The cast of characters were as follows

the Managers name is Danny, and he always has something poignant and funny to say, to the likes of Captain Burn’r, also known as Cyborg Rinaldo, and Sala, he with his five looks and priceless lines, much like the Refereeeeeee from Shefield, who stewards Right Back, sending balls down the line to the likes of Pikey the Aussie, always gett’r done mate, as does the Scottish Drummer who has an anthology of greatest hits, subtle taps and kick backs to Domingo who does the tango down the side line before sliding it through to press on, supported by Centre D, who just put their striker in the bin for life, lest they ever venture into the box again, having been chased down by Hustles Zimmerman, never relenting, arms and legs every where, and forever, speaking of which, there is Panger who early on knew about the ultimate weapon, the do nothing defence, which almost doesn’t work on the Native, with his drifters to the back of the net, those knuckle balls, his control leaves one wondering if he could do it twirling pizzas above his head while deftly feinting missteps and tucking the ball through to the Silver haired Richard Grer who dances by defenders with unassuming grace, with his skater days worn on his sleeve, he still ollies occasionally but loves taking big shots and subsequently being screamed at by the Painter, who is both verbose and elegant, unlike the Gazelle, quite and unassuming, before bounding down the field, opening up space for the Persian, riding his magic carpet, dancing in to full stops, when all who are watching share a common pause before he sends it on to Jujitsu, who conceals a weaponized left foot, unlike the Silent Assassin, who is simply centred and composed, much like the Samurai, who yields the heart sword, centre strike, if only the other team had Hartley the Castle, it is as if on defence this Rook deploys a moat with a draw bridge, and it is this Rook, who reminds the author of Ted, the kid who lived across the street when a pothole marked centre ice, and who did venture out to play every day, and did so with only one condition, fair play, to which we established a standard, an expectation, to be good to one another, out there on the street, and this district head engineer brings the same, and there we all are, showing up once a week, to just play, and banter - “that’s one fucked up Esher painting” and “that is physics boys - nope that is called sport” - and with it, acceptance, of one another, just as we are, no pretence or hearsay, the invitation to just play, with the cadviet our game, played to music, acknowledges Gurp knows Magic, and nothing else needs be said..