“Chapter 12

Coach Robsson didn’t have a great deal of hair left, and what he still had was kept tastefully short. These were, possibly, the only two reasons why he wasn’t tearing his hair out in great clumps of tonsorial fury.
“Gahngh!” he cursed through gritted teeth instead.
One More Cup of Coffee, the team’s sole catcher picked himself up off the ground for the second time in as many minutes, dusted himself down and at least had the decency to look guiltily across at the coach before rejoining the action.
The action, meanwhile, had moved a lot closer to the White Men in Black Suits’ endzone and the comfortable 2-0 lean the wood elves had built up in the first half looked set to be wiped out. In fact, as Coach Robsson watched, it was.

“I swear to you, Coach. There’s something funny going on out there,” said One More Cup of Coffee as the teams reset for the kick off. “One minute I’m flying on the wind, the next I’m lying in the dirt.”
Robsson grunted.
“Chaos. I guess their coach sacrificed something during the half time break. They’ve been playing like a different team since they came back out. And you lot have been so useless I should have seen it sooner. First, So Much for the Afterglow can’t throw the ball, then The Lion and the Unicorn manages to block himself, then you seem to have two left feet… looks like something is smiling on the Killer Headshots for the moment. Still, you know what chaos is like. Five minutes and the gods get bored with being nice and helpful. Get back out there and see if we can’t salvage something from this mess.”
One More Cup of Coffee turned away but Coach Robsson noticed him slipping something into his mouth as he left.
“One More! What’s that you’re putting in your mouth? You know my rules about drugs. If it’s illegal, you’re off the team right now!”
The catcher flushed bright red as he turned back to face the coach.
“Ifpts bust a miffle fnac frm vu halfwing,” he managed, swallowing the contents of his mouth in great gulps.
“Again?”
“It’s just a little snack from the halfling. He was giving them away and they taste so good. He said they would give me more energy so I didn’t think you’d mind.”
“The Halfling? Do you mean that Halfling over on the far side, next to the Killer Headshots’ dugout? The one feeding the marauders right now?”
“Yeah, that’s the lad. Nice sort really, what with wanting to share out his supplies to both teams and all.”
One More Cup of Coffee swayed slightly.
“I get a bit dizzy if I eat to much though.”
Coach Robsson had long maintained that the only thing more stupid than a troll was a wood elf with a bright idea. Today his team were proving him right.


* * * * *


Somehow the White Men managed to keep it together long enough to score a third touchdown and then prevent the Killer Headshots from claiming a late equaliser. The fans were delighted, it being the second win in a row, and Coach Robsson was doubly pleased when he realised he had enough gold in the coffers to hire another catcher. He’d recently started holding weekly try-outs to find some new talent and there was one particular elf he’d been impressed with who would make a fine back-up for One More Cup of Coffee.
“But I don’t need a back-up,” snapped One More indignantly when Robsson announced his decision. “I’m playing the best BloodBowl I’ve ever played. I’m right at the top of my game.”
“Exactly,” said the coach. “And that’s exactly when the problems begin. You start to be too good, to skilful, and the opposition are going to start picking on you. It’ll start with being double-teamed, then you’ll find you’re being picked on even when you’re nowhere near the ball, just in case. And then the fouling will start. Believe me, watching a poor defenceless wood elf try to stand up while four goblins pull him in opposite directions and one is giving him a damned good kicking in the delicates is not a pleasant sight.”
One More Cup of Coffee pictured the scene, apparently quite clearly.
“Hmm, I see your point, Coach. And you think maybe a second catcher might take some of the attention away from me?”
“Bound to.”
“And I could help train him, could I?”
“Sure. Sharing your experience with him would be a huge help.”
“Yeah. I could show him how to look dangerous, and obvious, and vulnerable. He’d make the perfect screen for me.”
“Yes… that’s almost what I had in mind,” answered the coach cautiously.

A twelve elf team. Coach Robsson honestly couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a reserve on the squad. Normally he was used to sending out no more than four or five players to face some horde of thugs that outnumbered them three-to-one. And better still, twelve players with barely an injury between them. The apothecary, Doc Onholiday, was certainly worth every penny he’d cost. If he kept up the good work, Coach Robsson thought he might even begin paying him a wage. But only a modest one. And only if the doc ever thought to ask for one.
”