“Our pizza’s a killer! We’ll surely deliver!” – So this was the motto of the team which coach Josiah Frost had now found himself managing. It had been a while since he had the pleasure of coaching a team in the MML. He had reached success in leading the Fife Falcons to being champions in the MML Blitz League previously and had won the first ever MML ‘Stunty Cup’ with a team called aptly ‘Fling the King.’ – He thought this latter accolade was what had probably led to this most recent of offers… From one Don Pierleoni, owner of the team. Don Pepe Pierleoni, self styled ‘Master of Pizza.’
Still the renumeration offer wasn’t horrible and he was quite rusty. He had to start again somewhere, even if that was with a load of halflings. The problem was these guys weren’t exactly what he had anticipated! Sure he realised that it was more about selling pizza’s than it was ever going to be about winning on the Blood Bowl pitch; but that was the first problem! He had been offered an ‘all you can eat’ option as part of his renumeration package… It was just that there was never anything on offer except pizza! Weren’t halflings supposed to amazing cooks, with the finest cuisine? He thought, sure these guys will sell pizzas, but they probably don’t eat it themselves. It didn’t sit quite right! Where were the lobster thermidor options? Cheeseboards? Perhaps a nice brandy to swill it down?
The other problem was that these halflings weren’t exactly united. That was going to be a major problem. They seemed to be divided into families, he guessed it wasn’t too bad a plan to have large pools of potential players to draw upon. – Halflings were not exactly robust. Each family seemed, however, to have some kind of internecine dispute with each other, which seemed to be based on their own interpretation of how exactly to cook a good pizza and each assured that their family recipe was superior to the others!
There were the Scannabechi’s, they seemed the most reasonable of the families. The most social and also the ones who seemed most intent on ‘looking good,’ if such was possible from a halfling. The Rossellini’s were the one’s that seemed to give Coach Frost the most disquiet. Always moping around, unwilling to play the ball, not liking the idea of trees ‘flinging’ them, yet obsessed with knowing when they were going to get to play against some undead or necromantic team. The Annibaldi’s seemed to be keen on facing dwarves or humans. They were slightly unkempt and quite frankly smelled foul. Frost had considered it might be ‘spices’ used in the cooking process, but then realised it was just poor hygiene. The Savelli’s seemed to think themselves well and truly above the others. Their pater familias ‘Ulderico Savelli’ was intent on telling coach Frost about how he was from a ‘fine pedigree’ and that in truth he should be managing the team. He had looked so ridiculous standing there that Frost just didn’t know what to say in response…. But that would change. He had a job to do and these pipsqueeks would eventually have to come to heel. Lastly there were the Frangipane brothers; Eustorgio and Ignazio. – They embodied the thing that both made Frost concerned, but also quietly hopeful, about the team as a whole. Eustorgio and Ignazio were utterly and completely psychopathic and bloodthirsty to their core! All these families surprisingly were, but the Frangipane brothers, even more so. “We will kill them Messer Frost! We will smash them Messer Frost! We will pluck out their eyes Messer Frost! We will spill their blood Messer Frost and we will bathe in it! Our children will bathe in it! We will not stop Messer Frost until we have slain all our opponents! Then Messer Frost we will declare vendetta against their children and their children’s children in all of perpetuity!” – Fat chance of that Frost thought, but Blood Bowl was a physical game, in places, and it didn’t hurt to have ambition…
Frost received yet another slice of ‘complimentary’ pizza to try, this time delivered by Bruno Rossellini. Frost was hungry and there was nothing else to eat, so he tucked in greedily. Once he finished the meal he decided to light a cigar, little realising he was standing in the shadow of Constantius, one of the team’s treefolk.
“No… flames… near… me!” droned Constantius. “Took… a… fireball… in… the… erm… upper branches… the… other.. week… And… it… hurt!”
“Apologies.” Was Frost’s response as he moved away.
“I… don’t… know how.. you… can… eat… that…” The treeman was pointing a bough at the remnants of the pizza.
“Why?” Frost enquired.
“The … little ones… They… cook… our … opponents … into.. the.. pizza… Messer… When… they… can… catch… one…. That… One… Was… greenskin topping…. Messer.”
Coach Frost’s face turned a funny shade of green, perhaps not dissimilar to the green topping of the pizza he had just consumed, before his innards spilled at the roots of the treeman.
“Makes… A … Change … From … Werewolves… Cocking … Their… legs .. at … me … I .. guess….” Bemoaned Constantius, the treeman.
Despite his words of ‘encouragement’ if a treeman could look down in disgust, that would be the expression the treeman had. Coach Frost still had a lot to learn about this team…