“Hakk'on had to admit the first half had gone rather badly. Losing conciousness in the first block of the game may have been in Ensign Redshirt's gameplan but it certainly wasn't in Hakk'on's who could have done with a full team to stop the roiling mass of putrefying limbs that roiled towards the TD zone, the ball presumably somewhere inside.

And Hakk'on would definately have to ween Bruce off the Soccer Channel and explain to him that falling over on the TD line with the ball will NOT get you a penalty kick.

Of course they were still in with a chance at a draw. Marry Banilow was lining up his reliable arm for a long bomb to The Flaymaker who was in the TD Zone.

But then Hakk'on heard a voice. A voice he thought, he hoped had been silenced by the hand of Khaine many moons ago. Apparently not.

"HAAAAAAAAAKKKKKKKKKKKKK'OOONNNNN! IF YOU DARE LOSE TO THESE ROTTING CORPSES I'M FILING FOR A DIVORCE!"

"H-hello honey..."

Unfortunately for Hakk'on his wife, Spittle Tenda'hart, was as far from honey as anthrax. Furthermore Marry Banilow's sensitive eardrums were perforated by the harpy shriek and he fumbled the pass, leaving the shocked elves to be pummeled by the undead in the last play of the day.

Spittle fumed. "Don't honey me, you just lost to a bunch of cadavers only slightly less dull than yourself." She tore off the arm of a passing zombie to prove a point or something. "Pass me a helmet. Next game I'll show you how to play."”