“Another case of Renegade luck.

The first half went okay. I managed to score a reasonable touchdown with very little hope of being stopped - well done me.

Then the second half started.
After a few turns I decided to stop defending, let my opponent score a quick touchdown and in true chaos style, grind down the pitch for my winning second. Sadly, the winds of luck blew the local sewer stench straight down my throat - as always. The sweltering heat took out three of my chaos warriors while the fourth lay unconscious like the last bloke that tried it on with my fat ass girlfriend. I mean, these are chaos warriors, supposedly the hardest meanest fighters in the old world! Mine get injured and fall over quicker than a bunch of international portugeuse footballers.
Ren-luck struck again when I double skulled 4 turns in a row and only just managed to avoid another embarrassing whooping by a coach with no fingers! Its either that or he doesn't speak a word of English and can't type.
There's nothing worse than playing a coach that doesn't bother to answer questions or speak in the chat box. I dont ask for phylosophical conversation (you can probably see that by the way I spelt it) just some friendly chit chat, you know - where's your address? - because i'm preparing a ricin letter bomb for the next time you score!
Which brings me on to my final question

<b>Where the fuck do I sacrifice my grans cat in an effort to please nuffle?!!</b>”