Dodger carried the last shopping bag into the kitchen, placed it carefully on the bench next to the one containing dry condiments and cereals, stretched his back and let out a satisfied belch. It had been a good shopping trip. All the requisite items had been in the correct place in the aisles, and nobody had tried to mess with his scientifically designed procedure of putting items in the trolley in order of price and size. The check-out girl had been efficient and friendly without being too chatty (a heinous fault that regularly prompted letters of complaint), and the drive home had been momentous - a fortuitous sequence of lights had cut 23 seconds off the average length of the trip, making it the fourth quickest dry weather run since records began on September 3, 1994.

After putting away the vegetables, taking special pride in the symmetrical excellence of three of the new potatoes, it was on to the pasta. But when the six bags of assorted types were taken out of their shopping bag and aligned on the bench for checking and decanting into their marked tupperware, Dodge sensed something wasn't quite right with the ravioli. Those pricks at Goodman Fielder would be getting another rocked up their fat arses if there was anything less than 495 grams in this packet, thought the suddenly aroused sweeper. He took the scales out of the "electronic utensils over 2 years old" cupboard, sliced open the ravioli packet with kitchen scissors along the line drawn across the corner for that purpose, and poured the contents into the bowl on the scales. And there it was - a small packet containing perhaps 50 grams of a white powder, and, attached to this, by sellotape, a typed note. In bold, font size 12, all capitals. Times New Roman.

Unbeknown to Dodge at the time, during that weekend of November the 23rd and 24th of last year, no fewer than 14 Turtles had the exact same experience in their kitchens. Apart from Spratty, who still hasn't found his kitchen. The small packet was always the same; just the foodstuff carrying it varied. Snouter's was in low-fat ice-cream. GT's was in a bulk packet of fortune cookies. Phildo's in peppermint tea. Weasels was sandwiched between two bags of hula hoops. Some panicked, some threw it away, some gave it to the cat. None at the time knew how serious that message was, and that their beloved team-mates were also targets. Two, PK and Telboy, called the cops, and from there it escalated into the events that took place before, during and after the game against Porirua at Adventure Park on Saturday. The notes said "RETIRE OR DIE". And the 2003 season opener was played under protection that would make Saddam feel relaxed at a Manhattan cocktail party.

As it turned out, the packets contained a vitamin supplement for the elderly, but the threat was taken very seriously by several government agencies. The list of enemies that the Turtles have built up over the years is extensive. There are teams that have been taken to task in these reports - Island Bay, North Wellington, Olympic, The Cops, various Petone sides, the cheating Indians; countless others. There are former players who for unknown reasons may hold grudges - Dave Churcher, Davey J, Durri, Blobby, BHOA; the list is endless. There are current players too, who may well be feeling that the whole thing is just going on too long, and should be halted before all sense of dignity is eroded entirely. And of course there are the international terrorist organisations who have been denied Turtle funding since a vote in the Turtle lounge last July - the PLO, the Islamic Jihad, the Black September movement, and BaC (Bob against Citroens).

Detective Inspector Bland of Wellington CID headed up the investigation, and held a press conference on December 14, when it became clear that the threat was causing widespread panic. He read a prepared statement: "I would like to assure all Turtles, and their families, that we are doing everything in our power to protect their constitutional right to play a bit of footy on a Saturday. We are in close consultation with Scotland Yard, the FBI and CIA, and Trisha's Pies, to make sure this investigation is thorough and tasty. I have a dedicated team of 35 highly skilled people working 7-hour days, fortified only by pies, cream donuts, and the odd beer at lunchtime. No expenses claim will be declined to ensure that these fine people can go about their business, however embarrassing that may be".DI Bland deemed the immediate threat to be a Code Yellow (you can go to lunch but take a pager), but made it clear that if the Turtles stubbornly refused to bow to these threats and play the first game of the season, then the threat would be upgraded to a Code Red (on-site catering only).

Over the summer, several clandestine meetings took place at secret locations around Welly. All of these involved much soul-searching, heartfelt pleas, angry finger pointing, and beer. Efforts were made to get the Turtles into Masters 2, which would have lowered the team's profile, and perhaps lessen the anger of whatever individual or group had made the threats. In a decision that could still cost many lives, the WSA refused, on the grounds that their administrator was in Nelson on holiday and had not left the password. Wal, inexplicably voted back in as captain for 2003, finally took the weight upon his own sloping shoulders, and declared in a written note to DI Bland that "the FTFC have never, and will never, back down to threats. We will therefore play our first game on April 5. Should any danger eventuate, we will face it as we always have, with our chins held high, and our shorts pulled up to just under our armpits, for that big-balled look".

And so it was that Whitby appeared its normal peaceful self on Saturday, but if you cared to look closer, it looked more like a scene from that very under-rated film, "Mr Arafat goes to Washington". Adventure Park was ringed by men in dark suits, all called Agent Johnson, and talking into their sleeves. Snipers were in position on surrounding rooftops, and the "children" playing in the sandpit had automatic weapons under their full-length leather coats. The Turtles were escorted to the ground in black Hum V's with tinted windows, one per player. Not surprisingly, several of the more nervous Turts failed to show. Gordie defected to the Wanderers. Spratty feigned injury and played golf. Chopper skipped town, and Dodger hid in his wardrobe. Those that did turn out will be remembered forever as heroes.

Under these appalling circumstances, the depleted Turts began the game, against the team that was a mere whisker away from winning the grade last year, with a real sense of trepidation. The oppo stroked the ball around elegantly, as expected, and the lads chased and harried. The midfield of Wal, Weas, GT and Murray were over-run, but the expectant fathers in the back four, plus PK, held firm. Tel and Si in the middle had two big skilful forwards to deal with, but were well up to it, and both put in staunch performances. Particularly Telboy, who not two weeks previously had been prancing around a stage in Sydney in a leather posing pouch, looking emaciated and painted orange.Five minutes in, things looked ominous. Then we scored. GT had been rushing around like a Hong Kong doctor, and suddenly found himself behind the oppo defence. An innocuous ball forward had been fluffed by their central defender, and GT was clear. His shot was a bit scuffy, but wide enough of the keeper to give him problems. This keeper made Snout look agile as he lumbered across and patted the bobbling ball away, directly into the path of a lumbering Lance. Lumbering because of an injury, apparently. Lance finished clinically, with a scuffed attempt that went back across the keeper and dribbled in. His work done for the day, Lance limped off shortly afterwards.

The unlikely lead lasted about 10 minutes. The biggest of their forwards had loads of skill, and must have used all of it to beat Snout from a wide angle with a soft, low shot. Snout claimed he didn't expect him to shoot, an admission that he has learnt nothing about keeping in 22 years.But he can still make good saves. A sharp one low to his right, and shortly afterwards a block with his legs kept the score even. The pattern had now been established for the game: lots of oppo play wide, with PK and Steve L being worked hard. (Steve at one stage got so stressed that he asked Weasel to "step inside"). But all the ball inside was snuffed out by Tel and Si. When the ball did get up front, Daryl held it up well, but didn't get much help from the midfield who had to lie deep to defend most of the time. Halfway through the half, Flash was introduced. Perhaps the tallest Turtle yet, Flash has a certain presence, and a bit of skill too. And three kids. And he's English. Boy was also drafted into action, a sign of how desperate things were. But t'lads held out, and it came to drinks still all square.

At halftime, the snipers got bored, and took out three youths playing hacky-sac up near the shops. You can't be too careful. And two Turtle wives approaching the ground were hustled into the back of a van and roughed up by the security team. Not surprisingly, as word got around, more wives rushed to the ground.The second half was more of the same, their attack being blunted by staunch defence, and sporadic Turtle forays down the other end. PK was over-lapping outrageously, but was back in position in time to take part in what many were calling on own goal. This decided the match, about 15 minutes into the half. A hopeful cross from the right clipped PK's shinpad and spun towards goal innocently. Snouter advanced hesitantly, like Craig McMillan at the World Cup, the ball bounced and spun, and it was over him and into the far corner of the net before he could say "keepers.........sorry".A short time after that goal, big Si trotted over to the sideline, pulled a tub of vaseline out his bag, applied a blob to his fingers, and shoved it up his arse. Agent Johnson whispered into his sleeve.Goalmouth action was scarce for the rest of the game, as everyone tired.

Murray and Weasel did a lot of good work in the middle for the Turts, and Si and Tel occasionally surged forward, Tel with pecs rippling and cleanly shaved legs glistening, Si with flab jiggling everywhere. The clearer chances actually fell to Turts. Wal thrust down the right, and from a sharp angle tried his luck into the far corner. It was a bit off target, but GT was only inches away from getting a crucial touch. And then, five minutes from time, Weasel won the ball on the left, and crossed with accuracy to Daryl, free and clear ten yards out. Needless to say he nodded well over. The final whistle brought relief all round. The oppo knew that to have conceded a late equaliser would have been a travesty after all the possession they had, and most Turts knew it could have been a much bigger loss. And also, everyone was still alive. Mostly. The Turtles showered with their dark suited chaperones, and then were spirited away into the night. Was the threat a hollow one? Having started the season, will the courageous heroes finish it on the field, or on a slab having their guts examined by hungover medical students?

For the answers to these and other questions, keep it here. Or CNN.