Something in his game reminds you of the divorced man getting married again. There is a kind of amnesia, a joyful, bright-eyed expectation. It is loaded up, stricken with naivety, however.

Scott Brown, Harper Brass’s Division Four no-hoper has the soft, bristled face of a baby gorilla and quite a decamped expression if things aren’t going right. His hands appear to be made out of putty. They are squidgy, nail-bitten affairs – part sausage factory, part heavy duty maulers.

The shots – mostly high-crested loopers – sail in on the other side of the table too gracefully at times, unarmed and full of conciliation. He would rather rally than send someone packing – or so it looks. For a big man, he exudes an extraordinarily high level of politeness in his play.

There is a hint of Neville Chamberlain – a willingness almost to share the points. Whether this ‘Sudetenland’ strategy is tactical, beneath the radar of mortal men, is not clear. Tennis players have been known to adopt similar ‘easing off the gas’ pacing. They have bought themselves valuable time in which to re-energise and really breathe.

The trouble is Brown is a struggler. During his Lads’ Club days in 2011/12 it took four whole months to win just four matches – a miserly 8% win record (4 out of 48); those early conquests – Nikul Ajwani, Kishan Patel, Connor Sutcliffe and Waqas Ali – inscribed in his mind to this day.

Hope comes in many forms though. Strugglers FC Moda, an Ottoman Empire football team founded in 1908 by Istanbul Greeks, finished runners-up in the 1909-1910 season. They were second only to Galatasaray. Sporting blood is in the Brown family – his granddad playing in goal for Lancashire Rebels FC in the 1980s.

Brown too has donned the green goalkeeping jersey whilst at secondary school. Was he good? “I was OK,” comes the unboastful mantra. Getting him to elaborate on anything is difficult. Not because he lacks the wherewithal, but because he is genuinely unassuming – one of the most straightforward and laid back people I have ever met.

Now, 24-years-old, signed by Harper comptroller, Kaushik Makwana in 2012 after ‘outgrowing’ the Lads’ Club, Brown – one senses – is gazing out over a sun-drenched, flower-filled field that no one else can see. His mellow disposition has managed to detach itself from the harshness of those table tennis numbers by which we are all judged: 17% (2011/12), 24% (2012/13), 29% (2013/14).

He is improving. The Scott Brown performance chart without a labelled Y-axis looks half decent. To a private establishment bent on efficiency and big returns, however, his contract would not be renewed.

What of the future? “Been playing penhold since March [2014], but I’m getting little bits sorted then I’ll be pro at penhold lol.”

Such a table tennis grip is traditionally Chinese – difficult to master for most westerners who prefer the ‘shakehand’ style. The wrist moves more freely. The player no longer has a crossover point. Given the shorter reach, players tend to stay closer to the table needing faster footwork and good stamina.

I recall Brown playing quite deep which makes such a move rather odd. Perhaps it’s those flowers again. And another marriage.

If you hang around the corridors at Harper Green Leisure Centre long enough on a Tuesday night, you will stumble across a man who claims that Steve Barber is the best table tennis player in England. No medication has yet been found on the said individual, but suffice to say the numbers do not back up such an assertion.

A quick examination of the ETTA’s website reveals that it is German-based, Liam Pitchford – with 4370 ranking points – who currently holds the coveted crown; regular matches for TTF Liebherr Ochsenhausen against the likes of Zwischenstand Dusseldorf’s Timo Boll typifying his week’s work.

Barber, on the other hand – a Bolton TTL Premier player – routinely plies his trade against relative unknowns including Frederic Turban. And his stats over the last three seasons read as follows: 35% (2011/12); 28% (2012/13); 35% (2013/14). One could say Barber is back where he was two years ago but that would be to define him incorrectly.

Rarely seen with a grimace on his face, Barber is representative of everything good about the game. Approachable, allowed out “four nights a week” by his “understanding wife” in order to pursue his mini-dreams and guzzle the odd beer, and firmly appreciative of the nourishment that the Bolton League provides, Barber views life simply yet keenly.

He is symbolic of a certain caste of men who stopped ageing at 29. The wisdom increases and the body continues its inevitable slide, but the boyish longings of yesteryear remain: a beautiful partner; meeting up with friends; a damn good TT session with the occasional clubbing shot.

Upon first meeting Barber, you wonder, you stew momentarily, you question whether anyone, anyone can be so buoyant yet sincere. There is no religious zeal about the man, no upbeat fakery – just an upturned smile; a signal to all that laughs are expected, that humorous observations need to be made.

A Ladybridge regular, one of only six men to play all 66 matches in the Premier Division this season, Barber’s proud Scarlet Letter-like scalps have included Radcliffe’s Michael Dore (44%), Little Lever’s Ron Durose (58%), Radcliffe’s no.2, Robert Hall (60%) and Hilton’s Jordan Brookes (62%).

Asked how he managed to turn over such an array of superior talent, Barber’s modesty rolled before me: “Me and Mick always have a great game. To beat Mick I have to work hard. Rob is a very good player but can easily get frustrated with his own game which he did against me. I beat Ronnie at Ladybridge away from his comfort zone of Little Lever and their table. Jordan’s mind was somewhere else that night (I think).”

After the grit and grind of the Winter League (September–April) comes the somewhat gentler Summer League (May–July) which manages to harness man’s goodwill in a manner which would be inconceivable in the preceding months. A cascading ding-dong of sorts, Barber perfectly captures the essence of two of its entrants: “My old teammate, Johnny Scowcroft after every winter season finishes phones me and tells me I am playing in the summer league with him.”

No switching tracks for Barber (best not mention Heaton). No letting pals down. Just grounded loyalty. A rare man he is indeed. Perhaps the Harper Green fellow was right all along.

Bandits, hustlers and ringers all descend from the same family line. Generally speaking they have had parts in old Westerns (mixing it up with Clint Eastwood), have hung around pool rooms waiting for the notes to stack up or have stood on the first tee at golf clubs with concealed smiles (their better scorecards destroyed before the hearth).

Raymond Isherwood, table tennis’s 94% man from Division Four and bit-part 27% man from Division Two must have perfected the position of his holster for he regularly slays summer league opposition courtesy of his blazing ‘8’ handicap.

Controversial and unwieldy such a buffer appears to be – at least to the players that stand ten or eleven feet in front of him; the number impaling their senses given its preposterousness.

Isherwood himself is only semi-contrite: “Yeah – it’s wrong, but I’m not moaning.”

A somewhat stocky player, not obviously skilful or threatening, Isherwood serves the ball as if making bread. His hands belie the archetypal clumsiness of the ‘big man’, turning the ball into a spinning piece of dough, floured up and ready to bake.

The results so far – assisted by his mesmeric serve – have been methodical if slightly tainted by the furore which surrounds this particular competition each year: 11-7, 9-11, 10-12, 11-9, 11-5 versus Paul Brandwood; 8-11, 11-7, 11-9, 11-2 versus Bob Bent;  6-11, 11-6, 11-2, 11-6 versus Krishna Chauhan; 10-12, 11-9, 9-11, 11-6, 10-12 versus Wilson Parker; 11-4, 12-10, 11-7 versus John Biggins; 11-7, 12-10, 11-2  versus David Holden.

Apart from the Parker reverse (at one stage prompting the titanic cry of “He’s five-nil up!” just a point into the set), the Isherwood cruise ship has ploughed through big name after big name. And it is this leisurely ice-breaking which has led to calls for a further revamp of the handicap system.

How can this man be ranked alongside Division Four’s 29% player, Scott Brown the critics demand when he is three times more successful? How can he be three shelves lower than the Ladybridge duo of Brian Greenhalgh (handicap 5) and John Cole (5) when he recently sent them stumbling to relegation courtesy of three and four set victories in the winter league?

Born in July 1991 and a carpet fitter by trade, Isherwood – one could say – has been given the opportunity of smothering his opponents with underlay before the play has even begun. Invited into the ‘last man standing’ wonderland of unburdensome competition, he has taken full advantage of this bountiful scheme like an otter discovering a fish bar.

Apolitical, yet with the teeth of Tony Blair, Isherwood when not playing ‘the bandit’ is actually an astute player. Coached diligently by Billy Russell and a regular attendee of Hilton’s (unofficial) “Pro night” each Thursday, his game in the medium term is expected to be that of a Division One player.

“Lower working class” beginnings have not halted the man from Gilnow. They have merely instilled greater tenacity and fight. And such is the commitment of Isherwood – another product of the Bolton Lads’ and Girls’ Club – that his notorious pre-match meal of burger and coke has been replaced with steamed chicken and water (and a splash of Thai boxing).

Asked if he has any heroes, he replies “No” but then thinks again: “My dad due to his determination.”

There can be fewer noisier players on the table tennis circuit than Hilton’s latest recruit, Josh Sandford.

Set alongside the league’s current controversy overlords, Paul ‘Mad Dog’ McCormick, Mark ‘Clubber Lang’ Martin and the heaving tension which resides between Premier rivals Ramsbottom ‘A’ and Flixton, Sandford would appear to revel in his new-found acting role.

The purveyor of sarcastic witticisms and verbal musings, Sandford will undoubtedly be misunderstood in many quarters. His occasional bombastic ravings will be met by a peeping through the dividing curtain and admonishment from his fellow amateurs.

Escaping or evading the Bolton Table Tennis League’s iron clad rules is beyond most and Sandford, it is predicted, will come a cropper at some point in the near future if without restraint.

A cursory glance at the Code of Conduct suggests the potential shackling of even the land’s least volatile personages (Postman Pat and The Beano’s Walter Brown, be warned!):

“All players must show respect for their opponents, umpires and spectators by conducting themselves in a sporting manner. Gratuitous swearing, intimidation or misuse of equipment must not take place at any time on the premises of any match under the control of the League.”

Born in September 1993 and introduced to the game under the stewardship of unorthodox Frenchman and bearded wonder, Roger Bertrand, it was for Sandford – as with many unfocussed teenagers – a revelatory moment, a trip to the table tennis orphanage or rather the Bolton Lads’ & Girls’ Club.

“I started going to the Lads’ Club when I was about 14 to stop me being on the streets causing trouble. I didn’t start playing TT ‘til I was 15 and I loved it from day one.”

After the ‘orphanage’ or feeder club via the steady duo of ex-Ladies no.1, Andrea Holt and Division One flamethrower, Graham Clayborough, Sandford donned his frame with the red and black training gear of Farnworth TTC.

Taught the technical aspects of the game by the 5-times National Champion, his game developed well. In the 2011/12 season, he played across two divisions and ended with the respectable win percentages of 50 (Division 2) and 84 (Division 3).

For an 18-year-old, it wasn’t explosive or likely to augur a rush of scouts, but it was noticeably decent in what was only his second full season.

The real flash pan stuff came the season before in what was a temporary cloaking into musketeers of the apprentices and the master – Craig Duncan, Sandford and Bertrand scooping the 2011 Warburton Cup under the guise of Hilton F.

Benjamin Disraeli once said: “Youth is a blunder; manhood a struggle; old age a regret.” Sandford, in 2014, may just be on the cusp of something truly good in order to escape such a fate.

Humour still drives him (understandably so). He has the obligatory youthful passport of a large tattoo and often speaks above 65 decibels, yet his planned 2014/15 Division One team including Wilson Parker and Craig Duncan promises to be a Hadron Collider of sorts.

Either that or a derailed train. With ‘The Sandman’, you never quite know.

The week after the Winter League season ends, Hilton Table Tennis Centre plays host to the Divisional and Warburton Cup finals. Days later, a different kind of show comes to town.

Call it the Oscars. Call it a ‘plumped up cushion’ of an evening. The Closed Championships are – to many – the highlight of the season; a bountiful gathering of kith and kin.

It is the one night when you see a solitary table basking in the centre of the hall – plastic chairs, not seen in an aeon, prized out of the storeroom to accommodate the merry and expectant crowd.

There are no tuxedos or ball gowns on display, no paparazzi (with the exception of the odd graceless snap from a mobile phone), but rather a sea of faces awaiting the multitude of talent.

Six finals offer solace and comfort to those in attendance – table tennis bats occasionally fluttering through the air like the webbed wings of their namesake.

In the growing crowd, you see the familiar faces of Dave Parker (flat cap and white tash), Malcolm Rose (blue-lined coat and glasses), James Young (mysterious girl in tow) and Barry Walsh (bob hat and a smile that refuses to retire).

Practising beforehand is the Stiga-clad 10-year-old, Amirul Hussain in readiness for his Junior Singles final with 16-year-old, Wilson Parker. It is reminiscent of when the gifted Danni Taylor used to entertain the crowd before the night got under way.

Except, Amirul is the ETTA’s 7^th-ranked ‘Under 13 Boy’; he thus addresses the table with the composure of a starship commander. Parker – his name familiar to aficionados of the Bolton game – is quarrelsome at times, intolerant of his own deficiencies. Hussain, the shorter player by about a foot, whistles through this encounter (11-5, 11-9, 11-3) with panache.

Parker need not despair though. A Handicap Singles finalist also, retribution may be his against ‘Le Roadie’, Dennis Collier. Collier, famous for his defensive meanderings, loses the first set 11-9 – the Parker +3 handicap proving invaluable. After that something cracks in the Collier game and Parker rolls home 11-5, 11-5.

There is a conflated hush and buzz about the place this evening – a sense that the matches before us are part of a wider whirlwind. And we are in the vortex of its shifting swirl.

Next is the Handicap Doubles – the grey-haired, Keith Dale and Lancashire belle, Annie Hudson versus Steve Hathaway and Dave Scowcroft. It is the only four-setter of the night: 11-4, 11-13, 11-8, 16-14; plenty of nerve from the grinning assassins, Dale and Hudson.

Interspersed between these matches is Paul Brandwood. I had a duty in storing up his results, in lingering with the hard statistics of this man. Why? Because despite his modest Premier win percentage (52%) and the gulf between himself and the elite (85%+ men), he can turn it on if he chooses.

On the way to his three finals Brandwood weaved his way past some of the lesser names, but he did it in the manner of a seal swimming through a kelp forest. It was, on occasion, like witnessing a re-signing of the Magna Carta.

I cannot say any more.

Results

Veterans (40+): Brandwood beats Collier 11-8, 10-12, 11-5, 3-11, 12-10

Level Doubles: Brandwood/Mick Dore beat Collier/Steve Barber 9-11, 11-9, 4-11, 11-8, 11-8

Level Singles: Brandwood beats Barry Elliott 11-5, 11-4, 12-10