Finally, one of my opponents did the decent thing and put my ginger-haired retard of a linesman in the ground.

The honour went to The Beast. He had spent the first half roaring confusedly and running in circles, falling over, and that dirty sod 'Fishgills' McGinty stole in and put a boot in that would have taken him out of the match if it wasn't for the team doctor. Revitalised for the second half, the friendly, neighbourhood minotaur went on the rampage and Stoltz ended up with a horn through his chest and his still-beating heart clasped in the hairy hoof of an enraged cowman. Well done, that man/cow/thing!

Unfortunately, my winnings from the match were not enough to enable me to hire Michael J. Fox to replace him.