The Altdorf School of Referees
Greetings fellow FUMBBLers, this is your loyal reporter DonKosak reporting from Altdorf. I and several colleagues have been visiting the one and only school for referees in the known world, and it is a great pleasure for me to give you this short summary of our visit which lasted most of the day.
We were met on the lawn in front of the massive gate by the owner of the school.
”Welcome ladies and gentlemen to our wonderful Altdorf Referee School of Exquisity. My name is Bastian the Great, I’m owner and leader of this school and I shall be your host today on this grand tour de force through our premises.
Here on my left side I have our caretaker Igor Bigor, who does the hard job of sweeping our exercise pitch, stopping our ogre students from trying to put on caps and shirts belonging to smaller fellow students, cleaning the hospital wing and the like. As we are a school of fine arts besides the refereeing and whistle-blowing, we have regular exchange students from various cheerleaderschools all over the known world. Alas, some of our students don’t really know how to behave when faced with beings of the female persuasion, and it is thus also Igor’s hard job to bang the cheerleaders...ahem…cheerleaders’ door to their locker room back on after their visits here on the school. Igor has told me that he’s happy today as he is expecting a visit from his cousin Igor, who is a famous star among the strigoyans. I really don’t now if I’m looking forward to having him as a guest, but it’s Igor’s job to ventilate the rooms when he leaves again, so why not...
On my right side I have brought to you one of our best students, our loyal praefect Prat Prodigy, who has travelled all the way from the southern wastes to study here on my school. So tell me Prat, why did you choose to become a referee – you were such a promising blocker on your old team?”
“Well I played for the team “FoulThemTillTheyDie” – a team I guess you all know – for several seasons, but in the long run I didn’t really liked the feeling of eating ground beef made from your opponent’s entrails every evening. I therefore left the halflings and joined the chaos team “KillKillKill Hedgehog” but the priorities of this team were somewhat the same as the halflings’. I didn’t feel any pleasure from scoring with both the ball and the skulls of my opponents, I wanted something more, I wanted to learn the rules of the game, I wanted to smell grass instead of blood, I wanted to paint some nice flowe…”
“Yes, thank you Prat, I think our guests all know what you mean. You can go back to your room now – you still need to work on that left-hand-that-was-NOT-a-touchdown-signal that you showed me this morning.”
Bastian gestured with his hand and Prat left us. He looked exactly as a praefect ought to: welldressed, curly fur, blue shiny eyes and lots of polish on both horns. I had met my first beastman referee and was impressed. If all chaos players can learn to behave like him, there must be hope for all of us.
Bastian now led us through the gate into the hall. Igor shuffled to a cupboard in the corner muttering something about an impressive collection of brooms but Bastian hastily led us on.
The school is build like an old monastery with four wings strecthing out from a central courtyard surrounded by a colonnade. The courtyard contains the exercise pitch of the school and as we entered a team of newcomer student referees were having their first lesson in the basic arts of refereeing. The squad consisted of a ratogre, four humans, two goblins and a little redbearded dwarf who was handing out caps, whistles and a handful of flags in different colours.
“Listen now, you rotten hamsters!”, he shouted. “This is you cap – it belongs on your head. This is your signalling flags – they belong in your hands. This is your whistle – it belongs in your mouth.”
The goblins immediately started fighting over the flags whereas the ratogre roared in rage and ate the whistle in one swift movement. The humans were the only ones who seemed to have just a vague idea of what they were supposed to do with the accessories. The dwarf grabbed two signalling flags and began waving them frantically over his head while blowing an eardeafening thrill in his whistle. “This means: I’ve spotted a foul – stop the game!”, he shouted. He waved the flags again and did another earpiercer with the whistle. “This means: I’ve spotted that it’s halftime or fulltime – stop the game! and this”, he bellowed while continuing to wave the flags and torturing the whistle, “means: I’ve spotted a touchdown – stop the game!”
The humans tried to imitate his flaghandling, the ratogre was still chewing and the goblins now both had a collection of snapped flagpoles and flags torn to pieces. The dwarf grabbed them both and banged their heads together. “Now you listen to me, little scum. I’ll show you once more and then I expect you both to be able to do the whistling and the flagging ON THE SAME TIME! Don’t you dare look down on me!”, he wailed, kicking the ratogre’s ankle.
“I think we’ll leave mr. Flagsmasher and his recruits to themselves”, said Bastian. “Let us continue to our classrooms for an example of the intensive theoretical education that our students receive.”
To Be Continued...