ICW’s take on US wrestling shows in nightclubs not stadiums, but is gaining fans fast. Now it is gearing up for UK’s biggest bout since Big Daddy v Giant Haystacks

As the opening notes of the EastEnders theme ring out around Koko nightclub in Camden, the 500-strong audience for an Insane Championship Wrestling bout hear an added refrain: “Would you like to buy some meat?” It is being sung by wrestler Joe Hendry, whose stage name isemblazoned across his tight yellow trunks: Local Hero.

This is Britain’s modest version of World Wrestling Entertainment, a franchise listed on the New York Stock Exchange and worth about $1.4bn. Whereas WWE is staged in vast arenas in the US, this north London venue makes up for the lack of pyrotechnics with humour.

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The meat song – complete with video partly shot behind a butcher’s counter – is a comic attempt to unsettle Henry’s opponent, Sha Samuels, aka the East End Butcher. The crowd roars its approval and sings along to the next line: “When I’m not a wrestler I’m a butcher at Asda.”

Mark Dallas, the Scottish entrepreneur who founded ICW, says he is not trying to mimic WWE.

“Even if you spend £100,000 on your lighting rig, they spend £500,000. No matter how much money you spend, you’ll always have an inferior product. We’re not going to try to be them, but something completely different – an alternative,” he says.

Nonetheless, the success of ICW is recalling the sport’s most recent commercial heyday of the 1980s. The Koko event this month was part of the third national ICW tour in six months. After regularly filling the 600-capacity Garage in Glasgow, Dallas is gearing up for the biggest date in ICW history at the city’s SECC venue on 16 November.

Fans have snapped up all 4,000 tickets at £25 each, making this date on the Fear and Loathing VIII tour the biggest homegrown wrestling event since Big Daddy fought Giant Haystacks at Wembley Arena in 1981. However, in the same month WWE visits the the 13,000 capacity SSE Hydro arena in Glasgow, underlining how far ICW has to go before it matches its American peer.

Dallas’s brand of wrestling began in Glasgow almost a decade ago. After some “rubbish” shows, Dallas says he started writing soap opera-style storylines and found that crowds responded well to his characters.



Facebook Twitter Pinterest Insane Championship Wrestling heads to the bar Photograph: Christian Sinibaldi for the Guardian

Moving the events into nightclubs created the right atmosphere, allowing fans to be just a few feet away from the ring. Word of mouth about ICW helped the crowds to build, and each wrestler began to develop their own following.

Dallas says that each character is distinctive, ranging from juvenile delinquents to sadomasochists such as Mikey Whiplash - or London butchers. “There’ll be somebody you can relate to – just like EastEnders – and the storylines build in the same way. Fans get emotionally invested in the characters, so they want to come back and see them succeed or fail. ICW is like the three-ringed circus – if you don’t like one thing, you’ll like another: a comedy match will be followed by a very dark match.”

Sending wrestlers on to the street outside a Glasgow nightclub, prompting the arrival of police in riot gear, proved to be a publicity masterstroke thanks to the YouTube videos of the fracas. That helped bring about a documentary on the BBC and Vice.

Like its American counterpart, video is a crucial element of the ICW business model, with each event being shot and packaged into a highlights show. They are available online through a subscription website priced in dollars, which Dallas hopes will help win fans outside the UK.

The shows are also produced with commentaries in foreign languages and shown on pay-TV in countries including Italy and Japan – though not yet in the UK. “Wrestling is universal … it’s good versus evil. There’s no language barrier there,” Dallas says.

Facebook Twitter Pinterest Local Hero, in gold trunks, takes on East End Butcher at the Koko. Photograph: Christian Sinibaldi for the Guardian

While the wrestlers are the stars of the show, Hendry says the audience plays a crucial role in creating the atmosphere. Fans may not realise just how interactive a show can be, he adds: “We adapt what we do based on how they react.”

The performers at the Koko show certainly respond to heckling from the crowd, as Samuels feigns anger when the fans compare him to cockney actor Danny Dyer to the tune of Guantanamera – with a choice expletive thrown in.

Hendry, a handsome 27-year-old Scot with a black belt in judo, has only been a wrestler for the past two years, having pursued a musical career after university. He likes the way ICW is aimed at an adult audience, rather than the PG-rated WWE. “It’s ultra-competitive, but it’s a much more complex artform than people realise and was completely different to what I thought it would be like.” Hendry’s aim is to qualify for the Commonwealth Games as an amateur wrestler and then turn professional.

While the action in the ring is clearly not as violent as it makes out, with the blows clearly failing to land, the bruises and scratches on the wrestlers indicate not every part of the action is faked.

The rivalry between WWE and ICW has an element of shadow-boxing too. While he doesn’t believe WWE regards his venture as a threat, Dallas says the US company is keeping a close eye on ICW, even borrowing ideas from some of his storylines and certain catchphrases. “It’s flattering,” he quips.

Facebook Twitter Pinterest Mark Dallas manager of the Insane Championship Wrestling. Photograph: Christian Sinibaldi for the Guardian

His goal is to get ICW on television in the UK, like WWE on Sky, and for his 30 performers to be able to give up their day jobs and make a living from wrestling alone. A computer game is also in the pipeline. “I’d like to run shows at the weekend and be back in Glasgow during the week,” Dallas says. “It’s a business model that could make enough money to be very profitable.”