Headless Chickens (2023): Season 1, Episode 4 - Sile, nole - full transcript

Martinelli puts Beto and Miguel's friendship to the test.

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Let's have a clean game, all right?

All right?

Come on, guys!
We're winning today no matter what!

Making us come on Sunday at midday...

Let's go, come on, go.
Look sharp, guys!

-What? It wasn't--
-Quiet. That way.

It's fine, it's fine! Keep going,
keep going! Keep going, go!

Cut it out. Ref!

-What do you mean?
-Okay, that way.

Second warning. That way.

-Okay, okay!
-Dammit, that's enough! Ref!



Bam-bam. Bugger it.
To the showers, both of you.

You go that way. To the showers.
Everyone else, in position.

Ball! Where's the ball?

"THE BULL" VELARDE
DIES OF HEART ATTACK.

GOODBYE, BULL.
GOODBYE TO OLD FOOTBALL.

-You heard, didn't you?
-About what?

About Beto and Miguel.

I heard something.
Beto punched his lights out.

-Hey, you. You're a son of a bitch.
-What's wrong? Beto!

No, it wasn't like that.

-What do you know? You didn't see it.
-I was told.

-What were you told?
-It was the other way around.

-You're a son of a bitch.
-Beto!

-You've got no fucking clue.
-You're so coarse.



-Twenty bucks?
-Fifty.

Done.

Are you gossiping or what?

We're in a crisis,
in case you don't know.

They are thick as thieves.
I wouldn't worry.

The agency's in danger,
you have no idea.

-All right, surprise me.
-Martinelli.

He went after Miguel.

He convinced him to leave Beto
and go with him.

No. So, Miguel...

He betrayed us!
With what Beto did for him.

What a bastard.

Well, all right. To understand,
you have to go back to when they met.

-They've always had issues.
-Beto and Miguel?

Unhealed wounds, envy, you know.

They met as kids,
they're like brothers.

I can't stand my brother.

Look, if you apologize right now,
I'll withdraw the red card.

What's that? Who did that to you?

-It was him.
-Liar! I didn't touch him!

-It was you, you bastard!
-Son of a bitch!

Alberto Martín and Miguel Blázquez.

You're both expelled
from the championship.

-We are our past, Mario.
-No way, if they fought,

it's something else,
not something from 30 years ago.

It's the downside
of working with friends.

Beto promised him the moon.

He makes more than all of us.

He let him think he'd be a partner
and he's on a salary.

-Right, and Miguel told you that?
-This is two plus two.

Why else did Martinelli approach him
at the funeral home?

FUNERAL HOME

A terrible misfortune, I'm so sorry.

Go fuck yourself.

-I get it. Can we talk?
-Go fuck yourself.

Take it down a gear, kid.
Your boss is gone.

He's not my boss, he's my friend.

Yeah, sure, sure.

Kid, you know about people
when they're doing fine.

And your boss, your friend, sorry,

has the fucking habit
of forgetting those who help him.

-Right. That doesn't happen to you.
-To me, never.

I always stand
by the friends of others.

LUIS FELIPE MARTINELLI
SPORTS MANAGER

I don't blame him.
Everyone has the right to hustle.

I think you're forgetting
what you're forgetting.

-What?
-The elephant in the room.

-Elephant. What's he on about?
-Laura Finkerman.

She may be many things,
but an elephant...

Beto and Sonia are together!
What's with that hack?

That hack was at the funeral home.
At the exit, I saw them talking.

No, no, I'm busy now. What?

Wait, look, I can't go.

No, it's impossible.

Thanks for coming, Laura, seriously.
I appreciate it.

I wanted to say goodbye to The Bull,
even just for the party nights.

He owed me 200 bucks
from a night in Barcelona.

-Really?
-Yes.

The Bull, and all of them,
I don't know how you stood them.

-It wasn't easy.
-It wasn't, was it?

The only woman
in that field of dicks.

Anyway, they kept talking
for a few more minutes...

until...

-At the time, I hit on you.
-Really?

We never hooked up,
but hey, you weren't into me.

-You were kind of--
-An asshole.

-A bit of a brat.
-Yes.

But you've changed.

-Shall we see each other?
-Yes, yes.

-What?
-You'll get yourself in trouble.

Get out of here, Mario.
You were far and couldn't hear them.

You don't have to be Jessica Fletcher
to work it out.

-Who?
-Plus, I can read lips.

Excuse me?
You warn people about that.

Beto and Miguel were alone
and he said to him...

You'll get in trouble.

Can't I check out girls' asses?

Don't shit me, we know each other.

Look, my friend just died, okay?
Give me a break.

You'll lose Sonia.

You were whining about it
and you haven't called her.

If you're so keen, you call her.

-What is this about?
-Are you giving advice?

You've never had
a relationship.

-I'd punch your--
-Know why you're alone?

You're a fucking pain in the ass.

They've had loads of spats like that.

That's fine if it stayed at that.
But that night...

Don't you two get tired of gossip?

Sorry, I'm worried about my job.
You tell me when we're unemployed.

What happened that night?

They saw Miguel having dinner
with Martinelli at Giamperi.

I don't want you
for any little scenes, no.

I want you on the front line.
You know what the front line is?

-Well...
-Well...

Look, if you take care
of my legal matters,

in a couple of years
you'll be sick of the dough.

Don't answer me now.

Take your time.

And Miguel took his time.

He paid for the drinks
with the company card.

You know what they hit you
for a drink?

Forget the drinks. That was Friday.

Do we know what things are like
between them now?

-They're not talking.
-Right.

Miguel hasn't signed
with Martinelli yet, right?

-Of course, he's signed.
-How do you know?

Believe me, one signature
after the other.

-How did you hurt yourself?
-Nothing, something silly.

-It was him.
-Forget it. It's in the past.

Fucking footballers.
They're bloody animals.

He didn't take it too well.
Actually, I understand.

And to top it off,
you justify him, huh, kid?

We have to get away
from toxic people,

from emotional vampires
like your friend Beto.

It's not that easy.
Beto and I are childhood friends.

Does that give him the right
to do what he did?

Do you know how I met your friend?

Bocaccio, 2005.
I was with a girl, a friend.

He was with his Madrid buddies.

He got all sloppy with my friend,
she told him no.

He wouldn't take no for an answer,
I got in between.

He smashed my face in.

One hundred and fifty stitches,
inside and out.

How about that?

Do you think the jerk remembers me?
He doesn't.

I was a fly that flew by him.

There's a lot
Beto doesn't remember from then.

Damn him. I remember everything.

-I'm going to smoke.
-Stop, I don't buy it.

Beto's not like that.
Who told you that, girl?

-What's up, guys?
-You won't answer my WhatsApps.

Come in, go ahead.

As you'll understand,
yours can't be bigger than mine.

-Where do I start?
-I don't know. Get comfortable.

Look over some contracts.

Some information is neutered.

For a while,
until I know that I can trust you.

Understood?

Keep your eyes on this one.

But hands off his fly.

-Aren't you asking me about my eye?
-We already know who it was.

-Maybe you don't know everything.
-You think?

No. When Miguel punched me...

He apologized, I apologized.

We had a talk,
a friends' talk we really needed.

-Fucking traitor!
-Fucking finger! Your fucking finger!

What the hell are you doing?

-Let go of me.
-You bastard.

Let me go.

Fucking hell!

Hey there.

What is this shit? Who hit whom?

After the quarrel, I went
to his house and we had a chat.

We've been there before.
We were at when we made peace.

-Miguel had an idea.
-I had an idea.

I have an idea.

-Hit me.
-What?

-Punch me.
-Punch you?

-Punch me, yeah, fucking punch me.
-But cold like that, I can't.

Okay, okay, fine.
We must think of something, because--

I owed you one, man.

Baby, come with me,
I need you for two minutes.

Red Bird to Bigass Cat,
Red Bird to Bigass Cat...

Cut the crap and move it.

Shit, you're spoiling my fun, man.

Did you install the program?

-Yes.
- Tell me what number you get.

517JR57.

Okay.

INITIATING REMOTE CONNECTION

-How long will this take you?
- Well, a while.

If you want to take a nap, play
"Candy Crush" or jerk off, up to you.

Hurry up, damn it.

I did it. I'm in!

-What?
-Sorry?

-Everything all right?
-Yes, yes.

I wondered if you'd get me
a coffee, please.

-Sure. How do you take it?
-With milk.

-Very well, straight away.
-Thank you.

-Finish it already.
- I've finished. Hey!

What we've got here is gold.

You jerk, why didn't you tell us
before with those joints?

-You didn't ask me.
-Look here, what's that?

That, that...

Th-th-that's all, folks!

-Damn you, Martinelli!
-Fucking Martinelli!

-Jerk.
-Yeah. Yeah.

Alberto Martín and Miguel Blázquez,

you're both expelled
from the championship.

-What happened?
-He's a liar. I didn't touch him.

No, you got carried away.
And a pro controls his feelings.

You won't get into Madrid's
youth academy like that.

Open up.

-You're walking home.
-What do you mean?

You should've thought of that before.

-But it's miles away!
-So you'll have time to think.

Dad, open up. Open up.

Dad, open up!

-Forget the Dad stuff.
-Dad! Dad!

You want one?

Go on then.

Maybe it wasn't a good play,
pissing off the beast.

For sure.

I'm going to stick
a criminal complaint up his ass.

He's going to give me every last euro
he's made in his fucking life.

Felipe, we have a tiny problem
with the contract.

-What?
-The signature.

Fuckhead.

We're going to die.

For sure.

-I spoke to Sonia.
-And?

-Lunch tomorrow.
-If you don't stand her up.

Unless you die on me first.

-To the Bull.
-To the Bull.

-As he'd say, "Time to get going."
-Well, unless...

-If you want to, I do.
-I want to.

-Come on.
-Okay.

You're losing 3-1.
I'm going to crush you.

In your wet dreams, Albertito!

Go on, go for it!

Go for it!

Don't shit me,
I've got enough with your mom!

I came, didn't I?
Wasn't that what you wanted?

If you're coming drunk,
you might as well not do it.

Son, I'm sorry. I'm sorry, come here.

It's just a scratch.

-Piss off.
-I'm sorry, son.

Let's talk, don't go, come here.

I'm sorry. Sorry. Come here.

Let's talk.

Dad!

What do you want?

-I'm talking to the Board.
-Leave me alone.

No, seriously.
Can you tell them it wasn't you?

I don't give a damn.

I don't care about football.
My dad wants me to play.

-Where do you live?
-In Morata.

Shit. You've got a way to go.

-Shall I take you?
-Get out of here.

-No, seriously. Get on.
-No, I'd rather walk.

My name's Beto.

I'm Miguel.

You play like shit, Miguel.

You collect the League cards?

Yes, I've got 12 to go
to finish the album. You?

I've got shitloads to go.

Here.

Really?

Got it, got it, got it, got it,

got it, got it, got it,
got it, got it...

Haven't got it!

Got it, got it...

Translated by: Francesca Villa
Iyuno