Hooligans Page #3

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[Whistle blows]

Let's go!

Go on, you f***ing kill me!

Come on!

- Dirty northern bastards!

- You f***ing wanker!

Come on, you f***ing Zulu c*nt!

I want you, you c*nt! You f***ing mug!

I don't f***ing believe it! He's over there!

It's f***ing Bovver! Look, he's over there!

Go on, son!

F***ing A!

There he is. Oi, Bov. F***ing quality, son.

- Stuff of legend.

- You had your hands full, didn't you?

It ain't over yet.

Word is these twats are gonna have a pop.

- What you heard?

- The usual. F***ing Zulus.

They're mobbing up on the Tube right now.

It's gonna kick off near East Ham.

- Time to go, then, boys.

- What are we standing here for?

- Let's get 'em.

- Maybe I should head home.

- You know where you're going?

- Bank station, right?

Yeah. Keep your head down.

Birmingham lot will be on the Tube.

- I'll manage.

- Wouldn't he be better in a crche?

Don't get on at East Ham.

Any trouble, just walk the other way.

- Don't worry.

- [Pete] Let's go, eh?

Get him!

- Look, I don't want any trouble!

- A f***ing Yank.

- Why's a Yank running with the GSE?

- I don't know anything about the GSE.

- I'm just a tourist.

- How about we leave you with a souvenir?

- Ever heard of a Chelsea grin, huh?

- Come on, please!

Do you take American Express?

I bet the Major gave out

his share of Chelsea grins,

back when the GSE weren't so sloppy

to leave one of their own behind.

We don't leave our mates behind.

- You horrible bastard.

- Look, he's getting away! Let's go!

- Down this side.

- I'll get the van.

- Where the f***'s he gone?

- Where the f*** is he?

I'm getting too old for this sh*t.

Seriously, I could use a beer and a lie-down.

- [Horn beeps]

- Oh, here he is.

- Get it out of first.

- Can't get it out your mum.

- She has to be financed.

- Come on, back to the Abbey.

- Whose round is it?

- Whose round do you think it is?

- [Ned] It's not my round.

- Oh, shut up moaning.

It stinks.

- F*** off!

- Come on, boys. Let's f***ing have him!

Let's have the little c*nt!

- Zulu! Zulu! Zulu! Zulu! Zulu!

- What the f***'s that?

Well, come on, then! What you f***ing

standing there for, you c*nts?

Oh, here we go.

- Let's get out of here!

- What?

- There's 20 guys!

- You don't run when you're with us.

- You stand your ground and fight.

- I don't know how.

Just think of someone you hate.

Come on, then!

Get up, you f***ing twat! Come on!

Ah, you f***ing... Get off!

[Chanting]

Come on!

Come on! Come on! Come on!

- F*** me!

- What do you make of that, then?

- What a f***ing result!

- You were a f***ing maniac, Matt.

Fair play, son. There's plenty

who would've bottled it and done a runner.

- Good for you. I'm proud of you.

- Who was he, then?

- Who?

- The geezer you was just fighting.

- Jeremy Van f***ing Holden.

- You done yourself proud, mate.

Now we've all stopped kissing each other's

arses, see the first punch he threw?

- On the feminine side.

- A bit gay.

- Little bit Larry Grayson.

- Come on.

- Come on, yous all wanna get pinched?

- Let's push him out.

[Police sirens]

Morning, sunshine. How do you feel?

Oh, a little sore.

English breakfast, double dose of aspirin,

you'll feel sweet as a nut, mate.

- Yeah.

- I gotta piss like a racehorse.

F***ing journos. Look at this.

West Ham wins three nil

in a blinding performance

and our little scrap makes the headline.

- Bloody muckrakers.

- So, what is this?

Bollocks journo bullshit.

- No, no, this. The GSE.

- Shh! Lower it, son.

Are you guys like an organised

political movement or something?

No, mate. We're a firm.

You never heard of a firm in the States?

- No.

- Every football team in Europe's got a firm.

Some have two.

Christ, I forgot how clueless you Yanks are.

All you've seen of us

are the stadium riots on TV. Come on.

[Woman] Two bacon sarnies.

See, West Ham football's mediocre, but

our firm is top notch and everyone knows it.

The GSE. Green Street Elite.

Arsenal:
Great football, sh*t firm. The Gooners.

Tottenham:
Sh*t football and a sh*t firm.

The Yids, they're called.

I put their main lad

through a phone-box window.

- What about Millwall?

- Ah, Millwall.

Where to even f***ing begin with Millwall?

Millwall and West Ham firms hate each other

more than any other firms.

- Sort of like the Yankees and the Red Sox.

- More like the Israelis and the Palestinians.

We haven't played Millwall in ten years.

Their top boy's this geezer

named Tommy Hatcher. Horrible old c*nt.

Back in the Major's day,

Tommy's son was killed in a scrap.

After that, he went completely mental,

lost the plot.

- Who's the Major?

- Ah, the Major. Quite a legend round here.

He ran the GSE in the '90s

when I was coming up.

Hardest bastard you ever saw.

They say we kind of lost our way when he left.

But believe me, my boys are bringing

the old GSE reputation right back.

So, basically, firms are gangs.

Kind of. But we're a far cry

from all that Bloods and Crips bullshit.

Shooting a machine-gun out of a moving car

at an eight-year-old girl, that's just cowardly.

See, we might be into fighting and all that,

but it's really about reputation.

Humiliating another mob in a row

or doing something the other firms

get to hear or talk about.

Like a Yank in his first fight

battering one of Birmingham's main lads.

- Here you are, love, sit down.

- Thank you.

I don't know how to thank you

for what you did.

Don't give it another thought.

Yesterday was a good result for us.

We had a laugh, a few pints,

cheered on the mighty Hammers.

We was completely outnumbered,

but we stuck by our mates

and we stood our ground, no matter what.

That's what it's all about.

- Looking at the f***ing state of him.

- Don't f***ing start, all right?

What did I say to you?

One simple thing: No trouble.

It had nothing to do with me.

He's walking home, he gets jumped.

- He's lucky we was there.

- You're a real hero, ain't you, mate?

And you saw the whole thing from your sofa?

Concentrate on your family

and leave my business to me.

My family? What is it with you, eh?

Do you want mum to visit you in the nick?

Maybe you want the plot next to dad.

- Oh, my God! Matt, what happened?

- Shannon, I'm fine.

Pete, can't you see

what you're doing to this family?

All I see is a scared old man.

- Don't talk to me like that!

- You got the wrong idea.

- Get your f***ing hands off me!

- Stop it! Steve! Stop it!

Get the f*** out! Get out! F***! Sh*t.

[Baby cries]

Babe, I'm so sorry.

Well, that weren't the smartest of moves, mate.

But thanks, yeah?

- Fancy a pint?

- No.

Oh, come on. You're the one

that's got to buy the bleeding thing.

[Bovver] Get your cash out.

The fat bird's about to sing.

Ah, shot.

Jesus! You two joined

at the f***ing hip or what?

- Leave it out, Bov. It's getting old.

- No, I'm starting to wonder about you two.

If I didn't know any better,

I'd say you was a couple of gay boys.

Bov, we've known each other

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