Original subtitles

Excuse me. Oi! Whoa. Excuse me! Whoa, whoa, whoa!

Can you remove your hat and earphones, please?

Remove the hat and the earphones.

Have you got some sort of form of ID, please?

ID?

- It's in my bag. - Sorry?

- It's in my bag, officer. - Remove your bag. Give me it.

- My colleague will search it. - Anything in it that'll hurt me?

Any sharps? Anything you shouldn't have? Illegal substances?

- Where were you coming from? - I don't have to answer that.

- Where are you heading to now? - I don't have to answer that.

We have reports of someone matching your description acting suspiciously...

- Whoa, whoa, whoa. What's going on here? - Step over here, gentlemen?

No taking photographs or filming. D'you mind?

My colleague's gonna search you. Do you understand?

Step over here, please. Excuse me, step over here.

- Mohammed, are you alright there? - Stand there. Stand there.

Gonna pat you down, alright?

- Control. - You've got nothing in here, have you?

A Mohammed Anrawi.

An-ra-wi.

Take your shoes off.

- Shoes and socks, officer. - Oi, tell him. What's going on?

"Do you understand that?"

Patrol. Wilson, forget it. He's fucking job.

- What? - He's a fucking copper.

- Why didn't you tell us? - Get in the car.

For fuck's sake. Wasting my fucking time.

See you back at the nick, yeah.

You not riding with your boys, PC Mohammed?

Police training officer.

This is why pigs are forbidden, brother.

D'you get that one? We don't do bacon.

Alright, boys? Alright? How's your missus?

- Early night for him. - You still got it cracked?

How are the boys, alright? How's it going, mate?

Alright, I'm alright.

Violence has returned to the streets of Shadwell.

Reports of gang violence and street crime to Shadwell Town FC

are sparking concerns that the historic reputation of the club's followers...

- No one likes the Shadwell Army! - No one likes the Shadwell Army!

No one likes the Shadwell Army!

No one likes the Shadwell Army!

What is freedom? They pollute us.

They poison us.

Side-by-side with this country's freedom

we must carry our faith.

We are the Shadwell, the Kennel is our place!

Shadwell never, ever, ever shall lose face!

Two Muslims walk into Heaven.

Place is teeming with wall-to-wall crumpet.

All dancing along to the beat of the call to prayer.

All wearing burkas.

Mohammed turns to Mohammed, he says, "This is alright, mate".

Mohammed turns back, he says, "I don't fancy your 70 much".

Used that one last week.

I mean, be honest, what man 'ere, if offered an eternity of bliss

with 70 of Heaven's most beautiful virgins

in return for jamming a stick of Semtex up your jacksy,

well, who wouldn't have that, eh? I would.

I've got a stiffy the size of Big Ben 'ere.

In your dreams.

See the new mosque got its planning permission then.

And where are they sticking that?

Only slap fucking bang next to Shadwell's football ground.

- Fucking shame! - What's that all about, eh?

Ain't a new mosque we need. What we need is a new stadium for our football team.

Any dogs here?

I mean it's all very well selling out to a dodgy Russian billionaire,

but can anyone 'ere tell me what the fuck is the Europa Cup

- and how did we qualify for it? - Look at your jug ears, pal.

You're funny! I tell you how we qualified for it,

because we come top of the "Fair Play League".

I mean "fair play"? That's not what Shadwell's about, is it?

Their supporters are from the poorest, most deprived part of the capital.

For them, their team is their religion and they are feared throughout the land.

Yeah.

The question is, my friends, does Vukovitch really know what he's bought?

I mean Shadwell.

We think catenaccio is a frothy coffee, not a deep-lying Italian-style defence.

Get off, Eddie.

My name's Eddie. Be glad yours isn't.

I thank you.

- What does he normally drink after a set? - Usually a bottle of white wine.

OK, a bottle of your best and an orange juice please, mate.

- A glass of orange juice. - Cheers.

- Could you take it over? - Yeah, no problem.

For me?

Not like you, Gerry. What's the catch?

Know who that is? That's Gerry Edwards. Used to play up front for Shadwell.

Scored the goal that got us promotion to the old First Division.

Last time a copper bought me a drink was my retirement do.

How d'you know I was Old Bill?

You're joking, right?

My name's Mohammed.

- Really? - I've been put undercover at the dogs.

Huh.

An ethnic attached to the Shadwell firm?

You're being set up, boy.

So what made you join the Bill, then, eh? Got cops in the family?

No. Totally against it.

Dad hasn't spoken to me since.

- What's funny? - You.

You and Trevor Clymer were on a crew together, right?

Clever Trevor put you up for this, has he?

Hated that fucker. He was a bottler.

Our team was in bits after Shadwell.

Especially John.

Listen, the best advice I can give you, and that's what you're here for, right?

When you do bail out, do it on your own terms.

Get 'em to retire you on medical grounds.

I won't be bailing out.

Fucking hell, you are serious. Listen, forget it, Mohammed.

You're too straight. You gotta be able to bend and swerve.

- I can bend, I can swerve. - I ain't doubting you got the nuts for it.

But, Shadwell-wise, you're totally fucking clueless.

I'm not straight off the fucking boat. I'm Shadwell, born and bred.

Well, listen, grasshopper,

first thing you're gonna have to do,

the most important thing you're gonna do,

if, if you're gonna ride with the Shadwell,

you're gonna have to have a drink, ain't you?

Gerry! Another glass over here, mate.

Cheers.

Now listen to me.

You're gonna be offered E's, speed, skunk, rocks and charlie.

You'll be expected to chase every bit of skirt you can get near to.

You will be expected to use the most obscene language imaginable

to every race, religion and god there is. Oh,

and there will be violence,

and you will be expected to participate in it.

Bottom line...

You will drink like a dog.

Fuck like a dog.

And fight like a dog.

So you'd better leave that holy book at home, Mohammed,

and have that drink.

Huh.

Don't think,

do it!

Good boy.

Ain't a fighting man, though, are you?

Should've slapped me back.

Your round, I think, Mohammed.

It's about getting your face known, getting trusted.

Try too hard, they'll suss you.

Once you're part of the furniture, trust me, they'll come to you.

Just make sure you're there to take advantage.

One false step and they'll have you, believe me.

You'll be gone before you even started.

So ease your way in. Get your face known around the manor.

Go on, I'll buy you a drink. What you having?

Ross, can I get these two the cheapest drink you've got.

Pick the young targets, the ambitious ones. They're easier.

Trust me, they'll lead you to the top dogs.

The ones with the big bites.

- I'm just going for a fag. - Yeah, yeah, see you in a minute.

Got a light, mate?

Just when you get comfortable, you're in more danger than you know.

I do wish I hadn't seen that.

When you make a connection, don't chase it.

Back off.

You'll wanna go for it. Hold back.

Let days go by. Trust the connection.

Alright, boys? How you doing? Alright? Alright, mate.

- Danny Boy. - Gumbo!

- The missus let you out, has she? - Alright, Nicky boy?

- Good to see ya. - Who's winning?

- I am, mate. - Oh, for fuck's sake, Gumbo.

For fuck's sake, go on. Go and get the drinks in. Go on, fuck off.

I'll have a bottle.

Fuck's sake.

- Don't mind him, mate, he's harmless. - Is it okay if I get a game?

Put your coin on the table, same as everyone else.

The winner stays on.

Who's that?

- Alright, boy, what you having? - No, you're alright.

I won't have it. I'll stand my round. What d'you want?

- Gumbo. - Yeah?

What have I told you about talking to strangers?

He's alright. Three pints and a bottle, George.

- Cheers, mate. - Cheers, mate.

A pleasure mate, alright?

All mates together.

You're thinking you're in.

You ain't even started.

- Ooh, here we go. - Saw the game, then?

Game? If you can call it that.

Don't know how we're supposed to compete in Europe if we can't even bury Bolton.

Just play the fucking shot.

Ooh, look at that!

He's wiping the floor with you, Danny Boy. Are you gonna have that?

No one does that, do they, eh? He's gonna beat you, Danny Boy.

You watch yourself.

Here we go, look.

You're shit.

- Good game, good game. - He wiped the floor with you.

Who the fuck are you, anyway?

I ain't never seen you before.

Just come here for a quiet game after the match. We're all Shadwell, aren't we?

- Oi, Danny. - I'll bite your fucking nose off.

There's a couple of quid still on the table. Why don't you boys play on for me?

Fuck off!

See you later, Mo. Alright?

Right you are, Gumbo.

- Oh, come on, he's alright. - You don't even fucking know him, Gumbo.

This is your moment. Dig deep.

That madness in you, that rage, is your best friend.

Use it.

Spit teeth,

spill blood. Give up everything for the cause.

- Fuck off. Fuck off! - Go on, Gumbo.

Danny Boy!

- Fucking hell. - Bolton boys.

- They saw my shirt, steamed in. - Right, boys.

Shadwell Army!

Get off! Get off!

Shadwell Army! Shadwell Army! Shadwell Army!

- Shadwell Army! - Yeah!

This is what you've worked and planned for.

The evidence that sends men down.

Names and faces attached directly to actions.

The rest is bullshit.

Now you're doing your job.

Shadwell Army! Shadwell Army!

La, la, la, la! Let's go fucking mental, let's go fucking mental!

- La, la, la, la! - Hey!

Let's go fucking mental, let's go fucking mental!

La, la, la, la! La, la, la, la!

And that's when you see who you really are.

And you may not like what you find out, my friend.

Alright?

Shadwell Army! Shadwell Army!

Shadwell Army! Shadwell Army!

Gumbo! You want a bit of cheeky?

Oh, fuck off. Don't give me none of that. I don't need that shit, mate.

- Oi, oi! - Right, loser gets the drinks. His share.

- Yeah. - Here he goes.

We played shit in England, did just enough to get by,

Europe via the back door.

Fair play league? Don't make me fucking laugh.

Playing fair ain't the Shadwell way.

You're right there, Mojo.

- We think catenaccio's a frothy coffee. - All the foreign muck, fancy dans,

all they wanna do is show theirselves on the European stage,

get a leg-up to Spain, Italy, France.

- Meanwhile ticket prices have doubled. - Vukovitch is asset-stripping, ain't he?

I'm telling ya, end of the season, cash in his assets,

sell the ground to developers.

And we're back where we started, in the shit.

You alright, Vinnie?

Not really, Danny Boy, no.

When did we declare war on the North?

Sorry about that, Vinnie.

We had some provocation we had to deal with. I didn't have time to phone.

- Mo there got done by the Northerners. - Who?

D'you not know Mo, Vinnie?

Yeah, well, no one's introduced us, have they?

Yeah, alright, alright.

Let's see what you're made of, then.

- Bread and butter. - Pudding.

- Home. - Englishman's castle.

- Football's coming. - Home.

- No surrender. - IRA.

- Gotcha. - Belgrano.

- Knick-knack. - Pakiwack.

Ooh, yeah, you're good, ain't you?

Suck on this one. Ena Sharples.

- What? - Ena Sharples, mate.

- I know, I know. - What's he on about?

- I know. - Course you do. Know why?

- Cos you're an Englishman, ain't ya? - So am I,

but I dunno what you're talking about.

Last chance. Rovers Return, in the snug, Ena Sharples and her mate. Old lady.

Ena Sharples would share the snug at the Rovers Return

with her good friend Minnie Caldwell. Their drink of choice, half of stout.

That right? Did he get that right?

He fucking did, yeah.

You done it. Well done, son.

Nice one. I didn't fucking know that. Did you?

- Can I buy you a drink, Vinnie? - Yeah. Sweet.

Mate, she was so fucking selling it.

- Ah, she was lovely. - She was about a 21 -year-old youth.

- Yeah, 20 years younger than you. - Anyway, let's go.

- I don't wanna be here any more. - Oh, leave it out.

Oi! What are you doing?

Just tying my shoelaces. Fucking fast track.

Immediate promotion cos you're a bit brown.

- Sir. - Sir.

Fuck off.

- Why me? - Who d'you think you're talking to?

Sorry, sir, I couldn't help but wonder why you picked me

for this assignment when you've got so many other special officers to pick.

Well ,your targets are very surveillance aware.

They're not gonna see you coming, are they?

You're a Paki. No one's gonna suss you as Bill.

They think we're all racist at the Met.

- Match day, nothing like it. - Nothing like it.

Bus to the ground, pressed in with your mates.

- You came by car. - I still get the bus.

The crackle, the banter,

- three o'clock of a Saturday afternoon. - Sunday.

- It don't make a difference. - Kick-off's half-fucking-one.

Full English then pies down the local boozer.

- Well, gastro pub. - And it don't do full English no more.

I liked it better when it were The Rock.

- Wanker! - Sorry, mate, sorry.

Go on.

Come on, get into him.

Come on!

Come on.

Get in, you lump of Russian fucking lard!

- He's Serb. - Listen to the shaki,

been coming to Shadwell all of five minutes.

Don't pass it to the fucking Argie!

- What is wrong with these English players? - They're crap, ain't they?

He's fat, he's round, he bounces off the ground!

Mateo! Mateo!

He's fat, he's round, he bounces off the ground! Mateo!

Get in there, you French twat. You see that?

- Pulled out of the fucking tackle! - Oh, he can fucking run!

Go on! Go on!

Hey, when are you lot gonna actually get to a game this season, eh?

- I'm saving up for Europe. - Cheaper to get the ferry

and get in the game at Tambuur than it is to sit in the Kennel.

Boys, this is the one and only time Shadwell are gonna see anything of Europe.

Amsterdam next round, for fuck's sake.

And I have it on good authority that the S-side are laying on a bit of a reception

for our crew after the game. Should be tasty.

- Can we count you lads in? - Of course you can, Vinnie.

- Always up for it, you know that. - Sweet.

As long as we see some footie, yeah.

- I'll get the refs in. Same again? - About fucking time.

- Cheers, Mo. - Shut it out, Danny Boy.

- He's getting the drinks. - He's alright.

Good as gold.

- What's in his rucksack? - Dunno. He always has it with him.

- Leave it out. - I'm not fuckin' handling it.

Yeah, that's what I'm saying. Never trust one.

Oh, give it here. Hand it over.

Are you sure, eh?

- Oi, can I get a fucking drink? - Squeaky bum time, Nicky.

Two lagers and a packet of crisps. I don't care what fucking flavour.

Mohammed, I am truly fucking shocked!

You dirty fucker.

Yeah, nice.

Jesus fucking Christ, look at that. No...

I'm fucking, I'm having that, son.

State of you.

Gonna see what you're made of in Amsterdam, are we?

S-siders are a Yid crew. Should be tasty for a Paki like yourself.

- Yeah, I'm up for it, Vinnie, yeah. - Yeah?

Don't push any further.

Your windpipe is just about to cave.

Yeah, babes.

Yeah, I'm just outside. I've got a mate with me.

Sweet.

You're invited to dinner.

- Who the fuck is this? - Alison.

Mohammed.

Take his coat, babes.

But whatever you do, don't look in his bag.

- No, you're alright. - Right.

He won't want a beer.

You're Old Bill.

And you just confirmed it.

One second of hesitation, one moment of doubt and you've let them in.

- Them? - Oh, don't be a twat.

I'm undercover an' all. No one told me you were coming.

You're on the case, though, I'll give you that.

- No one told me there was another team. - No?

- You've heard of the Extremism Unit? - I've heard of 'em.

Never seen one before.

Mmm-hm. Operationally separate from the Met.

Chances are your control doesn't even know we're in.

So what are Special Branch doing getting involved with football?

Uh-uh, no. Not football.

- Politics. - Eh?

I came in deep cover with Shadwell BNP. Times change, things happen.

Moved on to the EDL. The dogs are just collateral activity.

They're not my targets.

- You hungry? - Famished.

- Can you get me the salt? - Yeah.

I got my face known at the Kennel. Started handing out leaflets, selling papers.

Now I'm a trusted Branch Secretary,

and I am risking my crown jewels having a Paki in my house.

- It's a good thing you've got a guard dog. - Mmm.

Yeah, well. You talk the talk.

Where's your gaff?

Down by the docks, over a kebab shop.

Well, look, I go where the politics are.

And football only comes into it when we need a ready-made army for hire.

Have you got any fucking idea what you've walked into?

Get that down you. Skin and bone.

- There you go. - Thanks, doll.

- This is lovely. - Don't take it to heart.

I don't sweat it. Look in someone's eyes, I know the score.

Most of the time anyway.

How did you clock me?

I was on to you the minute I saw you. But calling your round "refs",

fuck me, I thought I was back in the nick canteen.

Easy with the lingo, gringo.

Look, anyone threatens my cover,

then I'll do whatever I have to. You got it?

Alright. So you're going to Amsterdam, then?

I'm getting a coach with Nick and Danny Boy.

Yeah, well, you can cope with them. Just stay off my patch.

I'll be busy cooking up some carnage.

I thought I was on my own.

Don't worry, you are.

Shadwell Army! Shadwell Army! Shadwell Army!

- How you feeling, Gumbo? - Alright.

- Good boy. - Gumbo, how about that one? Drink?

- You got tickets to the match. - We've got time for this, Gumbo.

- Fifty Euros, mate, get your money out. - Why?

Get your money out. There you go, son. Be here when you get back, alright?

- Back where? - From paradise.

Get in there.

I'm a fucking married man!

Treat him gently, babe, he breaks easily. Gumbo.

Hello, darling.

- He's not married, is he? - Fucking right he is, mate. Two kids.

Daft as him, by all accounts. Used to take 'em down the Kennel.

What d'you mean "used to"?

D'you know how much it costs to get your kids into a game these days?

It's not just tickets, is it? They want feeding, programmes, shirts,

all that shit. My old man used to get me in for a fiver.

Last few years before he died, he couldn't afford a fucking ticket.

Yeah, but then you wouldn't be Shadwell, would you?

Yeah. What's your excuse?

- Dogs or the mosque for me. - You're fucked either way.

So are you, then? Muzz? Jihad? Taliban?

I'm in love.

Alright. That's two down, Mojo.

Mate, but I got my eye on that brunette looking number.

- What about you? - Me?

Mo, Mo, listen, mate. Mohammed, come here.

There ain't two ways about it. You've gotta get stuck in.

You've gotta get that fucking little brown dick of yours wet. Alright?

Oh, it's Asian babes for you, isn't it? Come on, we'll go and find you one.

No, I think I'm alright. I think... I'm already taken, mate.

Fucking old school there, son.

Old school, eh? You dirty dog!

Race ya.

I'll take both of ya. One on me face, one on me cock.

So...

- Sorry. - It's okay, I...

- Can we just talk? - Yeah, we can talk.

Is it because of your religion?

No.

Have a seat.

- I'm alright. - Alright.

Sorry, I don't trust people.

It's alright, I don't trust people, either.

How can you? Hmph.

But you just looked nice and...

Let's go fucking mental, la, la, la, la!

- Why did you come here? - My mates set me up.

- Hmm. - Let's go fuckin' mental!

You look different, you know.

No, they're my mates, yeah.

Yeah, but they're there in the streets shouting, drinking, fighting.

But you're not like that.

Why would you want to be like that?

Unconnected.

- They're just drifting. - Yeah, they're the lucky ones.

It's easy to get lost.

How do I get lost?

I can help you with that.

Don't be afraid.

One is enough.

Now close your eyes.

I like your tunes.

Are you local?

Have you got any Jefferson Starship?

So, Gumbo, how d'you get on?

I tell you what, I never knew you could do it like that.

You dirty dog.

- Here, smell that. - For fuck's sake.

- I had myself a hot sizzling Asian dish. - Alright, Mo. How d'you get on?

He don't mind. He got himself a blonde. Didn't ya?

I had some Polish. Cold as ice, twice as fiery.

Another dirty dog.

- You old dog. - Come on, you dogs!

Come on, you dogs!

We are Shadwell, the Kennel is our place

Shadwell never, ever, ever shall be slaves!

- I'll get another round in? - Have we got time?

- One more, then we'll get in a taxi. - Cool.

- Three pints and a bottle of Bud? - I've got something to set us up.

- Ooh, lovely. - I've already eaten.

- You fuck-tard. It's space cake. Hash. - Oh, right.

Mo.

- Open that up for me, will you? - Fuck the taxi, we'll float to the match.

Hey, time to go.

- What was the score? - Who the hell was that?

- You too. - What are you doing?

I'm closing. Get the fuck out.

Fucking hell, man. What are we, no-shows? Come on, we promised Vinnie.

Get up, get up.

I can't believe we missed the fucking game. Vinnie'll be going fucking mental!

Fucking flares. It's the Old Bill.

You fucking dirty pigs. Come on, boys!

Fucking hell, man. Vinnie!

Yes!

- Vinnie! - Where were you in the Second World War,

- you fucking wanker?! - Right, we fucking owe him.

Boys, in you get. Right, come on! Come on, boys!

Come on, you fuck-tards! Fucking cunt. You fucking cunt!

Argh! Argh!

Oi, you fucking cunt! You fucker!

Agh!

Shadwell Town's first game in Europe was

tarnished by trouble from its travelling support.

Fighting between rival fans went into the early hours

as the Dutch police struggled to contain the violence.

The club has denounced the trouble

and promised life-time bans to any supporters convicted in Amsterdam.

Vince has been arrested by the Amsterdam police.

He has been arrested before. He'll sort it out.

Well, shouldn't we inform someone?

He didn't even break cover when his mother died.

He has to protect the integrity of his contacts. That's his priority.

Why are you here?

I got a bit fucked up.

- Goes with the territory. - Yeah.

He seems immune.

He comes back in bits sometimes.

How does he cope?

He has a good woman to sort him out.

Don't. Just don't.

I'm sorry.

Actually, fuck it, I'm not.

I'm going to sleep. You can stay till it stops.

Babe, I'm outside. Got mates with me.

- Need to come in. - Alright, give me two minutes.

I need to get some clothes on.

Mo. Mo, you need to wake up.

- What? - Wake up, Vinnie's outside.

- You need to get out. - Oh, fuck.

What d'you mean Vinnie's outside?

Oh, shit. The guy with the tattoos, I know him. He's a nutter by the name of Hunt.

I put him down for five years on a GBH charge.

Are you sure?

How many people d'you think look like that?

- Alright, come on. Out the back. - What?

- Get round the back. - What?

No, we haven't the fucking time. Get in the shed.

- What d'you mean "get in the shed"? - Get in the shed.

- I'm not getting in the shed. - Get in the shed.

Fucking hell.

Ta.

- You got something a bit stronger, love? - At eight in the morning?

Thank you for letting us use your home.

It's appreciated.

I can take a hint.

So, listen. I was banged up yesterday with two of the leaders

of Amsterdam's S-side. Now it turns out

that they're in with a bloke who runs about 12 firms in Europe.

- Gervaas van Wildden. - Oh, yeah, I know him.

He's got political clout and he can mobilise.

- Right. - Why are we talking about a Dutch geezer?

My mum's got a mosque going up outside her house.

Look, fire-bombing, attacking Jihadi stalls.

Confronting muzzies wherever they are.

See that's where the war's won now, not in the ballot box.

The closer UKIP get to power, the tamer they become.

BNP is a memory, the EDL is in tatters.

- We can make our mark here. - Yeah.

The Dutch were offering knowledge, connections, manpower.

- Is that gonna put a stop to the mosque? - But they need a stunt, don't they?

If my contacts can say to van Wildden, "we know the guys who organised this".

So, what do we need?

How about... this?

- What you got there, mate? - What you reckon?

Oh, for... Is that...?

Yeah, it's the real deal alright. Is this peroxide?

This battery back-up's a mess. And the wiring. When did you put this together?

- This morning. - I thought so.

That's what you get with these crude online designs.

This is how lads blow themselves up in their back bedrooms.

Whoa, whoa, whoa. Is that on a timer?

- Is this running? - No.

It's gonna blow in about three minutes.

- Oh, for fuck... - D'you know how to defuse that?

- No. - Give it. Give it to me.

- Easy. That's extremely volatile. - Sorry.

Oh, yeah.

Fuck. Shit.

Alright?

- Get back in the house! - Mo, get out!

- Get back in the fucking house! - Get out!

- What is he doing in... - Get back.

What the fuck is he doing in there?

You fucking...

- Get in. - You leaving it at that?

Am I fuck.

Get off him! Get the fuck off him!

He came round to tell me you'd been arrested!

Whoa, hold your horses.

What's a Paki fucking muzzie doing in your shed?

- Oh, don't you keep one in yours? - I'm not Muslim. I'm a Sikh.

- Can't you tell? - Not really.

- You all look the same to me. - Who the fuck told you to make a bomb?

Waiting round for your lot to do anything, we'll be pushing up daisies.

Who are you exactly?

- He's with the lads. - Come again?

You heard. He's a Sikh. They fucking hate the Jihads.

I'm confused.

Mohinder here is Shadwell, in't he?

He's in the same crew as Nick and Danny Boy.

- The wannabes? - Yeah, all mates together.

That's right, innit, Mo? Eh? Shoulder to fucking shoulder on the terraces.

Fucking meat pie in one hand, Bovril in the fucking other.

- Ain't that right? - Shadwell for life.

- Yeah. - Shut it.

- What's he doing in your shed? - Well, if you don't mind, lads,

I think I need to talk about that in private with the missus.

Fair enough.

- As for you, you backstabbing bastard... - Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa!

Don't throw your ace away. EDL used to like dark faces in the media.

It emphasises that Islam is the enemy, not race.

You run with the dogs, yeah?

You fancy a chance of taking on the muzzies?

They've pissed on my people long enough. Yeah.

Put your fucking trousers on.

Get in the house.

I'm still confused.

Come on, boys.

You're fucking unbelievable, ain't ya?

What did I say to you?

I said back off, stay clear, leave well alone. And what d'you do?

You show up at my house for a secret meeting of EDL top brass.

- I owe you a good kicking. - Fuck off.

All you had to do was lie down and take it.

- Alright? - Alright.

- Who's had to take it? - Yours, Danny Boy. Right up there!

Alright, leave it out, you dirty dog.

Well, you were a dirty dog in Amsterdam, I heard.

You been telling tales out of class, Mojo?

I'll see you at the match. I've gotta see a dog about a man.

We got an opportunity here.

We need someone we can control to front this.

Time to play the Paki card.

Let's go.

- Lot of Dutch about. - You got the tickets?

What tickets? You got 'em.

You fucking parsnip.

Here are, mate. Do you love me?

- Gumbo, what are you wearing? - Alright, Gum?

Campaign for Real Football. I ain't putting any more money

in Vukovitch's pocket. I've brought my own sandwiches.

He wants to put up ticket prices, don't he.

Here you are, here's your ticket. Keep your money in your pocket.

But it's not the point, Danny Boy, is it? He's just got us over a fucking barrel.

- Someone taking the piss? - Do what, mate?

Can't just come here and wipe their feet on our doormat.

- Here we go. - You tooled?

- Nothing. - Fists then.

Evening, mate.

- Afternoon. - Nice shirt by the way.

- Thanks, mate. - And?

- Sell us some tickets? - What?

- You got some tickets spare? - You come here, our country, our manor,

- our ground, and you ain't got tickets? - Go on, sell us them.

I wouldn't sell you them for all the tea in China.

- How... How much? - Gumbo.

- I'll give you one hundred per ticket. - Hang on, how much? Like he says.

- What? - We got four. How much?

These are main stand, over the director's box.

- Give you 100. - I could get 200 for each.

- One-fifty, man. - Give us your ticket, Gumbo.

Danny Boy?

Fucking kidding me, mate. Another game. 200.

There we go. There you go, lads.

- Fucking hell, Nick. - There we go.

- Alright. - Enjoy the match.

- Good luck there. - See you later.

Right, it's my round.

I hope we fucking hammer ya!

It'll be alright.

It's nil-nil, ten minutes to go. Come on, we can do it, boys. Come on.

That's the third chance the Argentinean forward has let go begging.

Are Shadwell ever going to score this goal

that would take them into the next round of the Europa Cup?

Here they come again. The young Italian dashing down the wing.

- Go on! - He crosses.

Goal!

Finally, Aguillan has hit the net

and done what he's been threatening to do all night.

Argentina! Argentina!

Argentina! Argentina!

Yes! Can't believe it.

Get in. Shut up shop, let's...

Come on!

Not you. Mojo.

A word.

Go on, Danny Boy.

Did it, Danny. We've done it. Come here.

You understand how important this is?

Just here on the left by the kebab shop.

So you're with us, then?

Yeah.

Thanks for the lift.

Wait.

Thanks.

How many miles were you running before the injury?

- 12 miles a day. - Struggle getting up the stairs in

the morning, I don't know how you manage that.

It's like having toothache in your legs.

- Would you excuse me a second? - Yeah.

How did you get in here?

Why didn't you tell me that Special Branch are in at Shadwell EDL?

Not here.

I don't have any access to that information.

I walked slap into him, he's shooing me off.

- Can you blame him? - Which is a bit of a problem

seeing as I've been adopted as bait for a march against Shadwell mosque.

Who gives a fuck about that?

You're supposed to be tracking football games.

With all due respect, sir, you put me on site without back-up,

without relevant information about other operations happening on the same turf.

Shit gets messy. But then what would you know about it, anyway, eh?

Sitting behind your desk.

Hmm?

You finished?

You think I'm some suit who knows fuck all?

And what the fuck has this gotta do

with building relationships with your own targets?

If things go political, they'll be on the front line. I can nail all of 'em.

How long have I got?

As long as Shadwell stay in Europe.

To be honest, I thought they'd be out on their arse first round.

How's the new kid doing, the little Eyetie?

I ain't got a clue. I ain't seen him much.

Well, what the hell have you been doing?

Compiling a detailed database of individuals, meetings, discussions,

including conspiracy to cause public disorder.

Including a demonstration on the mosque, which I don't wanna get involved with.

Because you bottled it. It might actually give you a little bit of credibility.

I grew up going to that mosque.

They know full well that I'm a police officer. I risk breaking my cover.

Especially as I can't even back out without drawing attention to myself.

Listen, son, don't worry about the march.

My boys will look after you.

- Alright, Trev? - Yeah. Oh, this is DC Anrawi.

- One of our brightest prospects. - Sir.

You stick with your targets and you leave the political stuff alone.

And I still wanna know about the little Eyetie.

So he's a prospect, is he? Not like in our day, eh?

Don't worry about him.

You mark my words, he'll be out on a medical in six months.

Didn't think we'd see you again, PC Mohammed.

That's DC Mohammed. I've been promoted, brother.

D'you remember how?

Side-by-side with this country's freedom we must carry our faith.

Side-by-side with this nation's equality, we must walk with prophet...

Have you had any more trouble from the right-wingers?

No more excrement through the post than usual.

..co-existing with...

They're planning to hit the new mosque next Friday.

- But what is this freedom? - And you're here to tell us this?

Britain's Got Talent?

There'll be 15, 20 of them tops.

- On TV... - You boys can more than double that.

- ...your children home from school... - How good's your info?

- ...should be studying... - I'm here, aren't I?

- ...praying. - We'll deal with this

cos the police don't do anything.

We need to show some force, show them we ain't going anywhere.

- Pushed like drugs at our people. - We can put on a display then, can't we?

They pollute us, they poison us.

- If we put on an act, is that blasphemy? - ...internet...

- We're protecting the prophet's honour. - Lifestyle magazines.

- That'll be alright. - I can't be involved.

This is kafir's freedom.

In the name of Allah, your father's sat over there.

- This is kafir's democracy. - I don't know that man.

This is kafir's equality. And he doesn't know me.

- This is the freedom of kafir. - You know you are welcome back here.

- The community's changing. - Not quick enough.

The only true freedom is in sacrifice to Allah.

Muslim bombers off our streets!

Muslim bombers off our streets!

Muslim bombers off our streets!

# Keep St George in thy heart, keep it English #

- # Keep St George... # - No turning back, Paki.

# Keep St George in thy heart, keep it English #

# Keep it English till my dying day #

# No surrender! No surrender #

# No surrender to the Taliban #

# No surrender! No surrender! #

# No surrender to the Taliban! #

Hold your line.

- Whose streets? - Our streets!

Muslim bombers off our streets! Muslim bombers off our streets!

What you fucking nicking him for?

Danny! Danny!

Danny!

What are you arresting him for? I've done worse than that!

Fuck off!

Get him in the van, lads. Closing the door, closing the door.

He's been picked up. He's in the fucking police van.

Just saved your sorry arse.

- Where's Vinnie? - He's not here.

I can hardly go to A&E, can I?

Alright.

Right. Turn round. Let's see the other one.

Okay.

Alright?

Isn't adultery a sin for you?

No nice Muslim girl next door to make the parents proud?

There was. It didn't work out.

Didn't work out for who?

Hmph. How long did you leave it before you let her down?

You're hurting.

Sorry.

You don't break someone without breaking yourself.

- Found that out. - That's good. I don't have to break you.

Already been done.

You not worried about Vinnie?

Yeah, I'm worried about Vinnie.

Not worried enough, obviously.

The spark went long ago.

Starts wearing his socks in bed, makes you wonder.

- He could walk in on us and... - I can't hear this.

All about the hunt, is that it?

He's a fellow cop. I can't do it to him.

It's me you could've done it to.

Innit, a little bit? Like we're on our way to a match.

I was proud of you though ...

You fucking squeaky bastard.

- Alright, lads? - Oi, oi.

- Can I get a light off you, mate? - Lads. How long you been up here?

About half an hour.

Mo. You missed the rumble at the mosque.

You were the only bloke to get arrested. How come?

What's the problem, Danny Boy?

I'll tell you what my problem is.

He never gets stuck in.

Takes a few knocks and then bails out.

He's never there when it kicks up.

Danny Boy, fuck's sake.

He turns up out of nowhere, he wants to know everybody's business,

and he conveniently gets arrested when the shit hits.

And what's more, he's fucking Vinnie's missus.

- Oi, that's my... - Ohh...

Right, shut it. That's my fucking business, isn't it?

Problem?

I'm sorting it, Dave.

Strip.

That's right, strip.

Bit cold for that, innit?

- Give us your fucking clothes. - Alright, alright!

- What is it you're looking for, exactly? - Cameras, mics. What?

He's one of them undercover filmmakers.

Me brother went down on vidi-evidence made from an undercover doc-maker.

Anything?

- No, there's nothing here. - Nothing, no. So?

I'll tell you something. If he's not a journo he's something even worse.

He's a fucking muzzie.

What have you got to say?

Oh. Danny Boy, mate. You've dropped one there. He's only fucking circumscribed.

This Muslim's Jewish on his mother's side.

- We hate Yids. - No, we don't.

- What? - That's the BNP. The BNP hates Yids.

- I hate the BNP. - Exactly, right.

- We're EDL now. - No. No, we're not.

- Eh? - We love Israel.

Huh?

Our enemy's enemy is our friend.

Do try to keep up, you fucking wanker.

Stone me, documentary maker, muzzie. You'll be saying he's a copper next.

Like John and Trev? John and Trev were coppers.

- Yeah. - Get the drinks in, there's a good lad.

- Alright, son. - Yeah, go on.

- Oh, alright, yeah. - Dave. Dave?

It's a shame about that. Better safe than sorry, though, mate, eh?

You alright, man? Clean as a whistle.

- Gums? - Alright, son?

You're Old Bill.

- Shh. - No, don't worry, I won't tell no one.

It's all the same to me, son.

Alright?

Gumbo, you fucking muppet.

- Yes! - Miss.

Yeah, fuck off, that was in, mate.

- There's your army. - Four-one.

Who can you trust there to raid the mosque? I mean Danny Boy's keen.

He's too keen.

Yes!

Backs against the wall, I don't want a show-off.

Little twat doesn't even realise that Muslims are circumcised.

He's no use to us.

Hey!

Vinnie'll round up the runts of the litter, pack 'em off to the game.

Does that include the fucking shaki?

Some of the scariest fuckers I've met in this movement have been ethnics.

Maybe it's self-hatred, maybe they just feel

they need to prove themselves by trying harder.

- You sleep alright, Gumbo? - Not bad, son. Yourself?

- Yeah, lovely. - Yeah. Not bad them bunks, are they?

Oi, oi.

Oh, that's nice. We've got a welcoming committee.

- Got a blade? - Take your pick.

Dogs, dogs, dog, dogs, dogs, dogs, dogs, dogs, dogs, dogs...

Come on!

You look terrible.

How d'you find me?

Vinnie followed you the night he brought you home.

Not much of a homemaker, are you?

Huh.

Present.

He asked the Specials to give him everything they had on you.

- He's watching your back. - Huh. That's nice of him.

Get out while you can.

The nasties who sat around my kitchen table

saying they needed a martyr to the cause,

and your name came up.

- No. - What did Vinnie say about that?

He has to appear to go along with it or they'll be looking at him.

Yeah, two for the price of one, eh?

Gets in with his fascist mates and gets rid of the competition as well.

Hmm.

Alright, come on. What they got in store for me, eh?

Come on! Cos I'll take anyone on!

What, you like a battle, do you? Wanna take on the Metropolitan Police?

The English Defence League and Special Bra...

Does he really wear his socks in bed?

Yeah.

- Want some? - Hmm.

I want this.

I want you.

This. Here. Now.

Everything.

What, you see yourself doing the school run?

Yeah. Why not?

Me, you.

House in the suburbs.

Kids.

You go to work, I pick 'em up.

In-laws, friends.

- Late night cocoa. - I do a mean cocoa.

Do you?

Take a look at yourself.

Oh.

No.

Oh, you could play the part.

You could pay the mortgage on time.

But you'd still be undercover.

Be another job, another disguise.

Isn't that what everyone does? No?

Plays the part?

I wasn't playing just now.

But, Mo, you need to get out.

You need to go today. Now.

No.

- Mo, they're... - No, no, there's no Mo.

Mo's someone I've created

and I just killed him.

My name's Mohammed.

And I'm seriously fucking mad.

Now you watch me burn.

This,

this cannot be allowed to happen.

Do I wanna open a pork butcher's in Karachi?

I mean what the fuck are you doing here?

You don't like us, we don't like you. Here's your fare, fuck off!

This mosque will open.

The old one, then.

Take a hit.

Let us have our splash. We'll give you good warning.

You take the front page headlines,

we'll get sympathy and extra funds from the council.

We're not against politics.

Oh, we got a language then.

I'm gonna have to discuss that with my brothers. Nothing's that simple.

Me, I'd just get on with it.

You talk to who you have to.

- Did that go alright? - Yeah.

Nil-nil, boys. One goal'll do us. European night. Nothing like it.

Hotdog stalls, car alarms, police sirens, smell of testosterone.

Shut up, Nick, no one wants to fucking know.

Pills and thrills, Nicky boy.

There you are, mate.

What the fuck you doing? I was saving one for Gumbo.

He won't mind.

You greedy fucker.

Enjoy the match. I'm needed elsewhere.

Look at him. Seriously, mate. Look, look.

He's up to something. What's he fucking doing with Vinnie?

Fucking flash car.

Are you ready for your big moment?

The old mosque is gonna take a hit and you are gonna deliver it.

Only you can get in without being noticed.

Don't worry, son, we got you covered.

Gonna time it for the final whistle before the crowd's out of the match.

Streets'll be empty.

You'll have a clear route.

Vukovitch, Vukovitch, out, out, out.

- Nicky. - What's up, Gumbo?

Gotta make a stand, Nick. He's putting up ticket prices again.

Wants to change the fucking name. Canary Wharf Panthers or something.

We're gonna boycott every home game, starting tonight.

- It's the quarter final. - Don't matter, mate.

We've gotta make a stand.

This is the biggest game in our history. No, man. No, fuck it, I'm going in.

- You're missing the point, Danny. - Make room, you fuckin' anoraks. Come on.

- We ain't seen a fucking game this season. - Vukovitch, Vukovitch, out, out!

Okay, so Hunt has something that we want you to deliver

- to your friends at the mosque. - It's simple.

Good job. There's a lot to be said for these old school designs.

George, is it armed?

I'm just setting it now.

Alright, we're on.

Easy.

Get yourself ten yards clear when it blows or it'll be Mo-fucking-kebab.

Alright, alright. Steady.

- Dave, give us a hand. - Fuck off.

D'you want it done properly or not? Come on, let's do it.

- Easy, easy. - Oh, for fuck's sake.

There we go.

Don't worry, son, you're not on your own.

George will be following you every step of the way.

What you waiting for?

Yeah, going, going, going. Yes.

Good boy, good boy.

Vukovitch, Vukovitch, out, out, out! Vukovitch, Vukovitch, out, out, out!

Gumbo. What the fuck is going on? I thought there was a match on.

Yeah, we're at war with Russia, ain't we.

- Alright, remember our little secret? - I ain't told no one.

I know you haven't, that's why I know I can trust you.

- I'm making you an undercover agent. - You can talk about anything.

Shh, just listen. There are too many people round here. It's not safe, okay?

You make sure nobody follows me because it's not safe.

- D'you understand? - Yeah.

- Alright, good. - Mo, Mo, Mo. Mo, will I get a badge?

- Promise. - Good man.

Don't you worry, son. Don't you worry. I've got your back.

Vukovitch, Vukovitch, out, out, out!

He's a copper, by the way.

Fucker put me down. And I might have used a bit more explosive than I planned.

He's gonna need more than ten yards.

Anything within a hundred yards is gonna be dust.

He won't be missed.

I'm gonna get down to the ground. Blend in with the plebs.

Are you sure the Jihadis won't get to Mojo?

Don't you worry your pretty little head.

One call to Taliban HQ will get 'em out of the way.

It's on.

Everybody out, please! Go, go, go.

- Yeah, are you with him? - Yeah.

He's a copper. When he's at the mosque, take him out.

The bomb will do the rest.

Agh!

Dad. Dad, move. Gun!

Dad, just run. Go! Just run, run!

Shit!

Come on, come on...

Allahu Akbar... Allahu Akbar... Allahu Akbar...

Where's the bomb? Where's the fucking bomb?!

It's out there!

Hunt put some more in there, just found out.

Breathe, just fucking breathe.

Now the only thing that matters is that I keep my cover.

You don't know the half of what I'm on to.

Alright?

Did you fucking sleep with her?

Yeah.

I don't expect we'll be seeing you round here again.

Shit. Where the fuck is it?

Mohammed.

Dad?

- When did you set this timer for? - Now.

Now? This now?

Well, nothing's fucking happening.

You fucking...

We are Shadwell, the Kennel is our place...

Come on, you dogs!

Shadwell Army!

Shadwell Army.

Shadwell Army!

Tensions in London's East End area have erupted

with a mystery explosion at the home of Shadwell Town Football Club,

with one fatality, believed to be the bomber.

Police relied on CCTV footage to identify the suspect,

one Garth Berry. Well known and respected within his local community where

he was best known as Gumbo.

No other suspects are believed to be involved.

A police spokesman saying this looked like a lone wolf protest

against plans to develop the Shadwell ground.

So, Vukovitch decides on the eve of a European semi

that he's selling our team to the Saudis.

Cheers, mate.

There's not a lot I can say in the face of that. Russians, Arabs,

they're not like us, are they? We have got to hang on to the true spirit

of the Englishman before we forget what that is.

You know a true Englishman three ways. By his attitude to drinking, food and sex.

Apparently now chicken tikka masala is our national dish.

I mean, what happened to good old English fish and chips, I hear you ask.

Well, the chips idea we imported from the French.

And the fried fish we got from the Jews.

So you see, it never really was English at all.

Now the vinegar, that was all ours.

That's right. We added the sour bit.

How English is that?

I do miss me pie and mash shops, though.

I mean down my road we've got curries, kebabs, Italian, Halal.

But I want me pie and mash and liquor.

Sums up everything, that does, about a true Englishman. Pie, mash and liquor.

And right there you have the Englishman's guide to Saturday night sex.

You have five pints, Match Of The Day, climb on top and you can't get it up.

So it's pints, match and lick 'er.

I'm Eddie. Be glad you're not.

No, thanks, mate, I'm off it.

What did I say to you?

Eh?

I said don't end up like John.

Clymer tried to retire me.

Can't get rid of me that easily. Got promoted.

Well, you might make a copper yet.

Being reassigned. Extremism unit.

I do fucking good police work. I found that out the hard way.

And as a man? How are you doing there?

Still working on that one.

Ain't we all.

You'll be alright.

Two out of three ain't bad.

How d'you mean?

You're a good copper. And a decent bloke.

But I'll tell you something for nothing, Mo, you ain't much of a Muslim.

...where he was best known as Gumbo.

No other suspects are believed to be involved.

Gumbo.

Fucking love you, Gumbo.

You're learning.

I'm gonna miss you, mate.

I'm gonna miss you, you tubby little bastard.

- Raise your drinks. Gumbo. - Gumbo!

Here y'are, Gumbo. Come on, let's go and get a drink. Yeah?

Yeah, fuck it. Celebrate.

I do not condone or excuse what happened at Shadwell.

But I understand it.

I understand the power

and the depth of feeling

that caused that to happen,

because I feel the depth and power of that feeling myself.

And many people do.

And it won't be the last time.