John shakes his head slowly. He takes a last drag on his cigarette and stabs it out in the ashtray that's conveniently close to hand. "I can't compete with a figment of his imagination," he says in a resigned voice. "He's a kid. He's built this bloke up in his mind into something ... perfect." He sighs and takes another drink of his pint. "And as long as I put up with it he doesn't have to make a choice. I've thirty years on him, I know better," he says flatly. "It's up to me." He finishes the pint. "I'll do it. Just not looking forward to it." He pushes the empty glass toward Lorne. "Another."