Why did I ever buy this team??

[poochy]

Here goes my first, doomed, attempt of writing stuff while bored at the office:

The stadium shook with the stomps and cries of ten thousand greenskins. On the field, a Black Orc triumphantly held up a cracked helmet as an unconscious elf got dragged off by his concerned team mates. Another cry went up as three blitzers, unnoticed by the referee, began to beat on an unprotected elf lineman.

On the sidelines, in the hole that served as a dugout in this gods-forsaken stadium, Owner and Manager of the Roiltown Nosebiters Pooch Pooch das'Pooch winced. Unlike his team on the field, he could actually HEAR what was being said by the hordes in the stands.

"Thats it?"

"Oi Faggots! Moi bleeding mum could probably do bet'er than that!"

"Who the hell taught that bastard to punch?"

And that was the problem. See, Pooch had never thought that an Orc would NEED to be taught how to punch. Aggression was a natural instinct for orcs, and Blood Bowl was the perfect outlet. However, in Blood Bowl there were rules. Complicated, unfathomable rules. Rules like

"Never spit on an opponent when the penalty flag is blowing in your direction",
or
"Do not attack a downed player IF you can clearly see his brain matter. This Rule is waived when playing against Undead, incorporeal, ultra-violent, or mutated opponents. Violation of this rule will cause the player to be classified as one of the aforementioned types for a period not exceeding seven gooble-counters, or nineteen Fe'answeths, whichever is greater".

A light scraping on the floor behind him jolted Pooch out of his reverie. Spinning quickly, he swung his sword in a high arc, decapitating the rabid fan who was about to murder him. As the poor sap sunk to his knees, three more stepped forward, chains at the ready. Before they could make a move, they suddenly disappeared in a puff of smoke. Woof Bluntzer, gnoll sorcerer and Primetime face of Spike Presents: Woof's Top Weekly Fouls, beamed at Pooch from the door instead. Pooch sighed. He would have preferred to face the three fans instead. "Woof, thank Nuffle! I was afraid I would have to use this hand grenade I had. That would have been sad, it was my last one. What brings you here?"

Woof smiled. "You know why I'm here. This is the second game that I have bankrolled, with the express purpose of guaranteeing a brutal foul. Yet again, your ineffective team has failed to permanently maim someone in any way, shape or form."

Pooch sighed. He knew it would come to this. An Orc team without a decent kill sheet tended to languish for a while before being either killed by its fans, or having its assets seized and sold off by the NFL. He couldn't figure out what was wrong. Hadn't he gone ahead and recruited the best blitzers that money could buy, enticing them from the Waagh Bay Packers with the promise of immediate playing time? Hadn't he recruited the best linemen, proud young sons of distinguished clans, before stripping them of their last names and pride until they scored their first casualty? He had even gotten his Blockers cheap! Sure, he had no coaching experience, no assistants, no healers and no money, but that did not matter!! He was Coach and Owner of a lossless Divisional Blood Bowl team!

That was not enough though. And Bluntzer was here to remind him of that. Bluntzer was also a stark reminder of why no one ever lived near gnoll hovels for too long - it was cheaper to pay them to move than to by a never ending supply of scented candles. He cleared his throat, gagged, cleared it again, and said, "Look, Woof, I may not be topping the kill charts, but remember this; we are still winning! Doesn't a win count for something?". Woof shook his head. "Wins only count when the game was impressive! What the hell have you done on the field that counts as even interesting, much less impressive?" growled Woof.

"Well, didn't you see our first match? We held our own against a much more experienced Dwarf team! Honestly, those guys are at the top of the league!" said Pooch. "We tried our best, we even insulted the ref before we fouled, but all we got was muted indifference from all sides," countered Pooch, "it's not our fault that dwarves wear so much armor that they resemble small tanks!".

"That match was as dull as watching Ogres count! No one died, no one got injured except for one of your players, and no one got sent off." Woof smiled. "Whats your excuse this time? You faced Elves, for crying out loud! Elves! The Tiu's have lost roughly, oh, THIRTY players in the last seven games!! And THEY still have eleven men on the field, while you have TEN. "

Pooch gaped at Woof. He hadn't realized it, but one of his players had been knocked unconscious. Where the hell was he? Suddenly, a huge roar went up from the crowd. Orcs of all ages howled in anger. Pooch hung his head in shame. The Nosebiters had scored, against a more mobile team, within the first half. And the injury count was still zero injuries for the elves, one for the orcs.

"If any of you fething monkeys DARES to enter the endzone with the ball for WHATEVER reason before you have KILLED someone, I will personally give our fans your home address and phone number!!"

The second half was not much better. The elves has the number advantage, but suddenly, Vertur the lineman rushed forward with the ball after picking it up after the kickoff. Pooch was livid. "I don't CARE whose team he is on, FOUL 'im!! If he gets into the endzone its ALL your arses hanging from that goalpost!" The entire team rushed forward, not to help him, but to hinder. On the sidelines, Pooch watched as all that stood between Vertur and the goal line was a pair of linemen. And then....

CRAK!!

Vertur got thrown out of the field, allowing the fans to have their ruthless way with him. The rest of the team huddled around the ball and proceeded to punch any elf that came nearby, but they knew better than to try and pick up the ball. With twelve seconds left, Havarti tried rushing for a touchdown...

...It took one chilling look from Pooch for him to fumble the ball immediately.

The game ended on a sour note, with two elves cornered near the endzone, but with no time for the orcs to take advantage of this bounty. Pooch hung his head - even this last chance for carnage had been snatched from him. If the team did not get its act together and stop trying to score touchdowns, the Roiltown Nosebiters would be over before they started.

tl;dr
The Nosebiters have a home now! Royaltown aka 'Roiltown', home of... well home of nothing much other than the Nosebiters really.
They haven't killed or even permanently injured anyone yet. This makes their owner a sad bunny They have won two games in a row by one touchdown each, though. This makes their owner an even SADDER bunny

edit: Made a few grammatical changes. For some reason I was referring to a DIFFERENT character in my converstaions. God, this was a mess.[/i]

[cookie_yip]

i have no idea how blood bowl plays but this is funny!

*thumbs up*

more to come?

[wolfisin]

A report worthy of the Spike Daily Times....

[Kassar]

*blink-blink* That was a report? I thought it was fan-fiction!

Not bad but if Pooch is an ork, he doesn't sound orky enuff.

[poochy]

Yeah Kassar, its more fan-fic than report, but *shrug* whaddayagonnado? The game that is described in the fiction really went on, and this post actually STARTED as a match report with Biff and Bob and screenshots in JavaBBowl.

BUT, as wolfisin can attest to, the game had EXACTLY one touchdown, and my orcs got clobbered by HIGH ELVES, and the score could have been 2-0 if not for a failed 3+ pick-up roll on Turn 16 by my blitzer. Essentially, I realized that a match report would have been Biff and Bob giving up halfway through and chatting about the history of the team anyway. And then I just got rid of Biff and Bob and wrote about the team.

So... true events in a tasty deep fried fan fiction flavoured wrapping. I don't even know HOW to sound orky anymore.