Nice guy? I don't give a shit. Good father. Fuck you, go home and play with your kids. You want to work here, win. You think this is abuse? You think this is abuse, you cock-sucker. You can't take this, how can you take the abuse you get on in a final. If you don't like it, leave. I can go out there tonight, the players you got, win the game by three clear goals. Tonight. In one half. Can you? Can you?
Go and do likewise. Get mad you son-of-a-bitch. Get mad. You know what it takes to win the league? It takes brass balls to win the league. Go and do likewise, gents. The glory's out there, you pick it up, it's yours, you don't, I got no sympathy for you. You want to go out to that dugout tonight and win, win, it's yours, if not, you're going to be shining the others' boots. And you know what you'll be saying. A fat loser sitting around in a bar: ''Oh yeah, I used to be a manager. It's a tough racket.''
This is Juan Mata. And to give him to you, he's gold. And you don't get him. Why? Because to give him to you is just throwing them away. He's for winners. I'd wish you good luck, but you wouldn't know what to do with it if you got it. And to answer your question, pal: Why am you still here? You're still here because Sir Alex asked me to keep you around, they asked me for a favor. I said the real favor, follow my advice and fire your fuckin' ass because a loser is a loser.