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| Gravy wrestlers battle it out for world title | Gravy wrestlers battle it out for world title |
| (about 17 hours later) | |
| The Spanish have bullfighting, the Japanese have samurais. In Lancashire, they wrestle in gravy. | The Spanish have bullfighting, the Japanese have samurais. In Lancashire, they wrestle in gravy. |
| On Monday 22 fearless contestants – 16 men and six women – lined up at the Rose’n’Bowl carvery in Stacksteads, near Bacup, to battle it out to become world gravy wrestling champion. | On Monday 22 fearless contestants – 16 men and six women – lined up at the Rose’n’Bowl carvery in Stacksteads, near Bacup, to battle it out to become world gravy wrestling champion. |
| Despite a Lancastrian love of gravy stretching back centuries, the World Gravy Wrestling Championships are in only their eighth year, having begun as a publicity wheeze for the short-lived Pennine food festival. The festival is long gone but the wrestling is more popular than ever, attracting competitors from as far away as Austria and Australia. Prizes are awarded for the best costume, and wrestling talent is less important than a willingness to get stuck in. | Despite a Lancastrian love of gravy stretching back centuries, the World Gravy Wrestling Championships are in only their eighth year, having begun as a publicity wheeze for the short-lived Pennine food festival. The festival is long gone but the wrestling is more popular than ever, attracting competitors from as far away as Austria and Australia. Prizes are awarded for the best costume, and wrestling talent is less important than a willingness to get stuck in. |
| The organisers always struggle to fill the female category. “They’re too worried about their hair and nails,” said Karen Foster, 43, who had no such qualms, dripping from head to toe in brown sauce, dressed as her alter ego Rocket Raccoon. Her 18-year-old son Matthew, a dental apprentice, made his gravy wrestling debut this year as Captain Bisto, his nine-stone physique no disadvantage in a competition that prizes amusement over sporting prowess. | The organisers always struggle to fill the female category. “They’re too worried about their hair and nails,” said Karen Foster, 43, who had no such qualms, dripping from head to toe in brown sauce, dressed as her alter ego Rocket Raccoon. Her 18-year-old son Matthew, a dental apprentice, made his gravy wrestling debut this year as Captain Bisto, his nine-stone physique no disadvantage in a competition that prizes amusement over sporting prowess. |
| “We aren’t looking for wrestling ability,” said judge Joe Healey, 67, a clog-wearing local celebrity who is chairman of the Stacksteads Band and the Britannia Coconut Dancers of Bacup, a clog-dancing troupe who regularly cause controversy by blacking up. “We are looking for entertainment more than anything else.” | “We aren’t looking for wrestling ability,” said judge Joe Healey, 67, a clog-wearing local celebrity who is chairman of the Stacksteads Band and the Britannia Coconut Dancers of Bacup, a clog-dancing troupe who regularly cause controversy by blacking up. “We are looking for entertainment more than anything else.” |
| The bouts are fought in a specially constructed pool regularly topped up with 1,500 litres of gloopy brown liquid made in a nearby black pudding factory. After each round the contestants are hosed down by the Lancashire fire brigade. | The bouts are fought in a specially constructed pool regularly topped up with 1,500 litres of gloopy brown liquid made in a nearby black pudding factory. After each round the contestants are hosed down by the Lancashire fire brigade. |
| Much of the fun comes from the Peter Kay-like commentary. “Look at him flipping about like a spider flushed down the toilet!” and “There’s Claire, riding Jess like Seabiscuit” were two particular highlights. The baddie of the day was Rob Ollerenshaw-Ward, a financial analyst from Saddleworth, who came dressed as The Taxman in a suit and bowler hat, wielding his briefcase as a weapon. | Much of the fun comes from the Peter Kay-like commentary. “Look at him flipping about like a spider flushed down the toilet!” and “There’s Claire, riding Jess like Seabiscuit” were two particular highlights. The baddie of the day was Rob Ollerenshaw-Ward, a financial analyst from Saddleworth, who came dressed as The Taxman in a suit and bowler hat, wielding his briefcase as a weapon. |
| The ladies’ title was taken by 20-year-old stablehand Nicole “Mad Cow” Taylor-Lyons, who beat a woman dressed as a pregnant nun. “Never again,” said the victor, who revealed she had prepared for the competition by “getting pissed all weekend”. | The ladies’ title was taken by 20-year-old stablehand Nicole “Mad Cow” Taylor-Lyons, who beat a woman dressed as a pregnant nun. “Never again,” said the victor, who revealed she had prepared for the competition by “getting pissed all weekend”. |
| The male gong was won for the third time by Joel Hicks, 36, who spends most of his life entering competitions in order to raise money for his children’s charity, Always With a Smile (“This year I’m really targeting the world egg-throwing championships,” he said, shortly before putting his first opponent into a mucky headlock). He began the contest dressed as Gandalf but was soon stripped to his skivvies as he bomb-dropped his way to the final. | The male gong was won for the third time by Joel Hicks, 36, who spends most of his life entering competitions in order to raise money for his children’s charity, Always With a Smile (“This year I’m really targeting the world egg-throwing championships,” he said, shortly before putting his first opponent into a mucky headlock). He began the contest dressed as Gandalf but was soon stripped to his skivvies as he bomb-dropped his way to the final. |
| Gravy wrestling is not without its risks. But only once have contestants ended up in A&E, according to organiser Andy Holt, managing director of the Real Lancashire Black Pudding Company, who makes the gravy in his factory. | Gravy wrestling is not without its risks. But only once have contestants ended up in A&E, according to organiser Andy Holt, managing director of the Real Lancashire Black Pudding Company, who makes the gravy in his factory. |
| “Two of them ended up in casualty one year, one dressed as a nun, the other as a goblin. They turned up at reception covered in gravy. The receptionist took one look at them and mistook them for perverts, told them: ‘We don’t want your sort here.’ Luckily the Rose’n’Bowl landlord’s sister is a nurse and she was able to persuade the hospital they weren’t getting embroiled in some sort of perversion.” | “Two of them ended up in casualty one year, one dressed as a nun, the other as a goblin. They turned up at reception covered in gravy. The receptionist took one look at them and mistook them for perverts, told them: ‘We don’t want your sort here.’ Luckily the Rose’n’Bowl landlord’s sister is a nurse and she was able to persuade the hospital they weren’t getting embroiled in some sort of perversion.” |
| Gravy wrestling does have one dirty secret, however: they don’t wrestle in real gravy any more. “We found the meat smell attracted wasps,” said Holt. “It was a bit of a problem. Now I make it with cornflour and caramel.” | Gravy wrestling does have one dirty secret, however: they don’t wrestle in real gravy any more. “We found the meat smell attracted wasps,” said Holt. “It was a bit of a problem. Now I make it with cornflour and caramel.” |
| • This article was amended on 1 September 2015. A picture caption in an earlier version named the runner-up in the women’s competition as Claire Duddy. She is Claire Duffy. |