"Welcome back everyone to another fun-filled broadcasting day out of nowhere!"

"Says you, lizard. Do you REALIZE how hard it was to hide from all those creditors for so long?!"

"Well, I did hire only the best goblin bombers didn't I, greenskin?"

"Don't forget that arsonist!"

"Don't remind me. I still owe that troll a little something."

"I'll feed you to him and call it even."

"You'll kill him that way, your cooking is..."

"That's why I don't kill and eat you myself. You're more tasteless than a marriage between a Nurgle Warrior and a Necromantic Zombie."

"..."

"I'm Gorgaz Toothfang, here with Snot Sniffly and it's a lovely day out here on the Blood Bowl Pitch, where fists meet faces, feet meet rib cages, Nurgle farts and whole teams fall over, and the ball remains on the ground because everyone's too drunk to pick it up."

"In the upcoming matches we're going to be seeing some new teams we've signed up to commentate, including, and I kid you not on this name... 'Boopy Baffo's Synthetic Cheez' led by some troll called The Amazing Boopy Baffo. We also have 'It's A Goblin Invasion, RUN!' who appear to be as random as could possibly be."

"Synthetic Cheez? Is that as bad as Grogbooze Beer?"

"They're still around?"

"Yeah, but inactive. Probably for the better, the beer puke stank worse than the dwarves!"

"Anyway, today's matchup is the Rabid Boozebeers, taking on Nanolastici 4... two dwarf clans with a score to settle as to whose beer sucks less. This ought to be good."

"Good? The Rabid Boozebeers have no Guard!"

"Neither does the other guy."

"It's a blizzard out there in the middle of the summer, and the Rabid Boozebeers have won the toss. They elect to receive as they sneak in what appears to be sharp blades on their cleats, suggesting some fouling is going to go on."

"The Rabid Boozebeers set up a simple cage after the kickoff is a touchback to the cheers of the fans. With the blizzard in play... we need to hire new weather sorcerers come to think of it... there isn't going to be much in the way of pushing forward more than normal."

"Doesn't matter, the dwarves will slip on their beer vomit and fall all over the pitch!"

"Punches are exchanged as the Rabid Boozebeers set up a screen for The Bottlecap Man. It's a weak screen, but with the blizzard going on, only the runners of Nanolastici 4 can catch him. As the dwarves progress upfield the screen gets weaker and weaker... and there goes Zsd of Nanolastici 4 charging The Bottlecap Man while Mr. Thing of the Rabid Boozebeers gets sent home. No trollslaying for that one today!"

"That's because there are no trolls on the field, genius."

"The Bottlecap Man is in a real bind, pressed against the sideline. He swings... is that a beer stein...? ... To throw the other runner off balance... and... THERE HE GOES! Touchdown for the Rabid Boozebeers and we're only at the middle of the first half."

"I just realized the Rabid Boozebeers are down two players. They now have -no- trollslayers for frenzy..."

"That doesn't make a difference, my orcish friend, as several of the others do! They're rabid for a reason!"

"You mean it's not that troll piss they call beer?"

"Zsd of Nanolastici 4 grabs the ball as the Rabid Boozebeers spread out to cut him off. It looks like it works until Zsd switches directions and heads upfield towards his waiting friends. More punches are traded to get Zsd some running room, and when an opening is made he takes off across the icy field like Nurgle himself was hot on his heels."

"And that's it for the half! Not long after the Rabid Boozebeers are spread too thin to make a difference, Zsd breaks through and answers to bring the score to 1-1 with them receiving. I foresee the Rabid Boozebeers losing this one, if this keeps up."

(Halftime. Snot leans back in his seat as out on the pitch the newly installed Broadcasto-Tron 8000 has been installed but is flashing a test pattern and making mooing sounds. In the center of the pattern is a big extended Kroxigor middle finger.)

"Y'know, I've missed the commentator booth."

"I don't miss having to dodge those creditors and their assassins. How many Skaven can they hire?!"

"With rats, the words 'too many' don't exist."

"I wish they didn't exist."

"After that last bombing? They'd better not. I paid good money (yours, of course) for those goblin bombers!"

"It seemed to me they ran out of bombs too early. The only useful bombs they were throwing were the loads they kept creating in their pants when the ogres charged them! Hail Mary Stink!"

(The orc holds his nose and waves his hand around.)

"They're pretending to be Nurgle. When you can't have a Foul Appearance, go for a foul smell instead!"

(Gorgaz rolls his eyes.)

"They still smell better than you. You'll leave a trail right to us!"

(Gorgaz raises an eyebrow as he looks into the camera nonchalantly, then launches his fist sideways across the table trying to clobber Snot. He misses by inches as the skink ducks.)

"Snot, the only trail that will be left is the trail of blood after I've ripped out every bone in your body and fed them to you through your eye sockets before strangling you with your own tail and then skinning you to turn you into a handbag for a cross-dressing Beast of Nurgle."

"Flattery will get you nowhere, greenskin."

(Halftime ends as someone throws a rock at the Broadcasto-Tron. The high-velocity chain guns built into either side of it shred the rock into fragments before it hits its target.)

"Second half is now underway. The Rabid Boozebeers set up a picture perfect defense, but Nanolastici 4 doesn't give two skaven asses, much less one. The ball is kicked deep while dwarf after dwarf of the Rabid Boozebeers gets KOed, reducing their ability to compete drastically!"

"I think it was something in that beer."

"Their lone blitzer is fed to the crowd while no one is looking and Nanolastici 4 is poised to advance with little opposition as they surround what remains of the Rabid Boozebeers. They slip and slide in trying to reposition themselves, but they can't dodge out of Nanolastici 4's grip. They're swiftly surrounded and mocked with snowballs, allowing Zsd to waltz into the endzone completelt unopposed."

"And there's where the sharpened cleats come into play as a blatant foul by team captain Max Mythril gets him sent off the pitch."

"Fat lot of good it did, the dwarves are outnumbered 2 to 1 by the other dwarves. It's all a blur at this point as beard meets beard in a mishmash of fists and feet."

"Yeah, and with less than half of the half left to go, they're going to stall for the rest of the game to eat the clock. I'd rather eat the clock, parts and all, than drink the beer."

"You do realize the dwarves are the master clockmakers of the world, right? We can't escape their taint!"

"But I can escape your grip, especially after I tell you I spent your next paycheck pre-emptively on video games for myself!"

"WHAT?!"

(The skink tears out of the booth at warp speed with the orc right on his tail; several uneventful stalling minutes later, it's over. Rabid Boozebeers lose, 2-1).