The Hooligan Factory

Look at me.

I said look at me.

Danny!

Danny, it's me, mate.

Your old mate Mickey!

Here, Jack, have a look.

You'll never guess who it is.

It's only young Danny.

- Our Danny?

- Yeah.

Danny?

What the f***'s he doing

in a motor with Tony and Pat?

Yes, Dan. What are you doing

in a motor with Tony and Pat?

I thought you had more sense than that.

I don't know what you're talking about.

Don't know no Tony.

That was me mate Jeff.

Are you telling us that ain't Tony T?

Jack, what do you reckon?

Erm...

Don't know, Mickey.

I shot him in the face.

Oh...

No.

Oh, mate, what a f***ing mess.

I'm so sorry, Dan. I feel so embarrassed.

How about the other geezer in the back?

- Paul.

- Paul.

Paul, Paul, Paul.

- Jack.

- Yo.

- Did you shoot the other geezer in the...

- Yep.

Shot him in the face, too.

I don't know what to say, mate.

Feel terrible. Terrible.

Look at your motor.

I've left it in a right

two and eight, ain't I?

- It's all right.

- No it ain't, Dan.

- Because there's blood.

- Brains.

And brains.

And that ain't never gonna come out.

Never.

Probably them, innit?

Right, Dan, listen we got to slip away.

But you be lucky, yeah.

- Right, Jack, let's crack on, son.

- Let's do it.

Third time lucky.

It was the end of an era.

Well, for them lot anyway.

For me, it was only the beginning.

But before the pills and the clubs,

the birds, the booze,

the torture and the tracksuits,

there was football.

And more importantly,

football-related violence.

Because as far back as I could remember,

I always wanted to be an hooligan.

Well, I suppose we'd better start

near the beginning.

School.

What a shithole. But we

made the most of it.

Oh, have a look. That's me there.

That's me best mate Fanta.

And this wanker is Mr Burroughs.

Something funny, Johnson?

No, sir.

Passing notes.

Come on then. Come up to the front.

We're all very keen to share the joke.

Yes, sir.

Ooh!

Like I said, wanker.

- It says that you had...

- To the whole class.

It says that you had Freddie Fitzpatrick

round your house for extra maths tuition.

Really, Johnson?

And that you made him watch

while you touched your willy.

And then bent him over

and tongued his butthole.

- Anything else?

- Yeah, there's a picture here and all.

Well, that's you, sir.

And that's obviously you, Freddie.

Johnson, you're going to end up

just like your father.

Now this didn't sound like

such a bad thing to me.

But I got the feeling he

meant it as an insult.

You wanna make one with me, son, do ya?

That's me old man, Danny Senior,

the f***ing legend.

You want to make one with me?

Do you know who I am?

Do you know who I am?

What you looking at?

Come on then, oh, come on their attack...

It was a shame he had

to ruin the game, though,

because I wasn't a bad little player.

Right, it's f***ing on now.

A scout from Man United came to our school

once and tried to get me to sign.

Done you a favour there, son.

That mob are never gonna

amount to nothing.

- Hold that, mush.

- Mr Johnson.

This is a school. Mr Johnson!

Yep, my old man loved football.

Never back down, son.

Do you hear me? Always stand your ground.

Stand your ground!

So I took a leaf out

the old man's book and said...

F*** off, you two-bob slag.

Of course it turns out Burroughs

was fiddling Freddie Fitzpatrick after all.

And they told me

I could come back to school.

But f*** that.

Mr Johnson, due to your complete

lack of remorse for your crime

and your repeated failure to show any signs

of wanting to change your lifestyle,

I sentence you to five years.

Without possibility of parole.

Bailiff, take the prisoner down.

Five years.

He could have done it standing on his head.

Oh, yeah.

Order!

He ended up getting 30 years

for head-butting the bailiff,

spitting on the clerk of the court,

booting this ginger bird in the face

and assaulting the judge.

You f***ing knob. You f***ing knob!

The newspaper said he was the first man in

history to make a judge eat his own syrup.

Eat the f***ing wig!

F***ing legend.

And with me still a boy,

I was sent to live with me granddad Albert,

while me old man was sent to do his bird.

- What time's dinner in this gaff, Fur Face?

- Keep moving, scumbag.

What the f***'s that all about then?

Now, now, 4737.

We don't want any trouble

like we had last year.

The boys here have all clubbed together.

Bought you a little hat, to say sorry.

Very well.

Happy birthday, 4737.

Enjoy your cake.

Baron.

Oi, oi, Granddad. What's happening?

What's for dinner? I am

f***ing Hank Marvin.

What the f***'s all this then, Granddad?

What the f***'s all this?

What you talking about,

you dozy little mare?

I told you, I'm moving

to Australia with Cyril.

Since when?

I told you months ago

to get your own place.

What you been doing all this time, hmm?

Sitting on your arse smoking weed

with that ginger f*ggot.

I thought I could just live here.

I told you, Dan, I sold the place.

Moving to warmer climes.

Nothing left for me around 'ere.

What am I supposed to do?

Time to grow up, son.

Make something of your life.

Do the f***ing collar, get some reddies.

So what you gonna do then?

Don't take this the wrong way, mate,

but recently I've been starting to think

there's got to be something more than this.

You ain't gonna get a job, are you?

No, what I'm saying is my old man

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