“The Sultan stirred his incredibly strong, sweet coffee moodily. His usually shiny, beamish face was troubled, and even his protruding round belly had lost some of its usual glow.

"Once," he began "in the old country, a knife-man told me 'magnanimity is a sign of weakness'... He was a man of the desert - if he was ever full of the milk of human kindness, the glaring sun had boiled it away, leaving only a white, crusty residue. His skin was like leather, and his heart was like rock."

"I had him killed, of course, as you had to in those days"

"But when I arrived in these parts, owner and manager of the first Araby Bloodbowl team... I thought my time of obligatory ruthlessness was over. I thought 'ah! Sports! Nothing better for the temperament' - if you don't count luxurious sweets and concubines, of course."

The Sultan deliberated over different lumps of confectionery, selected a piece of rose-water Turkish delight the size of a fist and gobbled it.

"Today, I thought of that desert knife-man. Had he been in my position, we'd've won the match... Our effete opponents would've been trampled into the dirt yet more strongly, the clock would run down to victory. I am too sweet and yielding at times, like this delicious treat *gulp* and it created a draw today, not a win."

"On the other hand, it is this very kindness of heart, this very sweetness of tooth and temperament that make me such a valued employer of concubines! Perhaps they can cheer me up"

Whereupon he arose, turned the back of his bejeweled jacket, and - headed towards a tent filled with cushions - rolled happily away, gathering concubines as he went, like some debauched snowball.

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Thanks for the game Snorri! The margin of luck vs the scoreline shows that you are really a superior coach with a flaky team. Looking at the league scorelines, this is going to be an interesting conference!”