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Match Result · League division
Match recorded on 2005-05-16 09:25:33
60k
0/1/0
Player Performances
td
comp
cas
int
mvp
spp
turns
pass
rush
block
foul
TOTALS
3
4
1
-
1
20
-
-
-
-
-
#6 Johann Wolfgang von Goethe – Dead (RIP)
#13 Paul Landers – Broken Ribs (MNG)
Player Performances
td
comp
cas
int
mvp
spp
turns
pass
rush
block
foul
TOTALS
3
3
3
-
1
23
-
-
-
-
-
“The Undead fans and the fans of the Undead shuffle into the arena seats in their usual hoarse and unruly style. Snagging loose rags and flesh on the exposed splinters of the seating, they heave rotting arse around to designated areas, vestigial metabolisms squirting dry with anticipation of another nail-biting Wicker Men match.
Let us zoom in on one pair of fans...
Dark suits, dark glasses, one tall and thin, one short and fat. A strange pair for more reasons, too, one ungratefully undead, one begrudgingly alive. Both have seen better days. They hum something amongst themselves as they watch the dugout exit for signs of their team for today. "We're so glad to welcome so many of you lovely people here tonight" says one. "We would especially like to welcome ALL the members of the Nuln Law-Enforcement community who have chosen to join us in the arena at this time" the other chuckles.
The teams pour onto the pitch, amidst roaring and clapping from all around. Our fat friend remains seated, staring inscrutably through his dark glasses, observing through gaps between the fans in front. For that matter, observing through the fans in front, such as they are.
Rats pack the stadium, chanting in unison as the speed blurs of their team lap the pitch. "I hate nazis" mutters the fat one.
The only other time he spoke was to repeat the phrase at the end, focusing all his curmudgeonly powers on not standing up to cheer as the blurry runner streaked in for the fastest TouchDown ever recorded in a Wicker Men match, to tie in the penultimate play.
Johann Wolfgang von Goethe once said that "everything in the world can be endured except continued prosperity". How ironically right he was.
The gargantuan effigy is stuffed with a limp, rat-like figure. It bursts into flame, and out shambles another faceless abomination, stronger, tougher, but oh-so clumsy and slow compared to the genetic miracle that had been sacrificed.
While the team roll back into the dugout and prepare to go back to the nights of hard training, the fans start the word about next match: against rotters of Nurgle! Bring your friends and burial partners, gang! The Wicker Men are training extra hard, and there will be some good players on the pitch, you can Count on that!
An excellent game i agree. Highly tactical and as you say played in ideal spirit. If your rats keep on, I will be highly impressed. If you drop them and start a basher team, I will join your schadenfreude. Good luck to you, too!”
Let us zoom in on one pair of fans...
Dark suits, dark glasses, one tall and thin, one short and fat. A strange pair for more reasons, too, one ungratefully undead, one begrudgingly alive. Both have seen better days. They hum something amongst themselves as they watch the dugout exit for signs of their team for today. "We're so glad to welcome so many of you lovely people here tonight" says one. "We would especially like to welcome ALL the members of the Nuln Law-Enforcement community who have chosen to join us in the arena at this time" the other chuckles.
The teams pour onto the pitch, amidst roaring and clapping from all around. Our fat friend remains seated, staring inscrutably through his dark glasses, observing through gaps between the fans in front. For that matter, observing through the fans in front, such as they are.
Rats pack the stadium, chanting in unison as the speed blurs of their team lap the pitch. "I hate nazis" mutters the fat one.
The only other time he spoke was to repeat the phrase at the end, focusing all his curmudgeonly powers on not standing up to cheer as the blurry runner streaked in for the fastest TouchDown ever recorded in a Wicker Men match, to tie in the penultimate play.
Johann Wolfgang von Goethe once said that "everything in the world can be endured except continued prosperity". How ironically right he was.
The gargantuan effigy is stuffed with a limp, rat-like figure. It bursts into flame, and out shambles another faceless abomination, stronger, tougher, but oh-so clumsy and slow compared to the genetic miracle that had been sacrificed.
While the team roll back into the dugout and prepare to go back to the nights of hard training, the fans start the word about next match: against rotters of Nurgle! Bring your friends and burial partners, gang! The Wicker Men are training extra hard, and there will be some good players on the pitch, you can Count on that!
An excellent game i agree. Highly tactical and as you say played in ideal spirit. If your rats keep on, I will be highly impressed. If you drop them and start a basher team, I will join your schadenfreude. Good luck to you, too!”
The talented Johann Wolfgang von Goethe never realised his full potential as a bloodbowler until his last match. With injuries consistantly hampering his ability to play, the final round of SWL Season 9 was allways going to mean his swansong. The fact that the game was against the diabolical Wicker Men seemed certain to confirm that. Knowing he only had 80 minutes left in his career seemed to inspire Johann. Every time the Germans kicked off, he would push the younger Rats out of his way, to make sure he got every opportunity to get in the face of the two opposing Mummies. For 15 turns he battled them, and anyone else who took his fancy. Twice he was forced from the field after being knocked out, but each time he ran back onto the field at the first opportunity, determined to take his position on the line of scrimmage. With the Germans behind by 1, and time running out, Johann knew that good defense wasn't going to be enough. He screamed at Manfred for the ball off the kick return, and once he had it in hand, nothing could stop him. Leaping over the Tanguy Tremaynson and Allyn Clustfeinad in a flash, he dodged away, and ran his furry little legs down, down, way way downfield, until crossing into the Endzone, to rapturous applause from ecstatic fans. With a draw safely secured, and his name forever up in lights Johann wandered back to the Line of Scrimmage for one last time, thinking about his upcoming pension. "Life is going to be good," he thought to himself as he sank into a squat, smirking at the festering Undead in front of him. The ball was kicked, and Johann took a glancing blow from one of the Mummies. "Only a scratch," he thought to himself. As the crowd began to count down the final 10 seconds, Johann allowed himself to relax. A few aches & pains, but in comparison to alot of other players, he had escaped his career relatively unharmed. And then he heard it. From the Coaches Box came the cry "Foul him!! Hack the bone!!!". Johann realised his grevious error - his Coach didn't want to pay out his pension, and was prepared to sink to any depths to avoid it. As the Zombie's boot came crushing down on his skull, Johann's final thought was to praise the Fatherland, and thank Nuffle for being able to take part in the sport of Kings. RIP Johann.
[Note for any members of the German Vermin reading this obituary: Severance pay and pensions for outgoing players are not a right, they are a privilege awarded to those who perform above and beyond the call of duty. While Johann's last game was particularly good,it wasn't outstanding, and the Coach decreed his demands for money unacceptable. If you want money, keep playing. If you want to keep playing, don't get injured. Next!]
A great game played in good spirit. Well done Covert, and best of luck for you in Season 10 mate.”