Green Street Hooligans Script

 

 

# I know I am, I'm sure I am

I'm West Ham till I die #

 

 

[shouting]

 

 

Go on, bruv. Go on, bruv.

 

 

 

Fuck me. If I knew we was going to a bar

mitzvah, I'd have brought me fucking skullcap.

 

 

 

Mate, Tottenham's due north.

Are you lost or just fucking stupid?

 

 

 

Still a stand-up comedian, eh, Dunham?

All right, mate.

 

 

 

When the Major was doing your job,

he wasn't nearly so chatty.

 

 

 

Probably 'cause

he wasn't quite so nervous either.

 

 

 

The Major always preferred a scrap

to your yammer.

 

 

 

- What's all that? What is that?

- Yammer?

 

 

 

You reckon? Mate, I think you should get

on the next train and fuck off out of here.

 

 

 

- Before something bad happens.

- [Jeering]

 

 

We'd be interested to see exactly what that is.

 

 

You're not exactly top-flight mob

these days, are you?

 

 

 

- More like a two-bob mob.

- [Laughter]

 

 

 

See, now, that's just plain rude.

 

 

 

But if you fancy it, who are we to let you down?

 

 

 

- Come on, then!

- Come on, then, you fucking poncey cunt!

 

 

 

- You fucking cunt! You!

- [Chanting]

 

 

 

Fucking have it! Come on.

 

 

 

Let's go.

 

 

 

I'm telling you, you don't need Lewis.

 

 

 

I will trade you Keeshon and Maddux for Lewis.

And I'm gonna be losing out on this deal.

 

 

 

Because Keeshon, he's back

with the old coach. He's back with Parcells.

 

 

 

And they are gonna be an unstoppable team.

 

 

 

You know that. I know that.

 

 

 

Look, man, he was

comeback player of the year, you know.

 

 

 

Not many guys have thrown

over      yards. Come on.

 

 

 

Let me call you back.

I gotta deal with something.

 

 

 

Buckner. That $     .

I think it's a pretty good deal.

 

 

 

We never had a deal, Jeremy.

 

 

 

Look, I know you got screwed here.

 

 

 

But I have my family's reputation to protect.

 

 

 

A Van Holden getting expelled from Harvard.

No way.

 

 

 

I've got a little more at stake here, Matt.

 

 

 

Buckner.

 

 

 

Come on, man.

 

 

 

My dad is definitely gonna get re-elected.

When I graduate, I'll totally hook you up.

 

 

 

Thanks, bro.

 

 

 

You're really saving my ass.

 

 

 

You've reached Carl Buckner. I'm currently

on assignment in Kabul and I'm unreachable.

 

 

 

Leave a message

at the foreign correspondents desk

 

 

 

at the Washington bureau of the Times

and we'll get back to you as soon as possible.

 

 

 

Thanks so much.

 

 

 

This is a security announcement

at Heathrow airport.

 

 

 

Please keep your belongings with you

at all times.

 

 

 

[Matt] My name is Matt Buckner.

 

 

 

Last spring, I got kicked out of Harvard

two months shy of my diploma,

 

 

 

but what I was about to learn, no lvy League

school in the world could teach me.

 

 

 

Mind the gap.

Please stand clear of the closing doors.

 

 

 

Mind the gap. Please stand clear.

 

 

 

[Woman] Matt!

 

 

 

- Hi. Hey.

- Hey.

 

 

 

- Oh, my God.

- It's so good to see you.

 

 

 

You, too. Was that a terrorist attack?

What happened here?

 

 

 

Welcome to match-day madness.

Tottenham was in town last night.

 

 

 

- Are you a soccer fan now?

- Don't let them hear you say soccer.

 

 

 

- Who's "them"?

- The British Empire.

 

 

 

Uncle Matt, meet Ben.

 

 

 

- Can you believe that?

- Hey there, little guy.

 

 

 

- He's adorable.

- Yeah.

 

 

 

It is so good to see you.

But what are you doing here?

 

 

 

It doesn't make sense. Why would you have

been expelled if you didn't do anything wrong?

 

 

 

It was my roommate. He's a total cokehead.

 

 

 

Somebody tipped off campus security

and we got our room searched.

 

 

 

They found his stash in my stuff.

 

 

 

I guess he'd been hiding his shit

in my closet the entire time.

 

 

 

Really?

 

 

 

- Yeah, really.

- You could tell me if you were taking...

 

 

 

- It's not like that.

- So you fought it and they didn't believe you?

 

 

 

Matt. You fought it, right?

 

 

 

Look, you don't know who this guy is.

 

 

 

He's a Van Holden.

 

 

 

I wouldn't have even had a chance.

 

 

 

So what did Dad say?

 

 

 

"You've reached Carl Buckner."

 

 

 

"I'll be in the lvory Coast for    years"?

 

 

 

- Kabul this time.

- Whatever.

 

 

 

Seriously, though, when you spoke to him,

what did he say?

 

 

 

- I didn't tell him.

- He doesn't know?

 

 

 

- I probably would have done the same thing.

- Yeah?

 

 

 

Once he finds out his golden boy

got kicked out of Harvard,

 

 

 

he'll dive headfirst

into an empty swimming pool.

 

 

 

- Gee, thanks.

- [Car door closes]

 

 

 

Oh, Steve's home.

 

 

 

- Hi, baby.

- Hey.

 

 

 

- I've got a surprise for you.

- Oh, honey, we have a guest.

 

 

 

This is my kid brother, Matt.

 

 

 

Matt. All right, mate? How are you doing?

 

 

 

- It's good to finally meet you.

- And you. Finally made it across the pond?

 

 

 

- Yeah.

- [Baby gurgles]

 

 

 

Who's this? Who's this?

 

 

 

Come here. Oh, I missed you. Come here.

 

 

 

Oh!

 

 

 

- I missed you, little Lord Ben.

- Honey, you want some tea?

 

 

 

- Yeah, that'd be great.

- Tea, huh?

 

 

 

- Get over it.

- He's a good-looking little geezer, in't he?

 

 

 

- Sure is.

- Listen, Matt.

 

 

 

I'm really pleased you're here,

but I made some plans for tonight.

 

 

 

I've got this whole romantic evening set up.

 

 

 

I've got the babysitter booked,

and we've got tickets to see Chicago.

 

 

 

- You wouldn't mind if we go?

- [Knocking]

 

 

 

Oh, excuse me.

 

 

 

Shall we go and see who's banging

the door down? What a surprise.

 

 

 

- What are you doing?

- Aye aye! All right, bruv.

 

 

 

- Jesus, Shannon, you look rough.

- You're a funny guy, Pete.

 

 

 

- [Pete laughs]

- Matt, this is Pete, Steve's brother.

 

 

 

- Pete, this is my brother, Matt.

- Hi.

 

 

 

- All right, son?

- Good to meet you.

 

 

 

Hello, Ben.

 

 

 

# I'm West Ham till I die

I'm West Ham till I die

 

 

 

- # I know I am, I'm sure I am... #

- All right.

 

 

 

- I'm taking him to bed.

- All right, babe.

 

 

 

- See you later, Ben.

- Well done.

 

 

 

- I thought you were going to the match.

- Well, technically, yes.

 

 

 

But we got into a bit of a drinking session

last night.

 

 

 

- One thing led to another...

- You've lost your wallet.

 

 

 

- And me keys.

- [Horn beeps]

 

 

 

There's a taxi outside.

 

 

 

Top bloke, my brother.

 

 

 

So...

 

 

 

How are we, my colonial cousin?

 

 

 

- Fine, thanks.

- [American accent] Fine, thanks.

 

 

 

- You couldn't make it a hundred?

- How does piss off sound?

 

 

 

Fuck off, come on.

 

 

 

# Get some drinks in

Get some drinks in

 

 

 

- # Get... #

- Shut up. Just shut up.

 

 

 

I'll tell you what I'll do, all right?

 

 

 

I'll give you a hundred...

 

 

 

...if you take Matt here to the match.

 

 

 

Fuck off, you're having a bubble.

 

 

 

- I can't take a Yank to football.

- Yeah, you can.

 

 

 

And you're gonna be on your best behaviour,

do you understand?

 

 

 

- Go on.

- Well, come on, then.

 

 

 

Cheers, Matt.

We don't get much time on our own.

 

 

 

Right, listen to me.

You don't give him the money, OK?

 

 

 

No way. That's beer for the boys.

 

 

 

- All right.

- All right?

 

 

 

Matt? Where are you going?

 

 

 

I'm going to the soccer game with Pete.

 

 

 

- But you just got here.

- I know, but I'll catch up with you later.

 

 

 

- Have a good time. See you.

- [Pete] Hurry up.

 

 

 

I don't want him hanging out

with Pete and those thugs.

 

 

 

It's all right. He's a big boy.

He can look after himself.

 

 

 

Pick a hand. Come on.

 

 

 

The right hand?

You've just won the star prize.

 

 

 

Yeah? How much do you love me?

 

 

 

- A lot.

- That's not enough.

 

 

 

I'm not being funny, but the last thing

I want to do is to take you to the match.

 

 

 

So here's how it works.

Give me half the money. I'll go to football.

 

 

 

You can see where Churchill took a tom,

or whatever you Yanks do in Jolly Old.

 

 

 

- Tom?

- Tom. A tomtit, shit.

 

 

 

It's rhyming slang.

Like bees and honey for money.

 

 

 

Like I could say to you,

give me the fucking bees.

 

 

 

- I made a promise to Steve.

- Well, Steve ain't here, is he, mate? I am.

 

 

 

You're pissing in the wind

if you think I'm taking you.

 

 

 

- I'm not giving you the money.

- You ain't really got a fucking choice, mate.

 

 

 

And you're starting to get on my tits.

Give me half the money.

 

 

 

Cops!

 

 

 

Well, how fucking stupid do you feel now?

 

 

 

Come on, then, dance for me, Yankee.

 

 

 

Serves you right

for fighting like a bleeding tart.

 

 

 

But try that again

and I will kick the shit out of you.

 

 

 

Yeah, the tom out of me. I get it.

 

 

 

Get up. Come on.

 

 

 

So, I'm guessing you're not much of a fighter.

 

 

 

Fighter? That's probably

the first fight I ever had.

 

 

 

You call that a fight?

 

 

 

Fuck it. I will take you with me.

You might learn something.

 

 

 

- About soccer?

- No, mate. Not about soccer.

 

 

 

And for fuck's sake, stop saying soccer.

 

 

 

Come on, hurry up.

 

 

 

What are you talking about,

baseball is a girls' game?

 

 

 

The Red Sox guy pitches a ball

at    miles an hour.

 

 

 

Who cares? All that means is

he can have a wank faster than you.

 

 

 

- Come on.

- Think about it.

 

 

 

I just don't get it.

What is it with you Americans?

 

 

 

You start a fucking war, bottle it,

then we have to come save your arse again.

 

 

 

- Save our ass?

- Yes.

 

 

 

On top of that, you kill half our soldiers

in friendly fire.

 

 

 

- That's called an accident.

- Yeah, accident my arse.

 

 

 

- All right?

- All right, Dunham?

 

 

 

Look, we're sort of

going into my place of business, right?

 

 

 

Shut up and you might have

a better run of things.

 

 

 

Only thing regarded worse than a Yank

around here are coppers and journalists.

 

 

 

- What have you got against journalists?

- How long have you got?

 

 

 

They're lying fucking scum

who'll write anything just to fill papers.

 

 

 

Not your old man, of course.

He's the exception maybe.

 

 

 

These boys don't know about your old man.

If I was you, I'd keep it that way.

 

 

 

Another thing.

What you hear in here stays in here, all right?

 

 

 

No blabbing to brother Steve

about who said what.

 

 

 

What happens at football stays at football.

All right?

 

 

 

Yeah, all right.

 

 

 

Let's have some fun. It's football day!

 

 

 

All right, Pete.

 

 

 

- Aye aye!

- [Cheering]

 

 

 

- How's it going?

- Good, yeah, good. All right, boys?

 

 

 

This is Matt, Shannon's brother. Ned.

 

 

 

- Nice to meet you.

- Dave. Swill.

 

 

 

- Hello, mate.

- Ike.

 

 

 

- And the one with the dodgy haircut's Keith.

- Hey, Keith.

 

 

 

- I'll get the drinks in, then.

- Does that mean I'm getting the drinks in?

 

 

 

Every fucking time. Every fucking time.

 

 

 

- Where's Bovver?

- He's been in the toilet for    minutes.

 

 

 

- Dodgy Ruby or something.

- Look, he looks lost.

 

 

 

Ruby Murray means curry.

We call it cockney rhyming slang.

 

 

 

Slang. Yeah, like bees and honey for money.

 

 

 

- Struggle and grunt for cunt!

- Why'd you go there?

 

 

 

- Like septic tank for Yank.

- Bovver.

 

 

 

- Bov.

- How you doing? All right?

 

 

 

This is Matt, Shannon's brother.

 

 

 

Hey.

 

 

 

That's the proper... He don't give a fuck.

 

 

 

- He don't give a fuck.

- Mate, he's practically family.

 

 

 

Ah, mate, it's fucking painful.

 

 

 

Bov's a miserable cunt,

but we love him dearly, don't we?

 

 

 

- Sometimes.

- Like a fucking brother.

 

 

 

- Grab these last two pints.

- Get some salted peanuts.

 

 

 

- Sure.

- Bov, come on.

 

 

 

- He's all right, man.

- What's with all the fucking babysitting?

 

 

 

- You know we had a meet set up for today.

- I'll stay out the way.

 

 

 

- It's not like we didn't have it last night.

- What? That's not the bloody point, is it?

 

 

 

We look like right mugs

if our fearless leader don't show

 

 

 

'cause he's playing

pin the tail on the fucking Yank.

 

 

 

He's right. He's got a point.

 

 

 

You let me worry about that, all right, boys?

 

 

 

As for the Yank, he's too modest to tell you,

 

 

 

but back in the States he's an internationally

ranked double black belt in karate.

 

 

 

- Is he fuck! Look at the size of him.

- No.

 

 

 

Bloody Karate Kid film? Based on his exploits.

 

 

 

- Really?

- Yeah, it's true.

 

 

 

- Bollocks! Bollocks!

- Come on, why not?

 

 

 

You've been here fucking five minutes

and you're lying.

 

 

 

[# The Stone Roses: Waterfall]

 

 

 

# Now you're at the wheel

 

 

 

# Tell me how does it feel?

 

 

 

# So good to have equalised

 

 

 

# To lift up the lids of your eyes

 

 

 

# As the miles, they disappear

 

 

 

# See land begin to clear... #

 

 

 

He's now officially cockney, the boy.

 

 

 

Hey!

 

 

 

[All cheer]

 

 

 

- [Chant] Oh, East London!

- Is wonderful!

 

 

 

- Is wonderful!

- # Oh, East London is wonderful

 

 

 

# It's full of tits, fanny at West Ham

 

 

 

- # Oh, East London is wonderful #

- Oh, East London!

 

 

 

- Oh, East London!

- Is wonderful!

 

 

 

Is wonderful!

 

 

 

You know that bollocks you was talking

about earlier about Karate Kid.

 

 

 

That's horse piss, right?

 

 

 

- Oh, no, no.

- No, mate. Shit's Gospel of Paul.

 

 

 

- Yeah.

- What was your coach's name?

 

 

 

Little Chink geezer. What was his name?

 

 

 

- In the first one?

- All fucking three.

 

 

 

Why weren't you in the fourth one?

Why'd you let the side down?

 

 

 

You weren't there, mate...

 

 

 

# Stick a blue flag up your arse

 

 

 

# Up your arse, up your arse... #

 

 

 

What was his fucking name, your mentor?

You owe it all to him.

 

 

 

- I can't remember it.

- Miyagi!

 

 

 

- Miyagi! Fuck's sake.

- Miyagi.

 

 

 

Miyagi. Mr Miyagi.

He was based on a real person.

 

 

 

They based him on a real person.

That's out of order. Did they pay him?

 

 

 

- Of course he got fucking paid.

- Just imagine the situation.

 

 

 

No, listen, seriously. Imagine the situation.

 

 

 

- Someone uses you in a fucking film...

- It's a liberty.

 

 

 

Don't take the piss out of me.

This is real stuff I'm talking about.

 

 

 

- To the real Mr Miyagi!

- [Cheering]

 

 

 

Oi, listen to this. This is our song.

 

 

 

# They reach the sky

 

 

 

# And like my dreams they fade and die

 

 

 

# Fortune's always hiding

 

 

 

# I've looked everywhere

 

 

 

# I'm forever blowing bubbles

 

 

 

# Pretty bubbles in the air #

 

 

 

United!

 

 

 

United! United!

 

 

 

# Let's go fucking mental

Let's go fucking mental

 

 

 

# Da-da-da-da, da-da-da-da

 

 

 

# Let's go fucking mental

Let's go fucking mental

 

 

 

# Da-da-da-da, da-da-da-da

 

 

 

# Let's go fucking mental... #

 

 

 

Friend of the family, eh?

 

 

 

Pete might be showing you a bit of courtesy,

you being Shannon's brother,

 

 

 

but get it straight, we don't like outsiders.

 

 

 

All right?

 

 

 

Come on, you Hammers!

 

 

 

All right, mate?

 

 

 

Hey, Pete, look, I'm gonna head home.

I'm not feeling so hot. Jet lag.

 

 

 

Fuck off. You're not missing the game.

You wanted to learn about soccer.

 

 

 

# I'm forever blowing bubbles

 

 

 

# Pretty bubbles in the air

 

 

 

# They fly so high, they reach the sky

 

 

 

# And like my dreams, they fade and die

 

 

 

# Fortune's always hiding

 

 

 

# I've looked everywhere

 

 

 

# I'm forever blowing bubbles

 

 

 

# Pretty bubbles in the air #

 

 

 

United!

 

 

 

United! United!

 

 

 

Come on, you Irons!

 

 

 

Come on, you Irons!

 

 

 

Look out, mate.

We're the most watched country in the world.

 

 

 

Keep your head down.

 

 

 

[Indistinct Tannoy announcements]

 

 

 

[# Kasabian: Stuntman]

 

 

 

Sweet, innit? Come on.

 

 

 

[Whistle blows]

 

 

 

...you monkeys!

 

 

 

Get the fuck out of here!

 

 

 

Come on, you Irons!

 

 

 

Fucking have him, my son.

 

 

 

He's in the box.

 

 

 

What the fuck?!

 

 

 

[Whistle blows]

 

 

 

Let's go!

 

 

 

Go on, you fucking kill me!

 

 

 

Come on!

 

 

 

- Dirty northern bastards!

- You fucking wanker!

 

 

 

Come on, you fucking Zulu cunt!

I want you, you cunt! You fucking mug!

 

 

 

I don't fucking believe it! He's over there!

 

 

 

It's fucking Bovver! Look, he's over there!

 

 

 

Go on, son!

 

 

 

Fucking A!

 

 

 

There he is. Oi, Bov. Fucking 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. Fucking 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 crèche?

 

 

 

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 fucking 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 fuck's he gone?

- Where the fuck is he?

 

 

 

I'm getting too old for this shit.

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.

 

 

 

- Fuck off!

- Come on, boys. Let's fucking have him!

 

 

 

Let's have the little cunt!

 

 

 

- Zulu! Zulu! Zulu! Zulu! Zulu!

- What the fuck's that?

 

 

 

Well, come on, then! What you fucking

standing there for, you cunts?

 

 

 

Oh, here we go.

 

 

 

- Let's get out of here!

- What?

 

 

 

- There's    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 fucking twat! Come on!

 

 

 

Ah, you fucking... Get off!

 

 

 

[Chanting]

 

 

 

Come on!

 

 

 

Come on! Come on! Come on!

 

 

 

- Fuck me!

- What do you make of that, then?

 

 

 

- What a fucking result!

- You were a fucking 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 fucking 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.

 

 

 

Fucking 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, shit firm. The Gooners.

 

 

 

Tottenham: Shit football and a shit firm.

The Yids, they're called.

 

 

 

I put their main lad

through a phone-box window.

 

 

 

- What about Millwall?

- Ah, Millwall.

 

 

 

Where to even fucking 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 cunt.

 

 

 

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 '  s

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 fucking state of him.

- Don't fucking 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 fucking hands off me!

- Stop it! Steve! Stop it!

 

 

 

Get the fuck out! Get out! Fuck! Shit.

 

 

 

[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 fucking 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

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 fucking 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 fucking country after Mom died.

 

 

 

I'm sorry.

 

 

 

- You come and visit me.

- Yeah, of course.

 

 

 

[Pete] Jeremy Van Holden?

 

 

 

Sounds like a cunt.

 

 

 

Mate, if he'd done that to me,

I'd smash seven shades of shit 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 fuck.

 

 

 

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:   . Away team:  .

 

 

 

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 cunt.

- Fucking fat bastard.

 

 

 

- Hello, mate.

- Get the fucking chips in.

 

 

 

Well, I'll be fucked.

If it ain't my old mate Bovver.

 

 

 

How are you doing, son, all right?

 

 

 

I'll say one thing, you got some fucking front

showing your face over this side of the water.

 

 

 

There's plenty of people round here love to kick

your fucking arse, given half the chance.

 

 

 

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

- Fucking right, son.

 

 

 

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

your firm gone all fucking international, eh?

 

 

 

Don't you even fucking think

about ignoring me, you little cunt.

 

 

 

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 fucking 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 fucking 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 fucking excuse

for not keeping that shit cunt of yours quiet.

 

 

 

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

 

 

 

George, your bird hasn't stopped

fucking 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 fucking, 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 fuck off.

 

 

 

Tommy, we best fuck 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? Fuck 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?

- Fuck knows.

 

 

 

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

 

 

 

Pre-Match Stress.

He's being a right cunt 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.

 

 

 

- Go on, piss off. Give you a bell later.

- How many reds d'you reckon'll turn up?

 

 

 

Fuck knows.

 

 

 

- Catch.

- How's that?

 

 

 

The  .   train to Manchester...

 

 

 

Oi.

 

 

 

- All right, lads? Bovver?

- Pete.

 

 

 

- I thought we agreed to meet in the car park.

- Decided to wait here.

 

 

 

You want to play the wanker,

that's fine with me.

 

 

 

But leave it out till we've got today out the way.

 

 

 

- All right, mate?

- Sweet.

 

 

 

Come on, boys. Let's have it!

 

 

 

- I'm not lending you any more money.

- For fuck's sake, come on, play the game.

 

 

 

- You never paid me the last time, you cunt.

- You taking the piss or what?

 

 

 

- What are you doing?

- I thought it was just the three of you.

 

 

 

Oh, isn't that sweet?

This what you were planning, eh?

 

 

 

I ain't going in with that fucking mug.

 

 

 

- Sit down, mate.

- Hello, mate.

 

 

 

- Who's calling what here?

- Get on with the game.

 

 

 

He's here now.

 

 

 

[Phone rings]

 

 

 

- Dave, where are you?

- Sorry I missed you. Flight was an hour late.

 

 

 

- Fly faster.

- I'm here.

 

 

 

- What, Manchester?

- Yeah.

 

 

 

There's    of them waiting here,

all getting very fucking excited.

 

 

 

Listen.

 

 

 

United!

 

 

 

- Bov.

- Unitedl Unitedl Unitedl

 

 

 

Fuck.

 

 

 

- Do you hear that?

- Yeah, man.

 

 

 

They're waiting here for you.

Don't roll into Manchester.

 

 

 

- All right, nice one.

- All right, laters.

 

 

 

- We are fucked.

- What's happening?

 

 

 

- They're waiting for us at the station.

- They know we're on here?

 

 

 

- Must have had a scout watching us.

- How many?

 

 

 

-      .

- Can't we just get off at the next station?

 

 

 

Fucking express train.

Don't stop till Manchester.

 

 

 

Is that right, bruv?

 

 

 

Come on, boys.

If we don't show up now, they'll claim a result.

 

 

 

- We gotta get to that station first.

- We just got away.

 

 

 

You shouldn't even be here!

This is what it's all about.

 

 

 

- It's what we fucking live for!

- Fuck him!

 

 

 

Here's the plan. Ike, call Dave.

Tell him what's happening.

 

 

 

It's about    miles to Manchester.

We need a couple of cabs immediately.

 

 

 

[Pete] Fuck! Where's all the fucking cabs?

 

 

 

- Pete, I got an idea.

- I thought I told you to shut up.

 

 

 

Fuck you, Bovver.

 

 

 

Cut it! Fucking cut it out!

What is it?

 

 

 

[All chanting]

Who the fuck are Man United?

 

 

 

[Policeman over radio]

MP, this is MM

 

 

 

in the vicinity of the last report responding.

 

 

 

Where the fuck are these cunts? That train

should've been here ten minutes ago.

 

 

 

They'll be here soon.

There's no way off that train.

 

 

 

Stay sharp, lads. And remember,

Nigel gets that Dunham cunt all to himself.

 

 

 

Nice one.

 

 

 

- What the fuck do you want?

- Sorry, guys.

 

 

 

We're with Paramount Pictures,

shooting the new Hugh Grant film.

 

 

 

- We gotta get this gear through.

- Hugh Grant film?

 

 

 

Any decent women in it?

 

 

 

Cameron Diaz, I think.

 

 

 

I hope so. She's fit as fuck.

Let this cunt through!

 

 

 

Thanks.

 

 

 

Give me    seconds,

then I'd get the fuck out of here.

 

 

 

# Where's your famous, where's your famous

 

 

 

# Where's your famous GSE?

Where's you famous, where's your famous... #

 

 

 

[# Terence Jay: Shame]

 

 

 

[Police sirens wailing]

 

 

 

Get off me, you fucking monkey!

 

 

 

# There's your famous GSE

There's your famous

 

 

 

# There's your famous

There's your Famous GSE

 

 

 

# There's your famous GSE #

 

 

 

[# The Stone Roses: I Wanna Be Adored]

 

 

 

[Matt] We could have died

that day in Manchester.

 

 

 

Everybody knew it. But we didn't.

 

 

 

Ike said later that the story travelled across

England faster than the death of Lady Di.

 

 

 

The GSE were finally back.

 

 

 

Suddenly, I was part of the firm

with the best rep in London.

 

 

 

- The old guards.

- [All] The old guards.

 

 

 

[Matt] People around town

had heard of me.

 

 

 

They would hear my accent and say.

"So you're the Yank."

 

 

 

[All chanting] United! United! United!

 

 

 

[Matt] You know the best part?

 

 

 

It isn't knowing that your friends

have your back.

 

 

 

It's knowing that you have

your friends' back.

 

 

 

# I don't have to sell my soul

He's already in me... #

 

 

 

They're on me.

 

 

 

[Matt] I'd never lived closer to danger.

 

 

 

But I'd never felt safer.

 

 

 

I'd never felt more confident.

 

 

 

And people could spot it

from a mile away.

 

 

 

And as for this, the violence,

I gotta be honest.

 

 

 

It grew on me.

 

 

 

# I wanna be adored... #

 

 

 

[Matt] Once you've taken a few punches

and realise you're not made of glass,

 

 

 

you don't feel alive unless you're

pushing yourself as far as you can go.

 

 

 

So what couldn't you tell me...?

 

 

 

I have to find out from your sister

that you're expelled?

 

 

 

- Why didn't you call me?

- I did.

 

 

 

- Your machine answered.

- You could have left a message.

 

 

 

Yeah, well, I'm tired of having a relationship

with your voicemail.

 

 

 

- You know what? I don't need this.

- Hey, Matt!

 

 

 

Matt, come on.

 

 

 

- Shannon says you were set up. Is that true?

- Yes.

 

 

 

- Why didn't you find me?

- Why didn't I find you?

 

 

 

- What's your fucking point?

- My point is, this doesn't look good, Matt.

 

 

 

You say that you're set up.

 

 

 

You don't contact your father?

We could've fought this if you were innocent.

 

 

 

- If I were innocent?

- If you're innocent,

 

 

 

- Why didn't you ask for help?

- You think I'm a drug dealer?

 

 

 

- I don't know.

- What do you think?

 

 

 

- I don't know.

- Well, that's why I didn't find you.

 

 

 

Of course you don't know what to think.

You don't really know anything about me.

 

 

 

- So you came to England?

- Yeah.

 

 

 

- OK, what now, Matt? What's the plan?

- What do you really want?

 

 

 

- It's just a question.

- Listen, Carl.

 

 

 

Do you really expect me

to unburden myself to you?

 

 

 

You just show up and decide

you're the Dad again?

 

 

 

Look, I have to go to the London Times.

 

 

 

- You're unbelievable. You know that?

- Just someone I'd like you to meet.

 

 

 

I'm not five years old anymore.

It takes a little bit more to manipulate me.

 

 

 

An old friend from my Tribune days.

 

 

 

You thought all it takes

is a handshake from the editor

 

 

 

and I'll have my old life back?

 

 

 

It's just a free lunch.

 

 

 

Welcome, ladies and gentlemen,

to the Quarterfinal Draw

 

 

 

for the Football Association Cup.

 

 

 

The oldest and most prestigious tournament

in World Cup Football.

 

 

 

Fortunately, today we have with us

the West Ham legend, Mr Frank McAvennie

 

 

 

and chairman for our sponsors,

Mr Phil Peters.

 

 

 

As usual, the home team

will be drawn first. Frank.

 

 

 

- [Frank] Number two.

- Number two. Cardiff City

 

 

 

- will play...

- Number three, Liverpool.

 

 

 

- Yes.

- Shhh!

 

 

 

- [Frank] Number seven...

- Number seven, Sunderland will play...

 

 

 

- Number six.

- Number six, Newcastle United.

 

 

 

- Bit of a North-East derby.

- Yes.

 

 

 

- [Frank] Number eight.

- Number eight, West Ham United...

 

 

 

...will play...

 

 

 

...number five, Millwall.

 

 

 

- Fucking yes!

- [All] Yes!

 

 

 

- Yes!

- Come on, you Irons!

 

 

 

Fucking nice.

 

 

 

Bov, mate, we've got them, mate.

 

 

 

Oi, bruv, this is gonna go off.

 

 

 

Oi, oi, oi...

 

 

 

You won't believe who just

walked into the Times.

 

 

 

What? Who?

 

 

 

Our little Yank mate.

 

 

 

I fucking knew it. I knew there was

something dodgy about that little cunt.

 

 

 

Yeah, mate, sly.

 

 

 

- Tell you what. Pick me up after work.

- All right. I'll see you after work. Sweet.

 

 

 

[Carl] You know, your sister's worried sick

about you.

 

 

 

She says you're running around

with some kind of gang.

 

 

 

It's not a gang, Dad. They're my friends.

 

 

 

- Are you at least writing about it?

- Am I writing about it? No.

 

 

 

Hey, Matt, listen.

I want you to come home with me.

 

 

 

- What?!

- Look.

 

 

 

You may not trust me as your father,

but as a fellow journalist,

 

 

 

your reputation is all you have.

 

 

 

You've gotta get back to Harvard

and clear your name.

 

 

 

- We can fight it together.

- Forget it, Dad.

 

 

 

- I'm not going home.

- Jesus...

 

 

 

Look, if it makes you feel better,

I am keeping a journal.

 

 

 

It's one thing you taught me I held onto.

 

 

 

I knew that.

 

 

 

I was just making sure.

 

 

 

- Hey, Steve.

- How you doing?

 

 

 

Good to see you.

 

 

 

- Matt.

- Hey.

 

 

 

I'm gonna change.

What time's your flight?

 

 

 

Take your time.

My cab will be here in half an hour.

 

 

 

I have to say farewell to my grandson.

 

 

 

I gotta take off, Dad.

 

 

 

Oh. OK, Matt.

 

 

 

Look, I know things have not been...

 

 

 

Great to see you.

 

 

 

- How you doing?

- Good.

 

 

 

So you'll be celebrating the draw

with the lads?

 

 

 

The draw. Wait, who did we get?

 

 

 

- You don't know?

- No.

 

 

 

- Oh, come on, Steve. Who?

- Millwall.

 

 

 

At home.

 

 

 

Huh!

 

 

 

Hello.

 

 

 

Don't we want to play?

 

 

 

- Hey, gorgeous.

- Hey.

 

 

 

- You OK?

- Mm.

 

 

 

Yeah, I was just watching my dad

playing with Ben.

 

 

 

He's already a better grandfather

than he ever was a dad.

 

 

 

You know, he seems like

a decent bloke now.

 

 

 

For a bloody journo.

 

 

 

So he was an arsehole

when you were growing up.

 

 

 

I guess that's why neither of you

joined the old man's racket.

 

 

 

What do you mean?

 

 

 

- You know. Followed in his footsteps.

- What are you talking about? Matt did.

 

 

 

What do you mean?

 

 

 

Matt was always a little more fascinated

with our absentee father than I was.

 

 

 

Shannon, what do you mean, "Matt did"?

 

 

 

That's what Matt studied at Harvard.

 

 

 

He was a journalism major.

 

 

 

I just really hope that he gets back to it.

 

 

 

You know, once he gets your brother

out of his system.

 

 

 

[# Acarine: Stand Your Ground]

 

 

 

So he's a Yank and an undercover journo.

 

 

 

Looks like we'll have to give him two funerals.

 

 

 

# My boy from the land of apple pie

Dropped in a culture of an eye for an eye

 

 

 

# We're up for combat and beyond that

Sky News, News at Ten, I'll be on that... #

 

 

 

# Hit the Wall, hit the Wall

Hit the Wall, hit the Wall

 

 

 

- # We are the Millwall haters #

- [all chanting] We hate Millwall!

 

 

 

- What are you doing here?

- I want a word with you outside.

 

 

 

- What happened? Is Shannon OK?

- Yeah, Shannon's fine.

 

 

 

Why didn't you tell me?

 

 

 

Steve Dunham just walked in.

 

 

 

- Why didn't you say you're doing journalism?

- I'm not, I quit. What's the difference?

 

 

 

Well, listen, mate, to some people,

it makes a huge difference.

 

 

 

What would you know about that?

 

 

 

Listen. I like you, but you have no idea

what you're getting into.

 

 

 

I've gotta tell my brother

that his new best mate is a journalist.

 

 

 

So me and you are going outside now.

 

 

 

[Barman rings bell] A toast.

 

 

 

Stevie Dunham, back in the Abbey

after all these years.

 

 

 

Welcome home, Major. The Major!

 

 

 

[All chanting] Major! Major! Major!

 

 

 

[All chanting] GSE! GSE! GSE!

 

 

 

[Knocking]

 

 

 

Hang on.

 

 

 

All right, boys. What you doing here?

 

 

 

- The Yank here?

- No, he's...

 

 

 

- A fucking undercover journo.

- What?

 

 

 

- No, bollocks.

- No, it's straight, mate.

 

 

 

I seen him down at the Times walking out.

 

 

 

Shaking hands, proper pally.

What's that all about?

 

 

 

Think about. Drops in out of nowhere.

Never been in a scrap in his life.

 

 

 

Snugs in nice and tight with a top boy

at a firm.

 

 

 

For fuck's sake, Pete,

what else was he doing at the Times?

 

 

 

No, that means fuck all.

 

 

 

Could've been any one of a hundred reasons

he was down there.

 

 

 

- This time I'd like to make sure of that myself.

- You sure of this, Bov?

 

 

 

'Cause if you're coming in here like this,

you fucking well better be.

 

 

 

Yeah, watch out, son.

 

 

 

- What? This his, is it?

- Yeah.

 

 

 

Yeah? What the fuck is this?

 

 

 

Here, Keith, you know about all this

computer stuff. Have a look.

 

 

 

What's this?

 

 

 

Fucking cunt.

 

 

 

Here we go.

 

 

 

"First match:

West Ham v. Birmingham. Home.

 

 

 

"Pete brought me to the Brigid Abbey Pub

on Walsh Road,

 

 

 

"his main hangout,

and introduced me to his gang."

 

 

 

Oh, look, we're a fucking gang now.

 

 

 

Make it go up.

 

 

 

"Bovver is Pete's thuggish righthand man.

 

 

 

"Keith is sort of Bovver's enforcer."

 

 

 

You happy now? We're all in there.

 

 

 

He didn't say nothing about me.

 

 

 

Wait here. I'll put some clothes on.

 

 

 

- So you're the Major?

- I was the Major.

 

 

 

I guess to some I still am.

 

 

 

Terry here was my righthand man

back in the glory days.

 

 

 

That was a long time ago, though, mate.

 

 

 

Why'd you get out of it?

 

 

 

I was a crazy bastard back then.

 

 

 

All I fucking cared about was my reputation

amongst the firms of England.

 

 

 

You've heard all the stories

about Millwall, yeah?

 

 

 

Last match I went to was Millwall-West Ham.

We're talking a good ten years ago.

 

 

 

I mean, we'd been waiting for this match

all year.

 

 

 

At Millwall. Yeah, stepping into their ground.

 

 

 

Completely outnumbered.

 

 

 

We were fucking wired from the start.

 

 

 

Now, Tommy Hatcher,

he was their main man back then.

 

 

 

He used to bring his   -year-old boy

to the grounds, Tommy Jr.

 

 

 

Always banging on how he brought this kid up

to be like a little pitbull.

 

 

 

Well, we lost that match, three nil.

 

 

 

And those Millwall cunts

started laughing at us.

 

 

 

And I just fucking snapped.

 

 

 

I couldn't let it lie, you know?

 

 

 

So I assembled all our troops

and we hunted them down.

 

 

 

[Sombre piano music]

 

 

 

I saw that little lad go down.

 

 

 

[Tommy] Wait! No!

 

 

 

And I saw his skull get crushed

under the boots of the GSE.

 

 

 

I never went to another match after that.

 

 

 

And I left "The Major" behind.

 

 

 

And that's when I met your sister.

 

 

 

She was my angel. She really saved me.

 

 

 

Showed me a new life.

Helped me forget all this bollocks.

 

 

 

And she swore she'd leave me

if I ever returned to it.

 

 

 

And when it comes back to me, and

believe me, it fucking does, that madness...

 

 

 

I mean, when I hear the roar of the stadium

on match day,

 

 

 

the lads calling me to get pissed

out of me fucking tree...

 

 

 

When I think of that,

I think about getting back into it...

 

 

 

And Shannon and Ben, they remind me...

 

 

 

...there's more to life than all this.

 

 

 

Get all those juicy details, mate?

Writing it all down?

 

 

 

- What?

- You fucking journo cunt!

 

 

 

- You sure you know what you're doing here?

- He's fucking undercover.

 

 

 

- Don't tell him nothing!

- I said, are you sure?

 

 

 

What? You already knew.

 

 

 

All I knew is that he studied journalism,

right, at Harvard. But he's dropped out.

 

 

 

We found his journal,

full of stories about all of us.

 

 

 

- It's a fucking diary!

- Ned saw you at the Times

 

 

 

with a couple of journos.

 

 

 

That was my Dad.

He's the journalist, you knew that.

 

 

 

- His old man's a journo and you knew.

- That don't mean nothing yet.

 

 

 

He studies to be a journo,

his old man is a journo.

 

 

 

What's the difference?

You let one of them get in with us.

 

 

 

- I wasn't trying to get anything.

- You, shut the...!

 

 

 

I don't care who he is.

You don't do someone on the deck.

 

 

 

What's wrong with you? He's gonna

bury us all and you're just gonna watch?

 

 

 

No. Now, Steve, you're the Major.

 

 

 

You started this firm.

 

 

 

We got the biggest ruck of our lives

coming up,

 

 

 

and your brother's too much

of a bottle-job to lead us.

 

 

 

The GSE is Pete's firm. All right?

He calls the shots.

 

 

 

Well, fuck the lot of you!

 

 

 

GSE.

 

 

 

Get out of the fucking way! Move!

 

 

 

Get yourself cleaned up.

 

 

 

Tommy.

 

 

 

This is it, mate. We're finally gonna get back

at those fucking Hammer cunts, eh?

 

 

 

[All chanting] Millwall! Millwall! Millwall!

 

 

 

The fuck's he doing here?

 

 

 

Marky, sit down, son. Sweet.

 

 

 

- That's it. Do as you're told, you mug.

- Fuck off.

 

 

 

Bovver. You know, we're gonna have

to stop meeting like this, don't you, son?

 

 

 

People are gonna start to talk. What you doing

up so late on a school night?

 

 

 

Shouldn't you be at home with your pals all

shitting at the thought of us turning you over?

 

 

 

What, you had a lover's tiff?

 

 

 

What do you want, Bov?

 

 

 

Fucking Yank's an undercover journo.

 

 

 

He's at our boozer now.

Tom, you gotta give him the chop.

 

 

 

He's got 'em eating

out of the palm of his hand.

 

 

 

What makes you think that I'd wanna

sort that out for you, eh?

 

 

 

Because the Major's there too.

 

 

 

Stevie Dunham's in there?

 

 

 

- Thanks, Pete.

- Shut up! History student my arse.

 

 

 

- Who the fuck are you?

- Sorry I lied about being a history major,

 

 

 

but I'm not a journalist.

 

 

 

It don't look fucking good, does it?

 

 

 

- Why are you keeping a record?

- It's a journal. I've kept that my entire life.

 

 

 

- Are you working for the Times?

- No. I'm telling you the truth.

 

 

 

You've gotta trust me, Pete.

 

 

 

Mate, you've put me right fucking in it.

 

 

 

If I don't convince those boys that

the head of their firm was not just taken

 

 

 

by a fucking Yank journo,

the GSE is done.

 

 

 

So I'm gonna go out there and I'm

gonna tell them that Bov's got it wrong.

 

 

 

And that you're one of us.

 

 

 

And I had better be fucking right.

 

 

 

So, Bovver, is there anything else

you wanna tell us?

 

 

 

Tom, please.

This is how it's got to go down...

 

 

 

You fucking... Go on, Marc.

 

 

 

Afraid you're the only one

going down, little Bovver.

 

 

 

Grass.

 

 

 

Fuck!

 

 

 

This shit with Bovver

could tear this firm apart.

 

 

 

Mate, I need you.

Stay with us, just through Millwall.

 

 

 

I'm not gonna help you.

 

 

 

I made a promise to my wife and kid, all right?

And I'm sticking to it.

 

 

 

You know, there comes a time

when the best reputation you can have

 

 

 

is the one with your family...

 

 

 

- [man] Down, get the fuck down!

- Hello, boys.

 

 

 

Jesus!

 

 

 

[Matt] Pete! Pete, come on, man!

 

 

 

Terry.

 

 

 

Fuck off!

 

 

 

Terry!

 

 

 

Look who's back in the fucking Abbey

after all these years.

 

 

 

Tommy, I'm done with all this, mate.

 

 

 

Retired, did you?

Got yourself a Yank wife, did you?

 

 

 

Had a son of your own, did you?

I had a son once!

 

 

 

Do you remember him?!

Do you fucking remember him?!

 

 

 

- I'm sorry!

- It's too late!

 

 

 

You fuck!

 

 

 

Tommy!

 

 

 

- You listen to me.

- Tommy!

 

 

 

You die tonight, and me and you are even.

 

 

 

It's done! Let's go!

 

 

 

- Pete! Over here, mate, quick.

- Jesus, fucking hanging here, like!

 

 

 

- [Steve] Ah, fucking hell.

- Get him down.

 

 

 

[Bovver] I've messed.

 

 

 

Bovver, what the fuck did you do?

 

 

 

Get a fucking car!

 

 

 

[Car alarm wails]

 

 

 

[Terry] Move!

 

 

 

[Steve] Agh! Fucking hell!

[Terry] Move!

 

 

 

[Pete] Get in there.

[Terry] Get him the fuck in the car!

 

 

 

[Terry] Get in! Go!

 

 

 

Go! Fucking go!

Get out of the way! Move, move!

 

 

 

Somebody help!

Help us, he's been fucking stabbed!

 

 

 

Come on, hurry!

 

 

 

[Matt] Fucking hurry up!

[Man] Resus. Go, go.

 

 

 

- What did he say?

- He's hanging on.

 

 

 

Trusting lads.

 

 

 

You always said trusting lads

was my problem, Bov.

 

 

 

I trust lads too much.

Trust the Yank too much.

 

 

 

This is how you prove your point?

 

 

 

Backstabbing me? Teaming up

with Tommy Hatcher to kill the Major?

 

 

 

Kill my fucking brother?!

 

 

 

I'll kill Tommy.

Just say the word and I'll do it.

 

 

 

I don't need you for that.

 

 

 

I don't need you for anything anymore.

 

 

 

Go away.

 

 

 

Please, I fucked up...

 

 

 

[automatic door opens]

 

 

 

Shannon.

 

 

 

Sick! You're so sick!

 

 

 

[He gasps]

 

 

 

[Whispers inaudibly]

 

 

 

I'm so sorry.

 

 

 

I know.

 

 

 

The doctor said that you're gonna be OK.

 

 

 

He said it's just gonna take a little time.

 

 

 

We're leaving tomorrow.

 

 

 

It's not safe for us here now.

 

 

 

- How is he?

- He's hanging in there.

 

 

 

- So, what now?

- You let Tommy know I want a straightener.

 

 

 

- Tomorrow.

- All right.

 

 

 

We finish this once and for all.

Somewhere quiet.

 

 

 

Away from Old Bill.

 

 

 

- Your mate still runs security at Trinity Wharf?

- Yeah.

 

 

 

- Get hold of him. Set it up.

- Sure.

 

 

 

Come on.

 

 

 

[Knocking]

 

 

 

What's going on?

 

 

 

Ben and I are on the noon flight

to Boston.

 

 

 

You can't leave him.

He was trying to protect us.

 

 

 

- You can't do this to him, Shannon.

- Yes, she can. She has to.

 

 

 

So should you.

 

 

 

I'm going with you to that wharf tomorrow.

 

 

 

Jesus Christ!

 

 

 

They crash our pub, they put your brother

in the hospital.

 

 

 

- That ain't your problem anymore.

- What are you talking about?

 

 

 

- I've got just as much at stake here as you do.

- Matt, listen to me.

 

 

 

It's time to go home.

 

 

 

- I don't know where my home is anymore.

- I think we both know where it ain't.

 

 

 

Mate, this is my fight.

It's my brother in the hospital.

 

 

 

I'll take care of Tommy.

 

 

 

Go home, mate.

 

 

 

# I'm forever blowing bubbles

 

 

 

# Pretty bubbles in the air

 

 

 

# They fly so high

 

 

 

# They reach the sky

 

 

 

# And like... #

 

 

 

[eerie guitar strings plucking]

 

 

 

You're doing the right thing, Matt.

 

 

 

Yeah.

 

 

 

You know that back home nobody's

gonna care about your rep here.

 

 

 

You know that, right?

 

 

 

I'm gonna call a cab.

 

 

 

- Where's Matt?

- Finally went home.

 

 

 

Come on.

 

 

 

I know, fucking terrible.

 

 

 

[Policeman over radio] This is Charlie

MP CB     at Brixton Road, disturbance...

 

 

 

The cab's on its... way.

 

 

 

Matt?

 

 

 

Matt?

 

 

 

Matt?

 

 

 

[# Terence Jay: One Blood]

 

 

 

# In the far away fires

 

 

 

# Where the hills forever burn

 

 

 

# At the feet of our heroes

 

 

 

# We try hard to learn

 

 

 

# But the lesson is lost there

 

 

 

# In the smoke and the mud

 

 

 

# And that we are one flesh

One breath, one life

 

 

 

# One blood... #

 

 

 

- Fucking have 'em!

- Come on!

 

 

 

# I stood by the river... #

 

 

 

Come on!

 

 

 

# I stood in the killing fields

 

 

 

# Where death has no name

 

 

 

# I stood with my brothers

 

 

 

# And awaited flood

 

 

 

# And we were one flesh

One breath, one life

 

 

 

# One blood

 

 

 

# Then I fell to the ground

 

 

 

# Tasted ashes on my tongue

 

 

 

# Thinking that only the dead

 

 

 

# Are forever young... #

 

 

 

You fucking mug!

 

 

 

# There was peace in the twilight... #

 

 

 

At least one of you Dunham cunts

are gonna pay for my fucking boy!

 

 

 

# It was a world without danger

 

 

 

# A world without war... #

 

 

 

Me old mate, Bovver, you never could

turn down a good scrap.

 

 

 

You know me, bruv.

 

 

 

Come on, get him up!

 

 

 

# 'Cause we are one flesh

One breath, one life #

 

 

 

Holy shit! Shannon!

 

 

 

Shannon! Stop!

 

 

 

Shannon, over here!

 

 

 

[Pete] Matt, don't be a fucking idiot!

Get her out of here! Shannon, stop!

 

 

 

- Matt!

- Wait, Pete, what are you doing?

 

 

 

Fucking hell, Tommy.

It's Steve Dunham's wife.

 

 

 

If Tommy reaches that car,

do you know what he'll do to her?

 

 

 

He's a fucking animal!

 

 

 

Hello, love.

 

 

 

Matt!

 

 

 

Let me in, you slut!

I'll smash this fucking window in!

 

 

 

I'll smash this fucking window.

 

 

 

Are you OK? Is Ben OK?

 

 

 

Matt!

 

 

 

You're gonna get it now, you little Yank!

 

 

 

Bov, wanna make up

for what you've done?

 

 

 

Get my brother's family out of here.

 

 

 

Tommy! Don't you wanna

finish me off, then?

 

 

 

You're already finished, little Petey.

 

 

 

The NTO will take care of you in a minute,

you mug.

 

 

 

We didn't kill your son, Tommy! You did!

 

 

 

You should have protected him, mate.

 

 

 

He was your son!

 

 

 

- Don't you talk about my fucking son!

- He was your son!

 

 

 

Get in the fucking motor!

 

 

 

Get in the fucking car!

 

 

 

He's only a poor little hummer!

 

 

 

His face was all battered and torn!

 

 

 

He made me feel sick,

I hit him with a brick!

 

 

 

Now the cunt's not laughing

or singing no more!

 

 

 

- He's not laughing at us...

- That's enough.

 

 

 

I'll get us out of here! Go!

 

 

 

- You can't leave him.

- Pete! Pete!

 

 

 

Fucking help him!

 

 

 

[Matt] Pete Dunham's life taught me

that there's a time to stand your ground.

 

 

 

His death taught me there's a time

to walk away.

 

 

 

I would never have the chance to thank him.

 

 

 

But I could live in a way

that would honour him.

 

 

 

[Men laughing]

 

 

 

Too much.

 

 

 

Well, congrats on the Epstein account,

Van Holden.

 

 

 

That should be a nice com-mish.

 

 

 

I bet your father's election

had nothing to do with it.

 

 

 

Fuck you very much, Todd.

 

 

 

Gentlemen, if you will excuse me,

 

 

 

I must partake, once again,

in this restaurant's fine facilities.

 

 

 

Fucking lucky bastard.

 

 

 

[Intense sniff]

 

 

 

What the fuck?!

 

 

 

Matt Buckner? Is that you?

 

 

 

Jesus, Matt, you look like shit.

 

 

 

Hey, Buckner, do you mind?

 

 

 

- You said you'd hook me up.

- What?

 

 

 

I took the fall for you at Harvard.

You said you'd hook me up.

 

 

 

- You're kidding.

- They were your drugs.

 

 

 

You said you had

more to lose, that you'd hook me up.

 

 

 

All right. Yes. I said I would hook you up.

 

 

 

Jesus, Matt, I'm in a meeting right now.

 

 

 

Call my office. Talk to Cindy.

She'll make an appointment for you.

 

 

 

[Van Holden] You gotta be joking me,

spineless shit.

 

 

 

- [Matt on tape]... that you'd hook me up...

- [Jeremy] All right. Yes.

 

 

 

- What the fuck is this?!

- This?

 

 

 

- It's my ticket back to Harvard.

- Give me that!

 

 

 

I wouldn't do that.

 

 

 

# I'm forever blowing bubbles

Pretty bubbles in the air

 

 

 

[chorus of voices singing along]

# They fly so high, they reach the sky

 

 

 

# And like my dreams, they fade and die

 

 

 

# Fortune's always hiding

 

 

 

# I've looked everywhere

 

 

 

# I'm forever blowing bubbles

Pretty bubbles in the air #

 

 

 

[chorus chanting]

United! United! United!

 

 

 

 

Buy here ----> EBAY

GSH official trailer <3





GSH Theme song <3 (Terence Jay aka Jeremy Van Holden :)




SXSW Film festival. Elijah, Charlie and Lexi.

1. When Elijah Wood's character and the gang go to the match which is supposed to be between West Ham United & Birmingham City the teams we actually see in the football action shots are West Ham United and Gillingham.

2. When in the Abbey, Bovver is on a table singing West Ham's team song. When everyone sings "Lets go F*ing mental" and starts throwing beer on Bovver his hair gets visibly wet. It cuts to another shot then back to Bovver whose hair is now dry. He is again doused in beer, then confronts Matt in the bathroom again with dry hair and clothing.

3. Pete has less blood on his face when he dies and the overhead shot is on him, than what he did when Bovver was trying to help him.

4. In the final fight scene we see Matt hitting a guy in the arm with a piece of wood. If you watch closely when he hits him the wood vibrates, indicating it is made of rubber.

5. When Matt has the Chelsea grin, he is obviously bleeding a lot in the corners of the mouth. But in the next scene with the van and then with the fight, the blood is gone and it doesn't show and sign of wounds and him wiping the blood away.

6. Before the trip to Manchester, we see Charlie Hunham and Elijah Wood outside King's Cross station (London's station for trains to the North East & Scotland) with a GNER train in the background. In the next scene, they are shown inside Paddington station (London's station for trains to South Wales, Devon & Cornwall) catching a First Great Western train. The next scene shows a shot of a Silverlink County train, which run from London Euston to Northampton and Birmingham. In these three consecutive scenes we are shown 3 different trains, run by 3 different operators, none of which actually serve Manchester.

7. When the GSE are walking to the final fight scene, Terry the barman starts off being on the right of Pete. Yet when they start charging the Millwall gang, he is now on the left.

8. When Bovver is helping Pete up on the beach, Pete says, "My mate Bovver, never could turn down a good scrap," but his mouth never moves.

9. When Matt is smoking on the balcony near the end of the movie, he takes a drag on his cigarette when Shannon is talking to him. Yet in all shots afterward he never blows the smoke out.

10. In the fight after Matt gets ambushed, as the gangs collide, Matt gets knocked down, yet in the next shot he gets knocked down again. How would he be able to get back up fast enough to get knocked down again straight away?

11. When Elijah Wood wakes up the next morning after being in his first fight he has a bad bruise on his left eye/cheek. In the next scene at the breakfast cart the bruise is gone, only a few scratches are visible.

12. Before the first match we see people in the Abbey wearing West Ham jerseys, but when they are walking to the game none of them do.

- Stop fighting! Use the ring? :D

Green Street is a 2005 British/American independent drama film about  football hooliganism in England. It was directed by Lexi Alexander and stars  Elijah Wood and Charlie Hunnam. In the United States and Australia, the film is called Green Street Hooligans, while in the United Kingdom it has the title Green Street after initially being called Hooligans. In other countries, it is called Football Hooligans or just Hooligans. In the film, an American college student (Matt Buckner — played by Elijah Wood) falls in with a violent West Ham football firm (the Green Street Elite) run by his brother-in-law's brother and is morally transformed by their commitment to each other. The story and screenplay were developed by former hooligan turned author Dougie Brimson.

Throughout the film, the Green Street Elite fight other "firms" such as Tottenham Hotspur's Yid Army, Birmingham City's Zulus, Manchester United's Red Army and Millwall's Bushwackers.

 

 

AWARDS:

Lexi Alexander won several awards including Best Feature at the LA Femme Film Festival, Best of the Fest at the Malibu Film Festival, and the Special Jury Award at the SXSW Film Festival.

 

 

 

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(My Tattoo) and for me it's a battle metaphor. To stand and fight to defend the ground on which you stood rather than to run and give up ground to the enemy. Stand up for your beliefs and stand up for yourself all the time, and remember: If you stand for nothing, you will fall for anything. (and also because I love the movie of course)

 

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The Griffin, Brook Road South, Brentford, Middlesex, England.