“Chapter 22

Coach Robsson looked across at the angry wall of green flesh and muscle that was warming up on the field in front of him.
“So,” he said to Coach Olgrot, who stood beside him admiring his team. “What happened to your necromantics? Got fed up waiting for them to die?”
Coach Olgrot waved his hand dismissively.
“Oh, they’re doing fine. I’m actually managing four teams right now.”
Robsson looked impressed.
“Four? How do you manage that? I can barely find the time to look after one.”
Olgrot laughed.
“I don’t really manage this lot, I just make sure I’m here when they let them out of the cage. To be honest, there’s not a lot you can teach an orc. Now and then I find one who can pick up a ball and keep hold of it - they tend to be the small ones, by the way – but mostly I just make sure they’re wearing their armour properly and they know which way to face at the start of the match.”
Coach Robsson nodded. He’d coached a couple of orc teams in his time, but never for very long. They always seemed to start off well but then as soon as he tried to introduce the passing game to them, it all went wrong. Orcs just weren’t cut out for passing.
“So I guess you’ve no tricks up your sleeve today?”
“No. Nothing finesse with this lot. They’ll pound your boys into the dirt, do it with a smile and no hard feelings mind, and then maybe score if they remember.”
He paused and Robsson saw the cruel smile spreading across his face.
“Oh and we’ve brought in a couple of hired hands as well.”
“Really?” asked Coach Robsson. “Do you need them?”
“No, of course we don’t need them. It’s a tax avoidance thing. We have to use up some of our gold reserves otherwise our budget will be cut for next year. And besides, the crowd love to see stars come along for the action, and it’s a big crowd today.”
“So who do we have the pleasure of this afternoon?”
“Well, I’ve brought Ugroth Bolgrot along.”
“Ah, Ugroth,” said Robsson with a nod. “We get to face him a lot. He’s quite popular with the chaos crowd.”
“And I thought I’d invite Varag Ghoul-Chewer along as well.”
Robsson looked impressed.
“Ghoul-Chewer, eh? This will be interesting. Of course, I’ve seen him play a few times, especially back in the old days, but I’ve never had the pleasure of actually facing him on the field.”
Coach Olgrot shook his head sadly.
“Nah, he’s not like he used to be. He’s really getting a bit long in the tooth now. It’s more of a status thing these days. It’s a way for an orc team to show they’re in the big league. He still won’t play for just anyone.”
“Well,” said Coach Robsson, patting Olgrot on the shoulder and smiling. “Good luck out there, and may the best team survive.”


* * * * *


“Well,” said Coach Robsson with a smile. “I was right. We did all survive.”
“But I would dispute that you were the best team,” replied Coach Olgrot. We were all over you like a cheap suit of armour for the whole of the first half.”
“True, true. But that’s the way we play the game. Score quick when we have the ball, lie down a lot when we don’t.”
“My point exactly. I wouldn’t call that being the best team. My boys totally dominated you and came away with not even a scratch. And we raked in a huge pile of cash as well.”
“I didn’t see much passing though,” Robsson said with a smile. “We won that contest.”
Olgrot snorted.
“Barely! That so-called star passer you have managed one successful pass the whole game. He spent most of his time scrabbling about in the grass looking for the ball.”
Coach Robsson scowled. It was true, So Much for the Afterglow had not had a particularly spectacular game. In fact, his stats had been low for a while now, but it wasn’t all his fault. The teams they’d been offered were all tough, slow ones, happy to take the whole half to score once and then do the same thing again after the break. He would have to find someone more interested in racking up a big score than pounding his elves into jelly – they’d had quite enough of that for the time being.
“I don’t suppose one of your teams are elves are they?” he asked Coach Olgrot hopefully.
Olgrot shook his head.
“Not my sort of thing I’m afraid. I have some Amazons. They like to throw the ball a bit I suppose, but they’re not really so keen on the elvish game. They play more like slightly softer orcs really.”
“Pity,” sighed Robsson. “Ah well, can’t win ‘em all.”
Olgrot laughed.
“You can’t win any. What is it now, five games since you won? That’s terrible. In my book, that’s a major losing streak.”
“Technically,” replied Robsson defensively, “a losing streak is five games in a row. A major losing streak is ten games in a row.”
And then he smiled.
“And I should know. I’ve had plenty in my time. My winning record is certainly not what I’m going to be remembered for in years to come. Now my passing record, on the other hand…”
Olgrot groaned.
“Oh look,” he said quickly. “Is that the time? I really must be off. Things to do, people to see and all that. Another time, for sure. Bye.”
And he scurried off while Coach Robsson was still in mid-sentence.
“…over twenty-five thousand yards.” Robsson finished.
“Oh,” he added to the empty stadium. “Bye.”
”