"Good afternoon, sports fans! Pull up a La-Z Squig reclining chair, crack open an ice-cold Bloodweiser and rejoice- it's time once again for Blood Bowl! As always, I'm your host Jim Johnson..."

"...and I'm Bob Bifford."

"Say, Bob- you look a bit green about the gills, are you feeling alright?"

"Not really- I may have one too many Mitterfruhl eggs."

"Really? How many is too many?"

"I lost count after the first thirty."

"...quite. On that note, let's move onto something only slightly less disgusting- the woeful Sludge River Shamblers."

"Did those gits lose again?"

"They did indeed, to the High Elf team called Tippy Toes."

"Ugh, I don't know what makes me more sick- the Shamblers, all those eggs or the thought of Elves."

"Careful Bob- we don't want to be sent on another Network-Mandated Racial Sensitivity Course, now do we?"

"I suppose not."

"It wasn't all bad for fans of the Shamblers though- their Rotspawn Smogmaw was voted Player of the Match after a standout performance."

"Heh- watching Elves cower in fear from slithering tentacles is always funny."

"Indeed it is- remind me to lend you one of my Nipponese woodcuts one of these days, it's enough to make a Daemonette blush."

"Sounds like my kind of woodcut."

"On that note, we'll go to commercial break before Bob gets in trouble again. Stay tuned, sports fans!"