It was a quiet and tranquil spring morning. The birds were signing softly, and a cool breeze brushed through the leaves. It was altogether relaxing, a setting that one Bilbo Baggins of Bag End quite enjoyed. There he sat, on his front porch, basking in the peace of Hobbiton. His coffee was steaming, and the vapours were caught up in the breeze, and curling into the air in lovely shapes, and drifting off over the hill. He closed his eyes, breathing in the sweet smells of spring. When he opened them again, a strange old man was suddenly walking up the lane. He wore a grey suit and a blue tie over a white dress shirt. His hair was white, his eyebrows bushy, and his shoes black.

"Good morning," called out Bilbo cheerfully. His mood was not yet disturbed by this intrusion.

"What do you mean?" said the old man as he wandered closer to Bilbo's porch. "Do you wish me a good morning, or mean that it is a good morning whether I want it or not, or that you feel good this morning, or that it is a morning to be good on?"

Bilbo found himself quite perplexed by this odd response, but still replied, "All of them at once!", trying not to have his mood spoiled. "It's a very fine morning for a cup of hot drink on the porch. I can get you something if you'd like. I've all the day ahead of me."

"Very tempting," came the reply, "However, I've not the time to enjoy a hot beverage. I am looking for somebody to play for a major football club, and it is very difficult to find the right man for the job."

"I should think so, in these parts. We do enjoy a game of football, but our top league is only semi-professional. People in these parts would sooner enjoy a game of golf. Much less running about, and less chance of injury. Nasty and disturbing things those are."

The old man just stood there, peering at him intently, and Bilbo began to feel that his perfect morning was quite ruined. He took out his phone, and started to look through his e-mails, pretending to ignore the old man. After he continued to stare, Bilbo finally snapped.

"Good morning!" he said again, with a much annoyance in his voice. "We don't want any involvement in major league football here. You might try somewhere else."

"Well, you do seem to use good morning for a lot of things," said the old man. "Now you use it to try to get rid of me."

"I'm sorry to seem rude, good sir. It's just that, I don't even really know who you are, and you've shown up unwelcomed to my front porch, and won't leave me alone," replied an exasperated Bilbo.

"Well, I do know your name, Mr. Bilbo Baggins," he said. "And you know mine, though you do not remember I belong to it. I am Gandalf!"

A sudden realization passed over Bilbo, and he recognized the old friend of his relations.

"Dear me! Not the Gandalf who helped first bring football to the Shire! Not the fellow who told such excellent tales of the older ages of football, and told stories of Feanor, Turin, and the like. Not the Gandalf who's brought championships to countless desperate football clubs! I had no idea you were still in business."

"And where else should I be?" Gandalf replied, with a hint of disappointment. "Well, it is decided. This will be very amusing for me, and possibly quite profitable for you."
"What? No, no, no," replied Bilbo. "I already made it clear. NO FOOTBALL HERE. Why don't you come for tea though. How about tomorrow? Yes, tomorrow. It's settled." Bilbo stumbled quickly back inside, flustered at Gandalf's rude persistence and ignorance of his quite explicit answer. Gandalf merely chuckled, and walked back down the lane. As he did, he took out his phone.

Gandalf (7:22) - Mr. Baggins has agreed to be your #10 this season. He lives in the Shire, in Hobbiton, on the Hill. I've left my mark on his door. It should be easy enough to find. Come tomorrow, and bring the contract.

Thorin (7:43) - Very well Gandalf. I trust your judgement in this matter, but know that we have limited resources, and this is our only chance.

Gandalf (7:44) - You won't be disappointed.

Bilbo had just sat down for dinner when his doorbell rang loudly, startling him immensely.

"Who could that be?" he wondered as he puttered down the hall to answer the door. "Ah yes! Must be Gandalf!" To his surprise, another stranger stood in the doorway, one who was not Gandalf. Instead, it was a rather imposing figure. He stood well over 6 feet. His head was bald, he bore a plethora of tatoos, and wore a worn out leather jacket, with a green shirt underneath.

"Dwalin, at your service" he said, giving a brief bow as he let himself inside. Bilbo was too stunned to protest, and simply said, "Bilbo Baggins at yours."

Dwalin hung up his jacket and wandered into the kitchen. Bilbo offered him a chair, and some of the cakes he had planned on eating himself that night. They had hardly reached their third cake when the doorbell rang again.

"Must be Gandalf this time," thought Bilbo. When he opened the door, another stranger stood on the porch. This man was shorter than the last, but bore a resemblance to the former. He looked slightly older, but still seemed physically fit. His attire was much more formal, consisting of a suit with a strikingly beautiful scarlet tie.

"I see they have already begun to arrive," said the man, seeing Dwalin's leather jacket on the pegs. "Balin at your service!"

"Thank you!" said Bilbo, perhaps even more flustered and befuddled than before. Where was Gandalf, and why were these strangers all popping in for tea? Soon Balin was seated with Dwalin, and the two were talking and laughing. Bilbo deduced that the two were brothers, and he was not wrong. After serving his guests some seed-cakes and beer, he was startled by another ring. "If it isn't Gandalf this time, I'll have to kick these folk out," thought Bilbo has he puffed back down the entrance. Sure enough, Gandalf was nowhere to be seen. Instead, two young men stood in the entrance of his home. Both looked hardly out of their teen years. One was blond with a well trimmed beard, and the other had brown hair and only a little stubble showing on his face. Both of them wore the same blue athletic jacket, but Bilbo didn't recognize the team logo on the front. He hadn't followed sports since he stopped playing football himself after his parents died.

"Fili…." said the blond.

"And Kili," said the dark haired fellow.

"At your service," they said in unison, bowing together as well.

"At your's and your families," Bilbo said, remembering the proper response. The two dwarves bustled in, as Bilbo hadn't the heart to tell them to leave. They hung up their jackets, and noticed the leather jacket and suit jacket hanging there.

"Ah, Dwalin and Balin are here I see. Let us join the throng!" said Kili cheerfully. Bilbo didn't like the sound of throng. Soon enough, the four were chatting about the sports world, remarking on the latest transfers and newest analysis of various leagues across Middle-Earth. Bilbo was just about to have a drink in the corner when there was a loud, rude knock on the door. That was it. Bilbo was through with this nonsense. He burst open the door quick as lightning, and through the sudden opening fell a stout man with rotund cheeks, who had evidently been leaning against the door. His seven companions laughed, and Bilbo noticed two more standing in the background. One was a tall, dark, brooding figure, who's face Bilbo thought he knew. The other was, of course, Gandalf, who was chuckling at the misfortune of the man on Bilbo's mat.

"It's not like you Bilbo, to keep friends waiting on the mat, and then open the door like a pop-gun! Allow me to introduce to you the remainder of the first team. Bifur, Bofur, Bombur, Ori, Nori, Dori, Oin, Gloin, and of course, the team's owner and captain, Thorin."
Each of the men bowed slightly when their name was mentioned, but Thorin gave no such courtesy. Now Bilbo realized who they were. The members of the football club that Gandalf wanted Bilbo to sign with. The various players filed in, ranging in age, build and attire. Some, like Oin, who wore a nice brown suit jacket, or Gloin, who was in a white dress shirt, were in more formal attire, while others, like Bifur and Bofur, who wore yellow shirts, and Bombur who was dressed in a pale green hoodie, were not as concerned with impressing their host.

Of course, in order to get them to come, Gandalf had told them there would be food. After all, he had been invited for tea. Only, he had not told poor Bilbo, and now the little man was scrambling to get everybody's orders as they all sat down and talked amongst themselves, catching up, as they hadn't seen much of each other over the off-season. Once supper was served, Gandalf got them down to business.

Thorin addressed all of them, standing up at the head of the table, and clearing his throat.

"Many thanks to the esteemed Mr. Bilbo Baggins for his generous hospitality," he began, nodding towards Bilbo, who was pleased to finally get some recognition. "As you all know, we are here to discuss the upcoming season in the Eriador Division One. Last season we barely claimed a spot in the Champions League, and this season, we have a chance to reclaim a title that we held in the days of my father, and his father before him."

Likely in an effort to inform Bilbo, and perhaps the younger players as well (namely Fili and Kili), Thorin began to explain the history of their situation. Once, Erebor FC was a proud and esteemed football club, owned and operated by Thror. The star player was his son, Thrain, and they were among the best football clubs in the world. Thorin was just a young lad, playing the Erebor FC academy, when suddenly his family lost everything. A sly worm of a man, Smaug, had deviously and cunningly framed Thror for crimes he did not commit, and filed a lawsuit against him. Thorin did not elaborate on the exact nature of what allegedly happened, but mentioned a precious gem known as the Arkenstone. The court decided in favour of Smaug, and Thror lost everything, including his freedom. Smaug used his new found wealth to buy the Erebor club, and named them the Erebor Wyrms. Thror's family was forced to move away from their life of rich leisure, going west to Dunland, then to Ered Luin. But Thrain was a hard working man, and still had his own money from his playing days, and soon, he started a new club in the Eriador Division One, known as Ered Luin FC. His goal was to get back to the Champions League, and when Ered Luin FC had made him enough money, to buy back his father's club, and the Lonely Mountain Stadium, from Smaug. Thrain had disappeared one strange year, and never returned, and now Thorin was left with a floundering new club to guide. Luckily, old Erebor FC players who had been replaced by Smaug's favourites came back to Ered Luin FC on bargain deals, and with them their sons and other relatives, who rejuvenated the Ered Luin squad. Old youth academy teammates of Thorin's like Dwalin, Oin, and Gloin came to help Thorin reclaim his birthright.

"And this is where we stand now. We have a chance to win the Champions League this season. That victory, and the prize money, ticket revenues, and other revenues related to it would ensure we make enough of a profit this season to settle with Smaug, and repossess our former belongings. Unfortunately, Floi, our central attacking midfielder from last season, has been forced to sit out this season with a severe knee injury. At the advice of our new assistant manager, Gandalf, we are prepared to offer Mr. Baggins a 1 year contract, worth £15,000 per week, and the #10 jersey for this 2017-18 season."

With this, Balin pulled out a contract and a decorative pen from his pocket, and presented it to Bilbo. Everybody looked eagerly at Bilbo. For a second, Bilbo was about to simply sign then and there. Then he came to his senses, "You haven't played professional football in 4 seasons," he told himself. "And you were hardly a good enough CAM to lead a team to a Champions League title. Hah, you couldn't even drag Hobbiton FC to a promotion into Eriador Division One. Now they just joined the Shire Football League One. You're not up for this."

He then realized he was simply standing there, looking quite puzzled.

"Well," he finally said. "Give me the night to think about it."

There was an audible groan, and Bilbo thought he heard a "I told you so", and a "pay up".

"Very well," said Gandalf. "But don't wake up too late. The season begins in only a few weeks, and the signing window closes in two days. We'll be training at the Green Dragon stadium tomorrow morning at 10:00. Bring the contract signed there, and you can join the team. If you aren't inclined to sign it, please let us know immediately, so we can pursue another option." The old man looked somewhat disappointed, yet behind this, Bilbo thought he saw a gleam in his eye, as if he knew that everything would work in his favour in the end.

"All right," said Bilbo. "You're all welcome to stay the night here, in the guest rooms. It's a large house, with plenty of space for you all." He felt as though he was about to let them all down, and wanted at least to give them a final courtesy, so as to part well with these strangers. The men accepted his gracious offer, and after a few more hours, eventually, all of them, including Bilbo, were fast asleep. As he slept, Bilbo had uncomfortable dreams, all of which involved him failing miserably in some way during a pivotal match. It was longer after the break of day that he awoke.

Background: Gandalf used to spend a lot of time in the Shire, and he noticed that as a youngster, Bilbo was a world class talent. His playmaking and dribbling ability were off the charts, and his agility and speed as a smaller player, as well as his ability to slip away from opposing markers made him dangerous for all defenders. He had a stinging shot, and was the best Shire born player Gandalf had seen since Bandobras Took. Bilbo enjoyed football as a youth. He was offered contracts by a number of higher profile clubs, but he preferred to stay home and play for his hometown Hobbiton FC. Eventually, the team entered into the second division of the Eriador league, but after two seasons, Bilbo was unable to lead the team into the top division. That same year, his father died, and disheartened, a 23 year old Bilbo stopped playing professional football. When his mother passed away soon after, Bilbo stopped playing even recreationally. Now, at age 27, Bilbo is forgotten in the football world, by all by Gandalf. The Shire doesn't have a good reputation for developing players, and has no top end football clubs in its history. That is why Thorin and Co. are so skeptical of Bilbo, especially since he hasn't played in 4 seasons.