Later than planned, but here’s this week’s write-up from an Orky perspective.
*After the gobbos, we 'ad a real match on this week. Dorfs. Now they’an us ‘av what they call an ‘istory. Meanin’ we’ve been goin’ at it since 'afore anyone can 'member and we aven’t put em away yet. Not all of 'em, any roads.
Well, we wasn’t goin’ to pass up the chance to bash some beardies, so all the boyz were goin’ for it ‘ard in trainin’, eatin’ ard, talkin’ ard, bashin’ the trainin gobbos and really gettin’ in the mood. Come the day we was all there at the ground wiv our paint on an’ our spikes sharp and a full’ouse come to see’em bleed an’ what d’you know? The pansy dorfs didn’t show up.
Well, having 'em wimp out on us was almost as good as getting to bash ‘em, so a bunch of us had got out the good stuff an’ started the party when a pi’gin in a funny 'at flew up to Coach and gave ‘im a letter. Coach took one look and started cussin up a blue streak. Turns out we was meant t’be a’their stadium and they was gettin’ ready to call us wimps.
That looked bad, ‘cuz there was no way we were gettin ta them this week, and if we didn’t show the dorfs would be tellin effryone we was yella and writin it down in dere big book and goin’ on about it fra blurry ever. But Coach, he found some Weirdboyz in de crowd and filled 'em up wiv troll-juice and de next thing we knew, there we was.
Gotta give it to 'em, those dorfs was up for it. If dey 'adn’t been so stunty an 'airy dey mighta been Orks. We ‘ad the ball first ‘alf an’ dey went straight for it an’ we went right for dem and we was all bashin each other in the middle of de pitch, ‘cept for Hands who was running from one side to the uffer tryin’ to find a way past. He’da done better to get stuck in, 'cuz soon as he does take off runnin two of em jump 'im and take the ball away. So we all jump on dem an take it back and a bunch of us push it down de field an get a touchdown. Dat’s halftime an rats all round.
Second 'alf it’s like de first 'cept de uffer way - we’re bashin 'em in de middle and dey’re all bashin us back, all 'cept the one at de back 'oos running side-ta-side wiv da ball. Den dat meat’ed Subnee yells “look a’this!” an goes runnin right a’de one wiv da ball, falls down and knocks hisself out. The dorfs were well impressed, 'cuz next thing we know dey’re throwin passes, like dey waz elfies. Looked real stylish.
Thing is though, stunty little dorfs have stunty little legs, so when de guy downfield was finished playin abro.. acro.. elf, a couple of da boyz cot up wiv 'im and gave ‘im what for and took de ball back. An’ it turns out dat tin 'ats or no tin 'ats, dorfs just ain’t 'ard enuff where it counts, cuz by den 'alf of 'em was on de ground an bleedin an stuff an what was left couldn’t stop us scorin 'gain. So we got to beat de dorfs on dere own patch, which was almost as fun as the party we lef’t’go dere. *
That’s what they say. One of my abiding Blood Bowl memories is a Chaos Warrior killing himself outright tripping over the goal line.
