Mean Machine

Doc:
Apparently he killed 23 men with his bare hands.

Danny Meehan:
Maybe I should take up karate.

Doc:
That was before he took up karate.

Sykes:
Well get it sorted, 'cause this lad has a bad habit of turning cash flow problems into blood flow problems.

Sykes:
So my ass is on the line, and by my ass, I mean your ass.

Hayter:
Prison Guard to Secretary: I wouldn't get too close Miss.

Tracey:
Secretary to Danny: Why? You're not dangerous. Are you Mr. Footballer?

Danny Meehan:
Danny to Secretary: Only if you've got a ball Miss.

Danny Meehan:
I'll tell you something, I didn't start off out as a youngster looking to sell my country out.

Massive:
None of us planned to be here, mate.

Chiv:
But you're forgetting one thing. You're a hero in Scotland.

Danny Meehan:
Oh right lads, you wanna be nothing, prisoners... numbers... that's fine But you win out there today and you'll have something to remember forever, talk about it over and over, because up and down the country there are cons that are pig sick of not being here in your shoes... just to have one crack at those bastards next door!

Danny Meehan:
Run your guts out, and you'll have somethin' in 'ere -points towards heart- they can never touch, guards and nutcase governors... NOW... ask yourselves one question... ARE YOU READY? *Team replies light heartedly*... YEAH! ARE WE? *Team replies Whole heartedly*... YEAH! THEN COME ON!

[Danny and Chiv's recruitment drive leads them to a very dangerous inmate]

Danny Meehan:
Hello Mr Monk. Can you play football?

Monk:
Aye.

Danny:
Good. Would you like to play with us?

Monk:
Nah.

Danny:
We're playing the guards.

Monk:
[pause] Aye, then I'm with you.

Chiv:
Sound.

Bob Likely:
Good afternoon, I'm Bob Likely. You join us live from the recreation field.

Bob Carter:
I'm Bob Carter, and thanks again to our esteemed governor...

[Both muffle the microphones with their hands]

Both:
[Whispering] Wanker.

Bob Carter:
...for providing the splendid facilities that are here today as part of his rehabilitation campaign.

[Danny Meehan is about to take a free kick in front of a wall - but shoots it at Mr Ratchett's private parts]

Bob Likely:
Ooh! Right in his carrots and onions!

Bob Carter:
No nookie for Mr Ratchett.

Bob Likely:
No nookie for Mrs Ratchett neither.

Danny Meehan:
[Explaining why he threw the England-Germany game] It's funny, but when you're in that football world, you just don't realise what it means to people. You only find out how disappointed they are, when you let them down. I was 16 when I signed pro forms. Thought I was the business. Didn't take long for standards to start slipping. Cars, booze, bad tips for slow horses... You think you can handle it, then bang, very soon it's handling you. Before I was picking up trophies, I was 425 grand down to men nasty enough... well, even they would have put the wind up Mr Sykes. But they did give me two choices - a wheelchair for life, or a deliberate penalty against the Germans. It's not as if I've prospered. Look where I've ended up.

Danny Meehan:
Stick that in your trophy cabinet. [gives the game ball to the governor]

Doc:
Most of the guys in here have nothing. Never had to start with. But you, you had everything they ever dreamed of. And you threw it all away.

Doc:
[After Danny asks him why he hasn't gone insane] Only does your nut in if you don't think you should be here. Look at me. Sweet old geezer, eh? A bit bumbly, full of jail-block wisdom, cornerstone of the nick, put in with the foundations, right? [scoffs] Right. I didn't get to be the oldest lag for breaking windows. Villains spend their lives shitting themselves that other criminals are going to see to them. So they get their retaliation in first, and twice as nasty. A bloke was coming after me. So I, er... I went around to his digs and lobbed a grenade in the window. Left over after the war, you know, army surplus. I didn't know, but he had his little nipper and his bird in there with him. [his eyes filling with tears] The house went up like Guy Fawkes' Night. No-one came out. He'd barricaded the door with furniture in case I came around. By the time they got in, the screaming had stopped. [crying] Thirteen months old, learning to walk, apparently. Nothing I can do is ever going to make up for that, is it?