“Terence lay on the turf, his bruised eye gazing up at the pigskin being advanced on by the beady eyed orc thrower. It had been a brutal game, and the locker room had more elves in it than were on the pitch. Keith the star lay dead as did Ken. A draw seemed like a slight consolation, but one he would happily take. The ball was fumbled and so he set off one last time, one last time before they let me get further away from these slathering bloodthirsty pelt wearing psychopaths, one last time before I can receive the healing draughts from the Ass of Elendil (actually it was more like a large goat but it had big ears so...). It seemed impossible but then the glory of his forefathers seized his consciousness like a... 'yada yada yada and he only bloomin' just ran in there picked the ball up and scored right at the end of the game didn't he?' 'Bloody Marvellous it was. I tell you what those dead 'uns won't care tho, coz of them being dead!' 'I s'pose not Baz' 'Makes you wonder what the bloody point of the whole bloody game is tho don't it' 'Not really no'. Terence. Top Elf.”