First and Last?
The coach's team talk hadn’t done much to settle his nerves. “I’ve been watching some replays of our opponents matches on Cabalvision and these are a mean bunch. They come from a league of hardcore teams that really put the blood in Blood Bowl. Their win record isn’t great so I am confident we can win this but for Nuffle's sake don’t get yourselves killed, there's no point in us progressing if we have no team left! This is our first Major lads and it's as big as they come so don’t disappoint me. Now hustle!”
Oly was proud to be captaining Grimsby Town Blood Bowl Team in their first Major, proud to be one of the few players that have been in the team since it's founding. His body ached from the injuries he had sustained in previous games but he knew they were all necessary. All those games had led up to this, a chance to walk away as FUMBBL Cup champions. The road had been long and hard and he’d lost a lot of friends along the way but their memories wouldn’t be in vain. Checking his gear for a final time he slipped on his helmet and stood at the front of the line of players waiting to exit the locker room.
The Stadium was packed with both GTBBT and Fouler fans screaming their lungs out for their respective teams. Some fights had broken out between opposing fans who were sat too close to each other and couldn’t wait for the action to start. Wandering up and down the aisles were ‘Rat on a Stick’ vendors and babes with steins of Bloodweiser, which were being quickly sunk and then hurled. Over the PA system you could hear the commentator Don Motson, who was wearing his traditional sheepskin coat announcing that the Fleshpile Foulers were taking to the field. He tried to talk about some of the players but he was drowned out by the noise of the crowd both cheering and booing in unison. The noise was at a near unbearable level as the throats of thousands of people (Humans, Elves, Dwarves, Orcs, squeeking Goblins and many others) were being made hoarse from constant shouting.
Back in the locker room Oly tried to block out the noises around him and concentrate on the game. This was it, the chance of a lifetime for the team to make a name for themselves. He turned around to check everyone was behind him, took a deep breath and made his way up the stairs to the dugout. The light at the end of the tunnel almost blinded him and the noise nearly made his eardums burst. Exiting the dugout and taking to the field he was suddenly filled with adrenaline. Every sense in his body was tingling and he was ready.
“This is it.” He thought.
“This is Blood Bowl!”
What do you call a Zombie with a pole through his leg?
What bone will a Zombie never eat?