I Am The Tag Team Champions - Review

When me and my mate decided to descend on Edinburgh a day early, to catch Billy Kirkwood and Chris Brookers wrasslin themed comedy show "I Am The Tag Team Champions" We had a few key concerns. The first one was the fact that its £12.80 for a pint of flavoured water in most Edinburgh public houses, and the second and most pertinent concern was that there are NAE FUCKIN SIGNPOSTS ANYWHERE.

Sorry. I tried oot the phone voice there, but I cannae dae it. Much like yer da when he's on the phone tae SKY about "this PPV hing it says on the bill, £15.99...whit the fucks this?" that you have denied all knowledge of. (True story btw, I got a WWE PPV once without telling him when I was about 15 and actually got my da to demand it was taken off the bill, denied it tae I was literally blue in the face, thats why I rarely lie these days, wisnae worth the Hernia) 

So we hopped off the train at Waverly and climbed up a million steps, with a general but extremely vague idea of the direction we were heading in. We emerged into the streets of Edinburgh bathed in the early evening sunshine, and for the very first time in my visits to the capital, I wisnae hating it. The streets were buzzing with tourists (one of whom I elbowed in the ribs when I was clumsily puttin my jacket on....my apologies big yin) a fair few of those tourists were female, and as braw as could be. We arrived with a solid hauf hour to find the venue, nae problem says we. Naivety has been the death of wiser men than myself, so it was foolish to be stoatin about an unfamiliar landscape with such self assurance. 25 minutes later we're heading down a side-street opposite a car park, not entirely sure if we were heading to a venue where the retail of smack is commonplace, or a venue where we, and 100 or so other wrasslin fans would congregate for a right gid giggle.

Thankfully the side-street did indeed lead us to Studio 24, for I am The Tag Team Champions.  Around 15-30 seconds before it was due to begin. Fashionably early, as per usual.

The show began with our hosts/comedians/potential human pyramid partners, Billy Kirkwood and Chris Brooker arriving to murmurs of "who the fuck are these cunts?" and one outright chant of "WE WENT RENFREW!" Unpleasant, but the only way was up from there I suppose.

Really though, they emerged to rapturous applause, and why the fuck wouldn't they? they were putting on a show about wrestling, for wrestling fans. They were hero's amongst largely bearded, and probably shitely tattooed mortals.

The show began with Kirkwood and Brooker firing straight into the patter, mainly about the sound guys inability to cut their entrance music quickly enough, to chants of  "YOU FUCKED UP!" it was like ICW had arrived a day early, cept marginally more sweaty (the beam I was leaning on wis wetter than Annabel Goldie at an anti-independence rally) They then fire into a hilarious bit about the 5 stages of Broadus Clay, which was essentially the 5 stages of grief, but acceptance is less about moving on, and more about an all out fuckin disco.

Funky's oan a roll.

We then fire intae some improv stuff, as Billy disappears backstage while Chris asks the audience for 3 things the Billy has to guess upon his return. We have to decide which wrestler Billy is, which non wrestler opponent he has for a grudge match and the stipulation of said grudge match. The collective disturbance of those attending this show was clear as fuckin crystal with some of the shouts, but the match we come up with is Isaac Yankem DDS vs Dot Cotton in a "CSA Cheque on a pole" match. Mr Kirkwood understandably fuckin struggles tae get it, cause even his brain isnae that far gone.We also have our first "botch" from one of the performers, and Chris Brooker forgets that its a CSA Cheque on the pole and instead drops hints that its a strap-on, but we'll let him away wae it eh. Aw part of the fun int it?

BOOM BOOM!

Our first guest of the evening is none other than the boldest of aw the bold, Colt Cabana. He has the exact same task as Billy has, but before he disappears, he hilariously digs up Mr Brooker for his previous error. I believe he throws in a "fuck you" but much like the way we use the word "cunt" it seems oddy friendly and endearing. The match the crowd come up wae this time is The Shockmaster, taking on The Pope and the reason for the match is the fact that The Shockmaster was the previous pPope, before the current pope took his job. Colt fuckin slays it. As he guessed all of the Shockmasters previous gimmicks before crying out "I'M CODY RHODES UNCLE!" amidst crys of "naw yer no!" "haha Colt fucked it" and even one guy went "mare like Dolt Cabana!" but that line was the ultimate test of wrasslin fanboydom as The Shockmaster is indeed the biological uncle to Cody Rhodes. I'd love tae be able tae tell ye I'm cool enough to not get such references, but I did and had sly wee chuckle to myself as Colt took an immense amount of pleasure on telling us that he was indeed Cody Rhodes Uncle THE SHOCKMASTER. Probably the funniest thing about his wee segment was his inability to guess that his opponent was the pope, despite heavy child abuse based hints. Other guesses ranged from Jimmy Saville to "that cardinal guy?" and after what felt like about an hour, yer man finally got there. He eventually gets the  reason behind the grudge match after someone fires oot the "they took our jobs!" quote fae South Park and sadly that brings an end to his wee guest spot, but it whetted the appetite for the shenanigans to follow at ICW the next night.

INTERMISSION/CHUG BREAK

The second half the show brings three new guests. Owner of Insane Championship Wrestling, and purveyor of debauchery Mark Dallas, ICW wrestler Chris Renfrew, and an English comedian named Pr...I mean Dick Coughlan. I'll tell ye nae lies, my only knowledge of Renfrews work before this show was his character in ICW and I wisnae a fan (I say that with much trepidation as the likelihood of him meeting and subsequently kickin my cunt in is fairly high) that's obviously a sign that his recent heel work has had the desired effect though, but he really got on my tits . Never has my opinion of someone done such a swift 360, as Renfrew comes brusting through the door to the Ultimate Warriors music, and hilariously does Warriors "runnin aboot eccied oot my brain" ring entrance, before gleefully accepting Chris Brookers offer to use his arm as a top rope fur shaking (for those reading this who urnae wrasslin fans, during his entrance Warrior used to shake the top rope like it wis a vendy that just ate his pound coin...cause as we all know theres two things Warrior loves in this world..a cauld can of Lilt oot the vendy, and pretending any pedigrees he receives just didnae happen) Next up Dick Coughlan emerges to Val Venis' entrance music. Good start ma man, whit ye got for me next? Mick Foleys yer favourite wrestler aye? Sold! Welcome to the party brother.

If only he had got the fuck outta there while it was all going so well. Ach it was a cracking night, and I'm really in nae position to critique anyone who has the baws to be up on a stage infront of 100+ folk trying to make them laugh, but I think he mibbe misjudged the audience a wee bit, because his early jokes fuckin died a horrendous death. Harrowing stuff. He proceeds to insult all Glaswegians, midgets and even ICW owner Mark Dallas when he made some crack about the wages being shite. The tone of it just wisnae in-keeping with the show to that point if ye ask me. A wee bit abrasive. He improved right enough, and the bit where he had tae play a one legged wrestler who had his caravan stolen by Renfrew was funny stuff.  My favourite part of that the second half was undoubtedly the teleshopping bit, where Brooker and Renfrew played two hosts of a late night shopping channel selling Koko B Ware Christmas baubles, and the other three have to phone in enquiring about said baubles. Dallas and Kirkwood both give us hilarious variations on steamin guys phoning in which had me in stitches. Pish runnin doon the leg type of material. I'd love tae be able to recite any funny lines in particular, but it was 5 days ago now and I can barely remember the events of this morning, so please accept my assurances that it was fuckin hilarious. I love ye too much tae even lie.

The final part of the night has some audience participation, as they get two members of the crowd up to guess wrestling themes, as recited by Dallas and Renfrew. Hilarious the prize pot included a Jerry Lawler biography and a Best Of Kerry Von Erich VHS (fuckin NEED that tape btw) so the stakes were high. It was all going swimmingly until about the third tune, as Dallas and Renfrew recited Razor Ramons theme fuckin perfectly whilst these two zoomers just stared blankly. I'll allow a lot of wrasslin knowledge gaps to go unpunished. Its a rich and diverse subject ma man. Occasionally there will be slip ups, but not knowing the Bad Guys music when ye hear it? nut. Unacceptable. License to call yersell a wrestling fan revoked for good. Neither of them getting Hollywood Hogans theme either was just the icing on the cake of their collective failure. Neither of them deserved to even be within touching distance of that Kerry Von Erich tape, but the one who was marginally less shite than the other took it home.  Probably sittin in a cupboard somewhere gathering dust so it is. I widda treated ye the way ye deserved to be treated Kerry. Make sure the tele's tuned in perfectly so the world can see ye at yer best, and of course you'd be rewound promptly after each usage. Truth be told, I dont think I'll ever come to terms with not going home with that tape in my possession, but thats my cross to bear innit. That's no for yo to worry about.

All-in all,  a fantastic night. A must see for any wrestling fan. As our hosts informed us as the evening kicked off (in a very Mel Gibson in Braveheart sorta way anaw btw...fuckin FREEDOM) in this kind of environment...we outnumber them! In that room, there was nae shame. Nae excuses to be made as to why you seem to book a lot of Mondays off work. None of that shite, we were all out n proud. Wrestling fans united. And why the fuck shouldn't we be? Wrestling is nae different to other form of mainstream entertainment, other than the density of hauf naked men touching each other involved. But its aw about stories. Its about suspending disbelief whilst these highly trained supermen throw each other about for our viewing pleasure. I really didnae intend for this to sound so home-erotic when I started it, but it is whit it is.

Huge thank you to both Billy Kirkwood and Chris Brooker for a smashing night, Billy in particular who kindly fired me on the guestlist for this show. I've nae doubt that this will be a smash hit across the UK if they decide to take it on tour.

Overall I give it 9 springboard moonsaults outta 10. Get along to see it if it comes to a town near you.