Mean Machine Page #5

would have put the wind up Mr Sykes.

But they did give me two choices.

A wheelchair for life, or a deliberate

penalty against the Germans.

It's not as if I've prospered.

Look where I've ended up.

But I'll tell you something -

I didn't start off out as a youngster,

Iooking to sell my country out.

None of us planned

to be here, mate.

Och, away tae f***, man.

You were a hero in Scotland.

Sign it, and I'll ship you straight out of here.

OK.

Even down here you ain't safe from Sykes.

He's put a price on you, sunshine.

- Killing Doc, that was a big mistake.

- F*** him.

Where am I off to, boys? HMP Silver

Sands, where all the toffs go? Whatever.

- Not exactly, no.

- No?

No. You're catching the ghost train

out of here to the funny farm.

To the funny farm.

Her Majesty's Prison - Broadhurst.

What? I'm gonna get you! Yeah!

I'm gonna find your house.

I'm gonna blow it up.

No, you won't. By the time

the orderlies have finished with you,

you won't be able to blow your nose!

Go on, get in there.

I'm gonna get you!

I reckon you're quits now, old man.

Mean Machine, Mean Machine...

No, don't you worry about the car.

I'd have my bloody house on this one.

Done deal, darlin'.

Yes.

Wanker.

OK, gentlemen.

You've got 90 minutes to show them

that when it comes to physical

and mental strength, they can't touch us.

Most of them are gonna want to

mix it up out there. Don't get involved.

All right, lads. You wanna be nothing,

numbers, prisoners, that's fine.

But you win today, you'll have

something you remember forever.

Talk about it over and over

because there are cons that are pig sick

at not being here in your shoes.

Just to have one crack

at those bastards next door.

Let's win, and let's win well.

Lose and they'll never let you forget it.

Run your guts out, and you'll have

something in here they can never touch.

No parole boards,

judges or nutcase governors.

They've got one good player,

but he's had his moment.

And this is a team game.

Now ask yourselves one question...

- Are you ready?

- Yes.

- Are we?

- Yes.

- Well, come on!

- Yeah!

I'm looking at each and every one

of you lads to get out there

and show them who's boss. Come on!

Hold up for Mr Sykes.

Doc was a different generation,

and he saved all his life.

But before he died,

he had me sort out these.

Come and get them, lads!

Good afternoon, I'm Bob Likely.

You join us live from the recreation field.

I'm Bob Carter, and thanks

again to our esteemed governor...

- Wanker.

...for providing the splendid facilities

that are here today as part

of his rehabilitation campaign.

And for our audience, cooped up inside,

here's a weather report.

It's a beautiful day.

And what a day it is!

And the waiting's over.

The guards are out first,

fronted by Mr Burton.

And here comes the Mean Machine,

led out by our most famous son,

Danny Meehan.

- Don't worry. The boys are well up for it.

- I'm not worried.

- Where did they get that kit?

- Cheeky bastards.

Mean Machine! Mean Machine!

Skip.

- Your call.

- Heads.

- As we are, then.

- OK.

This is the one.

Take your chances.

Don't start anything.

If they do, finish it. OK?

- Yes!

- Come on, lads!

- Let's wipe the floor with this shite.

- Simple ball every time.

Boy, Mr Sykes, you look the part.

All you need now is a...

It's the one we've all been waiting for.

Longmarsh prison guards

versus Longmarsh prison cons.

It's the cons to kick off, Bob.

It's a free kick to the cons.

Ketch has just floored Mr Ratchett.

What's the matter?

Shut up, you p*ssy!

You f***ing bastard!

Well done, Ketch. Just be subtle.

Which one's he then?

Come on, take him out, son!

And Trojan evades Marsden brilliantly.

If only he could have done that

the night he got nicked.

The keeper plays it long.

Walker brings it down to the halfway line.

It's a misplaced pass to Jerome McFife,

but the ever observant Mr Burton

kicks it back to the guards.

It's a neat one-two. Walker to Burton.

Back to Walker. He shoots.

Just past the post!

Almost.

That was a bit too close for comfort.

Too f***ing close for my liking.

Get up there!

Monk plays it out to Meehan.

Meehan has the ball in the centre.

Goes forward unchallenged.

Burton takes Meehan's legs away.

Meehan does not look happy.

Now that's it, Burton!

What's the matter with the rest of you?

You four stand there. Split on my run.

I wanna try something.

Meehan to take it.

Looks like he might chip this one.

Right in Ratchett's crown jewels.

It'll take more than magic sponge

to take the sting out of that.

F***... me!

Ref, that was bloody deliberate!

Free kick. Handball.

Protect yourself at all times.

Ten yards! Ten!

Come away!

Right in his carrots and onions.

No nookie for Mr Ratchett.

No nookie for Mrs Ratchett neither.

Play on!

Just goes to show,

lightning can strike twice.

Abso-f***ing-lutely.

and it's getting heated out there.

Yeah, Bob. Very rock'n'roll.

F***in' hell!

- He's gotta get back in goal.

- I ain't telling him.

- Piss off, you Scotch bastard!

- How's your daughter, by the way?

Donna. Still hanging about

on street corners to feed the habit?

What's up with you?

Christ's sake!

That's it, fellas, good teamwork.

- That was a hard but a fair tackle.

- Yeah, it was a fair challenge.

But that wasn't.

This could be dangerous for the cons.

It's a free kick.

Don't think I didn't see it.

Ketch has took a strop. And the guards

look determined to convert this.

Make it count!

The Monk's collected it cleanly.

The Monk-calm and calculated.

Looks like the therapy's paying off.

Once again, Monk's played it

to Trojan, who's again switched to the left.

He must be ambidextrous.

I don't know, but he can use both feet.

- Goal!

- Yeah!

Goal!

Yeah!

- Beauty! You beauty!

- Go on, my son.

We're all over them.

- One-nil to the Mean Machine.

- It's the guards to kick off.

- It's getting tough.

- You can say that again.

- It's getting tough out there, Bob.

- Never mind, Bob.

Oh no, it looks like the Monk's at it again.

Pass it!

- Do that again and I'll rip your head off.

- Ref, did you hear that?

I'm not worried. He said it to you, not me.

Let's go, sonny.

- What's he doing?

- You're the skipper, you tell him.

Bollocks.

Hold on.

F***er!

It's kicked off. Let's just try and keep calm.

- Referee!

- Go on, get in there. Go on, chin him!

This isn't a football match!

- Do him!

- Go on, do him!

- This is bollocks!

- Do him!

Who are you hitting?

This is bollocks!

What's going on here?

- You want some? Come on.

- Any day.

Where are you, referee?

- Excuse me. Sorry.

- Calm down, everybody! Come on!

- Ref, how long?

- Bollocks, that'll do.

Half-time, come on.

One-nil to the Mean Machine, one-nil: : :

What the hell do you think you're doing?

You're supposed to throw this game.

Yeah, they don't seem

to be taking notice of me.

Youthful exuberance.

Shame.

It would have worked out nice.

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