Nimbly warding off opponents was quite a feature of his life. Somehow he fitted in another career as a goalie in the game of futsal, indoor football, and was so good that, as well as playing for Canterbury United Dragons and coaching at his old school, Christchurch Boys’ High, he was picked for the Whites, the national squad. Though he held citizenships from elsewhere—Kuwaiti from his birthplace, Palestinian from his father—and though he had spent his childhood in Oregon, he was proud to wear the silver fern on his shirt. He was not just the tallest in the team, with the best beard, but the only guy in elbow pads, knee pads, gloves and long trousers, prepared to leap, twist and dive to the solid floor to keep the opponents’ ball out of the net. Even at play, he couldn’t rest those lightning reflexes. If he once touched the ball, he had four seconds to pass it; no room to fail.

The tech world, too, moved at such breakneck speed that he had to be aware of every opportunity, hungry, ready to grab. He watched colleagues leap on to Android and ios before he could, when he was still moonlighting with Mike to try to get the company started. He tried many avenues that didn’t work, and wasn’t that surprised by the eventual demise of Windows Phones; he’d picked the underdog precisely because others hadn’t. Usually he kept the failures quick, and bought the team dinner whenever they had success. All through he kept up the punishing, exciting schedule of emails, meetings, project management, conference calls, coffee and more coffee. The only long regular break he took in the week was to go to Friday prayers. “On the Day of Assembly, hasten earnestly to the Remembrance of Allah, and leave off business. That is best for you, if ye but knew!” was the injunction in the Koran.

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