Passes the time, Doc.
You know, it's not a crime to admit enjoying it.
You're becoming a sentimental old fart.
That bloody Meehan. Who does he think he is?
Don't you worry about Meehan. l've got something sorted for him.
Mr Popular. Time to meet your friends.
You can't put me back on the wing.
- You scratch my back, l'll scratch yours. - Sykes will fucking kill me.
You know the itch l want scratching.
l don't want Meehan on that pitch, understand?
OK. l know what needs to be done.
Nice and easy.
Right down the middle.
And a one, and a two.
And a three.
Good shot. Good shot.
Where have you been? The governor's been waiting. l'll take him in.
OK, miss.
l've thought of a way l can really help you.
- The sad old twat videos all their games. - Really?
And l've written some pointers. My own little dossier on the guards.
l'm sure you'll find it very interesting. Now hurry up, we haven't got much time.
Quicker.
One thing. This is strictly sex. l ain't gonna respect you after.
- Don't blame you. - Girls like to brag down the pub as well.
l've heard.
What? Easy.
- Change her oil, did you? - Gentlemen should never kiss and tell.
- l'd better go home. - Massive?
lnside information on the opposition. Read it carefully. lt's important.
All right, Danny. There's a meeting in Mr Sykes' cell.
All right, lads. A bit of wind-up material on the opposition.
Ketch, this one's for you.
You know how Ratchett's going on about his dodgy knee?
lt's the right one.
This one is dynamite.
Marsden's daughter, Donna, has been known to dabble in class A drugs.
Let him know about it at the right time.
Here we go, Danny boy.
And now for our secret weapon.
- Danny, tape. - Oh, shit, l forgot it.
- l left it in my locker. - l'll get it. Need a slash anyway.
Cheers, Doc. Sorry, boss.
That's right, get the old boy working.
Danny, why did you do it?
Throw that game.
Fuck me, Jerome, you do talk too much.
- Sorry. - No, you're all right.
lt's funny, but when you're in that football world,
you just don't realise what it means to people.
You only find out how disappointed they are, when you let them down.
l was 16 when l signed pro forms. Thought l was the business.
Didn't take long for standards to start slipping.
Cars, booze, bad tips for slow horses...
You think you can handle it, then bang, very soon it's handling you.
Before l was picking up trophies, l was 425 grand down...
...to men nasty enough... Well, even they 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.
lt's not as if l've prospered.
Look where l've ended up.
But l'll tell you something - l didn't start off out as a youngster,
looking to sell my country out.
None of us planned to be here, mate.
Och, away tae fuck, man. You were a hero in Scotland.
Sign it, and l'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. - Fuck him.
Where am l 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? l'm gonna get you! Yeah!
l'm gonna find your house. l'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.
l'm gonna get you!
l reckon you're quits now, old man.
Mean Machine, Mean Machine...
No, don't you worry about the car. l'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!
l'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, l'm Bob Likely. You join us live from the recreation field.
l'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.
lt'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. - l'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. lf 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...
lt's the one we've all been waiting for.
Longmarsh prison guards versus Longmarsh prison cons.
lt's the cons to kick off, Bob.
lt's a free kick to the cons.
Ketch has just floored Mr Ratchett.
What's the matter?
Shut up, you pussy!
You fucking bastard!
Well done, Ketch. Just be subtle.
Which one's he then?
Come on, take him out, son!
And Trojan evades Marsden brilliantly.
lf only he could have done that the night he got nicked.
The keeper plays it long.
Walker brings it down to the halfway line.
lt's a misplaced pass to Jerome McFife,
but the ever observant Mr Burton kicks it back to the guards.
lt'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 fucking 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. l wanna try something.
Meehan to take it. Looks like he might chip this one.
Right in Ratchett's crown jewels.
lt'll take more than magic sponge to take the sting out of that.
Fuck...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-fucking-lutely.
23 minutes of the first half to go, and it's getting heated out there.
Yeah, Bob. Very rock'n'roll.
Fuckin' hell!
- He's gotta get back in goal. - l 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.
lt's a free kick.
Don't think l 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.
l 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. - lt's the guards to kick off.
- lt's getting tough. - You can say that again.
- lt'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 l'll rip your head off. - Ref, did you hear that?
l'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.
Fucker!
lt'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.
lt would have worked out nice.
What do you think Danny will say in the dressing room?
l think he'll be saying there's only 45 minutes left to play.
Yeah.
Settle down, boys. Have a listen. We ain't won nothing yet.
All we've got is one goal. Now this half is when we're gonna earn it.
Midfield, tuck in, get round behind the ball. Monk?
Good work, Monk, just don't leave us exposed at the back, all right?
- Mouse? - lt's my nose.
- Bill, you come on for Mouse. - Where am l playing?
You take his place in midfield. Frenchie, have a look at his nose.
OK, we've botched it, but we're one-nil down. Mr Hayter, when the...
You think about it!
We're getting beaten by a bunch of worthless criminals.
- l'm doing my half-time talk, sir. - Sit down.
Have you forgotten who they are?
They're the dregs of society, and they're in the next dressing room.
And they're laughing at you right now.
Just remember this:
every man here is playing for his job.
lncluding you.
- You wanted to see me? - Yes.
- What's going on? - You wanted a game.
Yes, but you never said anything about winning.
You never said nothing about losing either.
Before leaving us, Nitro wrote a confession.
He admitted killing Doc.
He said you knew about it, and you sent Doc to your cell.
Now that's accessory to murder,
and that's 20 years.
You'll never get that to stick.
One whiff of this will kill you with the parole board.
You could be with us for some time.
So l think it's in everyone's interest
if you lose this game.
- l can't do that. - You've done it before.
You had everything they ever dreamed of,
and you threw it all away.
Meehan has given it away again.
For fuck's sake, Danny, l was open.
l didn't see you.
Looks like he's in a world of his own.
Wake up, Meehan.
The ball's played out to the left.
Hibert picks it up and moves forward to the 1 8-yard box.
The defender cuts inside.
He plays it to Hayter, who knocks it through for Downes.
Oh no, he's been brought down in the area.
Could be a penalty.
The ref's waved play on. What goes through Monk's head?
- Scary thought. - l'd hate to think what he dreams about.
lt's getting naughty out there.
Positively brutal.
Are they fighting or doing the tango?
No, they're definitely fighting, Bob.
Billy's chasing the ball like a terrier.
Shame he hasn't got the skill to match his enthusiasm.
- Shame he's fucking useless, Bob. - Abso-fucking-lutely, Bob.
Ratchett's taken out Cigs.
Looks like the guards aren't taking any prisoners. You get it?
Whatever, Bob.
You, fuckin' watch it.
No, you fuckin' watch it, you fat bastard lndian!
That's going a bit too far, innit?
- He took a dive! - Number 7, violent conduct. Off the park.
lt was a dive, look!
- Come on. Do one, now. - Fuck off!
The cons are down to ten men.
lt's an early bath for Raj,
which is really gonna put pressure on the Mean Machine.
lt's disappointing. lt's not gonna be easy out there.
That's right. And they're taking full advantage of the extra man on the pitch.
Walker's through ball to Mr Gayle,
who plays it, and Hayter, and Monk... Superb save, way down to his left.
All right!
29 minutes, still one-nil, and the cons are holding out.
And the Monk's going on another walk-about.
But this time he plays it safe to Trojan out wide.
- All Troj has to do is look up. - And pass it.
- Pass it. - Pass it.
Pass the fucking ball!
Yes!
Goal!
Two-nil for the cons, ten men down,
their liberty taken away from them, locked in a cell for 23 hours a day.
and today, our boys had their day.
What's up with you?
For the last hour of my life,
l have been free!
Mean Machine! Mean Machine!
Yes!
lt's the guards to kick off.
Mr Williams lays it back for Mr Hibert, who whips a beautiful ball into the box.
Monk's got it covered. Safe as houses.
- You've gotta love the Monk. - Gotta love the Monk.
What's Monk doing? He's left an empty net!
He's lost the fuckin' ball!
He's lost the fuckin' plot.
Guards' goal. Two-one.
Yes!
Hey! Stop fucking about back here!
Get the ball up the park!
All right. My fault.
lt's no longer just a game out there.
There's a match on now.
- Have a word, Dan. - Fuck off, Trojan.
- Come on, let's go. - Come on, boys.
The cons kick off.
But what is he doing? He's given it straight away.
He's hit the bar.
You see, there's no cohesion, there's no character.
The Mean Machine need their star player
to pick up his game now.
- What is Meehan doing anyway? - lt's like he's not even on the pitch.
What's up with you? l never touched you.
Looks like Danny's injured.
You're cheating now. Once a loser, always a loser.
- Dan, where did you get hit? - Down there.
Doesn't look too clever, boys.
- l can't see anything. - Let's get him up.
Come on. Don't put no weight on it, Dan.
Meehan's leaving the pitch. Let's hope they bring a sub on.
- lt's 1 1 against 9 out there. - All right, got it.
- Get it fixed. - OK, we got it.
Shove up and shut up.
The guards are moving the ball nicely.
Neat passing.
But the cons are determined not to give up.
There's nothing wrong with that leg, is there?
- Why don't people just let me play? - Didn't think you'd sell us out.
Not after the big ''it's your time'' speech.
- ls there something l should know? - He's fucked something up.
Could be a strain.
lt's getting tough. The guards are putting the pressure on.
Fuckin' hell, Massive, help us out. We've only got nine men on!
Get a sub on.
Walker to Marsden.
Downs, wide to Hibert.
Hibert clips it forward.
Walker brings it down.
The cons are swamped at the back.
Ratchett's free in the area.
Oh, no!
Yes! Yes!
- Two-fucking-two. - Good one! Good one!
Thanks, Danny Meehan.
Two-two.
Right, now a third. Get up there!
Ref. Sub.
- Mass, look... - lt's your life.
Ratchett's brought down Billy the Limpet.
And that's like kicking a puppy dog.
Give me my boot.
Yes! Ref! Ref!
l'm coming back on.
- Sit down. - Forget it, Meehan.
Who's coming on?
- Me. - Him.
- l am. - You're playing like crap and you know it.
- Who's in charge here? - On you go.
- l'm in charge. Danny's coming on. - Hold it!
- Listen, l'm the owner. - You?
- Yes. - The owner?
- Yes. - Behave. Manager's decision. You, on.
The great Meehan returns to the pitch.
Yeah, that's all we need. lf he carries on playing like he did before he went off,
we may as well all go home now, Bob.
Ketch knocks it out wide to Trojan.
lt's amazing. The guards still find it hard to deal with this man.
l'm with you here if you want.
Shoot! Shoot! Pass it, l'm on! Pass it here!
Trojan plays it into the centre.
l'm free there!
- Well, l didn't see you, did l? - Really?
Chiv, pass it!
Oh, God. That was a meeting of minds. Not a pretty sight.
Meehan's trying to redeem himself.
Yeah, but he's gonna have to do a lot of work to manage that.
Meehan is now everywhere.
He is bobbing and weaving, Bob.
No way was that offside.
That's the way it's done, pal.
The ball's pushed high into the guards' half. Cigs pulls it down.
Shoots. What a goal!
- The Mean Machine are in front again. - There's a flag.
- God bless the Mean Machine. - Keep your shirt on.
- Wait a minute... - There's something going on.
- They're still celebrating. - lt's been disallowed.
The ref has gone to the linesman.
There's confusion on the pitch.
- There certainly is. - They're conferring.
Surely not! Now, if this stands, it's a free kick to the guards,
- 35 yards out from the goal. - Get up, you bloody tart.
OK, let's get him off.
lt's in a goal scoring position if l've ever seen one.
We're in the dying seconds of the game. lt's two-two.
Lee, get changed. You're on, mate. Ref!
Mr Ratchett, are you all right, sir?
Obviously not. All right, take him away.
- Are you gonna do nothing about that? - lt's a free kick, now take it.
- How long? - Just moving into injury time.
This is it. lf he scores now, it's all over.
All right, stick it in.
Prison warder Mr Gayle, will take it.
He curls it. lt's heading to the top right-hand corner.
No!
Yeah!
Guards of Pentonville, guards of Wandsworth...
- ...Walton nick in Liverpool... - ...policemen of Britain...
traffic wardens and parole officers, wheel clampers,
your boys have taken a hell of a beating today. A hell of a beating.
Mean Machine!
Mean Machine, Mean Machine...
Burnin' me head out! Burnin' me head out!
All down, Danny, all down there.
- You're all right, Dan. - Take that.
- l told you l wouldn't let you down. - Well done!
Ruin my life, l'm gonna fucking ruin your life.
No. You're not stitching anyone up. Not on my watch.
What are you gonna do about it? Your job, your pension...
My arse.
Good game.
Jesus, what was that?
Looks like your Saab.
And what he said goes for me and all, and Barry the Bookie too.
Nice one, Danny!
l want him in solitary,
and l'm the governor, and that's an order. OK?
Shut up!
Stick that in your trophy cabinet.