“Chapter 4

"Right," said Coach Robsson, still smouldering with resentment after his team's last performance. "Let's see what fantastically unpleasant match-up you have for us today, shall we?"
Ebeneezer gingerly handed him one of the match programmes a group of goblins was hastily scribbling at a rickety table set up just beyond one of the endzones. The ink smudged in his hand.
"I tried to find someone that looked weak and easy," Ebeneezer explained, desperately trying to get himself out of trouble before any appeared. "Frogs. They're not so bad, are they?"
"Mayan Mystics," Robsson read. New slann team. Only played one previous game. Hmm, that seems okay."
Ebeneezer let out a sigh of relief.
"Oh, wait a sec."
Ebeneezer quickly sucked the sigh back in. "Problem, coach?" he asked, in what he hoped was not a leading question sort of way.
"The opposing coach," Robsson said. "He's a guy by the name of SergeiBautin. I remember him from a few years back. We were in the same league and played a good few games against each other."
"So, did you...win any of these games?"
"Oh yes, I beat him. Twice if I recall. And there were three or four draws as well."
Ebeneezer felt the relief trickling down his arms. "And he never won?"
"Won? Of course he won. Ran rings round me most of the time. Came top of the league, or as near as damn it, every year I was there. The guy's a legend.No way we're going to win this match."
"Oh." Ebeneezer waited for the shouting to start, or the hitting, or the throwing things. Instead, Coach Robsson smiled at him.
"Coach?"
"Hmmm?"
"You're smiling. You're not tipping the slops bucket over me. To be honest, it's scaring me a little."
"What? Oh, don't worry about the match. I know SergeiBautin's play style. He'll win, and he'll no doubt do it in style. But more importantly, he'll do it without causing much in the way of injuries - especially with a team of newly-spawned frogs. We'll just call it a training match. The lads will get some exercise and I'll hopefully pick up a few tips and tactics for future games. No, what interests me more is the fact that the audience probably doesn't know who he is. They're all locals, from the look of it, and my guess is they've come here expecting to see a team of undead wipe the floor with a bunch of tadpoles."
"So they're going to be disappointed?"
"Who cares. More importantly, they're going to lose a lot of money betting on the wrong team."
"Whereas," Ebeneezer cut in, suddenly understanding where Coach Robsson was going with this. "Anyone betting on the Mystics is going to rack up a tidy sum."
"Especially if we come out strong in the first few minutes, make it look as though we're doing what's expected of us."
"And who knows, if we come out really strong, we may even win the game after all."
Coach Robsson let out a loud roar of laughter. "Ha ha ha. But seriously? No. No we won't."


* * *


Da Hui did come out really strong. They collected the ball, set up a defensive pocket and, just for good measure, Ivan the Terribly left a passing linefrog with a broken neck. Robsson had wanted to score early, to boost the odds against the Mystics, but they were proving every bit as tough as he'd imagined they would be. The leaping slann were able to break into every defensive position the undead attempted, and no matter how hard the golems and wights tried to hit them, they just seemed to melt away, only to reappear exactly where Robsson didn't want them to be. With ten minutes left before the half, it was touch and go.
"Okay," Robsson told Ebeneezer. "Best go and put as much on the slann as you can. Doesn't look as though we can hold out much longer."
"Right you are, Coach," the Geezer said, and hurried off to the betting tent with the sad-looking bag of gold which was all the team had to show for itself.
And not before time, Robsson thought, for just as he saw Ebeneezer enter the tent, there was an almighty skrulching sound from the field and play was temporarily halted while half-a-dozen halflings struggled under the weight of Sanjfrntyg, who seemed to have skewered himself on his own armour blade.
And then, as expected, the Mayan Mystics stole the ball from a weakened undead offence, who suddenly found themselves expected to play defence, and right before the half they ran it in for the score.

Robsson was uncharacteristically cheerful during the break. The Geezer from Giza had given him the wink and the bet was safe and sound - or as safe and sound as any promise of gold is where goblins are concerned. Also, Sanjfrntyg had patched himself up from his bag of spares - many of which, Robsson noticed from the foul stench that suddenly pervaded the changing room, were clearly well past their best-before date. Still, he seemed to be moving as well as usual, and a quick incantation from Ebeneezer ensured that all the bits would stay where they were supposed to for the rest of the match.

The second half went exactly the way Robsson had imagined it would. The slann scored again, almost without trying, and by then the match was in the bag for the Mystics. Even so, Robsson had his pride to play for. It was supposed to be a training match after all, so as the team set up to receive the kick Robsson gave them a few quick instructions.
"Just enjoy yourselves out there. Try a few things. Be daring."
"Can I try a throw?" Silas the Unclean asked.
"Pass," Robsson corrected him. It had been one of his rules with the wood elves. They were not called throws, they were passes, made by passers, not throwers. A throw did not imply a catch at the end of it. But, he told himself sadly, that was wood elves. This lot probably did make throws. And if last week's game was anything to go by, a lot of time they didn't even manage a successful throw, let alone pass. "Sure," he told the ghoul. "Knock yourself out."
"Really?" Silas asked. "With the ball, or with my fist?"
"No. It's just a saying. It means... Forget it. Just... yes, try a throw. But at least throw it in the general direction of someone who might actually catch it."
"Kaaaal!" Kaaaal said, hopefully.
"No," Robsson told him. "No catching. You have to be able to turn your head and raise both hands at the same time before you can try a catch. Understand?"
"Kaaaal." Kaaaal said, sadly.


Silas did try a throw, and much to Coach Robsson's delight...and shock, it turned into a pass as Kornelius Kane plucked the badly-tumbling ball out of the air. The wight then grasped it with both hands, tucked his head down, and ran straight into a suddenly-appearing plague of frogs. There was nowhere to go. He couldn't reach the endzone, he couldn't pull back and consolidate his position, and he certainly couldn't try a pass himself, so he did the only other thing he could think of. "Here," he said, dumping the ball into Celandril's paws. "You do something with it."
Celandril looked shocked for a second, but then whatever vestiges of a wood elf mind-set were still inside took over and he ran. And ran. And ran. And scored.
Robsson nodded. "That'll do, wolf."


* * *


"Hey, SergeiBautin," Robsson said as the two coaches shook hands after the match. "Long time. How's it been going?" He put his arm round his opponent in a friendly gesture, not unknown in Bloodbowl circles, but certainly not usual or, generally, welcome.
"Oh, you know," SergeiBautin said, eyeing the encroaching arm suspiciously and attempting to wriggle free. "I've been keeping busy."
"Still not lost the old magic, I see. That was some performance."
"Yes, I suppose. A few old tricks. A few new tricks."
"Well," Robsson said, with a final squeeze of SergeiBautin's shoulder. "Nice to see you again. And see you again, perhaps."
As the slann coach gratefully hurried away as quickly as possible, Ebeneezer the Geezer joined Robsson.
"All good?" Robsson asked.
Ebeneezer tapped his pockets, which looked full and heavy and gave a reassuring jangle. "All good. You?"
"Oh yes." Robsson patted the side of his loose-fitting jacket, inside which was a hide-bound folder which looked exactly like the one Coach SergeiBautin had used to keep his play charts in, and which had been tucked under his arm until a couple of minutes ago. "All good."”