"Okay, gaffer," Liam Doyle, the midfield badger whose first touch had now evolved from 'small explosion' to merely 'minor tactical detonation', began during a break, pointing at the tactics board.
"So, this weekend, we're playing against... 'Farsley Celtic'? Are they, like, actual Celts? Do we need to worry about ancient warrior chants?"
Leon just smiled, taking a sip of his lukewarm tea. "No, Liam. They're just a very well-organized football team from Yorkshire. No ancient chants. Probably."
"But," Dave the baker chimed in, wiping flour from his shorts, "their defense is very solid. Like a well-proofed sourdough. Hard crust, difficult to break down."
