“The Scrabblers had not had the most fortunate run of games and Egrimov Mintscrape had once again, come to the conclusion that their next game would be their last.

Team Twiceborn had terrorized the Offord Invitational and sported amongst their roster, no fewer than 3 former players from various teams in the league. Plucked from their teams to join Team Twiceborn, not by legal machinations but by an only slightly darker art - that of necromancy.

"So close." Wept Egrimov, "we were almost at the end! Merchandise sales would have broken into profit in just one more game!"

In addition, the rest of the league fixtures looked relatively cushy for the Scrabblers compared to the veritable meat grinder that had been set out before them at the start.

The game started as Egrimov had expected, the Undead laid into their little green opponents with callous disregard for their squishy, diminutive frames. However, the little runts seemed quite unwilling to go down and scrabbled across the turf as if it was freshly-polished ice.

Eventually one of the Undead broke through, with the help of some of his dark brethren. It was clear that no goblins could hope to assail him and he completed his touchdown with ease.

Desperate to whip up the crowd, Egrimov called out to his assembled minions to attempt a desperate novelty.

Team Twiceborn's kick was gathered up and handed to Pilstry, the team's highest scorer.

Pilstry stood next to Stuts, the simple minded troll who had been with the Scrabblers since their formation and joined his voice to the chanting rabble which coalesced around the troll's leg.

Eventually understanding the request, Stuts picked up Pilstry and threw him over the line of scrimmage.

Landing awkwardly, Pilstry bounced to his feet and avoided breaking his stride. He powered the remaining yards to the endzone as the Undead watched on, bewildered.

It took a few moments for the crowd to register what had happened, even the officials were late in blowing the whistle to signal the touchdown and Team Twiceborn were left standing in their stiff formation, not even given a turn to react.

The roar of cheering was deafening, yet Egrimov Mintscrape could almost hear the gold clattering into his coffers above it all as spectators forked out for refreshments and attire.

"We have their attention my minions! Let's have some more of that!" He called out, as best his crackled voice could manage.

The Undead reacted with fury at the indignity of the touchdown and ploughed several goblins into the field in their efforts to bulldoze the ball into the Scrabbler's endzone. The touch down was inevitable as virtually all the little green buggers had been debilitated, however as of yet none had been mortally wounded.

Upon the next kick, precisely the same tactic was employed and Pilstry found himself soaring over the heads of his reanimated opponents. He landed this one with more grace and scuttled through a gap to score his second touchdown and equalize the game.

With only a few minutes remaining the Undead sought to score a winner, but were thwarted by crazed goblins who grappled with their clothing and limbs, weighing them down till they were obliged to see to the runts rather than play ball.

The Goblin's kick was still unreturned and the seconds were ticking down, a callous display of ineptitude by two wights, quite unable to pick up the ball, was eating up time whilst Ghouls effortlessly flicked off green challengers awaiting a pass that seemed never to arrive.

As the last seconds ticked down, Team Twiceborn subdued every goblin around a Ghoul and ran the wight in possession in to hand him the ball.

The crowd gasped as the ball tumbled out onto the field and the numerous Team Twiceborn fans roared in frustration as the final whistle blew. The final score 2-2.

"YES!" Egrimov exclaimed, dancing around in his long, unwashed overcoat. The Scrabblers had not only survived but had earned a draw and no doubt gained a reputation for entertaining play that would bring in more fans next week.

The Saucy Scrabblers who could walk hobbled off to the dugout, smiling in a dim fashion at their good fortune.”