He's got my shorts on. - What? - Roger Hetfield's got my shorts on. Now then - Can I go at half past six? - Yes! Now, then Saturday, as you all know, is cup tie day. - And it's our chance to show - What's the matter? He got me shorts on and he won't give me back! They were on top of my bag in t'changing room. They were on me peg! - Lord, please. - They were never on his peg. I share a peg with him and I never saw them. You're a bloody liar, you are, Dunston. Don't you call me names, you pansy! - They come out of my bag! - They bloody didn't! Stop it! What the hell do you think you're doing? Who the hell do you think you are? I didn't come here on a free transfer from Walsall to stand and watch a bunch of morons arguing about shorts! I came here to create a football team. A hard, ruthless, tough, fighting unit. I don't care if your bloody shorts are on or off as long as you can two a quick one-two round an overlapping half-back. You can wear the sodding things over your head for all I care, if you can drop a long ball right at the centre forward's feet. You can You can run the length of this pitch, stark bollock-naked if you can poke one in the corner of the net at the end of it. Shorts don't matter! Do you hear? Shorts have nothing to do with it. I don't care if they're blue serge shorts or white cotton shorts, or green flannel shorts, or sky-blue shorts with elastic supporting hand-stitched Italian waistbands! I don't care if they're long shorts or short shorts, or three-quarter length shorts, or initialled shorts, or monogrammed shorts, or Billy Meredith signed shorts. Or shorts made in Ireland. Or shorts made in Austria, or shorts made in Timbuk-bloody-tu with pink stars on that light up at night. It's not important. Do you hear? They're nothing to do with bloody football. The only thing that matters is what's inside them. The machine you've got pounding away in there, up and down, up and down for 90 minutes. You can wear all the bloody shorts you want. You can wear 15 woolly pairs on top of one another, it won't make a hap'orth of difference unless that punching, pounding pulsating machine can't keep running, and tackling and fighting. There! That's what's important! Look at that! Not these! Chuck 'em away. Throw 'em away! Goodbye, shorts!
