I cannot believe that I am actually standing here, witnessing this tomfoolery. Our team owners really will honor any funeral request, no matter how insane. Velociraper wanted to go out doing the two things he loved most, so while his death on the Blood Bowl pitch checked one box, I am now watching a fan that must have deeply seeded emotional issues climb atop of Velo and ride him into the afterlife.
Once again, Coach Jest stopped Dr. Omaulu from trying to revive a dead player. I wonder if Velo’s recently diminished speed, a sacrifice made for this team, had anything to do with that decision. I suspect that Coach Jest is cleaning house, trying to address the media’s allegations of an unnecessarily inflated team value. A despicable man, really. He decides who lives and who dies…who stays and who goes (he’s already hired a new skink, Cantinflas, who is way too happy for my taste). Coach Jest claims to have played this game himself a long time ago, but he’s never taken the pitch with any of us. I’m tired of his complaining about our lack of toughness, when he has yet to spill any blood in Jurassic Park. It must be nice to bark orders from an ivory tower, with no concern for the foot soldiers who struggle to carry them out.
Gruntosaurus did not take Velociraper’s death well. They were close friends, going back to when the Teenage Mutant Ninja Lizards were still a Farm team out of New Zardsey. He has been unleashing his anger upon tackling dummies and heavy bags, and his many hours of training overtime have finally earned him his black belt in Mai-Tee-Blo this week. I guess that is a “healthy” way to negotiate his emotions.
I, on the other hand, have chosen to avoid emotions…with the help of the pills that Prince left behind in his little purple bag. I do not feel loss anymore…nor do I feel joy. I do not taste food anymore. The only hint of any emotional satisfaction that I experience comes when I cause pain to my opponents.
With every day that passes, I hate this game more. Is it even a sport? Or is it merely a bunch of public executions, performed for the savage and base joy of the crowd? As the arms race for potential serial killers intensifies in the MML, I wonder whether we will eventually stop pretending that need a ball on the pitch to “play.”
Yet, ironically, Blood Bowl is my only reason for living now. I cannot even imagine spending another afternoon reading under a tree…especially not under a tree. Instead, I bide my time spreading hate and discontent toward our opponents, patiently awaiting the day when I shall again see Mylm’nor on the pitch. That day will probably not come until next season, but I would wait until the day that rats finally bring their mythical god to destroy the Earth, if need be, to exact my revenge upon the dirty wood elf that killed my best friend.