“Chapter 19

The hard, sandy pitch tasted gritty and unpleasant, but Hayride to Hell decided it still tasted much better than the rotten bandages of a tomb guardian’s fist. He had taken a glancing blow a few minutes before and was not in a hurry to try it again. The rest of the team could do without him for a little while.

In actual fact, most of the White Men in Black Suits were doing exactly the same. Even their treeman, The Lion and the Unicorn, thought better of going up against the combined might of the Rumpy Stumpy, a well-trained and professional team from Khemri, when so many of his wood elf team mates would certainly not be backing him up.

And for once, Coach Robsson was not bellowing obscenities from the sidelines. In fact, Hayride to Hell could hear him giving encouragement to the prone elves.
“That’s it, Gold Strike,” he called out. “Protect those hands. No! Stay down for goodness’ sake! It’s fine. Enjoy the sun while you can.”

Needless to say, after such a spineless performance, the White Men with Black Suits finished the first half 0-1 down, but the half-time pep-talk was not what any of the players had expected.
“Good work out there lads,” said Coach Robsson, patting them on the back as they came off and making sure they all got plenty of cool liquid from the team’s ice-filled cask.
“Good work?” said Beds are Burning. “We were totally outplayed all half.”
“You were indeed,” smiled Robsson, “but you all made it off in one piece.”
He paused and looked across to where the team’s apothecary, Doc Onholiday, was tending to the battered wardancer, Bullet With Butterfly Wings.
“Well, almost all of you. But anyway, the point is, we’re only one score down. We can pull that back in the first minute of the second half. Anyone can outrun a Khemri team, and we can pretty much outrun anyone who can outrun a Khemri team. No, the trick will be to come away from here with a draw if we can, a win if we’re lucky, but all our limbs as a priority.”
“So if all you want us to do is survive,” asked One More Cup of Coffee, “why did we bother coming down here in the first place? Why not just play a softer team?”
“Contractual obligations,” replied the coach. “We agreed to play at least two games down here in Khemri when we took the sponsorship deal with Koolmead. They’re trying to break into the cold drinks market down here and so they need the added coverage.”
“In fact,” he said, pointing to the large cask they’d all been drinking from, “Koolmead is what you’re drinking right now.”
The wood elves all looked at their cups in surprise and one or two of them took sips.
“But it just tastes like water,” said So Much for the Afterglow.
“Ah yes, well that’s because it pretty much is just water. I don’t know if any of you have actually tried Koolmead, but I have, and I can honestly tell you it’s disgusting. I mean really, really disgusting. It’s even worse than that foul brew Doc Pepper was peddling last season. So although I was obliged to provide it for you as, and let me get this right, “a refreshingly cool mid-game pick-me-up designed to put the spring back in your step”, they never said anything about not watering it down a bit. So I did. Quite a bit. And believe me, you don’t want it any more concentrated than it is.”
“Now, get a bit of rest in the shade, cool off, and think about how you’re going to stay out of harm’s way for the second half.

But the second half did not go as Coach Robsson had hoped. Sure enough, the White Men scored an easy touchdown within the first few moments, but after the subsequent kick off they began to inflict some damage on Rumpy Stumpy’s skeletons and one or two of the wood elves saw an opportunity to try and win the game.
“No, no, no!” screamed Coach Robsson. “Don’t stand next to them! Run away! Play the deep defence! Deeper! Deeper!”
The Khemri blocking was precise and clinical, but fortunately the wood elves were generally able to roll with the blows or dodge at the last minute and avoid the worst of the punishment being dealt out to them. It was an ugly contest, with neither side able to open up the play, and despite Robsson’s best efforts at self-preservation, the wood elves were slowly being worn down. Finally, as the game drew towards a close, the Khemri team set themselves up for a last minute score. Coach Robsson shrugged. It was bound to happen. That was the way with these plodding teams. A slow trundle down the field, using up time until there was no chance of a quick reply. Still, that was life and…
“NO!” he bellowed, tearing at what little remained of his hair.
Hayride to Hell had rushed back, placing himself right in the line of fire. Now Gold Strike was charging in at the ball carrier. It was desperate. It was suicide…
It was a success! With a desperate lunge Gold Strike knocked the skeleton off his bony feet and the ball scattered. The Khemri team piled in, scrabbling for the loose ball but the final whistle blew before they were able to recover it and run it in for the score.


* * * * *


“Don’t ever do anything like that ever again,” said Coach Robsson as the players staggered off the pitch, sweaty and battered but triumphant in the draw.
“I mean it. You pull a stunt like that next time we come down here and I promise you’ll be staying here. For a very, very long time.”
But as the wood elves had actually suffered no further serious injuries, he was unable to stay angry for long.
“Good work out there though. It’s not often I get to come away from a match down in Khemri with almost a full squad. And guess what? As a special bonus for not losing, I’m giving you all something extra in your pay packets.”
The wood elves all stopped and looked eagerly at the coach. Such an offer wasn’t made very often.
“You each get this,” he announced, holding up a small commemorative cask of Koolmead. “A present from our sponsors. Something to take home and enjoy at your leisure. And I warn you, anyone who tries anything brave and noble next time we play against a Khemri team will be drinking the whole thing undiluted!”
”