T w e n t y S i d e d

The pitch is colder than a witch's glare after an inappropriate comparison, and the sky, which is the exact color of death, is the gods’ own smothering pillow. Today is our first match against a high elf team called the Surf Somethings. If the races of the realm were represented on playing cards, high elves would feature on the king of hearts and halflings would headline the instructional card for drunk 52-card-pickup.

At some point while I’m staring at the rippling, glistening muscles of the high elf team as they gambol and stretch merrily, drunk on pre-victory, someone in a striped jacket asks if I want heads or tails. “No thanks,” I say. They decide that means heads, and with this call my luck budget goes towards securing us the kickoff.

The Surf Buddies are watching in fascination as my team assembles on the field. I guess they've never actually seen someone field a halfling team before. So we had that in common, anyway. One way or another, we were both about to discover if it was possible to underestimate these lardbuckets. Pervince Potatoe, way at the back of the field, looks back through the freezing air and throws me a conspiratorial wink.

The crowd is a little quicker on the uptick than you'd expect of Blood Bowl aficionados and have already realized that they are not going to get an entertaining match today. The rioting delays the match a little; we're going to have a shorter first half as a result. This means less time for us to be scored against and less time for us to score, which, all in all, probably works out to our benefit.

And then there’s no more delays or excuses. The whistle blows.

Continue reading ⟩⟩ “Half Time CH2: Hobbit Breaking”

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