“The Night Goblin Nasties took the field as absoloute underdogs. There was no way they could win this game. It was truly more likely that the moon would crash onto the pitch and destroy the opposition team than it was that the NGN would cross the touchdown line once. If there was a gobstopper so sour, that the cheek contraction of an unwary child sampling it was so fast that his head was whipped into a singularity and created a black hole that destroyed the entire universe and everything, well... that happening was more likely than the Night Goblin Nasties winning a game. And yet those brave, beautiful Gobbo's took the field, aware that they were about to be Blood Bowled into the turf.
The first half started strangely. Ukla Butterfingers and his amazing chainsaw went straight for the biggest player, Urg, the Bastards of Brewings Troll. Who just shrugged off those screaming teeth of whirling fury. And while the spectators were watching the imminent bloodshed, one little Gobbo bastard found himself in terrifyingly unfamiliar territory. With the ball in hand, in the oppositions half. So he ran. Little Ugasniker ran. And scored. Silence. Someone had to tell the Nasties coach what had happened. Ukla Butterfingers was banned by the ref. But noone noticed. The Nasties had scored. A touchdown. Both teams regrouped and took the field. Both teams looked like frightened and bewildered infants whose Uncles were demonstrating that 'He had their nose!'. The drive started terribly for the Nasties as the BOB immediately started thrashing them. Poor little Handqueefer, the Nasties Fanatic, was instantly smashed by Urg the Troll, hammering the poor little guy into the Turf, his own Ball smashed into his tiny little head. Smelling Gobbo blood, the rest of the Nasties panicked and did something a little bit silly. They blitzed. And scored. Somewhere a little child picked up an experimentally sour gobstopper. Snargi the Nasties runt had scored a touchdown. Confused and more than a little bit scared, they readied themselves for another drive. But halftime was upon them. And the Fanatics were two-nil up. Angry spectators were already leaving the stadium. The Bastards of Brewings coach was furious, and after a rousing halftime bollocking, his team took the field ready to cause havoc. But the Nasties had released Hoodskar Underarm upon the field. Hoodskar, a semi professional cricketer, turned professional bombadier, rained bombs upon the opposition team, causing injuries and chaos. And that was before kickoff. The ball was kicked high, but the crowd and the players were focused on the passing exchange of bombs between Pus and Hoodskar Underarm. Once, twice, three times the bomb was thrown and caught. A fourth. But not a fifth. Ohhhh no. Pus woke up in the Bastards of Brewing dugout staring at the shredded stumps were his little handsies had once proudly perched. Meanwhile back on the field, the ball had landed far in the Nasties half, and the only player concentrated had chased it all the way. A horrible little Skaven called Bruce. This BOB player snatched up the ball and.... hit a little green wall. Spilling the bladder into the waiting arms of Nasties runt Skarrot Moonbiter, the ratman lay groaning on the bloodsoaked grass. And the darling little Gobbos began to move downfield, silouetted by the many explosions of Underarms bombs. The box slowly crept down field with the Bastards of Brewing players throwing themselves with reckless abandon at it. By the time the Nasties box had crossed the halfway line it finally crumbled. The Bastards were in. There was hissing. There was screaming. The thud of meat. The snap of bone. Somewhere near them was an earshattering explosion. And when the dust cleared Skarrot Moonbiter was going tits out for the line while the rest of the team were stomping the shit out of Percy the Bastard. 3-0. The moon shook perilously in the sky. 3-0. The ref banned Underarm, but the damage was done. Around the field players lay broken and exhausted. In the dugouts the maimed and shellshocked screamed in agony. The two coaches shook hands cordially and no boasting was done at all. But the Night Goblin Nasties had beaten the Bastards of Brewing THREE to NOTHING. Nobody dared fall asleep that night.”