Background:

Mr. Rabe's father was a Blood Bowl player himself, his mother one of his team's cheerleaders. While his procreation was probably not exactly planned, his parents stuck together, bound by love to each other and to the sport. Rabe Jr. was meant to follow in the steps of his father, even though he showed early ambitions and talent that predestined him for a higher education. Unthinkable for the down-to-earth folks that he was surrounded by. Hence he kept training and secretly sought out a mentor who would teach him reading, writing and refined manners.
Playing in his first youth team, he found out that he was seriously disgusted by body contact with other players. Due to this (and not being able to turn down his meanwhile invalid father's wishes and hopes), he focused on the only object that did not sweat and thereby insulted his nostrils: The ball. Unfortunately for him, opposing players frequently show great interest in the pigskin as well, so his next goal was to get rid off it as soon as possible. Naturally, Mr. Rabe developed into a thrower, and - driven by his self-protecting instincts - not a bad one even.
When his mentor one day introduced him to a secret club for gentleman later on, he was finally able to live his intellectual and aesthetic desires freely. He wasn't too happy when the club members decided to enter the pitch by themselves, but since he was never good in withstanding family or peer-group pressure, he followed them with mixed feelings.

Quote: "You take care of the opposition, I take care of the ball. Deal?"