GGTTP 3 - 1 nWo

Girth stood in the centre of the pitch, flexing his roots and cracking his branches together, waiting for the stripy man to blow his whistle which meant – as far as anyone had bothered to tell him – ‘hit stuff’.

The treeman wasn’t the only one getting restless.  The crowd had begun to jeer and fight amongst themselves.  Girth wasn’t sure what the issue was, but it seemed to have something to do with the lithe, spiky, she-elf who was loitering at the side of the pitch.  Hare-Foot Hoffman and a few of the other elves were swarming around the ogre referee, gesticulating wildly.  The ogre was shaking his head, but the elves we adamant.

“But we need her!  We’re not even proper players.  We’re actors!  And not even good ones at that!”  Hoffman pleaded.

“I are the refer-wot’sit and I says ‘NO’.”

“But you –“ the elf protested.

“Is you deaf, flimsy elf?  Does you want Wot’sit ter rip yer ears off so’z you can hear better?”

“Oh, now that doesn’t even make sense!”  He threw up his hands but as the ogre’s face darkened, Hoffman quickly used them to cover his ears.

Glorfindel of the East-Wood shouldered Hoffman aside, to interject.

“It. Is. A. Perfectly.  Legal. Inducement!”  He  punctuated every word by hammering his fist into the palm of his other hand.

“Wot’sit.  Says.  No.  Mercenary.  Wardancer!”  The ogre punctuated every word by hammering his fist into the face of the Wardancer.  When she fell to the floor, bubbles of blood popping from her nostrils with each shallow, failing breath, the matter seemed settled and the elves sulkily shuffled back to their half of the pitch.

Barely had they taken up their positions (mostly, behind the treeman) when the roar of the crowd was drowned by deafening blasts of music which rippled around the stadium and made the pitch hum.

When the nWo arrived on the pitch, it was like nothing the elves had ever seen.  The pyrotechnics alone left them staring upwards, dumbfounded, as the starbursts and multi-coloured explosions lit up their awed faces.  

The Chaos Pact team swaggered from the tunnel, flexing their muscles and soaking up the adulation of the crowd.

“Well that’s just showing off,” snapped Luthien, shaking his head as two of the marauders darted across the pitch, one shouting “oooooh yeaaaaah!” while another tore their own shirt off.

Inexperienced as they may have been, the elves did at least have the speed advantage over the nWo and they hoped to use it to their advantage.  When it came to the toss, the elves had called ‘heads’ and, luckily, when Wot’sit the referee had thrown the expired remains of the mercenary Wardancer into the air, she did indeed land on her head.

The elves elected to receive the ball and wasted no time in trying to score.  Glorfindel scooped it up effortlessly, to even his own surprise, but rather than elect to throw it (as per their pre-arranged plan), he simply cried, ‘Don’t hit me!  Don’t hit me!’ and hid within a throng of his fellow players.

After spending a career playing tragic lovers and damsels in distress, Kelm had decided that her role should be more physical in this production and proceeded to punch her way through the descending pack of marauders as Glorfindel was edged up the field.

Girth became embroiled in a blow-for-blow showdown with The Giant and Scott Norton.  He occasionally managed to fell The Giant, but each time, the Chaos Troll got back up and retaliated until the treeman was eventually knocked down.

While Girth was struggling to stand, the minotaur Kevin Nash charged his way through the elf lines, scattering their modest defence and impaling the hapless journey-elf who had been forced on in place of the now-dead mercenary.  Nobody had bothered to learn his name, and consequently nobody seemed to notice as he was stretchered off – they were too busy trying to fend off attacks from Hollywood Hogan and Macho Man Randy Savage as they fought to get their hands on Glorfindel.  At the last minute, Glorfindel managed to dart free from his fragile cage and weave around the clumsy lunges of the marauders to score.

Once the nWo took the offensive, however, things started to get a lot more painful for the elves.  The powerhouse trio of the ogre, the troll and the minotaur continued to plough through the Green Glade Players as Lex Luger surged down the pitch with the ball.  The elves were throwing themselves at the players who had gathered protectively around him, but simply bounced off the oiled and rippling flesh of the marauders.  

It wasn’t until Luger made a break for it and tripped over one of his own untied laces that Kelm the Witless managed to snatch the ball away quickly and throw it to Hare-Foot Hoffman.  He then seamlessly handed it to Peregrine Pine-Cone who managed the second of the elves’ touchdowns just before half-time.

During the break, the nWo had decided that trying to actually score when there was a pitch full of elves wasn’t the best of plans and came out fists flying.  The Giant managed to snap Luthien’s spinal column, pulling  it clean out of his back.  The crowd screamed in appreciation as the troll yanked away at it, making the elf’s corpse dance like a marionette.

The minotaur, Kevin Nash, didn’t fare so well.  He had thundered onto the pitch, his blood boiling and his hooves tearing gouges in the earth as he charged towards his opponents, but he was caught out by Athelan Wynnslett.  No sooner had the crowd bored of watching The Giant make Luthien moonwalk across the pitch, they turned their attention to Nash, only to see him curled into a ball and sobbing as Wynnslett treated him to a rendition of her tragic final scene in ‘Four Weddings and a Milking Parlour’.  Sadly, half of the elves had themselves stopped to critique her performance and Sting managed to sneak in a touchdown for the nWo before they’d even noticed.

It was during the nWo’s celebrations, incorporating a heavy rock soundtrack, smoke-effects and a light show, that Kelm the Witless took the opportunity to grab the ball and make a dash for it – scoring the Green Glade Players’ third touchdown of the match and emphatically sealing their victory.

Despite their victory, Kelm the Witless later found Tarquin slumped in the dressing rooms, sobbing helplessly.

She put an arm around him, but he barely seemed to notice.

“What’s the matter, love?” she asked.  “Are you crying because they killed Luthien?”

He shook his head.

“Oh,” she said.  “Are you crying because we won?  Because you’re so happy?”

“No...”  he sobbed.

“Oh,”  she said.  “Then what’s they matter...?”

“It’s the... the nWo...” he sniffed.

“Oh?  What about them?”

“They...  They...  They ran off with half our winnings!”

“Oh.”  She said.  “Those little sh—!”