“Urkan pulled himself wearily out of the mud with an audible "schluck!" The sun was sinking low, the match was long gone...so were the teams, the fans....even the cleaners were packing up...

"Wha 'appenz....?" Urkan rubbed his bruised ribs and gazed around, trying his best to remove the muddy size 12 bootprint from the side of his face with his torn sleeve...

His last memory before blacking out was of 6 or 7 'umies jumping repeatedly on his face, yelling and screaming "Monster! Freak! Why won't you just die!?"

...Come to think of it, this seemed to go on for pretty much the whole match...and about 15 minutes after the final whistle...an' where wuz is teammates? Standin' round laffin'...come to fink of it, where waz da ref? Well...he'd av words with dem...ALL of dem...right after he sorted out da Fishes...

One fish in particular to fry he thought...wha waz is name...yer......Jingle Genie? Jizzy Greenie? Giorgini...yer dat waz it...

Anyway thought Urkan, admiring his bruised face in nearby puddle, I knowz ow ta find im...who'z'eva boot fits dis bruise is da git I want! Urkan staggered unsteadily from the pitch...naz for some Squig wine, me lad!





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