“"Rite ladz, dis iz da big un," said coach Snot Grotly in his prematch talk. "Wez seen wot dez little fellas fink dey is capabel ov an I want youz boyz to go outt dere an shutt dem down. Dey iz only ickle fings sos dey wont be able to stands de kinds ov beetins dat you boyz can lay down."

"Right you are coach."

And the ogres lived up to their repuation as fearsome dealers of their particular kind of pain. Happy Dude took a nasty blow to the back and was taken off on a stretcher. Crashy Dude's skull was victim of a horrendous looking stomp. And poor Funky Dude was hit so hard by Yoichirogre that the crowd thought he'd be leaving the pitch in pieces but fortunatly the apoth was able to put down his bowl of soup for a second and save the poor flings life.

However, as is usual for the LOC, all of this carnage came at a price. Suffice to say that blocks do not always win games and too often did the ogres forget to secure the ball, instead focussing on their blood lust.

Coach Grotly could only watch from the sidelines. "I suppoze I did bring dis onn meself by tellin dem to bash dere skullz in. Oi Roland, youse sees dat round fing. Trys and gets it ovver dat line."

"Right you are boss. If I collapse the wave function over this poor flings head then I can integrate over the curve required to complete the perfect pass and hopefully distance shouldn't factor into the equation. Go long Yoichirogre!"

"Yesh, do dat fing," coach Grotly looked bemused.

And Roland once again proved that there is no science like ogre science as he completed a beautiful long pass that was easily caught by Yoichirogre who ran it in.

"We won, we won," squeaked the remaining lone snotling on the pitch.

"We lost actually," said Roland. "But it feels like we won. Now loads your injured brothers and sisters onto the back of my mournfang and we'll get you lot back into tip top shape"

Bonehead failure count: 8/63 = 1/7.9
Ongoing failure count: 120/791 = 1/6.6”