Original subtitles

(low drone of traffic)

Downloaded from YTS.BZ

(siren wailing) (tires screech)

- (doors thud) - [Police Officer] Excuse me.

Official YIFY movies site: YTS.BZ

Oi! Whoa.

Excuse me! Whoa, whoa, whoa!

Can you remove your hat and earphones, please?

Remove the hat please, 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 please.

Give me your bag.

My colleague's gonna search your bag.

[Officer 2] Is there anything in it that's gonna hurt me?

Any sharps? Anything you shouldn't have?

Any illegal substances?

Sorry, sir, where were you coming from?

[Mo] I don't have to answer that, officer.

[Officer 2] You don't have to answer that. Okay.

Where are you heading to now?

I don't have to answer that, officer.

[Officer 2] Okay. We have reports

of someone matching your description acting suspiciously...

Whoa, whoa, whoa. What's going on here?

Can you step over here, please, gentlemen?

And no taking photographs or filming.

D'you mind?

My colleague's gonna search you now.

- Do you understand? - Step over here, please.

- Step over there. - Excuse me, step over here.

Mohammed, are you alright there?

[Officer] Stand there. Stand there.

Gonna pat you down, alright?

[Officer] Control.

You've got nothing in here, have you?

A Mohammed Anrawi.

An-ra-wi.

Take your shoes off. (bystander laughing)

Shoes and socks, officer.

Oi, tell him, man. What's going on? (laughs)

"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.

[Officer] For fuck's sake. Wasting my fucking time.

[Mo] 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.

(upbeat music) (siren wails)

(train humming)

Alright, boys? Alright?

- How's your missus? - Early night for him.

You still got it cracked?

- How are we, boys, alright? - How's it going, mate?

(crowd singing)

[Reporter] Violence has returned

to the streets of Shadwell.

Reports of gang violence and street crime

close to Shadwell Town FC are sparking concerns

that the historic reputation of the club's followers...

- (reporters overlapping) - of young men in the area...

No one likes the Shadwell Army

No one likes the Shadwell Army

No one likes the Shadwell Army!

(upbeat music continues)

- (hooligans continue chanting) - 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 to him, he says,

"Yeah, but I don't fancy your 70 much".

(scattered chuckles)

[Heckler] Used that one last week, Eddie.

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.

- (scattered laughter) - 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 round 'ere.

What we need is a new stadium for our football team.

Any Dogs in? (raucous shouts)

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?

[Heckler] 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 defense.

- (audience laughing) - Get off, Eddie.

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

I thank you.

(audience applauds)

What does he normally drink after a set?

[Landlord] Usually drinks a bottle of white wine.

Alright, 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.

He 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.

(Eddie laughs)

- 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. Alright?

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, boy.

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! (snaps fingers)

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...

(wine glugging)

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.

(glass scrapes)

Huh.

Don't think,

do it! (hand smacks)

(tense music)

(Mo gulping)

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.

(indistinct chatter)

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.

[Eddie] 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.

I'll see you in a minute.

[Hooligan] Got a light, mate?

(quiet suspenseful music) (CCTV beeping)

[Eddie] Just when you get comfortable,

you're in more danger than you know.

(sighs) 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.

(loud chatter) (fruit machine chiming)

Alright, boys? How you doing? Alright?

Alright, mate.

- Hello, Danny Boy. - Gumbo!

The missus let you out, has she?

- Alright, Nicky boy? - Good to see ya.

- Who's winning then? - 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.

- (firm muttering) - 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?

[Gumbo] Alright, boy, what you having?

[Mo] No, you're all right, mate.

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?

[Gumbo] He's alright.

Three pints and a bottle, George.

Cheers, mate.

Cheers, mate.

[Gumbo] A pleasure mate, alright?

All mates together.

You're thinking you're in.

You ain't even started.

(tense music)

- (balls clatter) - 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.

- (balls smack) - Ooh, look at that!

[Nick] 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.

(all cheer mockingly)

Danny Boy! You're shit.

Good game, good game.

[Gumbo] 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?

- (wall thuds) - 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, eh?

Fuck off!

See you later, Mo.

Alright.

Right you are, Gumbo.

[Gumbo] Oh, come on, he's alright.

You don't even fucking know him, Gumbo.

(tense music)

[Eddie] This is your moment. Dig deep.

That madness in you, that rage,

is your best friend.

Use it.

(Bolton supporters chatting casually)

(suspenseful music)

(child laughing)

Spit teeth, spill blood.

Give up everything for the cause.

(Mo's breathing quickens)

(intense music)

(wall thuds) (Mo grunts)

(aggressive rock music)

(Mo grunts)

- (Danny Boy cackling) - Fuck off. Fuck off!

Go on, Gumbo.

- Danny Boy! - Danny Boy!

- Fucking hell. - Bolton boys.

They saw my shirt, they steamed in.

[Danny Boy] Right, boys.

(aggressive rock music)

(all shouting aggressively)

(panicked supporters shouting)

(window shatters)

(hooligans yelling) (women screaming)

(Danny Boy snarls) (ear tears)

(supporter screams)

(punches thudding)

(thumping on window)

[Female Supporter] Get down!

(chaotic shouting)

Get away!

- (all chanting) - Shadwell Army!

Shadwell Army! Shadwell Army!

Yeah!

[Eddie] 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.

[All] Shadwell Army! Shadwell Army!

(chopper buzzes overhead) (chanting continues)

(intense music)

La, la, la, la

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

La, la, la, la

- La, la, la, la - Hey!

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

La, la, la, la

- La, la, la, la - Get in there!

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

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

(jubilant cheers of defiance)

Alright?

Shadwell Army! Shadwell Army

Shadwell Army! Shadwell Army

Gumbo! You want a bit of cheeky?

- Oh, fuck off. - Come on!

[Gumbo] Don't give me none of that.

I don't need that shit, mate.

Oi, oi!

[Nick] Right, loser gets the drinks. His share.

- Yeah. - Here he goes.

[Danny Boy] 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,

I'm tellin ya, all they wanna do is

show theirselves on the European stage,

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

Meanwhile ticket prices have fucking 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?

[Nick] 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.

[Mo] 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.

[Gumbo] I know, I know.

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

[Vinnie] Course you know, Gumbo. You know why?

'Cause you're an Englishman, ain't ya?

So am I,

but I dunno what the fuck 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. (all cheer)

You done it. Well done, son.

Nice one. I didn't fucking know that.

Did you know that?

Can I buy you a drink, Vinnie?

Yeah. Sweet.

(train rumbling)

[Officer] 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, I'll leave it out.

- (locker bangs) - Oi! What are you doing?

Just tying my shoelaces.

Fucking fast track.

Immediate promotion 'cause you're a bit brown.

- Sir. - Sir.

Fuck off.

- (door thuds) - 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.

(door thuds)

(lockers banging and slamming)

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.

- Don't I? - The crackle, the banter,

three o'clock of a Saturday afternoon.

- Sunday. - Saturday, 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.

- (horn honks) - Wanker!

[Gumbo] Sorry, mate, sorry.

Wey-hey!

(they cheer) Go on.

Come on, get into him.

- (crowd shouting) - 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 all of a sudden?

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, didn't he!

Oh, he can fucking run!

Hold the ball.

Go on! Go on!

(crowd roaring)

(all laughing)

Hey, when are you lot gonna

actually get to a game this season, eh?

I'm saving up for Europe.

[Danny Boy] Cheaper to get the ferry

and get in the game at Tambuur

than it is to sit in the fucking Kennel.

Boys, liven up, 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.

[Nick] Just so long as we see some footie, yeah.

I'll get the refs in, yeah. Same again, lads?

- About fucking time. - Cheers, Mo.

Shut it out, Danny Boy. He's getting the drinks, aint he.

[Gumbo] He's alright. Good as gold.

[Man At Bar] Fuckin' hell, come on mate.

- I was waiting. - What's in his rucksack?

[Nick] I dunno. He's always got 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?

[Man At Bar] Oi, can I get a fucking drink?

Squeaky bum time, Nicky.

[Man At Bar] Two lagers and a packet of crisps.

I don't care what fucking flavor.

Mohammed, I am truly fucking shocked! (cackles)

You dirty little fucker.

(all whistling and jeering)

You dirty fucker. (laughs)

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?

(menacing suspenseful music)

(moped engine revs)

(dog barking)

- (Mo choking) - Don't push any further.

Your windpipe is just about to cave.

(phone beeps)

Yeah, babes.

Yeah, I'm just outside.

I've got a mate with me.

(Mo choking for breath) Sweet.

You're invited to dinner.

(Mo coughing)

(latch clicks)

[Alison] 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. (Vinnie laughs)

(ring pull hisses)

(gun clinks)

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.

Mm-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 happened.

Moved on to the EDL.

The Dogs are just collateral activity.

They're not my targets.

You hungry?

[Both] 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.

Well, it's a good thing you've got a guard dog, innit.

- (chuckles) Mm. - 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. (Vinnie chuckles)

How did you clock me?

(chuckles) 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?

Yeah, 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.

(tense moody music)

I thought I was on my own.

Don't worry, you are.

(Mo sighs)

(dull drone of chatter)

(tense music)

(cars droning past)

(shutter squeals and rumbles)

(thumping dance music)

Shadwell Army! Shadwell Army

Shadwell Army!

[Danny Boy] How you feeling, Gumbo?

[Gumbo] All right, mate.

(laughs) Good boy.

Gumbo, how about that one? Drink?

You got tickets to the match.

We've got time for this, Gumbo.

50 Euros, mate, get your money out.

- Why? - Get your fucking money out.

There you go, son.

Be here when you get back, alright?

Back where?

[Danny Boy] From paradise. (laughs)

Get in there.

I'm a fucking married man!

[Danny Boy] Treat him gently, babe,

he breaks easily.

- Gumbo. - Hello, darling.

(Danny Boy laughing)

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, programs, 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.

(laughs) You're fucked either way.

So are you, then? Muzz?

Jihad? Taliban?

I'm in love.

Oi oi. That's two down, Mojo.

Dunno about you 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.

(they laugh)

Old school, eh? You dirty dog!

Race ya. (laughs)

I'll take both of ya.

One on me face, one on me cock.

(muffled drunken shouts from street)

[Prostitute] So...

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

[Mo] Can we just talk?

Yeah, we can talk.

Is it because of your religion?

No.

[Prostitute] Have a seat.

I'm alright.

[Prostitute] Alright.

[Mo] Sorry, I don't trust people.

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

How can you? Humph.

But you just looked nice and...

(chanting outside) Let's go fucking mental

- La, la, la, la - Why did you come here?

- My mates set me up. - Hmm.

(all chanting) 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.

Let's go fucking mental

They're just drifting.

Yeah, they're the lucky ones.

[Prostitute] It's easy to get lost.

(hooligans shout lairily)

How do I get lost?

I can help you with that.

Don't be afraid.

(handcuffs click)

(Mo sighs)

One is enough.

Now close your eyes.

(upbeat music)

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 you are, smell that. - For fuck's sake.

I had myself a hot sizzling Asian dish.

[Gumbo] Alright, Mo. How d'you get on, son?

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

I had some Polish.

Cold as ice, twice as fiery.

- (leers) Another dirty dog. - You old dog.

Come on, you Dogs!

[All] Come on, you Dogs!

We are Shadwell, the Kennel is our place

Shadwell never, ever, ever shall lose face

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

Got time for one more, then we'll get in a taxi.

Cool. Can I get three pints please, and a bottle of Bud?

[Nick] I've got something to set us up nice.

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

You fuck-tard. It's space cake.

- Hash. - Oh, alright.

Mo.

[Gumbo] Open that up for me, will you?

Fuck the taxi, we'll float to the match.

(pounding electro music)

(Nick laughing)

(pounding electro music continues)

Danny Boy!

Shh!

(chatter distorting) (music thumping)

Gumbo. Gumbo.

(music distorts to a halt) (Nick thuds to floor)

(football commentary plays in foreign language)

- (Gumbo snoring) - [Barman] Hey, time to go.

What was the score?

Who the fucking 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!

[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!

You cunt.

Fuck you, cunt!

(chaotic shouting) (intense music)

[Mo] Come on then.

(Mo grunts) (punch thuds)

(Nick grunting)

(siren wailing)

[Mo] Get off! Get off!

Oi, you fucking cunt! You fucker!

Argh! (riot shields thumping)

Fucker!

- (baton whacks) - Ow!

(intense music)

(Mo gasps for breath)

(music fades)

(seagulls crying)

[Reporter] Shadwell Town's first game in Europe was

tarnished by trouble from its traveling 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?

(rain pelting)

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.

(door thuds)

[Vinnie] 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.

- (suspenseful music) - 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.

[Alison] Are you sure?

How many people d'you think look like that?

Alright, come on. Out the back.

[Mo] What?

[Alison] Get round the back.

[Mo] What?

[Alison] No, we haven't the fucking time.

Get in the shed.

[Mo] What d'you mean "get in the shed"?

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

[Alison] Get in the shed.

(tense music)

[Mo] Fucking hell.

(door creaks)

Ta.

You got something a bit stronger, love?

[Alison] At eight in the morning?

(Mo stumbling around)

Thank you for letting us use your home.

It's appreciated.

[Alison] I can take a hint.

(Mo breathing heavily)

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 mobilize.

- Right. - Why are we talking about

some Dutch geezer for when my mum's got a fucking mosque

going up outside her house?

[Dave] 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 organized this".

So, what do we need?

[Hunt] How about... this?

What you got there, mate?

What you reckon?

(Mo breathing heavily)

- [Dave] 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.

That's what I thought.

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

This is exactly how lads blow themselves up

- in their back bedrooms. - Whoa, whoa, whoa.

Is that on a timer?

Is this running?

No.

(device whirring)

(Mo panting)

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, Vinnie.

- Sorry. - Oh, yeah.

[Mo] Fuck. Shit.

(Mo panting)

(door creaks)

Alright?

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

[Vinnie] Get back in the fucking house!

[Alison] Get out of the shed!

- (device bleeps and whirs) - What is he doing in that...

Get back.

(explosion booms)

(car alarms wailing) (debris scatters)

(they cough) (dog barking)

What the fuck is he doing in there?

You fucking...

- (punch thumps) - Get in.

You leaving it at that?

Am I fuck.

(kick thuds) (Mo groans)

Will you get off him! Get the fuck off him!

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

- (gun cocks) - 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 fucking same to me.

[George] Who the fuck told you to make a bomb?

Waiting round for your lot to do anything,

we'll be pushing up the fucking daisies.

Who are you exactly?

[Vinnie] 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 fucking terraces.

Fucking meat pie in one hand,

Bovril in the fucking other.

Ain't that right, Mo, eh?

- Shadwell for life. - Yeah.

[Hunt] 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.

And as for you, you backstabbing fucking bastard...

Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa!

Don't throw your ace away.

EDL used to like dark faces in the media.

It emphasizes 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.

[Supporters] Come on Shadwell!

(expectant chatter)

- Come on, boys. - Come on Shadwell.

Come on Shadwell!

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 head we taking?

Yours, Danny Boy. Right up there!

Alright, leave it out, you dirty dog. (laughs)

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.

(supporters chatting)

We got an opportunity here.

We need someone we can control to front this.

Time to play the Paki card.

Let's go.

(train rumbling)

[Nick] Lot of Dutch about, aint there.

[Danny Boy] You got the tickets?

What tickets? You got 'em.

- Ah! (laughs) - You fucking parsnip.

Here are, mate. Do you love me?

[Nick] Gumbo, what the fuck are you wearing?

- Eh? - 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, mate, 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.

(car purrs slowly)

Someone taking the piss?

Do what, mate?

Can't just come here and wipe their feet

- on our fucking doormat. - Here we go.

- You tooled? - Nothing.

[Danny Boy] Fists then. (keys clinking)

Evening, mate.

- Afternoon. - Nice shirt by the way, man.

- 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 even got fucking tickets?

Go on, man, sell us them. Sell us.

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

How... How much?

[Danny Boy] Gumbo.

[Dutch Supporter] I'll give you 100 per ticket.

Hang on, how much? Like he says.

- What? - We got four. How much?

These are main stand, these are 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 fucking 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.

[Nick] Right, it's my round.

I hope we fucking hammer ya!

- (crowd singing) - It'll be alright.

It's nil-nil, it's 10 minutes to go.

Come on, we can do it, boys. Come on.

[Commentary] That's the third chance

the Argentinean forward has let go begging.

Fucking hell!

[Commentary] 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! (crowd erupts)

Finally, Aguillan has hit the net

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

[All] Argentina! Argentina!

Argentina! Argentina!

- Yes! - Get in there.

Can't believe it.

Get in.

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

- (car purrs to a stop) - Come on!

(tense music) (doors thudding)

Not you. Mojo.

A word.

[Gumbo] Go on, Danny Boy.

(ominous music)

(engine revs)

We did it, son.

We've done it. Come here.

(suspenseful music)

You understand how important this is?

(indicator ticking)

Just here on the left by the kebab shop.

So you're with us, then?

Yeah.

Thanks for the lift. (door clunks)

(door thuds)

(suspenseful music)

Wait.

(engine revs)

- (bottles clink) - Thanks.

(distant sirens wailing)

(pensive atmospheric music)

(bus rumbling)

(suspenseful music)

[Clymer] How many miles were you running

- before the injury? - About 12 miles a day.

Struggle getting up the stairs in the morning,

I don't know how you manage that.

[Top Brass] It's like having toothache in your legs.

(chuckles) Would you excuse me a second?

- Yeah. - Cheers.

How did you get in here?

Why didn't you tell me that Special Branch

are in at Shadwell EDL?

Not here.

(urine trickling)

I don't have any access to that information.

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

Well, 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?

(laughs scornfully) 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 a match.

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.

[Top Brass] So he's a prospect, is he?

Not like in our day, eh?

[Clymer] Don't worry about him.

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

(suspenseful music)

(horn honks)

(suspenseful music)

(busy indistinct chatter)

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

That's DC Mohammed.

I've been promoted, brother.

D'you remember how?

(Imam gives greeting in foreign language)

(Imam continues speaking in foreign language)

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.

[Imam] 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.

You boys can more than double that.

[Imam] your children home from school-

- How good's your info? - should be studying...

- I'm here, aren't I? - praying.

Well we'll deal with this

'cause the police don't do anything.

We need to show some force,

show them we ain't going anywhere.

[Imam] 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?

We're protecting the prophet's honor.

- Lifestyle magazines. - Think that'll be alright.

I can't be involved.

[Imam] This is kafir's freedom.

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

[Imam] This is kafir's democracy-

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

And he doesn't know me.

[Imam] 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.

(engine revs)

(tense music)

(hooves clopping)

(tense music)

Muslim bombers off our streets!

[Mob] Muslim bombers off our streets!

Muslim bombers off our streets!

Keep St George in thy heart, keep it English

- Keep St George in my heart - 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

[Police Officer] Everyone hold your line.

Hold your line. Stand your ground.

(chanting continues)

- Whose streets? - Our streets!

(mob shouting)

[Mob] Muslim bombers off our streets!

Muslim bombers off our streets!

Muslim bombers off our streets!

Muslim bombers off our streets!

(hooligans shouting)

(hooligans thudding against riot shields)

What you fucking nicking him for?

- Mo! - [Mo] Danny! Danny!

(Mo shouting and grunting)

(torrent of angry shouting)

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.

(door slams)

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

(engine revs)

- (radio chatter) - Just saved your sorry arse.

(doorbell rings frantically)

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?

Humph.

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

You're hurting.

Sorry.

You don't break someone without breaking yourself.

I 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.

(they chat indistinctly)

[Nick] Innit, a little bit?

Like we're on our way to a match.

[Gumbo] I was proud of you though ...

[Nick] You fucking squeaky bastard.

- Alright, lads? - Oi, oi.

[Mo] Can I get a light off you, mate?

[Nick] Alright, 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?

[Vinnie] 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.

- (Mo scoffs) - 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... - Oh...

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? (mocking wolf-whistle)

(all sing tune of "The Stripper")

Give us your fucking clothes.

Alright, alright!

What is it you're looking for, exactly?

- Cameras, mics. - What?

- (all laugh mockingly) - Come on.

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? - No, that's the BNP.

- The BNP hates Yids. - I ain't 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.

[Vinnie] Gumbo, just get the drinks in, will ya,

there's a good lad.

- Alright, son. - Yeah, go on.

- [Gumbo] Oh, alright, yeah. - Dave. Dave?

It's a shame about that.

Better safe than sorry, though, mate, eh?

[Hooligan] You alright, man?

Clean as a whistle.

(various snores and grunts)

- 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?

(loud belch rattles) (fart squeaking)

(loud snoring continues)

Gumbo, you fucking muppet. (all cheering)

(ball thudding)

Oh you fucker!

Yes!

- Miss. - Yeah, fuck off,

that was in, mate.

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

Who can you trust there though to raid the mosque?

I mean that 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 realize

that Muslims are circumcised.

He's no use to us.

- (ball thuds) - 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.

(pulsing music) (seagulls squawking)

[Danny Boy] You sleep alright, Gumbo?

Yeah, 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. (knife clicks)

(tense throbbing music)

- (all chanting) - Dogs, Dogs, Dogs,

Dogs, Dogs, Dogs, Dogs, Dogs, Dogs, Dogs...

Come on!

(aggressive shouting and goading)

(shouting fades out) (throbbing tense music)

(heightened slice of blade)

(resounding thud of headbutt)

(intense music)

(train rumbling)

(quiet suspenseful music)

You look terrible.

How d'you find me?

Vinnie followed you the night he brought you home.

Not much of a homemaker, are you?

(Mo scoffs)

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.

(he scoffs)

Alright, come on.

What they got in store for me, eh?

Come on! 'Cause 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...

(kiss smacks)

Hm.

(both panting)

(dramatic music)

(she pants and groans)

(dissonant dramatic music)

Does he really wear his socks in bed?

(laughs) 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'll pick 'em up.

In-laws, friends.

Late night cocoa.

I do a mean cocoa.

(chuckles) 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.

(dog barking) (tense music)

(approaching car purrs)

(engine shuts off)

(thud of car doors)

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.

(engine revs)

(chatter of supporters)

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.

One for you, mate.

What the fuck you doing?

I was saving one for Gumbo.

He won't mind.

[Danny Boy] You greedy fucker.

[Mohammed] 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?

(door thuds)

(tense music)

Fucking flash car.

(engine revs)

[Dave] 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.

(supporters shout and chant)

[Supporters] Vukovitch, Vukovitch, out, out, out.

[Gumbo] Nicky.

What's up, Gumbo?

We've 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, Danny Boy.

This is the biggest game in our history, Gumbo.

No, man. No, fuck it, I'm going in.

[Gumbo] You're missing the point, Danny.

Alright, make room, you fuckin' anoraks. Come on.

(all cheer)

We ain't seen a fucking game this season.

[Supporters] Vukovitch, Vukovitch, out, out!

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

to your friends at the mosque.

[George] It's simple.

(door thuds)

Good job. There's a lot to be said

for these old school designs, you know.

George, is it armed?

I'm just setting it now.

(device beeps)

Alright, we're on.

Easy.

Get yourself 10 yards clear when it blows

or it'll be Mo-fucking-kebab.

[Vinnie] Alright, alright. Steady.

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

[Vinnie] 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. (tracker beeps)

George will be following you

every step of the way. (magazine clip clicks)

What you waiting for?

(tense music)

Yeah, going, going, going.

Yes.

Good boy, good boy.

(protest supporters singing and chanting)

We say no Russian, we say no

We say no Russian, we say no

Oh oh, we say no

We say no Russian, we say no

We say no Russian, we say no

We say no Russian, we say no

Oh oh, we say no

Vukovitch, Vukovitch, out, out, out

Vukovitch, Vukovitch, out, out, out

Vukovitch, Vukovitch, out, out, out

Gumbo?

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, do you remember our little secret?

I ain't told no one.

I know you haven't, Gumbo,

that's why I know I can trust you. Alright?

I'm making you an undercover agent.

You can talk about anything.

Shh, just listen, alright.

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.

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 10 yards.

Anything within 100 yards is gonna be dust.

He won't be missed.

I'm gonna get down to the ground.

Blend in with the plebs.

(suspenseful music)

(line ringing)

(phone ringing)

(Mo breathing rapidly)

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.

[Kash] Everybody out, please! Go, go, go.

[Dave] 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.

(intense music)

(mosque occupants shouting in foreign language)

- (gunshot fires) - Ahhh!

[Mo] Dad. Dad, move. Gun! (gunshot fires)

Dad, just run. Go!

Just run, run!

(gunshot fires)

(suspenseful music)

(fire door rattles)

(metal gate rattles)

Shit!

(Mo panting)

(intense music)

(door thuds)

Come on then, come on...

Allahu Akbar. Allahu Akbar...

Allahu Akbar, Allahu Akbar, Allahu Akbar...

(gunshot fires) (blood splatters)

(George's body thuds)

(Mo gasping and coughing)

Where's the bomb?

Where's the fucking bomb?!

It's out there!

Hunt put some more in there, I 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?

(Mo hyperventilating)

Did you fucking sleep with her?

Yeah.

(approaching sirens wail)

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

(door banging)

(suspenseful music)

[Mo] Shit. Where the fuck is it?

(urgent suspenseful music)

(Mo groans)

Mohammed.

Dad?

(engine revs)

(whistle blows)

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

(train rumbling)

(Gumbo breathing heavily)

(bag thunks)

Come on, you Dogs! (voice echoes)

Come on, you Dogs! (voice echoes)

Shadwell Army!

Shadwell Army!

(camera buzzing)

(explosion booms)

(somber music)

[Reporter] 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.

Now you know a true Englishman three ways.

By his attitude to drinking, food and sex.

(audience laughs)

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.

(audience laughs)

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

(audience applauds)

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

(wine glugs) 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.

[Reporter On TV] where he was best known as Gumbo.

No other suspects are believed to be involved.

Gumbo.

Fucking love you, Gumbo.

(glasses clink and chime)

You're learning.

(somber music)

I'm gonna miss you, mate.

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

Raise your drinks. Gumbo.

- Gumbo! - Gumbo.

[Danny Boy] 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.

(pensive Islamic music)

(tense brooding music)

(tense brooding music continues)

(tense brooding music continues)

(intense music)

(intense music continues)

(intense music continues)