“From within the billowing silk curtains of his pleasure tent, the Sultan unctuously dictates:

This game of yours is very capricious! Ho ho, I recall difficult times for my brave men in seasons gone by...

We were but striplings, novices, as soft and sweet as this delicious date! We took the field against hardened veterans, shrewd men and women, commanders whose eyes had seen all manner of oddity emerge from the change rooms.

After two long and difficult seasons, heartbreak, triumph, death, my noble servants have learned to play your strange game! Now, it seems, the tables have turned like the red tassels on my bellydancers! Our opposition tremble like this freshly made confection! We peeled them like the grape that the beautiful Fatiyah is even now placing upon my tongue! Delightful!

But I, Sheikh Kovert, Lesser Sultan of Araby, and purveyor of spices and delicious treats at reasonable prices, will say this: our opponents were unfortunate in the extreme, right from the opening moments of the match when half of their main might was overpowered, unbandaged, observed, then hastily rebandaged and removed.

I wish them all the fortune that eluded them, and I'd be delighted to sell them aromatic herbs and spices to embalm new recruits!”