Ron finished on Wednesday afternoon.
He did the last two names in forty minutes at the desk in the gatehouse, flask and glasses on the end of his nose, and brought the sheet up to my office at half-past three in a plastic wallet.
Forty names, his handwriting against every one. One word for where each of them was now and one word for whether they wanted anything off us, and the second column had no written in it thirty-one times. Against number 26, the goalkeeper, he had written 11 seconds and nothing else. I didn't ask him.
"That's all of them, gaffer."
"You didn't have to do it."
"I know I didn't have to do it." Ron screwed the lid onto his flask. "I'll do it again in April. Same forty, plus whoever Gary and Michael let go in May tacked on the bottom."
He got to the door and stopped.
"Gary knows about 33."
I looked down at the sheet.
Number 33 was the lad off the Hampton and Richmond Borough teamsheet.
