Looking for Eric Page #4

We got over 300 million fans.

- And we left you?

- Yes.

I told you this before, right?

A bloke once said,

"Leave your...

You can change your wife,

"change your politics,

change your religion.

"But never, never can you change

your favourite football team. "

Yeah, all right, we may be small.

We may be small. But you know what?

There's no fat bastard chairman can

sell us out for 30 pieces of silver.

No, 'cause

the fat bastard's sat there.

Our club.

And I'll tell you what, that's what

they said about United.

- 1878, weren't it, eh?

- Yes.

Newton Heath they were called.

Lowly railway men. Eh? What about that?

You're pissing on your own history,

you know that?

No, it's still there. Still there.

It's all in the heart. It's still there.

- We'll never die, pal, us.

- Yeah.

He never f***ing goes, Judge, anyway.

What you talking about?

Yeah, but I've told him,

there's no secret in the fact.

I can't afford it.

I can't afford to take the kids.

Exactly.

That's the point, innit, you daft git.

Car parks don't lie!

- They don't.

- You have a look. Have a look now.

What kind of car

parks in there on a match day?

Not the kind of cars we can afford.

How many postmen you know

- go to the game?

- Yeah. We're going on bikes

with f***ing baskets on the front.

Won't pay Glazer

Or work for Sky

Still sing "City's gonna die"

Two Uniteds but the soul is one

As the Busby Babes carry on

- Carry on

- Oh, matron.

- Hypocrites, you are.

- You what?

Walking adverts. Look at you.

Just sponsors' names on your chests.

We don't have sponsors on our chest.

We're like Barcelona.

- What?

- Spanish.

- Who would sponsor you?

- You're sat there on a Tuesday night.

Tuesday night.

You're the f***ers

who put 50, 60 million quid

in Edwards' pocket.

- Yeah.

- Filling Murdoch's f***ing pockets.

What the f*** are you doing here?

You f***ing don't know

what you're doing.

- You make me sick.

- Sit down and shut the f*** up.

- I'm going. I'm going!

- F*** off!

The game's just starting,

you f***ing knob.

- Come on, Meatballs.

- Cheerio, cheerio, cheerio.

Where are you going, to walk your dog?

- F***ing brilliant, innit?

- Different class, that.

Hey, here are, here are, here are.

Let's get him at it here. Here are.

Goal!

Who scored? Who scored? Who scored?

F***ing twats.

How many times I told you

about f***ing about with sh*t?

- I'm not f***ing about.

- We're f***ing trying to

do some serious work.

You're not f***ing about?

- You're not f***ing about?

- No.

I'm not f***ing about.

D'you hear me? I'm not f***ing about.

Does this look like I'm f***ing about?

- No.

- No?

Get that sh*t out your f***ing garden.

Don't look at me.

Just get in the f***ing house,

you little prick.

You all right?

Remember we used to be able to

talk about anything?

Bit late for that now.

What does he want from ya?

- Who?

- Your mate in the car.

Nothing.

Good. Good to me.

Yeah. So good he gives you a smack, eh?

Is that what friends do these days?

You don't even know him. It's sorted.

Yeah. I used to have a laugh

with my friends.

I have a laugh with them.

Look, Ryan, I wanna help, mate.

You can't go on like this.

What are you gonna do, Eric?

- Brownie, mate... Yeah...

- Is it?

Right, come on, lads.

It's getting late now.

I think it's time

your mates went home, Jess.

I think it is, you know.

- Who is this, then?

- Jess, come on,

I've got work tomorrow

and you've got school.

Let's wrap it up, eh.

Five more minutes and that's it, yeah?

Five more minutes, I mean it.

F***ing hell.

You must say no.

No.

Come on, say it.

No.

In French.

Non.

Non.

Like you mean it. Non!

- Non.

- More, more, more. Non!

Non!

- Non!

- Non!

From your balls. Non!

- Non! Non! Non!

- Non! Non! Non!

- Non! Non!

- Non!

- Non! Non! Non! Non!

- Non! Non! Non!

Non! Non! Non!

Non! Non! Non! Non!

Non! Non! Non! Non! Non!

Dad? Are you all right?

Non.

Remember Nottingham Forest?

No.

Oh, come on.

Giggs takes the corner.

He bangs it over. You're there waiting.

- Bang, in it goes.

- No, no.

Oh, Man City.

Hughes down the right

wing to Kanchelskis.

Kanchelskis chips it over.

You're there waiting.

Bang, casual as you like. Straight in.

No.

Arsenal. Beckham crosses it over.

Their defender comes out, heads it away.

You see it coming.

Take a step and half back

to accommodate the bounce.

Bang, on the half volley. Straight in.

Seaman didn't know what hit him.

- Come on.

- Not that one.

Oh, God, give me strength.

- Morning, Eric.

- Morning, love.

- Are the lifts working?

- No. Knackered again, I'm afraid.

Third time this week.

Must have been amazing though.

Sixty thousand people watching ya.

Cheering. Chanting your name.

- Scary, yeah.

- You, scared?

- Yeah.

- Never.

Scared it might stop.

I loved to surprise the crowd, you know?

Every time, in every game,

I tried to offer them a gift.

Sometimes it didn't work,

but then when it did...

- In our minds forever.

- Yeah.

But I had to surprise myself first.

Take a risk.

You know, it depends on the limits

you set yourself.

Play safe, no risk.

You know?

Remember Sunderland?

Ah, that was a beauty. Magnifique.

It was like a ballet. A dance.

Kept me going for months that goal.

...squeezed past a

couple of defenders. McClair.

Here's Cantona. He's done it.

That is magnificent by Cantona.

It just sort of fills you up so

much that you just

forget the rest of the sh*t in your life

just for a few hours.

I miss the games, me.

Only place where you can go

where you can let rip

without getting arrested.

Shout, scream, laugh.

- Yeah. Even cry.

- Yeah.

And see Englishmen kiss.

I mean, where else can you sing at the

top of your voice with all your mates?

That's what I really miss.

It's gotta be a good 10 years now

since I last went to a game.

All right. Sweetest moment ever?

It wasn't a goal.

- It's gotta be a goal, Eric.

- No.

Come on. Last minute.

FA Cup Final against Liverpool.

Beckham takes a corner.

The goalie runs out.

He punches it away. It hits your chest.

Hits the floor on its way up.

Bang, you just whack it

right in the net.

No.

Wimbledon. It's gotta be Wimbledon.

You're going towards the ball.

The ball's coming in.

You're sussing out the trajectory of it,

the angle of it.

The spin on it.

The way the wind's blowing.

The speed of the wind. Everything.

You stick your right foot out.

You stop it in mid-flight.

It bounces up about a foot off your leg.

You come back, you whack it in.

The most perfect volley in the world.

In it goes. It's a goal.

It's gotta be a goal, Eric.

It was a pass.

- A pass?

- Yeah.

My God. To Irwin against Spurs. Yes!

Beautiful.

I know how clever he was.

Left, right-footed.

Came in a flash. I just flicked it

with the outside of my boot.

Surprised everyone.

He took it in his stride

and my heart soared.

A gift.

Yeah, like an offering

to the Great God of Football.

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