One of the players in the piece was me, right in the middle, my arms thrown over my head after I’d scored a goal two seasons ago. It was probably the worst name I’d ever heard, all it made me think of was a boner for some reason. Why they named the team the Pipers, I had no idea. Or as I fondly thought of it, we were the adopted kids, the ones that had come years after a successful track record for the men while the owners had hopes and dreams in their eyes for our potential. We were their expansion team, created and managed by the same ownership group. It was a mixed media piece, multicolored and vibrant, with dozens of snapshots of Pipers players and Wreckers, the Houston men’s professional club. See you later.” I flashed him a big grin and nodded, eyeing the huge mural on the wall behind him.
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