OK. My severely depleted team took on some hated wood elves. They were mostly rookies, and my boys should be able to muster 8-9 to take them on. It would be tough, but it was an interesting match-up (with the added bonus that the wussy elveseses were unlikely to deplete my roster further). Well, that was the plan. Then Swine Flu hit and all my niggles stayed at home.

"Oh boss," they wailed, "I've got a cold, I can't come in today."

"I think I'm dying, boss. *cough, cough*"

"Someone else will have to stomp pointy elfy heads for me today, gaffer, I think my lung just fell out."

OK, 5 men, brave and true, against a herd of elveseses. No problem. OK, the fouly, fouly, foul, foul elves have bought the ref? Who cares? Has Cap'n Whip-smart Skedoink bumped his head on a rock when he tripped over, taking him out of the game? Sure. No worries. That elf standing next to him had nothing to do with it - that elf wasn't throwing a punch, he was admiring himself in a mirror, the blond tart. Cap'n Whip-smart wouldn't go down to some *sneer* elf.

'Fishgills' had some fun kicking a couple of elveseses in the glades and pastures while they were on the ground. Sure, 8 of the golden stinkers ganged up on him soon after and put him out of action for the first half, but that doesn't matter.

Far more impressive were the exploits of THE MYSTERIOUS NIGEL. Where did he come from? Nobody knows. Is his name really Nigel? Maybe. Maybe not. Why does he? How? When? All these questions and so many more. He would not go down. He did not go down. He pushed some nawty elveseses over. The pesky woodland pricks could not clear the pitch of men. With his loyal sidekick, 'Potatodog' offering help, the Bokonon United kept the score down to a respectable 7-1. Oh yes... 7-ONE! We had them worried for a bit, I tell you.

GO BACK TO YOUR TREES IN SHAME ELVESESES!