“Kondor crossed the pitch and shook hands with the Warden. That was a well coached match. As with most games between dwarf factions, there would have to be a mistake made for either team to win. Here, neither side slipped up.

Reviewing the match, Kondor tried to see what he could have done differently. Sure, the dodging longbeard tripped, but if he had made it, he probably would have scored. Bahhhh! It was simply an evenly coached match.

The opening drive saw the Heroes move the ball in a grind down the field only to have a desperation blast knock the ball out to stall the drive. That is not to say the half was without great plays. Chuck Norris blasted the pinko Marx with a shoulder only to have Marx drop the hammer and sickle. Norris sleeps with his ancestors due in part to an aweful apothecary. Moments later, MLK retaliated with a forearm to the back of Robert Lee's neck, but the Legends apothecary was better paid.

The second half was a different affair, and one not often seen in blood bowl arenas. Warden dialed up a blitz, and the Heroes rushed the field. The normal tactics of building a cage for the runner went out the window, and the legends scrambled to protect the ball. Even in that condition, Kondor thought things seemed to be going well. That is until Lula found out what the rock was cooking. He had brewed an entire kettle of whoopasss with Lula's name on it. He came from the top rope, and the old Brazilian President never saw the boot that cracked his skull.

The crowd cheered, and Brother Brigham saw an opening in the lines. After three failed attempts to pick up the ball, he was knocked back, and the game degenerated into an obvious tie.

Naah, Kondor shook his head. That was simply a well played game with little that could be done about the outcome.”