“Av9 they said, good for beginners, resilient, hard to kill”
Munk mumbled to himself whilst pacing his cramped office at the Crevice.
“5 deaths in 4 games and a black orc so damaged he’ll never hit the field again”
It was true they’d lost a fair number of players in the past but those had been mainly those embarrasingly soft av8 throwers, or goblins, often at the hands of team-mates.
“Make a note to feed any new trolls pre game in the future” he added matter of factly to the dictaphone he’d thieved from the apo.
True it was an old one, and out of tape, but he thought it made him look the part, even if no one was watching.
There had of course been the good times, especially the exploits of seasons 17 and 18 but having lost his asst coach Jack to a rival, and the fact that he’d become resigned to the search for The Staved Finger being a failure, he had strongly considered a new challenge himself.
“But I can’t leave it like this”
The roster lay before him – 7 orcs and one of those laid up and not fit to play.
The fixture list wasnt encouraging …. orcs, more orcs, dwarves and ogres! Things might well get worse.
“A new challenge might give me a get out …..”
But it just didnt sit well with him.
He had to put things right.
He owed it to Freda in particular, who despite his humble origins and hippy, nyctophobic background had stood strong and was but 71spp from becoming a legend of the game.
He couldnt let him down. He had to stay and rebuild.
The decision was made. If Freda made it through the season, they’d rebuild together. Heck if any of the originals did he might do likewise.
But a change would be made with new recruits. No more peace loving hippies would be coming in.
Hard hitting orcs with iron chins would be sought out.
Those with claw would pay, or he’d go down trying.
They’d build again.