“Chapter 10

Coach Robsson gave a huge sigh of resignation.
“Dwarves. Well, it had to happen sometime I suppose.”
Surf City patted the coach on the shoulder.
“Dude, relax. We walk the walk, remember. We’ll take whatever comes. And if any of us don’t make it out, well, you know what to do with us.”
“But they just stand there and hit anything that moves. And they gang up on you something terrible.”
“And they pick your pockets while you’re down as well,” added Surfer Girl.
“Well”, said the coach, “there’s not much advice I can give except try not to die.”
“I hear that,” said Surfer Girl.

As it turned out, Hang Eleven were set to play not just any dwarves but some of the meanest, roughest and downright ugliest dwarves the league had to offer. Little Dorfs were a new team, but after six games they had yet to lose, and more impressive yet, had yet to suffer a single casualty.
Coach Robsson turned to the team’s apothecary, Doc Onholiday.
“Better set up a couple more beds, Doc. You’re likely to be kind of busy this afternoon.”
He looked into the apothecary’s tent. It looked more like a well-organised field hospital.
“Way ahead of you, Boss. I’ve played dwarves before.”
Robsson nodded with approval.
“But maybe don’t have the coffins quite so obvious, huh?”

But Coach Robsson was in for a surprise. Hang Eleven stood their ground against the dwarves and gave as good as they got. Well, not quite as good, perhaps, but he was surprised and delighted to see that the first player to be carried off the pitch was a dwarf, not an elf.
By the end of the first half, Hang Eleven were 2-0 up and only two elves down.
“Why is it always fractured skulls?” asked Coach Robsson as Surf City was being patched up in the hospital tent. “At this rate the entire team is going to be like one big cranial jigsaw puzzle.”
He smiled. Yes, he liked that. He’d remember that one for later.

The second half brought no surprises. Little Dorfs had obviously been given a stern talking to during the break because they came back out with grim determination clearly etched onto each and every bearded face. Sadly for the elves, it was not a determination to win, but a determination to cause as much pain as possible. Even once they had the ball in a good scoring position, they chose to ‘play it safe’ and hold on to it while they crowded round poor Charlie and kicked him while he was down. Over and over. except when they became too frustrated and went for a softer target for a change. Fortunately for the elves, Robsson had insisted they leave their purses with him, so although the dwarves came away with fists a good deal more covered in blood and sap, they were certainly no richer as well.

For a while the referee did what most sensible Bloodbowl referees would do in a similar situation – namely nothing – but after a while the boos of the crowd became too much even for him and he began sending players off. Having abandoned the scoring game however, there was little for the dwarves to do on what was, by this stage a rather deserted pitch, so they merrily continued to foul anything that refused to get up and take a proper beating from them. When the final whistle blew, a good third of the dwarven team had already finished in the showers and were ready to go home – if in fact they’d even bothered with the shower. Coach Robsson suspected not.
“Well”, he said, smiling broadly to the battered collection of players around him. “A win against dwarves. That’s good any day of the week but today you not only beat some dwarves, you handed Little Dorfs their first defeat AND gave them their first two injuries.”
Surf City, his head now bandaged to within an inch of its life, shrugged.
“Something tells me they’ll be back stronger and angrier than ever.”
“True. True. But they’ll no longer be untouchable thanks to you lot.”
“Actually”, said Surfer Girl, “as far as I’m concerned they’ll stay untouchable until they’ve discovered washing. With soap. I’ve met trolls that didn’t smell that bad.”
“And I’ve met trolls that didn’t play that bad”, added Depth Charge. “And that’s saying something.”

Coach Robsson looked around at his players. They were battered and bruised, but they were happy. And finally, they were a team. Not a very big one, it had to be said, but a team nonetheless. He was proud of them today.
“Right. Enough talk. R ‘n’ R time.”
“Rock and roll?” asked Wipeout.
“Rest and recuperation. You’ve earned it, big time. Transport is laid on, and Point Mayhem is just a few miles down the coast. If you can take on the Dorfs and survive, then that little beauty should be no problem.”
He smiled.
“And you can guarantee it’ll be deserted. I think one thing today clearly showed us is that…”
They all joined in and shouted it loud and clear…
“DWARVES DON’T SURF!”
”