“Having laid down some funky manoeuvres in their favourite dive Motown Monk and Gyrating Gaijin Guy stumble over a pile of rags on the way to the shiny pimp mobile Shoalin Sugar Daddy had hotwired earlier in the night (approx. equiv. 2 touchdowns).

This pile of rags rolls over and reveals himself to be Tin Can Telly.
Jauntily setting his flouro pink bovver boots into Tin Can's chops Motowm trips arse over tit, splitting a nail and messing up his 'fro.

"Yo, mofo - You givin' me 'tude?" said Motown Monk in the grips of a particularly bad trip.

"'tude being Attitude for People Who Don't Have the Time, Man." Articulated the Macarena Mongol, scoring an MVP award for this rare moment of clarity.

"7am, a great time for drinking wine!" Spake the wise man Cincinatti Slim, nodding sagely and squirming in his own vomit.

Ragtime Ronin and Groovy Geisha Girl painfully follow the thought through to completion - A scarce feat by the Honky Tonks and practice that will no doubt stand the team in good stead during future "games".

At this point Motown starts seeing gremlins emerging from Tin Can's nostrils and, being caught in public without his tinfoil hat, starts having a fit in Tin Can Telly's general direction, catching him a solid blow to the head with his flouro lime green platforms.

"That was a damn quick costume change!" Remarked Eddie Joe Cotton, getting one up on the opposing coach's narrative continuity and scoring an MVP award for his narky put-down.

Blinded by the garishness of it all, Tin Can decided he had found God and got stuck into the metholated spirits in an a attempt to lose him again before the next game.

Never one to think for himself, Gyrating Gaijin Guy gets all enthusiastic and sets to an aggressive shimmying routine aimed primarily at the Hobohemian's faces scoring a palpable hit swiftly repaired by the team apothecary "Mr. Bottle".

When the pigs show up Motown has chilled somewhat and is just running around. With the crowd of witnesses/fans it only took a little running around and the delivery of a well-filled-out brown paper bag to convince the cops this was a game of Blood Bowl and not cause for charges to be laid.

Being the large, sensitive, brutal, girly type she is, Sake Feulled Tokyo Ghettopussy Dancefloor Inferno wandered off to pick up a few bottles for her newfound Hobohemian buddies.

She was quite pissed to find mild carnage greeting her on her return and sulked on the benches for almost the entire "game" in boring passive-agressive female-ishness.

Although Lucky Joe and Slow Motion attest otherwise, the Hobo's lack of ball-handling skills, possibly even lack of ackowledgement of the ball's existence may well have been due to six goon bags of plonk supplied by Ghettopussy. It would certainly account for the 62%-37% luck ratio. ”