RicardoGrande
Joined: Nov 18, 2021
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 Posted:
Dec 24, 2025 - 23:57 |
 
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It is… Christmas.
The snow falls gently upon the broken stadiums of the Old World, covering the blood, the teeth, and the fragments of unfulfilled ambition.
The pitch… sleeps.
But it is not peace — only exhaustion.
(a faint jingling of bells — uncertain, ominous)
In the OSBBL, we mark this day not with joy, but with a kind of… melancholy wonder.
I have seen a goblin gift-wrap a chainsaw.
I have watched a troll stare in confusion at a candy cane, unsure whether to eat it or fear it.
I have seen elves exchange delicate ornaments — and then use them as throwing weapons moments later.
(pause, wind through distant stands)
To the coaches… you who command this madness, this pageant of violence and improbable luck — I extend a kind of admiration.
You believe in something.
You believe that through endless re-rolls and double skulls, meaning might yet be found.
It is a delusion…but it is a beautiful delusion.
And so I say unto you — may your Yule log burn warm, may your apothecary actually work, and may your dice — for one fleeting moment — show something other than despair.
(a faint choir of orphans and goblins hums “Silent Night,” badly out of tune)
Celebrate this Christmas, my friends.
Hug your teammates, patch your linemen, and remember — in the cold void between seasons, the our shared absurdity that keeps our love of this game alive.
(he sighs softly, the sound of a man who has seen halflings devour their own mascot)
Here in the OSBBL, even amid blood and ruin… there is still, somehow, a flicker of light.
Merry Christmas my dear coaches, I love you all… from Verner Hishog. |
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