Women On Top – Britain’s Hardest Woman vs. (Ahem) Me…

Posted: July 8, 2010 in Features

I’ve always wondered what it’d be like to be beaten up by a girl, so I hawled my wimpish ass down to Manchester to meet Pippa Lvinn – one of Britain’s top female wrestlers. She didn’t hold back.

Legend has it that in the hard city of Manchester there dwells a woman. A woman who wears a cape and flies through the air. A woman who can make the toughest of men run home with their tails firmly between their legs, crying for their mother’s bitty. A woman that can be seen flying around the globe gaining recognition and notoriety for her super powers and sinister acts.  This is no ordinary woman. This is Pippa Lvinn, female wrestler, and today in a cold industrial warehouse, I have met my match.

Born in Rochdale, Pippa Lvinn moved to Manchester when she was nine. Angelic, prim, sweet, all the attributes you’d expect of a young girl – Pippa was none of these. She began her martial arts career as a Taekwondo artist at ten and then focused her skills on judo. It was these skills that would provide a base for her legacy. Now she has evolved. Winning the PGWA belt (Professional Girls Wrestling Association) and kicking ten bells of shit out of blokes twice her size, she is now an established professional wrestler, and a hell of a force to be reckoned with.

Pippa Lvinn - a sultry temptress with a sadistic bite

In a run down car park I must admit I’m nervous as I watch Pippa pull up outside her gym. I’m greeted by a woman who is much shorter than I imagine but this still does not put me at ease – I hear the relatively small pit-bull has the biggest bite. We embrace a firm handshake and she begins to lead me up some long winding steel steps till we come to a large cast-iron door. As she heaves the door open I half expect a chamber of drab concrete walls and instruments of torture but what I’m greeted with is something completely different.

The lights switch on and there before me is a warm gym full of colourful wrestling memorabilia and bright flags lavishly sprawled across the walls. I see photos of smiling female wrestlers in an array of extravagant costumes. In such an inviting atmosphere it’d be easy to be fooled into a false sense of security, but what goes on in here is brutal. Blood may be spilt. Bones may be broken. Faces may be mauled. I’m beckoned to the ropes and welcomed into the ring by Pippa’s wicked grin. It is time.

She smashes her back to floor showing me how to land on the canvas without snapping my neck. It’s called bumping. The lesson is short as I’m suddenly slammed to the deck. This is no bump. I expect something half way between an Ikea mattress and a trampoline but what I get feels like a bed of granite. The impact rips the wind out of my chest and I begin gasping for air, flapping around like a desperate fish. A new found fear and respect for wrestlers emerges in an instant. This to them, is the easy shit, the day to day stuff. I’m on the floor in pieces wailing like a complete pussy.

Here I am inspecting the floor for dirt as she takes a breather...

I manage to regain some sort of decorum but it’s short-lived. She clotheslines me to the floor and wraps her arms around my chicken neck in a move infamously known as the Indian Deathlock, squeezing so hard my eyes bulge out.  I feel blood vessels begin to pop in my face.

As she pushes her elbow into my shoulder crevice my arm goes into spasms. I squeal whole hog begging her to let go but she doesn’t. She screams “tap out” so I quickly slam my palm down to the deck, exhausted and humiliated. I guess in a cruel way she likes to play by the rules. I then feel her beating down on my manhood with her heel and I swear my testicles are going to implode.

"Smile for the camera bitch!"

The torture ends. I thank her like a child would coyly thank his teacher after being viciously wrapped around the knuckles with a cane – my voice a few octaves higher. I sharply make my exit.

As a spectator on the outside of the ring you need balls to watch the painful display Pippa gives, reigning her meat cleaver fists into unfortunate male lamb chops. To be inside the ring with her, well, you’d have to want to lose your balls.  If I ever brave a visit to her gym again, shit yeah I know which side of the ring I’d rather be on.


Interview with Pippa Lvinn at The Wrestling Factory, Manchester, 14/04/09.

  1. […] part of a very funny article by Callum Hornigold on his encounter with female pro-wrestler Pippa […]

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