Hooligans Page #2

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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?

F*** 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.

F*** 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, sh*t.

It's rhyming slang.

Like bees and honey for money.

Like I could say to you,

give me the f***ing 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 f***ing choice, mate.

And you're starting to get on my tits.

Give me half the money.

Cops!

Well, how f***ing 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 sh*t 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?

F*** it. I will take you with me.

You might learn something.

- About soccer?

- No, mate. Not about soccer.

And for f***'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 90 miles an hour.

Who cares? All that means is

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