Growing up… Karori. Island Bay. Ngaio. Loving parents, Terry and Cathy. A great family. Sandra. Jacinda. The other one. Dominating the tennis ball cricket test matches played down the driveway until a premature but timely retirement brought about by Glenn's rapidly improving ability to get the ball to jump disconcertingly at the throat off a good length. Best to get out of the game at the peak of one's powers while maintaining that all important winning record that could be referred to at a pinch in later sibling rivalry conversations down the years. A mixture of different sports – tennis, table tennis, badminton, rugby, soccer, cricket, all played with utter dedication and utter mediocrity.

Wellington College… An undistinguished academic record. The full catalogue of sadistic and / or psychologically disturbed schoolmasters. Schoolboy rugby, a scrawny but nippy youth loitering at second five eighth, although occasionally filling in as an enforcer at prop. Those weight grades had a lot to answer for. Cricket, an undistinguished early career. A distinct lack of interest in attending lessons during the senior years. Regularly skipping classes with mates for visits to the Basin Reserve, to be finally rewarded with a front row seat as Hadlee and Collinge bowled NZ to that famous victory over England in 1978. The subsequent series of appalling exam results notable solely for the lack of consistency amongst various staff when it came to awarding marks for the ability to spell one's name correctly at the top of the answer paper.

The big wide world… First job at Union Shipping. Mastering the Dominion back page crossword. Occasionally doing enough work to keep the boss happy. Learning to drink hard. Parking the company car out the back of the depot and sleeping off those annoying hangovers in the back seat. Workmates… Ken Dugdale, infamous for headbutting the ref all those years ago and getting banned from footy for life. Gordy the Chinaman, a career's worth of failed pickup lines, marriage as far away now as it ever was. Ann Webster, one time girlfriend of Griggy, the resident Collegians cricket club alcoholic and the man who scored his infamous hundred(th) on the pitch at the Basin Reserve.

Early Turtles soccer… Worming his way through a crunching sandwich tackle to earn the lifelong nickname of Weasel, later shortened to Zil by ace nickname inventor Grant Cederwall one afternoon in the Anderson Park changing rooms. An early foray into representative soccer for Wellington City came to a shuddering halt as a 17 year old Mello Yellow drinker turned into an 18 year old guzzler of beer, cheap gin and casked wine. Getting the company car rear-ended by Dodge on the way to the Western Park Tavern after practice at Karori one Wednesday night as a string of cars braked to a sudden halt on the wet road at the pedestrian crossing outside the Botanical Gardens. The own goal at Raroa Park which led to a 2-1 loss against North Wellington. Getting on the end of a great cross at Ben Burn Park, shinning it into his own face and over the crossbar from three yards out and ending up with a bleeding nose.

The players… Durry, captain of a dozen hair styles with an advertising company receptionist girlfriend for each hairstyle. The mercurial Gorsuch, long since vanished to Auckland in a trail of bad debts. Burnsy, possessor of the original Toblerone head and scorer of that superb own goal at Vogelmorn Park, casually turning and stroking a back pass from outside the area into the top right corner of Snout's net. Crusher Mills, famously assaulted with an umbrella by the mad Irish woman on the sideline against Newlands at Karori Park after one too many jibes in her direction. Tarquin Bridge, laid out at Kura Street by an uppercut to the jaw from goalkeeper Stevie who was attempting to punch clear a Porirua corner. Cooky, serial breaker of opposition goalies' legs, best remembered for booting that North Wellington thug in the ribs when the guy was lying on the deck at Ben Burn. Bobby, buffoonish right back famed for some classic own goals and one totally ridiculous sending off. Paceless, the shortest and whingingest in a long line of short and whinging Poms to play for the team.

Meriting his own paragraph, Spratty, most famous of those short and whinging Poms, scorer of 286 goals and working his way through his second liver faster than his idol, George Best. Paced the sidelines at Wilton Park the day after his vasectomy, getting more and more frustrated as the Turts were being totally outplayed by Miramar. Having finally had enough, he came on with twenty to go and scored a late hattrick for a famous 4-3 win. Later turned up for the Porirua game at Kura Street with all his worldly possessions in the back of his car, totally distraught after breaking up from his first wife the night before but got over it just in time to score a second half hattrick and win the game 4-2 for the lads. The famous game at Ben Burn where, after subbing off at halftime, he headed off to the changing rooms for a shower, then toweled himself dry standing on the window sill of what he believed to be an opaque window, but wasn't, in full view of one of the largest ever attendances at the ground, including his daughter.

Cricket… 300+ net wickets, zero competition wickets, and lucky to get zero, if one has to be brutally honest. Slowly working one's way up from the Collegians 2Bs, into the Reserves, then finally cracking the Senior team in 1987-88. First and only Senior half century, 50 exactly against newly promoted Plimmerton on the artificial track at the home of cricket, Anderson Park. Winning the famous Cook Shield for the Wellington Senior competition and getting plastered after the game in the old MSP changing rooms at the Basin Reserve, immortalised in the famous team photo on the clubroom wall at Anderson Park, along with fellow Turtles Durry, Dodge, Weaner, Rochy, Doully and Cedes.

Early girlfriends… First up was the very nice Alison, a relationship that to the casual observer appeared to be based on total mutual respect and a complete lack of action between the sheets. I well remember being at the party that fateful night in Kilbirnie. "So, Alison, are we going to shag or what?" One brief session later in the back seat of the company car (yes, that car again), end of mutual respect, end of relationship. Hitting on several of Sandra's girlfriends at her 21st birthday party, one of the few thing sisters are actually any good for. A stint with Collegians woman cricketer Tracey B. Nice girl, impressive rack. I'm sure there were probably a couple of others, but it's all such a long time ago now.

Indoor cricket… Playing for that great Harbour team in the mid eighties with Kerrsy and fellow Turtles Dodge, Stu and Smithy. Opening the batting with Dodge and generally getting the team off to a pretty solid start. Good reflexes fielding at cover. Some of the worst left arm medium pace bowling ever seen on an indoor cricket court. Winning the 1986 Club Nationals. Winning the NZ Challenge Shield and getting completely shitfaced at those awesome parties after each defence of the shield. Ah, those were the days.

O.E.s to England… Playing social cricket for the Nomads at some of the loveliest grounds in and around London. Scoring the only century of the career. Given the new ball by several deluded captains but still failing to take a wicket. Those famous liquid lunches between innings – batting first was usually the key to victory. The Cryptics cricket tour of France – the cricket took second place to watching the lovely Fifi parading around in her birthday suit. An unforgettable memory, that one. Bunking down in the squat at 50 Roupell Street with Phildo and Dodge. Playing various games of cricket with one or both of great mates Stevie and Dodge. That fantastic tour around Ireland with Dodge and Phildo, the friendly locals, the awesome craic, catching up with friends, Guinness on tap every inch of the way.

Meeting that American bird, Karen, in the back of the car on a trip to Nottingham to watch one of Forest's home games. A blossoming relationship, this one looked pretty serious. 1994, the stag do in Atlanta, shots of whiskey on the half hour – a miscalculation on Dodge's part, sliding under the table at about 11.30, lying in a hedge outside the bar. The wedding, 150 guests, about a dozen of them from NZ including fellow Turtles, brother Glenn, Stevie and Dodge. Watching Glenn hitting on one of Karen's good friends and heading off with her to a nightclub to try his luck. Little did he know she was a staunch Catholic… Several years working in Atlanta before finally heading back to NZ with Karen to resume the playing career. Three kids, plenty of sleepless nights, up by six every morning, no chance of sleeping off those midweek hangovers.

Work career… re-inventing oneself by completing a degree in accounting, various jobs in various corporate Finance departments, Connectel, National Bank. Re-mastering the Dominion back page crossword. Occasionally doing enough work to keep the boss happy. Every now and then drinking hard midweek, coming home plastered on the Dial-A-Driver account, sleeping off the hangover on the floor at the bottom of the stairs.

Turtles career… 257 games of pure dedication to the Turtles cause, 257 performances with many moments of sheer inspiration, plenty of skill with ball at foot, speed down the left wing, some great crosses, covering for Stevie, the ginger headed git of a left back who so often disappeared up front out of position, never to return. 76 goals. Over a thousand bucks in fines. Sacrificing the leg to score the vital winner against Brooklyn 'B' earlier this season. Slotting the winning penalty against Waterside Karori last week.

Only one game left to play…

Saturday morning cancellations on the radio. All lower grade footy was off. Bit of a bugger, that. Complete waste of a hangover-free Friday night in preparation for the big clash with North Wellington at Raroa Park. No chance for Darrin to catch up with the lads one more time. On the other hand, no chance to get his arse kicked yet again by those North Wellington thugs, no chance to limp off the pitch with yet another in a long line of leg injuries, no chance to fork out a final $5 at the fines session.

He turned off the radio and prepared himself for a hectic day of chasing round his Mum's place after the kids, of ensuring the final handover of the house in Churton Park (hear the birds frolicking through the native bush – who writes those ads?) went through okay, of doing some final packing in advance of the big shift to Sarasota in Florida. All the household goods had either been packed up or sold to various friends and Turtles. He resolved to spend some time on the phone chasing up all those mugs who had yet to front up with the dosh for the various dud appliances they'd been duped into thinking they would be getting for a bargain.

So, no 258th game for the Turtles. Stuck on 257. Well, maybe until the next holiday back to NZ. Win or lose though, after 428 Turtles games, results were only so many statistics. What mattered was that a fine Turtle had played his last game for the team for the time being. It was over.

No chance this time to head for the bar for a couple of post-match beers and a whole lot of laughs with a great bunch of guys. But there would surely be other opportunities at some stage in the future. The same as every Saturday during soccer season. Those are the things you miss the most when you hang up your boots.