“Chapter 1


Coach Robsson took a deep breath in preparation for one of his trademark mighty bellows. His team were all over the place and they needed some sharp discipline quickly. Then he let the air back out slowly as a long sigh, closed his eyes and relaxed his shoulders. And suddenly the fact that his players were standing around chatting to each other rather than setting up to receive the kick off didn’t seem so important after all.
“Hey, guys,” he called out. “Surfs up!”
At once the elves of Hang Eleven stopped their chatting and began to pay attention, although their offensive set-up was more of a straggling line than a tight attacking formation and Robsson was beginning to wonder whether he was somewhat misguided in his belief that surfers would make the best Bloodbowl players.
But then their captain, Surf City took control.
“Charlie”, he called to the team’s treeman. “Take point. Pipeline, deep back. Ride the Wild Surf…” He paused. “That is such a cool name, by the way.”
Ride the Wild Surf, the team’s catcher smiled.
“Thanks, man. Appreciate it.”
“Anyway, dude. You go out wide. Pick up the wave right out at the edge and just go with the flow till you can bring it home safe and dry.”
“No worries, bro’. It’s covered.”
Coach Robsson sat down and tried to keep relaxed. They seemed to have it sorted.

Sadly, that wasn’t actually the case. Pipeline made the pas and Ride the Wild Surf broke free and made for the endzone as planned, but their opponents, the orcs of Da stenen faldt til pungen 2, were having none of it and suddenly Wild Surf was knocked clean off his feet by an orc blitzer.
“Ooo, wipeout!” called out Surfer Girl who was following close behind.
“What?” asked Wipeout.
“No, not you, dumbass. I mean wipeout. Wild Surf was wiped out.”
“Don’t you call me a dumbass, surfer chick.”
“Well don’t you call me a chick, dumbass.”

Meanwhile the orcs were busy ferrying the ball across to the far side of the field where they were attempting to set up the traditional ‘cage’ around the ball carrier. Surf City leap in to break it up, however, and with the help of the rest of his crew, he was able to force the orcs to abandon their tight defence and send their two goblins scuttling upfield on their own.
“Incoming!” screamed Balboa Blue as he piled into the closest of the goblins and there was a almighty crack as the poor creature’s spine snapped beneath him.
“Oops”, he said by way of apology.
“S’fine, man”, said Surf City reassuringly. “That’s the name of the game. He talked the talk and he walked the walk. Respect.”

For the rest of the first half neither side could do anything with the ball. However, as the whistle blew for the break it was clear the orcs had come off worst, with two injured orcs and a dead goblin. The elves had not a scratch on them.
“My gods”, cried Robsson to his players as they came off the field. “That was awesome. You tore into those orcs like they were… like they were Halflings.”
Surf City shrugged.
“Orcs don’t surf.”
“Clearly”, said Robsson. “Well, keep up the good work and we’ve got ourselves our first win.”
“And then we can go surf, yes?” asked Walk Don’t Run.
“All afternoon.”
“Cool!”

The second half was more of the same. The orcs pounded into the surfing elves with everything they had, but the elves just kept getting back up. Robsson had never seen anything like it. Eventually, inevitably, the elves got the ball back and once again, Pipeline sent it spinning down to Ride the Wild Wind who ran it in for his second score. At the final whistle, the elves had two scores and not a single scratch to their names.


* * * * *

The orc coach, Mak666 came over for the traditional handshake and Robsson could clearly see the frustration in his eyes.
“Congratulations”, he muttered. “You clearly had the better team today.”
“Indeed. What was up with your lot?”
Mak666 spat with disgust.
“Orcs. One day they’re unbeatable, the next they’ve forgotten how to play. I’ve certainly had it with this bunch though. Two losses and not even any kills to show for it. They’re gone.”

Robsson returned to his own players to find them already partying. Some of the crowd had joined them.
“Man, we were electric out there.”
“We so totally rule.”
“Ka-ching!”
“We are the greatest Bloodbowl team in the whole history of Bloodbowl. Ever.”
“Guys”, called out Coach Robsson. “You won one match. Well done. But don’t get carried away. The gods are said to watch these games with interest, and they don’t like hubris.”
“Hubris?” asked Balboa Blue. “Hubris Rakarth?”
“Darkside Cowboys, ’24 to ’37” added Surfer Girl helpfully. “Became eight feet tall when a spell backfired. Still went on to be top scorer for the Cowboys for the following three years before osteoporosis forced him to retire.”
“You are such a nerd” said Wipeout.
“Why do the gods hate Rakarth?”
“Not Hubris Rakarth”, said Robsson. “Hubris. You know, pride.”
“Pride?”
“Not little Billy “Home” Pride of the Midmeadow Dandelions? What’s he done to annoy the gods?”
Coach Robsson closed his eyes.
“Calm”, he muttered to himself. “Calm. Calm. Calm.”
”