"Hobgoblin, Hobgoblin,
"What shall we do with Hobgoblin?
"Stand him on the line,
"Watch him get knocked down,
"Stand him on the line another time."

"Hobgoblin ..."

--

Poor old Hobgoblin really was confused after gaining his +ST - he spent almost all of the following game in the KO box. We're not sure whether his head was still aching from all that difficult thinking, or he was just perplexed that most of the opposition looked just like him. His days of glory still await him …

--

One day, Hobgoblin was standing around, like he usually does, occasionally getting hit by fast-moving, busy-looking people. He was in the middle of a large grass field, surrounded by lots of shouting people, as he had been for the last hour and a half. He was getting tired.

He was also very confused. He was meant to be helping his friends - the little guys with the horned helmets and the funny accents - to be beat up some other people - little guys, with horned helmets, and funny accents. Something about this made Hobgoblin's head hurt.

There was one thing he could be sure of though: the great big bull-type fellow - the one bellowing steam into his face every so often; the one with horns on his head - that was <i>definitely</i> not Hobgoblin's friend. It had been hitting him a lot! That much was easy, then: if he saw someone with horns on his head, he knew he could hit them!

Still, things seemed to get simpler as the game went on. He wasn't sure, but there seemed to be fewer and fewer of his friends with him on the field. They were still running about like mad - faster than Hobgoblin could cope with - but things didn't seem to be going well. He hit the nearest person with horns on their head and hoped it would help.

Hobgoblin felt the little guy's jaw break when his fist connected. <i>That felt good!</i>, he thought. The crowd cheered, and Hobgoblin grinned and waved at someone who looked like his old mum, but about a quarter of her size. Like a flash, another little guy was crouching over the one he'd hit, fiddling with his jaw. Before Hobgoblin knew what was going on, the crazy small person was back on his feet, good as knew, and he seemed to be really angry with Hobgoblin!

Hobgoblin stumbled back under a wave of blows from the furious - and surprisingly strong - human. <i>What did I do wrong?</i> he wondered. <i>Was that one of my friends? Did I hit one of my friends?</i> Then a fist hit him right on the chin and he fell to the ground and stopped thinking for a while …

Later, Hobgoblin was still groggy, but back on his feet. There seemed to be three or four of his friends left with him, and they seemed to have some kind of crazy plan to do something with that pigskin thing. Fortunately the plan didn't require Hobgoblin, and he could just stand by this white line, leaning against the bull-headed thing opposite him. He gave it a grin: it might not be his friend, but surely it understood how confusing all this was?

The bull-thing only bellowed, and lashed out at him. Without thinking - naturally - Hobgoblin pushed the bull thing away with all his strength. It tumbled away from him, rolling end over end, until it lay flat on the turf, snorting and mooing in terrible pain. <i>Did I do that?</i> he wondered. The crowd were cheering again, as about twenty little guys rushed out on the pitch and managed to carry the huge beast off. Hobgoblin was about to wave, but then lots of little people were hitting him again …

Suddenly it was quiet, and hard fists were no longer thumping against his even harder skull. His friends were there, and they all seemed to be okay! They led him off the pitch, cheering him and slapping him on the back - that hurt, but he didn't say anything. They put him in his chair, and even gave him some beer to drink! He must've done something good!

Slowly, Hobgoblin began to realise that they were all talking about him. He tried to listen, but it didn't make a lot of sense. Apparently, he'd learned something during the game, but his friends weren't sure just what. Hobgoblin didn't think he'd learned anything: except perhaps that being hit hurt; and hitting was fun. He might have known that before, though …

Anyway, his friends seemed to be saying that he'd learned something important. Either he'd learned how to be a bigger, stronger Ogre; or he'd learned how to hit people better, and take getting hit better too. This still didn't make much sense: hitting was hitting; and surely Hobgoblin had already grown as big and strong as he was ever going to? He wasn't a young Ogre anymore, that much he did know.

After a long rumination, Hobgoblin managed to speak: "I don't get it. If I'm stronger, surely I'll hit people better. And if I hit people better, surely that's just like being stronger?" Now all his friends were shouting at him, as though he'd said something really stupid: even more stupid than normal, that is. One of them even threw beer on him: it can't have been that bad!

Soon enough they started ignoring him again though, and Hobgoblin was left to his own, slow thoughts. <i>Stronger. Hit better. Stronger? Hit better? Stronger! Hit better!</i> He scratched his head. This was going to take a lot of thought. He'd better get some sleep …

[NB - Eventually, Hobgoblin realised he had become stronger after all. The End.]