It's ironic

Bob Likely: Absafuckinglutely, Bob!

Bob Carter: And once again, Monk's played it to Trojan, who's again switched to the left.
Bob Likely: He must be ambidextrous, Bob.
Bob Carter: I don't know about that, Bob. But he certainly can use both feet.

[When asked to be breathalised by the cops] No need, officer. I'm absolutely drunk.

I'm in here for drunken assault.

I just wanna keep my head down, do my twelve months and I'm going home.

What goes on the pitch, stays on the pitch.

You're becoming a sentimental old fart.

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.

Stick that in your trophy cabinet.

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.

Some of the boys have a crap in the night, wrap it and airmail it out the window.

Only does your nut in if you don't think you should be here. Look at me, sweet old man? A bit bumbly, full of jail-block wisdom, cornerstone of the jail, put in with the foundations, right? Right. I didn't get to be the oldest con for breaking windows. Villains spend their lives shitting themselves that other criminals are going to see to them. So they get their retaliation first as twice as nasty. A bloke was coming after me, so I, um, I went around to his digs and lobbed grenade in the window. Left over after the war, you know, army surplus. I didn't know, but he had his little baby and his little girl in there with him. The house went up like a firecracker. No one came out. He'd barricaded the door with furniture in case I came around. By the time they got in, the screaming stopped. Thirteen months old, learning to walk apparently. Nothing I can do is ever going to make up for that, is it?

Yeah, three across, four letters: acid. The governor lets Sykes get his "Racing Times" and other papers special delivery. He thinks it helps Sykes work out form and give him tips. He doesn't know that they're pre-soaked in acid.

It's called sunlight, Meehan. Think of it as a privilege which can be withdrawn.