The Barnsley dugout. Keith is sitting in his seat looking at Prozone on his laptop. The tannoy system is playing softly. Scratching noises are heard. Hill: Bobby, what are you doing? Hassell: I'm carving something on this seat, boss. Hill: What are you carving? Hassell: I'm carving "Hassell", boss. Hill: Why? Hassell: It's a cunning plan actually. Hill: Of course it is. Hassell: You see, you know they say that somewhere there's a seat with your name on it? Hill: Yes? Hassell: Well, I thought if I owned the seat with my name on it, I'd never get sacked, 'cos it would cost too much to remove. Hill: Oh, shame. Hassell: And, the chances of there being two seats with both our names on them are very small indeed. Hill: That's not the only thing around here that's "very small indeed". The catering budget for example, is so minute that if we change the pie fillings there wouldn't be enough inside to cover a small wafer. [Don enters.] Don: Tally-ho pip-pip and Patrick's your sugar daddy. Hill: In Rochdale we say, "Good Morning". Don: Look what I got for you. Hill: What? Don: It's the latest issue of the "Chronicle". Oh, damn inspiring stuff; the newspaper that tells the Reds fans the truth about everything. Hill: Or alternatively, the greatest work of fiction since the Blades promised to get out of League One. [flicks through paper] Don: Come, come, now. You can't deny that this fine newspaper is good for the musings of the fans. Hill: Certainly not, I just think that more could be achieved by them sending in letters on toilet-paper. [hands paper back to Don] Don: Not with you at all, what could any stalwart fan have against this magnificent rag? Hill: Apart from his bottom? Don: Yes. Hill: Well look at it. [takes the paper again] I mean this is about as convincing as Manchester City's Champions League campaign. The Barnsley players are all portrayed as Championship standard with biceps the size of Worsbrough. Don: Thoroughly inspiring stuff. And look, this also arrived for you this morning. [hands paper bag to Hill] Hill: [opening bag, taking out a letter] Hmm, do you know what this is? Don: It's a good old resignation letter. Hill: Wrong. It's a brand new resignation letter, which I've suspiciously been sent without asking for it. This seems extremely badly written, and I'm not talking about the contents of my tactics manual. Don: That's funny, because we didn't order those new contracts either. Hill: New contracts? Don: Yeah, came yesterday. I issued them to the players, and they were absolutely thrilled. Isn't that right Bobby? Hassell: [from the tunnel] Yes sir, first winter fuel we've had since we burned last year's kit. Hill: Something's going on, and I think I can make an educated guess what it is. Something which you, Don, would find hard to do. [they walk into the tunnel] Don: Ah, true, true. When I was at S****horpe, budgets could go hang as long as I gave the fans a beer, pleaded poverty very loud, and took a pasting on the forums without blubbing. Hill: I, on the other hand, am a fully rounded football manager with a degree from the university of league two, a diploma from the school of back passing, and three gold stars for Sidney from his swimming lessons. My instincts lead me to deduce that we are at last about to score two goals. Don: Great Danny, you mean, you mean the moment's finally arrived for us to give the Owls a darned good Barnsley style thrashing, six of the best, shorts down? Hill: If you mean, "Am I going to pick my best eleven?" Yes. Clearly, we are about to make yet another gargantuan effort to get six points closer to safety. Don: Right! Bravo! Well let's make a start eh, lead on to Saturday, last one in Leicester's a rotten egg. Hill: Give me your radio. [Don hands his radio to Hill, who turns it on and immediately heavy criticism is heard. He switches the radio off and gives it back to Don.] Don: Yes, some sort of clever interview might be in order. Hassell: Permission to speak boss. Hill: Granted, with a due sense of impending doom. Hassell: I have a cunning plan to get us out of trouble boss. Hill: Ah yes, what is it? Hassell: Defending. Hill: I see. [enters the dugout again] Hassell: You know how you have been on the lookout for good defenders? Well, if you pick me, we defend well, and get away from the bottom 3 that way. Hill: Bobby, it's a brilliant plan. Hassell: Is it? Hill: Yes, it's superb. Hassell: [delighted] Permission to twitter my wife boss, this is the first brilliant plan I've ever had! Hill: There is however one slight flaw in the plan. Hassell: Oh? Hill: I see you as more of a midfielder. Hassell: Oh yeah, that's right. Over to you, Hill!!!!!!!!
Blackadder Goes Forth is probably the best 'sit-com' ever written, closely followed by the second series. Ben Elton may be a bit of a b*ll-end, but the way he and Richard Curtis wrote, and played around with the language, was the stuff of genius.