i can hear the cash registers now!
you're not wrong, brian. take the family out for a meal. go to the mumtaz. tell `em i'm paying.
dave mackay??
i'm not. what were you thinking? going over my head like that? why didn't you call?
bloody right i'd have said `no'. the man's bloody crocked.
is he fuck. he's broken more bones than evel knievel.
and who the fuck are they?
where did they come from?
that'd be my club, brian. my club.
a hundred and seventy grand?!? for colin fucking todd?!?
a salary of three hundred quid a week? you can't pay a footballer that!!
i told you never to go over my head again.
windows? you mean there were others?!?
for fucks sake!
to support the football club in my home town. the club i've supported all
what i didn't come into it for was to be lectured by a cocky little twat from the north east.
but professionals don't run the club, brian, the chairman does. and if it's true, that football is all about money, and that's the way it's going, that's suits us chairmen just fucking fine. because we're the ones who've got it. sam longson lights a cigar, and walks off.