“From the journal of Lord Catatonia on his meander through the infernal realms

"...it was a cold day in hell, and I decided to spectate from the sidelines, a decision I came to regret as our leaderless rabble threw themselves under the pounding fists of the unliving foe on this fateful day. Though we surprised everyone, ourselves included, by scoring in the first half after a ragged drive down the battlefield, our jubilation turned to a satifying despair as injury upon injury afflicted our goats and warriors. And amongst them dragged off the pitch by ropes pulled by a horse with flaming hooves and blood-red eyes, was the huge corpse of our fetish and pet, our mojo, our companion, guardian, mascot and standard. Moom the Radisher was dead! And would radish no more. Our grief overtook us, followed by a growing hunger, and unholy cadavers hobbled to an equalising score. With our hearts no longer in the match, though for that matter neither were our opponents, quite literally, they drove past us in another scoring run. But in a pleasing display of necrotic incompetance, the ball was dropped by a sprinting player in our endzone. The match was declared ended, and there was nothing left to do but prepare the steak dinners we would all be enjoying. A new damned creature has been drafted, to facilitate our unending drudgery...."”