"Welcome everybody once again to another session of Blood Bowl Maimery, italics on the maimery. I'm Snot Sniffly, your skink with the gift of gab..."

"As in you never shut up..."

"And we're back! Again!"

Told ya we couldn't be stopped. They torched down our building, they tried to have us assassinated and both the fireball and lightning bolt missed, they hired some bad Australian to snipe at us with a "Sydney Sleeper" and then they blew up our equipment. I'm Gorgaz Toothfang, here with Snot to blow our rivals' ratings out of the water!"

"Didn't we already blow up our rivals, Gorgaz?"

(Gorgaz grumbles quietly.)

"You're not supposed to take the credit for that little stunt, lizard..."

"Whaddya mean? We got the contract, didn't we?"

(Snot holds up a piece of paper)

"And by we you mean me, right?"

"..."

"What Snot means is that we landed the exclusive gig for the upcoming Crown Of Sand tourney, and we will be doing the play by play for the games the team known as the Omegatani Punchfist will be playing. A lizard man team, they've had ups, they've had downs..."

"... and now they finally have Block!"

"... and now they've thrown their hats in the ring to enter the Crown of Sand tournament for a chance at greatness. Or self-implosion, one of the two. Now, I'd like to throw Snot into the ring, but he'd end up dead on impact."

"No, I'd land on my feet and bite you in the ankles."

"And that would get you exactly how far?"

"The number of orcs I've taken down, greenskin..."

"... don't even go there, lizard. They just had their shoes untied..."

"... by the other skinks that were with me out on the pitch."

(Snot gives Gorgaz a shit-eating grin. The orc just facepalms and turns his head away.)

"..."

"Anyway... until the Crown of Sand is underway, we're doing several shows featuring some other teams of the Black Box, specifically some rats (the Thirteen Bells of the RNG), some chaos dwarves (the Molten Mithril Rage), and some necromanticals (the Twilight Midnight). I also hear there's a new human team in the works that has a... corgi... as their gimmick."

"A... corgi?"

"Or several dozen, so I hear..."

"Today we're witnessing the fight (or eventual demise) of the Molten Mithril Rage versus the Planet Hopping Princes, a bunch of Slann who are poised to leap over the teeny tiny dwarves..."

"... right into the waiting fists of the bull centaurs."

"So we hope. I've been longing for a bit of frog legs for a while now."

"The dwarves are the underdogs for this match, as there's quite a bit of TV difference between the two teams. However, all the dodging in the world won't save the Slann from the tackling abilities of the dwarves. If they can keep out of reach, it's all over. If not, then the dwarves are going to be frogstomped into the astroturf and fed to the kroxigor."

"Do they keep out of reach themselves to avoid being hit, or do they attempt to go aggressive and pulverize the Slann into meaty chunks? Let's find out."

"The dwarves lose the toss and will be kicking to the Planet Hopping Princes, named after the planets in the solar system. Somehow I don't get the sense the dwarves will be slamming into them like comets into planets... but there will be explosions (of blood) nonetheless!"

"Anyway, after some smack talking..."

"I believe that's called 'whining and complaining.'"

"... by the coach of the Molten Mithril Rage, the teams set up and the kick is off as the dwarves lose the toss and the Slann receive. It's a high kick, for certain values of high, and it fails to clear the line of scrimmage and results in a touchback. The Slann immedately go on the offense, punching and pushing back the dwarven line."

"Jupiter, one of the blitzers, grabs the ball and dashes back to keep away from the dwarves as the Kroxigor pulverizes one of the bull centaurs to already give the dwarves a disadvantage. The hobgoblins dodge away from that mean and nasty tail only to get suckerpunched around the ball, and there's a fight for it close to the sidelines."

"The ball is popped loose and hobgoblins go en-masse into the crowd, but the ball is loose and there goes Flarg, the newest member of the team! He's got the ball but the rest of the Slann are mad with blood rage after feeding the other two hobgoblins to the crowd. They can't seem to knock the ball out of his hands though, and Flarg is all but surrounded."

"A failed block at the worst of times means the dwarves get punched around a third time as the ball is knocked loose and Flarg is stunned hard. At best now the Molten Mithril Rage can hope just to stop the drive instead of score on their own as we hit the halfway point of the first half. That was a joke of course, as not a SINGLE dwarf stands on his feet and they have to spend some time getting up before they get stomped into the mud... or six feet under!"

"The coach of the Molten Mithril Rage appears to be trying to use annoying tactics to make the other coach either leave or make a mistake."

"It looks like it's working about as well as could be expected. By which I mean not at all. If he doesn't wise up I bet he'll be fed to the Kroxigor alongside his players after the match!"

"And that would be a bad thing?"

"The Slann continue to slap the dwarves around comedy style and a failed blitz move by Mr. Silver II means the Slann still have a shot at scoring before the half ends. The ball continues to be loose, as the last three times the Slan have tried to pick up the ball they have fai--"

"There you go, jinxing it. He picked up the ball and ran off with it."

"But wait, there's an illegal substitution on the field! Yeti Stomper, bull centaur for the Molten Mithril Rage, has snuck back onto the field after being knocked into the crowd! Sadly he can only get close to the ball carrier and it's not enough in the end... Ceres of the Planet Hopping Princes scores a touchdown, giving the dwarves a consolation play right before halftime. It's a joke as bad as their fashion sense, of course, and thus we're at halftime."

(Halftime. The Gigant-O-Tron today is showing advertisements for the upcoming Crown of Sand tourney, flashing quickly through a bunch of the players' stat sheets and predictions for upcoming matches. The Omegatani Punchfist look entirely unimpressive.)

"Blargh. Those lizards think they can do anything."

"They're your people, yet You don't sound convinced, Snot."

"They're nobodies. They actually think they can go all the way for the Crown? Look at them, no useful skills and the only reason the skinks are still up is through sheer luck."

"And you're not alive through sheer luck?"

"That's called "skill", orc. Something you seem to lack."

"I'm skilled. Skilled in squishing you like the vermin that you are."

"Vermin? Come on, Gorgaz, you know me better than to place me below the average goblin."

"You're so far below the bar for the average goblin, they've had to define new values for the word 'suck.'"

"... ... ... ..."

(Gorgaz looks very pleased with himself as halftime ends.)

"The teams come back out onto the field and are ready to go toe-to-toe for another half of torture, pain and slobberknockery."

"You just like making up new words, don't you."

"It seems like a good word, doesn't it?"

"The dwarves receive and it's a high kick to Grog, the skilled ball handler of the Molten Mithril Rage."

"No Block? I'd hardly call that skilled. Still, Dump Off should present some interesting opportunities, especially if he earns some nerves of steel."

"The dwarves focus the Kroxigor down while the group puts up a weak cage and they begin their slow little march..."

"You mean dwarvish waddle."

"... up the playing field."

"Why are they hugging the sideline? Didn't they learn their lesson the last half?"

"Dwarves can learn?"

"Good point."

"They set themselves up for a dump off move, but it's no good as Titan charges Grog with murder in his eyes and... are those spikes on his webbed toes? He charges... there's the hit, and as the ball pops loose..."

(both Gorgaz and Snot wince hard as Grog's head is separated from his body and his limbs just fall off, his skeleton having fragmented into individual bones from the force of the punch.)

"Uh..."

"Um..."

"Yeah, that's gonna leave a mark... and a hole in the team's roster to be filled..."

Right as the dirt fills that hogoblin's grave!"

"The teams crowd around the ball, the dwarves MAD and stunning two of the Slann right off, but there's still room for the ball to be retrieved and now the dwarves are down their best carrier. With just one hobgoblin left on the field, it's looking bleak for the dwarves."

"Flarg goes down as Ceres grabs the ball again and runs off with it mocking the dwarves as he goes."

"It's pride like that that will cause him to... yep, there's Nuffle laughing as the ball slips from his fingers."

"That's not going to stop them, not a bit. There's more punching to be had for a bit and then Jupiter blitzes Mr. Copper HARD, leaving the ball open for Ceres to recover and run off with the ball some -more- on his way to the end zone. The dwarves cannot reach him, so it looks like they're giving up and going back instead to what they do normally... beat on things."

"I'd make an obvious beating-on-something-else joke... but someone served me with a decency letter."

"You? Decent?"

"More than what's in your pants... zip those things up already."

"..."

"The Sun goes down, being dogpiled a bit by a pair of dwarves and the only remaining hobgoblin on the pitch. The rest of the dwarves in the backfield hit a few Slann before Yeti Stomper tries to dodge away, and trips over his own hooves to allow Ceres another score. We're in the ass end of the second half now, and there's no way the dwarves are recovering. "

"Either from their alcoholism or this match."

"Ceres dances away from the downed Yeti Stomper and stalls for the last few moments of the game, and even as Blood Hoof, the other Bull Centaur, approaches Ceres, it's no good. Thus it's a 2-0 loss of the Molten Mithril Rage while the head coach is seen being whined at by the other coaches in the dugout! Hah, let's see how he likes being bitched at constantly and randomly for hours on end!"

"I think if he does it for a living, he doesn't really care, does he?"

"Wait until I get down there and he hears -me-, then."

"Oh, ain't that going to be a joy."

(The orc rolls his eyes.)

"This is Snot Sniffly and Gorgaz Toothfang for the Craptastic Bash N' Break Corperation, saying be prepared for the Crown of Sand, coming shortly to crystal balls and other methods of viewing near you! Only for $19,999,999,999!"

"Shut UP, lizard. You're supposed to entice the fans, not scare them off!"

"I don't need to scare them. You do that already by simply being alive, greenskin..."