The mist which clung to the ground covered Coach Lysenko like a cold and wet blanket. Though he woke to find his head resting upon a pillow of goat dung, it was the swift kick in the stomach from the hoof of ‘the Murdered Maid’ which he found to be the least welcome part of what had become his daily routine.
After the Pink Horrors’ defeat to the Twisted Sisters, the dungeons of the Pink Pyre Stadium had been deemed too ‘extravagant’ for Coach Lysenko, so the last six days and nights had been wallowed away in the goat pen, which – if he were to be honest – made it very difficult to coach Blood Bowl. In fact, from his wood-fenced prison amongst the squalor of the breeding-goats (or ‘four-legs’ as the man-goats called them), it wasn’t actually possible to see the pitch. ‘Did he catch it?’ the coach would call over the fence. ‘No? Okay, I think next time he should try to catch it...’
‘The Murdered Maid’ - as Lysenko understood its name to be translated - lifted the coach from the boggy filth by the scruff of the neck and grunted in his face.
‘...Today... Fight day. You give us... win?’
Coach Lysenko nodded his head, as best he could under the circumstances.
The man-goat glared, tightening his grip. He sneered and then effortlessly threw the frail human back down into the filth.
The coach looked up at the beast which towered above him, framed by the iron-grey sky, and asked:
‘So who are we playing?’
Disdainfully, the man-goat gestured with a nod of his head, ‘Them next-door...’
The Lashor Devestation Dome was literally next-door - approximately fifty paces (as the goat trots) from the Pink Pyre Stadium; but dragged by a chain tied around the ankles, the journey seemed much further. The game was going to be a sell-out, if all of the queuing hooves that the Horrors’ coach saw as he bumped along the stony dirt were anything to go by.
The noise inside the stadium was agony to human ears, a cacophony of brays and roars which shook the very ground itself. Every now and then, the air was pierced by an unearthly squeal as warring fans successfully managed to geld their rivals using nothing but teeth and determination, while the stadium chef’s assistant rushed from stand to stand, collecting the dropped treasures for his testicle pies.
Animosity between the Devastation and the Horrors was running high, fuelled by a long and bloody dispute which began with one team or the other (nobody could exactly remember) accusing their neighbour of shamelessly pilfering their colour scheme. As a result , the stadium today was a violent wash of pink, with both teams steadfastly refusing to don their ‘away’ kit.
The referee examined the sky, checked the position of the pale sun, and blew his whistle.
A bladder filled with air was kicked down the pitch. It landed. Bounced. Lay forgotten.
A score of hooves gouged the field as the two sides thundered towards each other, fists clenched and teeth bared.
The pink pounding had begun...
‘The Grinning Butcher’ opened up the scoring for the Horrors by smashing Dark Horn to a bloody pulp, though it wasn’t long before the Lashor Devastation equalised with a vengeance, when Marius went toe-to-toe with ‘the Grinning Butcher’ and (with a vicious elbow) put him out of the game, to the crowd’s delight.
Scrugg-Ruff, ‘the Weeping Widow’ put the Horrors back ahead again before the end of the first half when he ferociously impaled the Devastation’s warrior Marius with a horn to the groin.
‘He back next game,’ Scrugg-Ruff laughed, ‘but he no pleasure breeding-goats tonight!’
The crowd-pleaser of the match though was no doubt the second-half incident involving the now-lauded Scrugg-Ruff and his opposite number, Vilehoof. After various comments and insults were exchanged between the two about their respective nanny’s, the fans watched in awe as the two man-goats powered down the pitch towards each other, butting heads so hard that their horns splintered. Both players collapsed beside each other, the sound of the crowd’s roars echoing in their ringing ears as everything went black...
In the end, the Pink Horrors claimed the victory, winning by three casualties to two.
Elsewhere on the pitch, the Horrors also scored two ‘touchdowns’, while the Devastation only scored one.
It was with a huge sigh of relief that Coach Lysenko was dragged away from the pitch, while Coach Rid was left on the sideline, wondering what went wrong as he picked testicle pie out of his teeth...