There is an ex-footballer in his mid-40s who missed the ‘86 Brazilian-Hungarian match because of a toilet-incident; there is a businesswoman with her considerable bust-measure of 80 suffering from permanent greed for money; three tired brainy guys who - while discussing exactly how much money Bill Gates has - rob a savings bank; a wife who was chiselled by one of her lovers; the lover who only borrowed some mone besides he is the fisrt typewriter-drummer in the world; a civilan cop suffering from diabetes, who takes photos as an evening job, of course for some money and of course of the wife, and of course of the lover and just to be on the safe side of the customer, who is the husband, the ex-footballer. And last but not least there is the notoriuos guy acting as a porn replica, who has that very handbag equipped with an Alsys9 safety system landed on his head and that very handbag contains the above mentioned photos. Everybody wants to get the handbag. Some of them would sell it, some of them would buy it, some of them would just take it and some of them only wants to know what the hell is a haze-consumer. Also turns up an ex-gravedigger who has a very important match that night and only pops in for a minute, a cop wearing a neck-steadying, six noisy pip-squeaks, two boxes of signed leather balls, a golden-carded walker-on, a great number of bolts, a six-day long hot-water restriction, some thorough misunderstandings and button-footballers. The film shows a dozen suburbian loosers stumbling and demolishing. As if everything happened by chance but everybody turns up just in the nick of time at a place where they could steal, misspeak, throw away, make wrong, get out of doing something or just can tell their short and brief opinion about the situation.