“Chapter 18

“You know,” slurred Beds are Burning, “once you get to know these dark elves, they’re not all that bad.”
He took another long gulp from his tankard of wine.
“Now, I’m not saying I’d have one as my best friend, you understand. But you know, underneath that cruel pale exterior and all that purple armour, they’re not so different from you or me.”
He looked across at his coach.
“Well, from me at any rate. They are quite different from you, what with you being human and all, but what I’m trying to say is…”
Whatever it was he was trying to say was never said. His eyes finally glazed over and he tipped sideways, gently slumping against Viva la Vida, who had passed out several hours before.

The match between the White Men in Black Suits and the dark elf team, the Nagaroth Dark Nights had now technically been going on for one day, five hours and twenty-five minutes. In actual fact, the game itself had run its course after the usual hour-and-a-half. It had been a close fought game and, at least as far as the wood elves were concerned, somewhat painful. But as time ran out with the score tied at three apiece and the two teams settling for the draw, it was discovered that the referee could not be found to blow the final whistle.
“What?” bellowed Coach Robsson. “What do you mean the game can only be ended by a sanctioned official? I’ve played plenty of games where the ref didn’t even make it as far as half time. That never stopped the game from finishing when it was supposed to!”
“New league, new rules,” replied the linesman casually.
“Well then, you end it.”
“Can’t.”
“Why not. You are an official official, aren’t you?”
The linesman took in a long, slow breath and shook his head.
“Not my job, guv. I’m a linesman, see. I’m responsible for the sides, not the middle. That’s the job of the referee. The referee. It’s more than my job’s worth to be trying to do a referee’s job. No Sir, you’ll just have to wait until he turns up.”
Coach Robsson screamed with frustration and stormed over to where Coach Simulacrum was sitting, calmly drinking wine from a skull.
“Did you know that? The game can’t be ended except by the proper referee. It’s ridiculous.”
Coach Simulacrum shrugged.
“So I gather. Then it will be a long game I fear.”
“Well, my boys are tired and hungry. We want to go home. Can’t you send out some sort of search party to try and find the referee? He’s bound to be around here somewhere.”
Coach Simulacrum stroked the skull he was drinking from.
“Yes, somewhere. But I rather suspect we shall never find him. Not all of him at any rate.”
“Ah,” said Robsson, finally getting the message. “Ah. Well, erm, how about I go chat to the linesman again and see what can be done?”
And he ran off as fast as he could.

“I hear what you’re saying,” said the officious official, “but rules is rules. You want to finish the game, then I suggest you find yourself another referee.”
“Another referee? Where in the nine worlds and ten oceans am I going to find another referee around here?”
“Har Ganeth.”
“Huh?”
“Har Ganeth. There’s another match on there right now. It’s just down the road and I’m sure the referee from there will be happy enough to come and finish up here… for the right fee, that is.”

And so a rider had been sent to acquire the services of the substitute referee and there was nothing left for the wood elves to do but sit and wait. And this is exactly what they did. But after a few hours, the frosty hostility of the dark elves had thawed slightly and Reaper, their captain, had wandered over to invite the White Men in Black Suits to join them in some food and drink. Apparently, long generations of racial hostility was nothing compared to the mutual loathing of petty officials and soon the two teams were chatting away almost cordially.
“Bah!” cursed Coach Simulacrum, taking a long drink from his skull cup. “There is no honour in this game these days. There was a time you could eviscerate a referee on the sacrificial altar of Khaine and still be home in time for tea. And be praised for it! Now it’s just obey this rule, obey that rule. Don’t turn up late for a match. Don’t put poison on your retractable wrist blades. Honestly, where is the art? Where is the beauty?”
Coach Robsson nodded in agreement and reached for another spare rib.
“My sentiments exactly. No art. That’s why I like playing against you dark elves. Sure, you can hit hard, and that boy Heartripper made a mighty mess of my team out there today, but at least you did it with style.”
“To style!” shouted Simulacrum and raised his skull.
“To style!” shouted Robsson, raising his rib.

The party continued along the same lines all night. The dark elves provided a constant supply of food and wine and the wood elves repaid their hosts with a free display from the White Girls in Black Suits, their new team of cheerleaders. After several hours the White Girls were exhausted, however, and it was generally agreed that they could take the rest of the night off. More wine appeared and soon not a single elf from either side was capable of standing. Even The Lion and the Unicorn was completely senseless, having taken root in a small lake of wine specially poured for him beside the pitch, and it was only his roots which now prevented him from crashing to the ground.

Finally, as the sun was rising high in the sky and the elves were beginning to wake up and discover what a killer hangover really was, the reserve referee finally arrived. He took one quick look at the carnage around him, blew his whistle as loud as he could, and ran as fast as his legs could carry him back the way he’d come. There was a muted cheer from those elves who could bear to make any noise and Coach Robsson managed to stagger to his feet.
“Well,” he croaked, shaking hands gently with Coach Simulacrum. “Was a pleasure. But perhaps next time we could possibly save the official slaying till after the whistle?”
Coach Simulacrum nodded, but then decided it was too painful and stopped at a smile.
“Indeed. Although those cheerleaders were certainly a pleasing distraction. Now, after nearly thirty five hours of BloodBowl, I think I need to disembowel someone and bathe in their blood.”
He waved his farewells and called to Reaper.”
“Reaper, go find me the linesmen. Explain that they are suddenly surplus to requirements, but that I have a new task for them…”
Coach Robsson gathered his players and bundled them into their travelling coach as quickly as possible. Now that the game was over, he really, really, really didn’t want to outstay his welcome. His bowels felt the same.
”