Dreadpeak's Delusionals

CIBBL SPRING YEAR SIX, DEEP CAVERNS CHAMPIONS



CIBBL WINTER YEAR SEVEN, MID BRACKET, CHAMPIONS


2 Yrs FOULING AROUND



It was a long time since he had seen such talented players all together, coach Frak thought. Fast runners scaring the opponent's backfield, smart throwers with excelent ball handling and fine strategies and, of course, strong blitzers that could carry the whole enemy team on their shoulders.
“That job is defenetly the easiest i can recall” he thought, with a sharp smile hidden by his Red and green pois scarf, colours of the Delusionals, that he started wearing after a fan gave it to him for his gratitude for the last victorious match. Frak was delighted, everything was fine and next match was coming. The final match, he whistled and all the players sorrounded him in relogious silence to listen their coach motivational speech: “You know gits, when, or if, you grow old You find out that life is just a game of feet. So is bloodbowl. Because in either game, life or bloodbowl, the margin for error is smaller than a snotling”
all players were so silent that he can hear his heart bumping.
“The feet we need are everywhere around us”
He stood up from the bench and cleared his voice, dramaticly “On this team, we fight for every foot”
“On this team, we tear ourselves, and everyone around us
to pieces for that foot.” and he looked at the fanatic “Cause we know when we add up all those feet that's going to make the freaking difference between WINNING and LOSING between LIVING and DYING!” He shouted the last sentences with a perfect dramatic style
“That's a team, gentlemen, and either we heal now, as a team, or we will die as individuals.
That's bloodbowl guys. That's all it is” paus “Now, whattaya gonna do?”
As soon has he spoke his last words he opened his eyes.
It was dark, he was lying on the bottom of his bench, sorrounded by his players. Mostly dead, some injured, empty cans of Orca-Cola all around. Perfect silence. His head was a mess... aching like hammers hitting him with no mercy.
“ahwww!” he whispered “those damn mushrooms...” he lifted on his bench “What a trip...” and as soon the hallucination of his speech vanished he started looking among his players to see if he was able to field at least a couple of them... and that was the moment he found out where all feet had gone. The mushroom addict with jersey number 3 had one of those feet deep inside his nose with a stupid smile in his face and said “Oh coach... i found the foot...someone's foot at least”