And it came to pass, upon the hallowed astro of Sir Joseph Williamson’s Mathematical School, that Ben “BA” Allon descended from the clouds of Three Hills, his stick glinting like lightning, his voice carrying on the Rochester wind. The pitch bowed before him, the water-based turf shimmering a little greener in his honour.

From the first whistle, BA moved among the mortals with divine ease. The team of BA’s passed to BA, who laid it off to BA, who found BA in the circle—yet alas, the goal was denied by the crossbar of Judas. Still, BA’s possession was complete; verily, he controlled 137% of the ball in the first half, according to ancient stats carved into a match report scroll.

But lo! Against the run of play, the heretics of Old Williamsonians struck first, a cruel deflection past the outstretched glove of BA in goal—who later forgave himself for the error. The heavens rumbled with his frustration, and a light drizzle began to fall, for BA controls not only the ball but also the weather and mood and the lighting.

Undeterred, the Prophet of Push-Back rallied his eleven selves. In the dying seconds of the half, a divine flick from BA to BA was stuck cleanly and nearly by BA into the net. And the crowd of seven did rejoice, for BA had risen, saying unto one another, “this man hath be the Son of Folkestone.”

At half-time, BA gathered his disciples (all of whom were also, BA) and delivered a sermon lasting five of BA's precious minutes and three seconds, the onlookers fell silent in reverence.

But after the break, temptation struck again. Old Williamsonians, emboldened by ignorance, dared to score once more. BA, now furious, bent his shin pads and bellowed: “not today!” The skies darkened. The timepiece itself slowed. A strike of lightning doth observed.

For the final ten minutes, BA unleashed the full fury of his gospel — pressing high, tackling cleanly yet divinely, and creating chances by sheer willpower and devination. And lo, in the 65th minute, BA smote the ball past the keeper with righteous vengeance. The net quivered. The earth trembled. The scoreboard, briefly possessed, displayed OW 2 – BA 2 before returning to mortal numbers.

The umpires — both, naturally, lesser forms of BA — had turned against him in the final fifteen minutes, granting greens and free hits unto the unworthy. One BA was banished for appealing against himself. Another was cautioned for excessive modesty.

And yet, when the whistle blew, the land was at peace. The match had ended 2–2, but the message was eternal: no defeat shall touch those anointed by BA.

Thus ends Chapter XI.

Next week: The Book of BA, Chapter XII: The Reckoning at Canterbury.