grado out and reduced one human adult to tears, to the guy who brought 100+ weans to tears by facilitating an outcome that ruined their wee lives. Might seem a bit hyperbolic there but these children were geared up to see their hero achieve his dream in his home town. THEIR home town. They wanted to go home buzzing, with a signed photo of them and the champ. They did not want to be asking Davie ‘how come you didn’t win?’ on the way out. Confused that the nights entertainment didn’t end with the happy ending everyone wanted. It was fun and games afterwards as Termination Z, and The Govan Team chased Thatcher, Eli Bulwark, Big Chez, James Erdos and the devil himself Danny Cantrell off before Daro told the world he would avenge Davies defeat by taking Thatchers title at the next show but that fun and games did not make up for the most heart shattering of endings.
Cantrell was supposed to count the three that made them all go mental. A three count that would have led to a parade through the Govan town centre as Ravie Davie crowdsurfed his way from the venue to his front door. Instead Danny broke us. Danny broke Davie. Danny for some reason decided to make a deal with the devil. Briefly you considered the idea that something mad might happen and he might have to reluctantly count the 3 and raise Thatcher’s hand, but a fuckin’ full blown ruse?!? Why Danny?!? What could the result of some kind of awful genetic mutation between David Cameron and a cumrag have to offer that made such a horrendous deed worth it?!
For shame Danny. Shame.
Thatcher Wright is the CPW Champion. Everyone hated it. That ironically is why it was so good.
Chris Quinn stunnered Bulwark at the end anaw.