A Great Cup Run
Transcribed by his goblin scribe, Ian H. McKinley
OK, scribe, little buddy, start writing.
Good day, loyal reader.
Yeah, I know you haven’t heard from me in a while. That’s because I’ve had to do a bit of in-cave arse-kicking. Things had been going a bit shite in the league, being out-Casualtied by our opponents in two of the last three matches. My people tell me the Bytown Maulers are down to twenty-sixth in the standings. That sort of thing’s unacceptable, obviously. So I did some arse-bootin’. And all this to say, I’ve straightened the Lads out!
Yeah, yeah, shut-up you little gob-shite scribe! I prioritized the cup, didn’t I? I’m gettin’ to that! Stop yer snortelling and keep writing. You’ll see where this is goin’.
Sorry, that scribe’s lucky I’m in a good mood. Otherwise I might just throttle him.
Anyway, before I go into the details, let me explain how competitions work around here. First of all, the teams play games. I know; hardly a shocker. At the end of the season, teams can qualify for the major league trophy, the Spike! Magazine Championship, or the league’s minor trophy, the Reblock Championship. But, half-way through the season, Bloodweiser sponsors a Champions League knock-out competition. So, I signed up the Maulers for that … and you can guess how happy Bloodweiser was to have us in the mix.
In the first round we was drawn against a Chaos team, Ubermenschen. Don’t ask me. I’ve no idea what it means. Maybe we should ask that prancing dandy, Barren Romulan de Worst-a-him … if he’s sober, that is. Anyway, the Lads actually listened to me and things went according to my game plan. Yeah, I know. I was as shocked as you. We received, got the ball protected so as to tempt the opposition into trying to get it, and then got to work. The Lads was pullin’ down Chosen Warriors so’s Neon “Slime Time” Slanders, the sneaky git, could put the boot in. It worked a charm. Puss Jak’zun even wagged his ass at the Chaos end of the pitch. In the second half, it only got better an’ better as numbers was on our side. We ended up winning five – nil!
“Two – nil, Boss, two-nil!”
You know, scribe, no one wants to know how often you Gobbos wag your hairy green asses at the end of the pitch. I keep tellin’ yaz, the loyal readers want to know the Casualty count! It was five – nil! And it wouldda been more if the league counted foul-Casualties, as any decent league should. Anyway, the Ultras lapped it up like freshly spilled blood on tripe pudding.
So, we progressed to the Quarter-Finals and came up against an Elven Union outfit, the Fart Foundation.
“Hart Foundation, Boss!”
Really? Okay. I thought it was too cool of a name for Elves. I guess I was right. Again.
Now, we met these buggers last season in the league. They hurt a Lad and three Gobbos and the Boyz did sweet frig all in response. Only Konvisse Yeux managed to cause a Casualty. It was a disaster. I reminded the Lads about the game prior to takin’ the pitch and I got ’em all riled-up. I even brought in Helmut Wulf to do a little slicin’ and dicin’.
And wouldn’t ya know it? The Lads listened to me again! Now, I get that some critics from under some obscure rock, think it was stupid not doin’ some ass-wagging late in the first half, but frankly, we wuz havin’ too much fun. Now, Elves squirm better’n most races, so when Helmut was gettin’ to work on ’em, or when Slime Time was puttin’ the boot in, they was endin’ up gettin’ KOed rather than actually Casualtied, but the Ultras enjoyed it nevertheless. By the time the second half rolled around, they only had seven players. The Lads got stuck in again and we managed a four – one win.
“One – nil, Boss, one – nil!”
Yeah, yeah, whatever. Let’s just say we progressed to the Semi-Finals and there were a grand total of two Elves left on the pitch. Like I said, the Ultras loved it.
Then we came up against a Snotling team, La Mycologie, which means ’shrooms in that elegant tongue they use in Lys Bowl. Anyway, it was brilliant! So brilliant, the match officials added a third half to the game! The ’shroom team had twice the number of players as we did, but it didn’t matter, we did twice the number of Casualties! I mean, the Lads wouldda had no excuse, not beatin’ up Snots, but still, you can only beat up the team in front of ya. Ad’aam BigKILL and Fillip Break! both know how to tackle, so they went a-huntin’! Yeah, the Pump Wagons and Trolls were tricky, but we’z HARD! We came away winnin’ nine – two!
“Two – one, Boss. Two – one and you scored at the death of overtime!”
Look, scribe, you can’t spoil my good mood. Did we progress to the Final or not? Yeah, we did. And I say it was nine – two!
So, here’s my take-aways from this great cup run:
One; Barfur the Brilliant! Yup, our Trained Troll Barfur Slovenly really came into his own. He’s usually used his fists to dish out hurt, but when you’re up against side-stepping dodgers with low armour, play to your strengths: spew acidy vomit all over ’em! It worked a charm. That way the opponents don’t slither off somewhere annoying and they usually get hurt. Barfur took down two Elven catchers and a few Snotlings like that. Now, why the league doesn’t count vomit-kills as official Casualties I’ll never know, but it took opponents out all the same and the Ultras love it just as much. So, feed your Trained Troll ten servings of spicy jalapeño goat turds during warm-up and watch him get to work! You’ll love it!
Next One: Blitz blodgers onto your Trained Troll. Hell, if things is going so great for Barfur that the opposition’s giving ’im his space, then send your tackling Lads against anyone stupid enough to be just out of Barfur’s range. If you can Blitz ’em and take ’em down, all the better. But if they dodge away, you can push ’em up against your Troll and let the Troll puke on ’em. Works a treat!
Next, Next One: Flip your protection scheme around on defence. Yeah, yeah, I know I recommended way back when this chronicle started that you should have your Black Orcs screening your Goblins, ’cause Gobbos break easy. Well, that’s still true on offence. But on defence, I’m coming to believe you’ve gotta protect the Lads from gettin’ bogged-down. Yeah, the Ultras want to see the Lads thumping opponents, but they REALLY want to see the Lads thumping pretentious, star opponents that’re expensive to replace. If one of your Lads gets marked by some nobody whose only job is to get hurt, it kind of spoils the whole thing. So use your Gobbos to make sure the opposition can’t tag your Boyz and then move ’em to the point of the opposition attack. That’s really helped our great cup run.
Final One: Sneaky Gits make the team tick! The Maulers got WAY better once we managed to get a sneaky git onto the team. I hinted at it in the lead-up to that tourney, Lys Bowl. It wouldda worked just fine up there had the ref not pulled that stunt about actually callin’ fouls. But Bloodweiser have obviously let the match officials know who’s payin’ the bills and bribes’ve been workin’ just fine. So Slime Time has really been effective. I tells ya, once numbers is on your side, it’s clear sailin’!
I’ll close with my contractually obligated reference to that Blood Bowl Bison, Taureau Amiral, and his Art of Coaching: In Part Four, thingy ten, he says:
“To have one great game day coaching a violent team is no guarantee of excellence.”
I’m contractually obligated to agree with the Minotaur, and I do. Really. I would say, though, to have three great game days in a row coaching a violent team is all the proof I need that I’m the most excellent coach around!
So, unlike that Baron I’m the Wurst, who gets into league finals through byes and opponents who don’t show up, my Maulers did the hard slogging and earned their berth in the cup final! We prevailed through … how many rounds, scribe?
“Three, Boss, three!”
Right, three rounds. We faced tough opponents and we shoved their collective faces in the turf and then stomped on the back of their heads! Hee hee heeeeee.
On to the Bloodweiser Champions League Final!