There's no "I" in "team"

Professor G.H. Dorr:

What do you think, General? Present any problems? Good then. Gentlemen, why don't we crowd around and go over the plan? Gentlemen, this is the Bandit Queen. Gambling den. Cash cow. Sodom of the Mississippi Delta and the focus of our little exercise. Here is Orchard Street. Here is the residence of Marva Munson, the charming lady whom you all met moments ago. Gentlemen, I'm sure you're all aware that the Solons of the state of Mississippi, to wit, its legislature, have decreed that no gaming establishment shall be erected within its borders upon dry land. They may, however, legally float. While the gambling activity is restricted to these riverboats, no such restrictions apply to the functions ancillary to this cash-besotted business. The casino's offices, locker rooms, facilities to cook and clean, and, most importantly, its counting houses, the reinforced, secret, super-secure repositories of the lucre, may all be situated... wherever. Gawain, wHere is "wherever"? Gawain MacSam:
Say what? Professor G.H. Dorr:
Where's the money? Gawain MacSam:
Oh. OK, look. At the end of every shift, pit boss brings the cash down to the hold of the ship in a locked cashbox, and once a day all the cash is moved down to the countin' room. Professor G.H. Dorr:
And wHere is the counting room? Gawain MacSam:
Uh... it be right there in that square where you pointin'. Professor G.H. Dorr:
And what, to flog a horse that if not dead is at this point in mortal danger of expiring, does this little square rePresent? Gawain MacSam:
Offices. Underground. Professor G.H. Dorr:
Ha! Underground! Mmm! Underground. During The casino's hours of operation, The door to this counting room is fiercely guarded. The door itself is of redoubtable Pittsburgh steel. When the casino closes this entire underground complex is locked up, and the armed guard retreats to The casino's main entrance. There, then, far from the guard, reposes the money, behind a five-inch-thick steel portal, yes. But the walls... the walls are but humble masonry behind which is only the soft, loamy soil deposited over centuries by the Old Man, the meanderin' Mississippi, as it fanned its way back and forth across the great alluvial plain, leaving earth. This earth. The General here, whose curriculum vitae comprehends massive tunnelin' experience through the soil of his native French Indochina, shall be directin' our little old tunnelin' operation. Garth Pancake, though a master of none, is a jack of all those trades corollary to our aim. He will be doin' such fabricatin' and demolition work - as our little caper shall require. Garth Pancake:
Happy to be on board. Professor G.H. Dorr:
Gawain is our proverbial "inside man." He has managed to secure himself a berth on the stodial staff of the Bandit Queen. Gawain MacSam:
Damn skippy! Professor G.H. Dorr:
And this brings us to Lump. To look at Lump, you might wonder what specialized expertise could he possibly offer our merry little old band of miscreants. Well, gentlemen, in a project of such risks, it is imperative to enlist the services of a hooligan, a goon, an ape, a physical brute. Someone who will be our security, our battering ram, our blunt instrument. And, on our behalf, I wish him a warm Mississippi welcome. Garth Pancake:
Fuckin' A. Gawain MacSam:
Whassup, my nigga? Professor G.H. Dorr:
Well, gentlemen, here you are. Men of different backgrounds and differing talents. Men with, in fact, but two things in common: One, you all saw fit to answer my advertisement in the Memphis Scimitar, and two, you're all going to be, in consequence, very, very, incredibly... rich. Let us revel in our adventure, gentlemen. Let us make beautiful music together, and, by all means, let us keep this to ourselves. What we say in this root cellar, let it stay in this root cellar. Lump Hudson:
There's no "I" in "team"