Hooligans Page #4

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a long time, yeah?

I trust you more than any other bloke I know.

But you're getting dangerously close

to crossing the line with me.

If you've got a problem,

then it's your f***ing problem, not mine.

But if you want to discuss it further,

we can go outside.

- Beers, boys.

- Hey, Bov. It's your shot, mate.

Come on. Let's crack on with the game.

[Barman] Pete. Everything all right, mate?

I can't believe you came all this way

and didn't even stay the night.

- I don't want to mess anything else up.

- You didn't mess anything up.

- So you and Steve are OK?

- Yeah. Yeah, we're fine.

All right, well, I'll call you from Pete's.

Matt. Please don't go.

Steve feels so horrible about what happened

and he really wants you to stay with us,

and so do I.

- I don't want you to stay with Pete.

- Well, I wanna stay with Pete.

Pete and his thug friends aren't the answer.

What are you talking about? What answer?

I've been begging you to come and visit me

for the last three years

and you didn't even come to my wedding and...

You don't know my husband,

haven't held your nephew,

and you show up on my doorstep yesterday

and you're leaving already.

Look who's talking. You ran

to another f***ing country after Mom died.

I'm sorry.

- You come and visit me.

- Yeah, of course.

[Pete] Jeremy Van Holden?

Sounds like a c*nt.

Mate, if he'd done that to me,

I'd smash seven shades of sh*t out of him.

Sounds like these Harvard boys

would slit your throat in your sleep.

What was you studying,

before this geezer stitched you up?

- History.

- History? I teach history.

- You teach?

- Yes, cheeky slag.

History and PE. What, did you think

the GSE paid a bloody wage?

I'm smart as f***.

Come on, it's brass monkeys out here.

Class, today we have

an extraordinarily distinguished guest.

Mr Buckner is an American who went to the

finest university in the United States, Harvard.

But despite his prestigious education,

Mr Buckner still thinks that baseball

is better than football.

[Boys shout]

I know, boys. It's an utter sin.

It's our job to save this heathen

from his evil ways

and teach him what really matters in life,

and that is?

- Football!

- Exactly. We're going to play five-a-side.

Mr Buckner will be goalie for the away colours.

Now, go easy on him, boys.

You know how these Americans bruise.

[Shouting]

How do we keep this fair?

I let every other ball go through?

I wouldn't worry about that.

All right. You ready?

[Pete] Go on, son.

That's it! That's it!

Ah, beautiful! Beautiful!

Relax, kids.

[Pete] Go on, Duncan. Go on, Duncan,

have it. Take it all the way.

Have it. Have a dig, mate.

- [Cheering]

- [Pete] Oh, beautiful goal!

All right, that's it.

What was that?

Go on, my son.

Beautiful. Sheer beauty.

- Lovely.

- [Boys shouting]

[Blows whistle]

All right. Home team: 10. Away team: 3.

Thanks to some pathetic goalkeeping

from the away keeper.

- All right, get yourselves changed, boys.

- Played.

- That's what I call a real ass-whipping.

- You set me up.

That was like

the junior Olympic football team, right?

No, mate. Just regular English boys.

We've got history next.

Say a few words about

the American War of Independence.

- They'd get a kick out of a real live colonial.

- American history isn't really my specialty.

Mate, they're ten.

Teach them whatever you want.

Well, I sort of have plans

with Shannon this afternoon.

- We'll have a beer later.

- Yeah, see you at the pub.

All right, mate. Who are you? Who are you?

But these kids... He set me up, man. I'm

thinking this is some class of kids, little ones.

Shut up.

- They're coming in everywhere...

- Oh, come on.

No, no. No.

[Cheering]

- Fat c*nt.

- F***ing fat bastard.

- Hello, mate.

- Get the f***ing chips in.

Well, I'll be f***ed.

If it ain't my old mate Bovver.

How are you doing, son, all right?

I'll say one thing, you got some f***ing front

showing your face over this side of the water.

There's plenty of people round here love to kick

your f***ing arse, given half the chance.

- There's four of 'em stood over there.

- F***ing right, son.

So, Bov, what's all this I'm hearing about

your firm gone all f***ing international, eh?

Don't you even f***ing think

about ignoring me, you little c*nt.

Now, I said what's all this bollocks I'm hearing

about you having a little Yank on the firm?

It's only temporary.

- Temporary, eh?

- [Chatting and laughter]

Do you think I can get a bit of quiet here?

I'm trying to have a f***ing conversation!

- [Whispers] What's his problem?

- Shh.

So, look at you, little Bovver.

All grown up now, look.

- Where's your other little girl...?

- [Man] Petey.

Petey? She at home, is she?

Trying to get her little toes

into the Major's big f***ing shoes?

I guess we was pretty small back then, son.

Back in your day.

You always did have a bit of bottle, you.

- So tell me, Bov. You come over to Millwall.

- [Woman] Is he a bit of a bully?

- Did you come alone?

- [Woman laughs]

What do you think?

Do you think that'd wind him up?

- [She laughs]

- Excuse me a minute, Bov.

Hello. I'm Tommy. Tommy Hatcher.

- Yeah, I know.

- Oh, you know?

Well, now, you see, that's bad.

That's really, really bad.

You ain't got no f***ing excuse

for not keeping that sh*t c*nt of yours quiet.

George, he can't talk to me like that.

George, your bird hasn't stopped

f***ing rabbiting since I've walked in here!

Now, can I recommend that you shut her up?

So I can continue my conversation

with our guest there, Bovver,

of the once-proud GSE firm.

- You can't tell me... Oh, my God!

- See what she's doing?

Does she ever f***ing, sodding, ever...?

- That's enough!

- That's enough?

I'll tell you when it's enough, son, all right?

Tommy, the Paki's called the Old Bill, mate.

We best f*** off.

Tommy, we best f*** off sharpish, mate.

I'll see you again. Soon, Bov.

I don't reckon I'll be back till tomorrow night.

- Be gentle with her. And remember, left side.

- Left side. Right.

- You seem nervous.

- Nervous? F*** off.

What's on your mind, then?

Two little words keep every Hammer

in England up all night: United away.

- Oi, oi!

- Aye aye!

- All right, mate. You all right?

- Yeah, all right, big man?

- Hello, Matt.

- All right?

- Where's Bovver?

- F*** knows.

He's been a pain in the arse all week. PMS.

Pre-Match Stress.

He's being a right c*nt at the minute.

- Come on, Pete. The train's in five minutes.

- Yeah, hang on.

His phone's off. I can't believe

he's gonna pull a runner for United away.

They'll be gunning for you, too, after the job

you pulled on their top boy last year.

What happened last year?

- I may have gone a bit over the top.

- Just a bit.

- Where's Dave? Have you heard from him?

- Have you?

Oh, everything's just falling

right into place, isn't it?

- I'll go.

- No, mate.

What? You can't just go up there

with lke and Swill.

No offence, but we can't

take passengers on this trip.

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