Changed the format of the log for slightly easier reference reading.

First match up against Vesto’s dorfs. I’m just so thrilled at the prospect of my poor neurotics being smashed to the ground repeatedly by short drunks… BUT you take the hits as they come, so to speak. Even if they’re small, ginger and smell of stale ale and gravel, or whatever the dorfs smell like.

Vesto turn 1: The coin toss is won by the dorfs. Though my brave journeyman (elf) Elionor “Fresh-sparkly-feather-spike or whatever” objected to that by saying that the flip was fixed, he is soon pummeled to the ground on the first block. To be frankly honest, that brought as much cheer to the dorf fans as it did to me. Blasted fancy journeymen getting all smug around my poor neurotic team. The original team of dorfs set up in the most original tactical opus that can only be referenced to as “a wall” and proceed to pummel the angsty elves or failing that push them to the side in the most unfriendly of manners. Not only that, but the biased, I’m sure, crowd provides the beards with armor an extra reroll, quite complimentary seeing as the first ball pick-up is a failed one.

My turn 1: I managed to prod and bribe a few elves to run into the Dorf side of the pitch, even more bribing is required as some of the elves are tactically… (Not quite the best word to use when referencing my choices, but this is my blog, so I can do whatever the poo poo I want) and most brilliantly coached to stand next to a few dorfs in order to avoid blitzes. This is, however, only the start as after two lucky gfi’s my most reliable and fresh line-elf “Impotent Freudian” is placed next to the ball.

Vesto turn 2: “Impotent Freudian” proves his name as he freudiantly slips on a dwarven fist and goes down onto the astro-granite to study the obviously traumatic relationship his blocker had with his mother’s beard. Vesto promptly picks the ball up and runs his runner dorf towards the mash up near the LoS.

My turn 2: Once again my good tactical knowhow and strategic blackmail consisting of odd phallic objects and photos in which my players are attending the annual “Happy ball of snuggly people that have few or no problems in life bonanza” convinces three elves to put tackle zones on the ball carrier. This would seem astonishingly perfect if not for the odd dozen of armored alcoholics grooming their beards nearby. It’s alright though, if I remember correctly the guide I bought from that odd trench coat wearing clown behind the local 7-eleven said that delfs were known for their competence in attrition warfa…team-sports.

Vesto turn 3. THE CLOWN LIED! What is the world coming to if people you frequently see on those police-shows holding fancy number-cards are actually dishonest circus-freaks? I have to compliment Vesto’s runner though, for a guy with such little feet he can quite nimbly jump over many an elven spleen as he ran towards my side of the pitch. One must however smile with glee as he sees that the short hands of the dorfs are not nearly as effective at passing as they are at smashing skulls. A glorious fumble ends the dorf turn.

My turn 3: For once my angsty elves are happy to put tackle zones on the ball if that means that they can avoid the wall of drunken beardy rage near the LoS. The turn is not all and well, however, as I for some neurotic reason fail to do a crowd push on one of the dorfs. No sweat though, Vesto will do enough of those for the both of us on the second half.

Vesto turn 4. Though for the moment being, Vesto makes up for all the future hurt he will pile onto the Angsty Neurotics by fumbling the ball right into Vegan KFC Cashier’s hands. As sad as it might be, for thus far the dorf runners are doing the most of my team’s work, quite the opposite of my lazy line-elves that just get punched and lie around like this was some sort of lying around punch party. Gah.

My turn 4: Dumbstruck by this fantastic nip-slip that fate has given him; my only vegan line-elf ran off to the other side of my part of the pitch, away from the biggest cluster of ginger facial hair that centered on the other side. The few of my braver (read: stupid) players made some sort of incoherent blob that looked like interpretive jazz dance, but they swore that it was supposed to make the fat stunties make dodge rolls they just could not make their fat selves do. The fat fatty ginger fatties.

Vesto turn 5: Why must everyone lie to me?! Argh... If there were anyone stupid enough to play for my team, I would surely fire these prancing a-holes and hire those other dead-beats. Not only did the only blond on the dorf team manage to get close enough for a blitz, but he also knocked Vegan KFC Cashier so hard that he bit his own tongue off, this dramatic shift of evens made him ponder whether or not he was still vegan, a profound philosophical dilemma he decided to wrap his mind around during the next game, thus missing it. By this point I had 9 elves remaining and two of the smuggest dorf runners having tackle zones on the ball mere inches from my TD line.

My turn 5: A microscopic bottle of pure alcohol probably exploded in one of my elves’ sleep artery because he got spontaneously drunk, manage to wobble out of a ton of tackle zones and drunk kung-fu mastered the ball to mars and back. Somehow I managed to have the possession on my side once more

Vesto turn 6: After each good night of drinking comes a sad and soul crushing hang-over. The alcoholic anonymous ball carrier caught a gentle breeze and went down like a sack of bovine testicles, catching a much deserved sleep in the form of a stun, whilst a few more elves got KOs wrapped in nice parcels from dorfs here and there. The smug duo of runners placing tackle zones on the ball once more.

My turn 6: I shift the remaining elves around here and there and finally get ready for the 2+ dodge that will take me to the ball, creating a powerful barricade against the highly unlikely touchdown for the dorfs.

Vesto turn 7: The dorfs throw a few blocks here and there before their runner picks up the ball and carefully steps over my prone barricade of doom then the beer-bellied midget cracks down a moonwalk to end all moonwalks down my touchdown line.

My turn 7: It’s quite alright, I still have two turns and I did hear the term “two turn touchdown” being thrown around more often than the word “the”. I figured there was no way someone with the tactical proves and cunning nature like myself could fail at this. Bring it on, I say! My turn starts with blocking the three dorfs left on the LoS before I torpedo a handful of elves down the line into his side. Now all I have to do is pick up the ball and choose my target for the next turn.

Vesto turn 8: Since 90 percent of his turn was made up by him laughing at my pathetic fumble he only managed to swamp and block one of my elves that managed to breach into his side. From a psychological perspective, with such a gang block the elf finally has some palpable reason to feel neurotic anxiousness for.

My turn 8: With my last turn in place I got ready for some serious number crunching on the best way to outdo his defense and score that late TD, strategies were drawn up and discarded in my mind as I started my final turn the turn that would settle the score and…Fumble….

My turn 9: Either still in obvious shock after the blatant insubordination of my team or still tired after hearing them whine in the dugout during half-time I botched up my starting LoS placement, one that could have freed up two more elves that could have used the movement advantage they had over the short drunk and uglies. The epiphany about my positioning obviously only came to me AFTER a licked the “end placement button”, I think everyone can agree that the button is to blame here. Everything else went pretty fine, three elves in his side, the ball was picked up and only Corporate Hippy decided to be a glorious douche and failed his dodge roll, which as punishment I didn’t reroll. The one lobotomy addict of a fan cried prejudice, but I decline any allegations for picking on him just because he’s fat, lazy and has -1MA.

Vesto turn 9: Nothing special here. The wave of beards merely lurched towards the neurotics shouting profanities as if they were cab drivers on strike.

My turn 10: Tried to spread the dorf team out as much as I could, so that my movement advantage would give some sort of leverage. The ball-carrier stayed back all useless, happy and unmaimed.

Vesto turn 10: Once again, nothing overly special happened except for that gazillion of KOs and stuns that I wish would have slipped my mind.

My turn 11: With the lack of protection for the ball carrier some of the elves in front redeployed back a bit, leaving only one heroic elf (read: Target) to pose as a receiver. The rest of the good for nothings provided tackle zones or were still snuggling the granite from the previous stuns.

Vesto turn 11: The dorfs had a change of mind (or soberness) and spent the turn gently caressing (read: badly hurting) the only make shift receiver I had in their side of the pitch.

My turn 12: By this time I understood that the only reason my tactic hadn’t worked thus-far was because I wasn’t using it often enough, thus two more block elves ran into the opposition side to act as receivers. By this time I start to understand that out of the bunch the best and most logical way (Poetically others refer to it as a miracle) I would score was a long-pass. Gee, I think this will end just swell.

Vesto turn 12: Noticing the enormous fan base that my 1 SPP Blitzer had amassed over his stunning career of 5 games, the poor envious dorfs have nothing left to do, but to blush as they lift him up and hand over to the crowd for autographs and fan girl snuggles, that or a pitchfork to the eye socket, either way he was busy for the rest of the game. With the team now so low on elves, no rerolls left and all paths to the promised land of touchdowns closed up, I am sadly out of ideas. So much out of ideas, that I somehow forgot everything about turn 13, but I think it was filled with wild parties, autographs, loose women and ginger beard dandruff.

My turn 14: I was right, mathematics were wrong, but either way my ball carrier ended up in blitz range.

Vesto turn 14: Though a blitz does not come along, but half of the smug runner duo from last half is now in French-kissing range of my ball carrier.

My turn 15: My undoubtedly brilliant plan is foiled by a failed dodge at the very beginning, thus my ballcarrier-elfmeat is still snuggling up against the warm fabric of a dwarven beard.

Vesto turn 15: Yet another KO to the collection on his side, whilst on my side of the pitch the ball carrier has a shift of heart and cheats on his ex-lover Jacque Amour Ginger le Beard the 3rd and start an angry lovemaking to the ground.

My turn 16 : Not only is poor Jacque now left with nothing but a ball to keep his wild spirit company, one of my line-elves also blitzes him, but lady luck obviously put on a beard tonight and I unceremoniously skull up.

Vesto turn 16: Two going for it’s and Vesto presents me with my favorite wound ointment the “2:0” salt.

All in all it was a rather fun match, considering I was playing dorfs. Though obviously Vesto was the better coach I didn’t feel trashed throughout the game, although, during the second half where I had so few elves left I felt completely lost as to what to do. Thinking back, I probably shouldn’t have spread out my team THAT much.
I can’t say Nuffle hated me in the dice-roll department, so I can’t blame luck at all. On paper 2:0 doesn’t seem THAT bad compared to some of my other loses, but then I remember that the average movement of my opponent is 1squere and shame for my mistakes (read: anger for my teams' incompetence) creeps in.