“Chapter 2

“Chaos,” Coach Robsson said.
Kornelius Kane, self-appointed leader of Da Hui, gazed across the field to where today’s opponents were warming up. “No,” he he said, with a slightly patronising smile. “They’re not chaos, they’re orcs.”
“Not them!” Robsson snapped. “Us!”
“No,” Kornelius corrected him, with a slightly patronising smile. “We’re not chaos either, we’re undead.”
“I don’t mean us,” Robsson screamed. “I mean our performance, last week, against those dark elves. “The whole thing, from start to finish, was complete chaos.”
“Oh,” said Kornelius, with a slightly patronising smile.
“And stop smirking!”
“I’m not, Kornelius said, defensively, with a slightly patronising smile. “It’s rictus.”
“Rictus?”
“I know this one,” Ebeneezer piped up, helpfully. “He was one of the zombies from last year’s roster. Played in two games. Showed talent, but then got eviscerated by a minotaur, as I remember.”
“No, not him,” Igor the medic cut in. “He means the rictus grin of the dead. As the flesh dries out it shrinks and pulls back from the mouth, revealing more of the teeth and gums. Some say it looks like a smile.”
“Oh. Well. Fine.” Robsson looked closely at the wight’s face and gave a slight shudder. This undead business was going to take some getting used to. “Anyway, as I was saying. Last week’s performance was a mess and I don’t want today’s effort to go the same way.”
“But we won,” Ivan the Terribly offered.
“Only according to the score,” Robsson replied. There was silence as half the team looked confused and the other half stared at him with slightly patronising smiles. “Look,” he continued. “Believe it or not, there’s more to this game than simply scoring.”
“There’s also killing,” Number Eight said.
“And stealing body parts,” Sanjfrntyg added.
“And fouling,” Silas the Unclean added. “Don’t forget that.”
“Kaaaarl,” Kaaaarl moaned.
“Yes, yes.” Robsson said dismissively. “Obviously there’s all that. But there’s also…” He paused. He had been about to tell them of the beauty of the passing game, the thrill of the long bomb, the glory of the diving catch for a touchdown. But on second thoughts, perhaps that could wait a week or two. “Never mind. For today, let’s just get to grips with the fundaments.”
“Er, technically,” Igor cut in. “Getting to grips with an opponent’s fundamentals counts as fouling.”
“Great,” Silas the Unclean said. “I like that bit.”
“Kaaaarl!”
“Oh boy,” Coach Robsson thought. “What have I let myself in for?” And it came as a huge relief when the referee called the teams to the field.


* * *


"Orcs," Ebeneezer the Geezer stated. "They're a tough nut to crack."
"But not so bright," Coach Robsson replied. "I have a few tricks up my sleeve." And a bit of a trickle as well, he noted, surreptitiously sniffing his armpit, and he made a note to find a stronger deodorant. "So what can you tell me about their coach, BorderReiver?"
'Not a lot. He's new to the league this year - played a bit in one of the northern leagues, and now he's looking to try his luck further south."
"Hmmm." Robsson was watching the orcs take their positions. There were twelve of them - eleven once the refereee has chased the extra one off the field - and two of them were throwers. Orcs generally favoured the running game, with the occasional quick pass, either when it was absolutely necessary, or once the rest of the team had cleared the field and there were no opposing players left to get in the way. But two throwers? Maybe BorderReiver has a trick or two up his own sleeve. "Ivan," he called as the wight joined the line of scrimmage. "Look out for the throwers." Ivan looked confused. "The throwers," Robsson repeated, mimicking the throwing action a few times to illustrate his point.
Ivan's smile grew even wider and he waved back.
"We're doomed," Robsson muttered.

But they weren't doomed. It was a dry day, with just the usual amount of mud, and the conditions favoured the undead. Silas the unclean collected the kick right back at his own endzone, ran it up to Skabbadabbadu, who scampered away unopposed and ran it in for the first score.
"Well, that was easy," Ebeneezer said, giving a double thumbs-up to the team as they reset.
'Yes, but now the orcs get the ball. Let's see what our boys can do on defence."

Quite a bit, as it turned out. Despite being out-bashed on the front line, both golems held their ground while the wolves and wights came in around the sides in the traditional 'horns-of-the-dead-buffalo' pincer movement. The orcs found themselves hemmed in, and time ran out before they could break free.

The team were in high spirits during the halftime break. Ivan the Terribly bounded up and thrust his desiccated features right in front of Coach Robsson, making him choke on his orange segment. "Did you see? Did you see? I did what you said and went for the small ones with the funny caps. I smote them both down with furious vengeance, and now they're both lying down."
"Good job," Robsson managed, once his orange was out of the way. "Keep up the good work."
"You mean you want me to go off and attack them in their team's dugout, while they're still recovering from their wounds?"
"No, that's not what I..."
"Because I will if you tell me to. You are my coach and I must obey your every command, or else break my vow of service and crumble to dust beneath the unbearable weight of my unworthiness."
"Really?"
"Really."
"Absolutely anything I say?"
"Anything."
Coach Robsson couldn't resist it. "Alright, stand on your head."
Ivan immediately lay down and attempted to twist his leg up so that he could press his foot down onto his head. It was never going to happen, but Robsson suspected that given enough time, the wight might work out that he could cut off the foot and press it against the side of his head to achieve his goal. And a one-legged wight would be about as much use as a halfling with indigestion.
"Okay stop. That's not exactly what I meant, but I get the point. Now get back out there and win us the match."
"As you wish, Coach." He picked himself up and immediately ran back to the line of scrimmage.
"Where's he off to?" Ebeneezer asked as he watch Ivan take up his position. "Doesn't he know there's still another ten minutes of rest time?"
"He's fine," Robsson said, with a dismissive wave. "Just very keen."

The second half - when it finally started - was more of the same for Da Hui. It wasn't a particularly vicious game, but it was hard-fought on both sides. The orcs settled into a cage and moved the ball slowly up the field, but Robsson was having none of it. He'd broken enough cages in his time - even with wood elves - and these orcs were still rookies, without the skills needed to fight off a dedicated attack. The ball came loose, Silas the Unclean was there to scoop it up and there was nothing the orcs could do about it. 2-0!

With the game lost and time running out, the orcs became more daring in their play, attempting a pass even though both throwers were still off the pitch. When it went astray, Silas the Unclean was there once again, but this time he handed off, leaving it to Celandril to put the final nail in the coffin.
'That puts the final nail in the coffin," Robsson announced.
"Ooooh, don't say that," Ebeneezer hissed. "The lads don't like it when you use the 'c' word. They get all...nervous."
"Oh, right. I understand. Fair point. By the way," Robsson continued. "Have you given any thought to finding us a permanent home? Not," he quickly added, "that kind of a permanent home. I mean somewhere we can have as a base. You know, where we can play home games. Obviously not a proper stadium...well, not at first, anyway, but you know, a field, or a bit of scrubland. We could mark it out with chalk, and maybe put up some flags in the corners, and perhaps some of the local villagers might come and watch us play."
"Just like the proper teams?"
"Exactly. We could be a proper team."
Ebeneezer looked thoughtful. "I hadn't thought of that. Honestly, I thought half the lads would be dead by now. I mean, you know, dead again. I never imagined we'd be looking at two wins a row, no permanent injuries and..." he motioned across to the endzone, where a sorry-looking group of possibly dead, possibly just really dirty and underfed, supporters were attempting some sort of victory dance. "And a growing fanbase."
"So you'll think about it?"
"Better than that, I'll actually do something about it."
"How about somewhere near the ocean?" Robsson suggested. "I'm sure the sea air will be good for the lads."
"And the occasional wash wouldn't be a bad idea, either."
Robsson sniffed. He could smell the team from here. Or was it just one final trickle up his own sleeve? Either way, it was an issue that needed resolving. Clearly Da Hui didn't stink on the field, so it stood to reason they shouldn't stink off the field either. "The ocean then," he said, decisively. "And a wash after every game."”