Two More Pints (9 page)

— It wasn't him. Tha' was Bert Lahr.

— Okay.

— She had two kids.

— Saw tha'. Two little lads.

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— See David Moyes is gone.

— The wrong man at the wrong time.

— That's not wha' you were sayin' last year.

— No, I always had me doubts – in fairness. I never doubted his honesty or his work ethic—

— ‘He'll be perfect for the job, wait an' see.'

— Are you fuckin' readin' tha'?

— ‘He's mini-Fergie. A cranky cunt – and I mean that as a compliment.'

— A little black book? Where'd tha' come from?

— ‘He's an excellent man motivator and his tactical acumen has long been under-fuckin'-estimated.'

— Yeh fuckin' prick.

— ‘He'll be in the job for twenty years. That's the United way. We're not like other clubs.'

— Okay. Did yeh never hear of fuckin' irony, no?

— Goin' back a few pages. ‘Whoever replaces Fergie, he'll be given the time to establish himself. We're not called Man Unitedski.'

— Yeh cunt.

— Here's another one. ‘That's why we're the biggest club in the world. We have values.'

— Well, come here, yeh cunt. You're not the only one with a black book. Here's one from way back. ‘There's no way I'd ever marry tha' one. She has a mouth on her like a fuckin' can opener.'

— I never said fuckin' tha'.

— 22nd of April, 1981.

— Well, the journalists got it right, annyway.

— About David Moyes?

— Yeah.

— They're fuckin' brilliant, aren't they?

— He was never the right man for the job.

— Never.

— We couldn't see it at first but – thank fuck now – the journalists could.

— He wasn't even the righ' man at Everton.

— He was shite there too.

— For eleven years. Pulled the fuckin' wool over everyone's eyes.

— It took Roberto Martinez to rescue them. To move them up from sixth to fuckin' fifth.

— A genius, tha' fella.

— Buyin' Aiden McGeady.

— Stroke o' genius, tha'.

— From Red Star Glasgow, or wherever the fuck he found him.

— Changed the course o' the club's history.

— World history.

— Meanwhile Moyes bought Juan Mata.

— A shite player.

— A shite player who was one of the world's most exciting players, ignored—

— Inex-fuckin'-plicably.

— By José Mourinho.

— Until Moyes bought him an' he became shite overnight.

— Cos o' Moyes.

— Arrives in Manchester in a helicopter an' immediately turns to shite.

— An' we never knew.

— But the journalists did.

— Cunts.

— What about Ryan Giggs?

— He's only temporary.

— Yeah, but—

— Wha'?

— Is the physio's wife safe, d'yeh think?

— I'd have me doubts.

— See using your phone while drivin's been made illegal.

— It's been illegal for years.

— Yeah, but it's really illegal now. A thousand-quid fine if you're caught.

— Yeah, but it's only for a few days. It'll be back to normal after the weekend.

— Shockin' though, isn't it? First the drink.

— Then the smokin'.

— Now yeh can't even drive up the quays an' do your online shoppin' at the same time.

— There's no pleasure left in life, is there?

— Last week – listen. I hit a woman with a pram – outside Artaine Castle, righ'. When I was havin' a quick gawk at the Paddy Power's website. But – and this is my point, this is why it's bad law. If I hadn't been choosin' a horse, I'd have been goin' way quicker and I'd have killed the poor woman. And, in fairness, she saw my point, once we got her down off the roof.

— What about the baby?

— Wha' baby?

— In the fuckin' pram.

— There wasn't a baby. It was her husband – her fuckin' life partner. She was bringin' him home from the Goblet.

— Was he hurt?

— Fuck'm. He was textin'. So he wasn't in control of his vehicle.

— See Bob Hoskins is after dyin'.

— Sad, tha'.

— Hadn't seen him in anythin' for a while.

— He mustn't have been well.

— No.

— He was one o' the lads, wasn't he?

— Brilliant. Just his face – the expressions, yeh know.

—Fabulous. From the very beginnin'. Fuckin' way back.

—
Pennies from Heaven
. D'you remember tha' one?

— I do, yeah. Brilliant. Your one, Gemma Craven, was in it as well.

— I used to like her.

— She was Irish, wasn't she?

— We won't hold that against her.

—
Mona Lisa
.

— There was no way
she
was fuckin' Irish.

— The fillum.

— Yeah, yeah – brilliant.

— I didn't like
Roger Rabbit
.

— Know wha' yeh mean. He was an irritatin' cunt. But Hoskins was good.

— Can't think of a bad one he was in.

— Cos he was in them.

— Probably, yeah – good point.

— The best, but.
The Long Good Friday
.

— Ah, Jesus. Magnificent.

— D'you remember the end, in the car, when he knows he's fucked?

— His face – yeah. Brilliant.

— He was frightened, grand, but he looked nearly happy as well. Impressed, like, tha' they'd snared him.

— D'yeh think he looked like tha' this time?

— When he knew he was dyin'?

— Yeah.

— I hope so.

— Me too.

— See Gerry Adams is after bein' arrested.

— No, you're wrong there. He went voluntarily.

— But—

— An' while we're at it, he was never a member o' the IRA.

— That's a load o'—

— And, in fact, he was never even called Gerry Adams.

— Wha'—?!

— An' there's no such thing as the IR fuckin' A.

— Hang on now—

— There never was a man called Gerry Adams. It's all a creation of the London and Dublin administrations, in cahoots with the media, to undermine Sinn Féin's election campaign.

— You've fuckin' lost me, bud.

— If there is such a place as Dublin – an' I have me doubts there as well.

— You're on your own.

— Not for the first fuckin' time.

— Gerry Adams isn't Gerry Adams. That's the theory, yeah?

— Stands to fuckin' reason. It's the only logical conclusion. He's all a myth. The beard an' the teeth. An' the trigger finger. Did I say tha'? I hope not. I fuckin' deny it.

— They've made him up?

— I think so, yeah. The only alternative is tha' he made himself up an' got a bit carried away.

— What abou' Mary Lou?

— What abou' her?

— Is she real?

— Big time.

— ‘What A Wonderful World'.

— Fuck off.

— Louis Armstrong.

— Fuck off.

— Great song.

— Fuck off.

— Number one in May 1968.

— Fuck off.

— The last time Sunderland beat Man United at Old Trafford.

— Fuck off.

— It stayed at number one for four weeks.

— Fuck off.

— Ah now. Georgie Best scored for United.

— Fuck off.

— Good oul' Giggsy.

— Fuck off.

— An' the Class o' '92.

— Fuck off.

— Playin' the United way.

— Fuck off or I'm leavin'.

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- -

— Biggest-sellin' single of 1968.

— Fuck off.

— See Rik Mayall died.

— Sad.

— Desperate. Younger than us.

— Remember
The Young Ones
?

— Ah, for fuck sake. There was nothin' like it.

— ‘His name's Rick. The P is silent.' Best line, ever.

— I always associate
The Young Ones
with me first video.

— Yeah – yeah. They both came at about the same time, didn't they?

— I'd tape
The Young Ones
an' watch it when I got home. There was once – when I got the video, like. A chap in work gave me a dodgy one.
Debbie Does—

— Dallas.

— No –
Dungarvan.
It was Irish-made – made me proud. It was fuckin' rough, I'll tell yeh. But, annyway. I came in an' my ma was in the kitchen. She was stayin' a few days.

— She only lived around the corner.

— Yeah, but me da was howlin' at the moon.

— Grand.

— So, she says, ‘You said you'd tape
Coronation Street
for me.' An' I thought, ‘Oh, bollix – she's after seein'
Debbie
.

— Oh Jaysis—

— No, it was grand. I'd taped
The Young Ones
over
Corrie.
I made her watch it with me, an' the kids all got up to see, cos she was laughin' so much.

— That's nice.

— It is, isn't it?

— The mother and baby homes.

— Shockin'.

— That's the thing, but.

— Wha'?

— Yeh kind o' get used to it, don't yeh. The stories – all the fuckin' misery. It's been goin' on for years. Am I makin' sense?

— Kind of. I think so, yeah.

— I thought it was over, d'yeh know what I mean? All the inquiries, and the bishops an' tha'.

— Consigned to history, like.

— Exactly – spot on. An' then, when they're on about eight hundred babies dumped in a septic tank, or whatever the fuck—

— Nuns with buckets o' babies.

— Yeah – I mean, I haven't seen a nun in fuckin' years, with or without a bucket. They're like the fuckin' dinosaurs.

— Long gone.

— We'll only be seein' them in cartoons soon. But then— Yesterday, I'm readin' abou' the kids in the mother an' baby homes tha' were used for vaccine tests. In 1973. An' I think, ‘Oh – my – Jaysis.'

— I was workin' in 1973.

— Me too. Or, I wanted to be. But those kids, like.

— They're younger than us.

— Much younger than us.

— So, it's not history, is it?

— No, it fuckin' isn't. It's current affairs.

— Three pints.

— One'll do me.

— No. Three pints is a binge.

— Says who?

— Heard it on the radio. Some fuckin' survey, or somethin'.

— That's fuckin' mad. I'd need three pints before I decide whether to go on a fuckin' binge or not.

— I worked it out earlier. I've been on a fuckin' binge since 1975. Three pints, two or three times a month, constitutes harmful drinkin'.

— So – wha'? You've been drinkin' yourself to death for nearly forty years?

— Apparently.

— Well, you're not very fuckin' good at it, are yeh? Yeh look grand.

— Thanks. I'll tell yeh wha' the problem is. An' it's not the drinkin'.

— Wha'?

— The drinkin's grand. I did me own survey an' most Irish people are happy enough with the amount they drink.

— How many did yeh talk to?

— Just the one.

— Fair enough.

— The problem is, the fuckers – the doctors – tha' do these surveys. They haven't a fuckin' clue what a good binge is. They've no righ' to use the word.

— It's ours.

— Exactly. So they can fuck off. Three pints in a row isn't a national crisis. It's a fuckin' necessity. It's probably the only thing tha' stops us from bein' Swiss.

— Yeh have to admire Suarez, all the same.

— Go on – why?

— Well, if yeh were goin' to bite an Italian—

— Sophia Loren.

— She wasn't playin' last night, I don't think. I didn't see her on the pitch.

— She was on the bench.

— Grand. You're Suarez.

— Okay.

— You feel the irresistible fuckin' urge to bite an opponent.

— Okay.

— You go down through the Italian team sheet.

— Like a menu.

— Exactly.

— Pirlo an' chips.

— There now – good man. You've put your fuckin' finger on it. You wouldn't go for Chiellini an' chips, sure yeh wouldn't?

— Too skinny.

— Too fuckin' hard. He'd knock the livin' fuck out of yeh. Pirlo wouldn't even notice if yeh bit him. He's too laid back.

— An' hairy.

— Movin' on. He – Suarez, like – he was the same when he was decidin' which o' the Chelsea squad he was goin' to sample. He didn't go for one o' the little lads. Oscar or Hazard. He bit a fuckin' Serb.

— A fuckin' warlord.

— I'm tellin' yeh. Suarez should have his own programme – on the telly, like.

—
Eat With Luis.

— A football celebrity cannibalism quiz.

— With Robbie Savage.

— An' the other cunt.

— Jamie Redknapp.

— He'll do.