A SERIOUS TENNIS TEAM.
UNFORTUNATELY, MADE OF IDIOTS.

The original Idiot, team captain, and comeback machine. He'll text you, email you, and text you again before you blink. He'll compliment you and insult you in the same sentence. Known to talk your ear off and urinate anywhere... DURING a match. Plays like a maniac. Possibly, legitimately, certifiably nuts.

An ancient power stirs within him... as he weaves the threads of fate. Seeing into the future, his shots are perfectly placed. His swing defies the laws of physics. His attire defies common sense. He teleports from one side of the court to the other, seemingly using his left AND right hand. There's only one explanation. Magic of the highest order. Don't let his teddy bear demeanor deceive you. He'll rip your heart out and make you question your own existence.

Oak-barrel aged. Often toasted. Very strong baseliner. Stronger at the net. Strongest at the bar. Wise beyond his years. Less athletic than he looks. Always good for a drink or 2 or 3 after (and before) a match. Paternal father of The Woodsman.

Built like a bison, moves like a ballerina. He'll eat your lunch, drink your beer, build you some cabinetry, and hack you down to size at the net!

Strategic, powerful, and always polite. Moves forward and backward diagonally any number of squares, provided his path is unobstructed. When not on the tennis court, The Bishop enjoys chocolate milk and playing frisbee.