Pint crushing 'Fred' takes on twinkly-eyed Sean. The Lancastrian breeze block lumbers in with hands like seaside boulders, aiming for that perma-smirk face of Mr C. The wrinkly old pile of facial hair still has some agility (after the cod liver oil pills) and ducks the incoming ham-hands. After three minutes of this Mr Flintoff finally gets hold of the neck and pops Connery's head off like a champagne cork.
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