6 Chapter 5.
Chapter 5.
Carroburg Badasses vs. Mitch's Cheese Fans.
What do the players do after a win? Go to the nearest club, bar, or just a pub to celebrate. What did my teammates do? They overdid it, so much so that one of them had so much alcohol in his blood that he smelled like booze a week later. So I'm standing here, trying not to breathe too much through my nose so I don't get intoxicated. And I'm cursing our main sponsor, who didn't let the team recover enough to make the necessary reforms.
Actually, between games we should have been given time to rest and other things plus training. But after seeing the results of the last match, Waggy decided to make the most of it. He forced Grim to sign up for all matches, tournaments and competitions for the sake of advertising and promoting his brand.
Now the team, and me in particular, is in for one hell of a month. Five games, four against amateur teams that want to go pro. And one match against a team that fell in the rankings because of some dirty dealings with bribery and shit.
Why me in particular? Because I made my presence known too loudly. I practically single-handedly carried the team and scored a bunch of touchdowns. It's like putting a big target on your back and saying, "Hit me! And if that wasn't enough for me, Waggy used a signed contract that stated that the sponsor had the right to advertise his product through the player did not cover me from head to toe with stickers, flags and other marketing crap. And only the intervention of the referees saved me from the fate of a half-moving advertising puppet. Although I think if Waggy had gotten the idea to bring in a bribe, then I would have had to work as an advertising banner on legs.
On the plus side though, I was given a more or less decent defense. My previous set was not very presentable, so I'm now standing in a brand-new armor with all the necessary elements like elbow pads and a baffle-mask. Only still this armor is not made for me originally so not everything is perfect. But it's probably just me being greedy, last time they gave me a second-hand set of Blitzer.
- Places! - shouted the referee loudly, bringing me back from my thoughts.
I'm taking my place in the center and getting ready for the fight. We're in an offense so we need to either run a pass to the end zone or pass ourselves for a touchdown. I'm waiting for the whistle and getting ready to take them all down as fast as I can.
-Few! - The ref blows the whistle and almost immediately I hear the sound of the ball being hit.
- Oh, you hand-asshole....- loudly that even through the chanting of the audience can be heard swearing Grim.
- Get him! - shout my opponents, without giving me a chance to find out what the hell happened there.
One grabs my right arm, one grabs my left arm, and the one in the middle wants to do a takedown and knock me to the ground.
- Dream on, motherfuckers! - I head-butt the guy holding my right arm.
It's enough to make him disoriented and let go of my arm. At that moment, the guy on the left is taken over by my teammate, giving him a chance to release my arm. The guy in the center already has his arm around my chest and I, unable to find a better option, hit him with both hands on his back like a hammer. He falls to his knees, giving me a chance to do a hammer-and-anvil style thrust. The two-handed strike, despite the short range of the swing, makes his helmet ring like a bell. It's enough to send him into a knockdown followed by a knockout when one of my companions hits him in the head.
There's a slap on my back, and I see the same guy I almost sent to the infirmary to sleep last match. This time he's not being chased by an enemy blitzer and has a chance to ask what he wants.
- Well? What are you standing there for?
- Help me get to the end zone!
- You better give me the ball.
- No! Either you get me to the end zone or I'm gonna ruin your chances for a touchdown in this game! - and as much as I'd like to strangle him, the game is more important.
- Hmm. Okay, well, don't give up on me. - I throw him a dismissive look and I feel him grab my back.
- Oh, look! Is this some kind of new Scumbag strategy? - Commentator 1.
- That guy's probably trying to use the big guy as a shield. A common tactic especially among teams like goblins and halflings! - Commentator 2.
I'm bulldozing through the enemy defenders like a bulldozer. And now we're in the scoring zone. The bastard shakes his sword and gives air kisses to the audience. Those think such teamwork and tactics are happy for a point.
He wants to give me a high five, but I just pass his hand. The bastard scowls, but realizing there's nothing to be done continues to play in front of the crowd.
I return to the center of the field and get ready for defense. The other players pat me on the shoulder and cheer. But the referee's whistle makes everyone go back to the marking and get ready to throw the ball in.
I want to repeat the trick with a quick break to the enemy player with the ball. So I give a sign to the co-commanders standing on the sides to tie up their opponents in a fight so that I can as soon as possible to take down the player opposite and get to the thrower or catcher.
-"Phew!" I hear a thud.
I see the ball fly over my head, and I just push it forward and to the side of the player in front of me. He falls, and despite the risk, I run right over his sprawled body.
Sparks almost fly from under my feet, but the seconds saved help me to intercept the thrower's arm at the last moment and thwart his pass attempt. I hit him in the face with my free hand, and he stays standing only because of my clamped hand. I grab the ball out of his weakened fingers and rush toward the end zone.
- Touchdown! Offense and defense. This guy is good in both phases of the game! - commentator 2.
- Phew, I was getting worried when the first touchdown of the game came not from him, but from his teammate. - Commenter 2.
- Yeah, that was a surprise to me too. Maybe it's a special order from the coach? - commentator 1.
- What do you mean by that? - Commenter 2.
- Bigger guys don't always have bigger brains.
- Or don't have them at all, hehehe.
- There is such a thing. Here, maybe the coach just trained this big guy to run after the ball, and then the scoring zone with it. And so he doesn't accidentally beat up his own teammates, they got a guy to guide him?
- You know, that makes sense. He didn't need one last time, but maybe Baha got hit in the head a couple times and his mind went somewhere else, so the coach of the Carroburg Scumbags had to improvise.
The commentators talking made me want to curse and knock a few teeth out of each of them. But the ref's whistle kept me focused on the game. Okay, just handing over a couple bottles of booze and a request to beat these chatty pricks up to the club's fans. I don't think the lads would mind that.
Here it happened again, the same sneaky bastard snatching the ball from our thrower ran towards me. Sighing, I repeated the run with him to the end zone. And so it went several times. Until they called a timeout.
- Oh Baha! You've become fast friends with the other players on the team. Even Joe, who has a big ego. - Grim stood next to me, smiling with all 18 of his remaining teeth.
- Huh. Buddying up. That bastard threatened to start leaking me the whole game if I didn't get him to the end zone. - I bitterly answered him while looking for a water bottle.
- What? You asshole! Yes, I him... - Grim did not have time to finish, because at that moment came to us Waggy beaming with joy.
- This is the game I've been waiting for from the team. You Baha and especially you Joe! You are the creamy-garlic sauce that makes the crab delicious... - using gastronomic examples Waggy praised us.
- And it's all thanks to me! So we can make touchdowns even faster! - Joe brags, and Waggy is almost ready to kiss him, calling him the smartest guy on the team or the sweet and sour sauce, without which everything is nothing.
- All right, guys. The break will be over soon and I want to see a continuation of a great match. Baha and Joe, if you play well, I'll sign individual sponsorship contracts with you. - waving goodbye with a third of his height in his fist, Waggy left us.
- So, big guy, are we gonna be rich? - Joe came over with a smug grin on his face.
- Nah. We ain't. - I told him and put on my helmet and headed for the exit.
- What do you mean, we won't?! - Joe shouted loudly, eliciting surprised looks from the rest of the team.
- I'll be the rich man, and you'll remain a loser. - answered him without paying attention to his shouting.
Both teams lined up in their places. The referee blows his whistle and the game begins. The ball is flying in our direction, but I don't care about that. I was attacked by almost half the team. Quickly crumpling my teammates on their sides, they try to take me down.
I dodge the grabs and start using punches and kicks to knock my opponents to the ground as fast as possible to get a chance for a quick run to the scoring area.
With an elbow strike to the neck area I deal with the last enemy. As if waiting for this moment, Joe grabs me behind my back again and yells something. I just turn around to him and without listening to him just snatch the ball and tightly clutching it running into the in-goal area. The opposing defenders, realizing that direct contact will not stop me, try to rush at me from the flanks. But I pull forward my fist and raise my knees as high as possible.
That's enough to get me to the scoring area. I don't have time to savor the moment before Joe comes running up behind me and yells something, spitting spittle. I waved him off like a pesky fly and walked back to my position.
Another attempt to counterattack and intercept the ball fails. Enemy thrower not wanting to get from me in the face makes a wild pass in the hope that he will be caught by one of their own. It partially works, the catcher manages to catch the ball, but he immediately rolls on the ground and begins a pile of mala.
I run toward this pile of fighting, kicking and biting players. I pull and throw the enemy players away and try to get my own players back on their feet. Then I see a ball roll out of the side and I'm just about to pick it up when Joe picks it up and comes running towards me.
- Come on! Come on, lead me! You hear me?! - His drool's flying in my face.
I grab him by the bib and smack his head right on his nose. The loud crunch of a broken nose is music to my ears. Joe drops the ball and grabs his nose with both hands. With a hum, I pick up the ball and tear into the scoring area.
- Is it just me or is there something mmm...wrong with the teamwork? - Commentator 1.
- Maybe the big guy's helmet is just covered in blood and he can't tell his teammates from the others unless he sees the team symbol. And there's a ball and a player. So he just follows the instructions from the coach and hits anyone and runs with the ball into the end zone. - Commentator 2.
- The hell of it. That said, during the scrimmage, he was helping his co-commanders, and he was hitting enemies and throwing them out. - Commenter 1.
- Who cares!!! I still liked how he punched the guy right in the nose and went for a touchdown. Blood and a ball! - Commenter 2.
- Also, that's right. Blood and ball! That's what we need! - Commentator 1.
Taking my seat and looking at the scoreboard. We're almost out of time. It's the last offensive play of the game, 10-0. I've got one more touchdown to go and repeat my record from the last game.
The referee blows the whistle and the fight begins. But not so fierce and energetic. The enemy team realized long ago that they lost, but pride and stubbornness of worthy dwarves still play to the last.
Then something grabs me again on the back defense, I turn around and see an angry Joe with a nose more like a potato.
- Listen up, you son of a bitch! If you don't get me to the end zone, I'm gonna give you hell! You're my... - he starts threatening me, and I suddenly have a plan to get rid of this asshole, and at the same time to pay for the use as a springboard for a career.
- All right. I'll get you into the scoring zone. - I grab him with a big smile and use him as a human shield and battering ram to get to the scoring area.
- Uh...is it just me or have the roles been reversed? - Commentator 1.
- The scumbags must have decided to experiment, because they won the game. But why instead of running straight to the scoring area the big guy runs to every enemy player who gets in the way and hits him with his teammate? - Commenter 2.
- Maybe you were right and he has a vision problem? Too much blood got on his helmet and makes it hard to see? - Commenter 1.
- Bullshit. Blood and the ball! - Commenter 2.
And I run and try to hit Joe as hard as I can against an enemy player. Even do a sort of circle and only when there's less than a minute left do I rush towards the scoring area.
Joe only wheezes but still holds the ball in his hands.
- What a good boy. And now TCHDOWN! - like a wrestler throwing Joe's head down.
The referee blows the whistle, signaling a touchdown and the end of the match. I take off my helmet and look at Joe squirming with his eyes rolled back and foam coming out of his mouth.
- It's okay, they treat idiots like that. I guess. I don't care, though. Shitty end to a career for a shitty player.
Whistling, I walk to the locker room, ignoring the stunned players on both teams.
Carrollburg Scumbags 11-0 Mitch's Cheese Fans.
