World Cup 63 RP Thread

[Pasarga]

All that has come before will come again, so it is said. Does that mean those that have ventured forth to make their lives in the city will once again come back to the countryside? I have little faith that such an event is to occur, at least within a single lifetime. For their also the saying that one can not go home again, or perhaps that is just a statement purported by those within the cities to justify them never returning to the simpler, more wholesome life they left here in the countryside. That I think is what they do, rather than accept what we have come to know is true, those in the city have become broken.

Why is it that though, what is it about the urban life that has so drained them of their humanity, that they are no longer whole people? Is it the politics, is it the hustle and bustle of their dwelling and lifestyle? I am unlike those within the countryside, I do not resent those that live in the city. We are all individuals, we all have the choices that we make, and so some choose to go to the city and test that lifestyle. I pity them though, to find themselves so thoroughly broken for a choice. It is this pity that drives my passion to find these answers, so that I may help them or help them help themselves.

Yet I am so limited in doing so, it is through their brokenness that did not give me the access I need to find the answers I seek. I am growing fearful now that it may all be for naught and that the growing tension between the two different sides of Pasarga may come to something more. We're all the same people and it is my ultimate goal to see that this transgression of Pasargan against Pasargan is never going to come to pass. It would be such a folly for brother to be against brother.

I will endeavor harder in my travels through the cities, to find out just what it is that makes us so different from one another. It is answers that I am liken to never find despite my determination in my search. Alas for the goals and answers that we seek but can never find. May I not find myself wanting for the longing of more than what I seek.

[Polar Islandstates]

And the poem proved successful, as the Terns turned out relaxed and fully confident. None more so than Ellis Elmsvikur, who smote the Mesoland opposition with a glorious hat trick to propel himself back into a streak of form and accuracy that he so badly needed. His goals were a lift to the entire stadium, not just the Terns, and whilst Mesoland scored late on, it was a confident and enriched Terns side that departed the field that evening to hear the rest of the Storyteller's tale.

---

The players gather in the changing rooms again, this time in Riyahda, to play a team that they had bounced against strongly in the past. Jorgen Hauge opened proceedings by congratulating Elmsvikur on his performance in the last match, and willing him into a repeat performance in Riyahda. Elmsvikur thanked his captain, but pointed out that he would be noting without the assistance of his strike partner Diedrich Kvitchenko. Whilst touching, the two strikers were aware that Felix Saarinen's rise and rise in the team standing would put an end to their partnership at some point, ageing as it was, and that one or the other of the pair would have to step down from first team performances at some point. This was an inevitability, and no blame was apportioned by any player towards another because of this.

Without wanting to break up the togetherness of the team at this point, or disturb what was clearly becoming a way in which the players were beginning to support each other better, the Storyteller turned out the lights himself this time. Opening the door just a crack, a heavily cloaked hand reached in and flicked the switch, plunging the room into a rather more complete blackness than was the usual level to be expected when the lights were turned out. Staggering, the players looked for a dim source of light to illuminate the path towards the front of the room, where they usually congregated to hear the Storyteller's wisdom. No light was forthcoming, and when the noises of phones being scrambled for reached the ears of the Storyteller, he gave the order to stand still. Today's lesson was to be one of preparation and of standing up to those who want you to fail. There are plenty of international press out there in the world that would love to see a scandalous event like the Terns failing to qualify for the World Cup, stated the Storyteller. It is absolutely necessary for the players to be prepared for their machinations, and to not let them get to them...

Day dawns on the Fifth Age once again, and once again nothing has changed. The queues outside the food offices continue to get longer by the day, and the city gets a little tougher. For five generations now, the Tuparov family have ruled over Northbrook ever since the old tyrannical families of Pekarik were sent back to the reefs, and each has been worse than the last. General Willem Tuparov had been bad enough, but some of our ranks had made things worse by assassinating him, hoping without reason that a power vacuum would provide fatal to the regime, particularly with his son Ronn being thought of as too young and inexperienced by the officials to be allowed to rule. Little did the rebels know just how determined the officials of the Regime are to stick to tradition, and so, much before his time, General Ronn Tuparov was our leader.

They were right about one thing, though - this latest Tuparov was certainly too young to rule. Scared, inexperienced, young, and quick to temper, he over-reacted daily, and soon the problems in Northbrook had gotten even worse. Fearing for his own life after seeing what had happened to his father, he promised vengeance and an iron fist, and soon the curfews were crippling our once proud nation. The Tuparovs had meant to be a blessing. The families of Pekarik had let their internal squabbling disrupt the city of Northbrook and let it go to waste. By deposing them, the Tuparovs were supposed to set up a new nation, for the people. There were parties when the Pekarik families left. My grandfather still talks off them fondly, though dim is his memory these days. The trade routes were freshly renewed with our nearest neighbours. The steel mills were started up again. Hopes were high. The time for Northbrook had come, surely?

But no. Instead, what is this fresh hell we now see before us? The elections never came, and Tuparov I stayed in power. Now, Tuparov V was ruling over a dying nation. This wasn't a nation for the people at all, it was a nation for the Tuparovs. We Brookians have had to wait and watch with longing eyes as our neighbours in Novaya Zemlya and Axel Heiburg have even put aside their differences now. They are at peace. They are fair and prosperous communities. Instead, Northbrook rots in the ice, and the steel mills rust.

It is time. It is time for us to change once and for all what is happening in Northbrook. The Tuparov regime doesn't represent the people. The Tuparov regime needs to go. For months now, Erland and I have been leading our group in carefully constructed rebellion, and today is no different to any of those that have gone before. We will go out in our jeeps with our forged vehicle permits, and we will hand out our flyers. All whilst avoiding the watchful gaze of the military police. Everywhere, there are people desperate to capture us and see our actions fail. Tuparov still has plenty of control.

We take a box each of the hand printed red and white diamonds that symbolise the city and the nation's people. Red, the blood of the martyrs whose blood has been spilled before ours will be, trying to overthrow this Regime. Trapped in a mesh of white icebergs that float past and occasionally entomb the nation. This has long been our symbol of repression, and the Regime will do anything to suppress it.

Erland goes one way, and I take my jeep another. It is important to split up to maintain the best possible chance of getting our message to as many people as we can. I hand clutches of the papers to those in the jeep with me, urging them to be careful. The police are bound to be on high alert today, things are bad in Weisshaus. There is even talk of full blown rebellion on its way up there. It is therefore important that we spread the message. I drop my people off at the top of three blocks, saying I'll wheel my jeep round and collect them at the bottom after they've distributed their leaflets and posted their notices.

We check for police, and then they're off. Running down the streets with their message. I accelerate away and loop around the block, moving to reach the other side of their streets before they do. Out of breath, they reach me and get in. One, two, three... where's four? Where's Pene?

We drive up to where she'd been leafleting.

The police have her outside a building, arms behind her back. The wall is plastered with the diamonds. I look down the road. The whole street looks like this wall.

We get out of the jeep with arms concealed. Blood boiling, the time appears to be encroaching ever quicker towards us for decisive action.

"Is there a problem, officer?" I ask.

"We caught your worm of a friend here, putting up all this rebellious material," sneered the largest of the officers, dressed up like a pompous arse in those uniforms of theirs, "so I'd watch before you go defending her, laddie, distribution of material like this is a very, very serious offence..."

The officer thrust her to the ground and reached for his gun. I reached for mine.

"And what if she wasn't distributing it?!" came a shrill voice from inside the building. Three housewives, shabby aprons and all, appear in the doorway, staring cold eyes at the police, who took an involuntary step backwards.

"What?" sniped the officer.

"What if she wasn't distributing it? This poster's always been here, says I." replied the ringleader of the housewives, backed up by the vociferous nods of her accomplices. "So you can let her go. There's not been any distributing going on here. You seen any distributing, Lucille? Agnes? No? Thought not. So, officer, you can let her go."

The housewives looked at the housewives, and down the street. More of the locals on the street were coming to their doorways, as if to backup their neighbours. The police stood their ground momentarily, before conceding that they were heavily outnumbered. Sure, they were armed and the residents were not, but a massacre was in nobody's best interests. The police started to beat a hasty and unplanned retreat with as much dignity as they could muster, when they were chased by the sound of Erland's jeep arriving.

I moved to untie Pene, but could barely reach her through the crowd of locals now abuzz in the streets, shocked at what they had done. No doubt the reports would be filed and the street would be punished later, but their courage had saved a life for the time being, and they were proud of that.

"What's going on?" I called as Erland's jeep pulled up, unable to get through the crowd.

"Weisshaus has started fighting back! The rebellion! It's happening!" shouted Erland, standing and leaning out of his window. "The whole city is talking about it! The people are turning! The guns are being distributed! This is it! This is the end of the Tuparovs!"

I gritted my teeth. Time for the city built on steel to show some steel of its own...

Concluding, the Storyteller stated that he would not be telling the Terns the ending to that story whether they won the next match or not. Sometimes, he finished, things have to be done because they have to be done, not for any want of an immediate reward. The lesson needs to be learned. Though, the history books will tell them what happened to Northbrook in the end, what would become of Pene and Erland?

Thinking about what they'd heard, the players left for the tunnel, shields up.

[Zandistan]

OOC: Background can be found here

---

He should have called him, and he knew it. The fact that Zandistan had lost again did not bother him that much, as he knew Ko-oren were a slightly higher-ranked side. However, Zanderstrom knew the team’s luck was running low, chances of qualification dwindling every game, and he hadn’t done something easily in the realm of possibility to improve or spark his team. The score barely mattered, and neither did who scored. His porous defense had not only continued to allow goals, but had scored one against themselves. It was incomprehensible; The Babbage Islands had gained only one point in two matches, and Zandistan had gained none. If there ever existed a greater chance to grab the bull by the horns, Zanderstrom had not seen it.

The thought of a total team overhaul did cross his mind. Switching Calderón for Kalamazoo, Wills for Tzingotürk, Waldimer for Mingot, Tarmarok for van Oolsjoy. Heck, possibly even Shram for Domingo and Valbizax for de la Mega as well. But then, what to do with all the disgruntled former starters? That was not a way to build team success, and Zanderstrom knew it.

So the phone call, perhaps a match or two late, was made. Zanderstrom could barely punch the numbers into the phone, and his whole body began to shake as it dialed.
…rrring
…rrring
…rrring
A voice on the other end, “KVZ 3, who is this?”
“General Zanderstrom.”
“B.S.”
“No, it really is me, the leader of this country.”
“Zandistan? The land I hate? The land I lead to victory, that turned against me?”
“What do you--” Zanderstrom paused. “I… I see. But you wouldn’t want to help them win again?”
“Win again in what? They abandoned me. No, banned. Why should I come back?”
“You don’t remember the glory, the victory? Our soccer team needs you. We’ve been faltering, after a chance to qualify for the World Cup.”
“We won. Not even a day later, the ZNFA banned me. For life.”
“I know.” Zanderstrom hung his head.
Silence passed for twenty seconds, then Zanderstrom continued, “It took me long enough, four years. But they don’t exist anymore.”
“The… the ZNFA?”
“Yes. Officially disbanded by rule of the General. I’m sorry it took me this long for you.”
“Why do you say that? You never owed me anything.”
Zanderstrom paused again. Could he tell him now?
“I suppose not, and I guess you don’t owe us anything either, after how we treated you. But come back and try? Not for the heroism, but just for the game?”
The Baptism of Fire 48 captain stammered, “I’m 35, an old man for these days of the sport. But you make a good case. I’ll see if I can show up.”
“Really? You mean it?”
“Would I lie to our country’s general? I haven’t played since that day, but truth be told, soccer was always my love. If you truly need me as you say, I will be there.”

Zanderstrom could not reply, and sat there in stunned silence. Karl von Zanderstrom III had agreed to come back and play. The Swyftlandre match was in a mere five days, but at this point it barely mattered whether the old man was there or not, his mere affirmation was a sign of hope. Now, all that remained to be seen was how he would do on the field, how he would react to legions of fans cheering his name. Much remained to be seen, in fact. But the General knew that the first steps had been taken, that Zandistan were close to regaining their World Cup momentum.

[Aguazul]

Aguazul's issue for the day, against all odds: "The malicious computer virus "DEAT.exe" is infecting nearly all the computers in Aguazul and the people are crying out for the government to do something about it."

"Hey, come over here, I've got an issue."

"What?"

"The computer isn't working. It's just sort of going in circles."

"How long has this been happening?"

"Well yesterday none of the lights were on at all. Plugged it in, unplugged it, nothing happened. Then today I plugged it in and it was like this."

"Nothing happened at all yesterday? You pressed the on and off buttons?"

"Nope."

"Then it's probably a hardware problem. You need to take all the little pieces out and put the new one back in."

"Yeah but now it's working."

"The computer just thinks it can fix the software...the files. But it can't, if it's a missing piece, then we should close this and put a new piece in."

"Okay. It's not doing anything."

"It probably says it can't close until it tries and fails to do this. Wait for it to power off, then replace the parts."

"It probably says that?"

"Well I can't actually read this, I just wait to press the colorful buttons."

"Yeah. No wonder the civilians aren't allowed to...what's it called...connect to the...wires with these?"

"You mean like they do on the little phones?"

"Yeah. Wouldn't want them hearing too much from the outside world, after all."

"I don't know. I think there has to be a better way."

"Seriously?"

"Yeah. Things are inefficient, you know. If we were...if we could connect better, information would travel faster. Haven't you heard about the meeting?"

"What?"

"Some of the military guys who want to...oh, the computer's off, we can take it apart now."

"I've got it, yeah."

"Be careful, don't break anything else."

"I know what I'm doing. You were saying?"

"Just, I heard they were trying to gather together anyone who wanted to talk over ways to change how things work. Because we can't really use the computers, you know, it'd be better to gather in one place."

"I guess. The Supercentro is nice and dense like that...oh, here we go. So it should work now?"

"If it had been blank the whole time, I hope so. If it was running, then maybe it was a software program and you'll have to reinstall."

"What's that mean?"

"You'll probably lose your data."

"So it actually would have been better to not turn on at all? Is this some stupid metaphor about how you have to destroy in order to rebuild?"

"Absolutely not, it's just me being paranoid about your system."

"Well, thanks, I guess."

"Fingers crossed."

"Hey, it works!! Thank goodness! And thank you for all your help."

"You're welcome. Next time back it up, eh?"

"Yeah. Sounds good."

Matchday 14

[Jeruselem]

Princess Katy and Jeruselem coach Michelle Salad after Jeruselem beat Kericia in Kericia

Katy: OH YEAH REVENGE
Michelle: Don't be like that Katy
Katy: Kericia beat us at home, we beat them at home now
Michelle: Well, she should have won in the first place
Katy: And we have a 7 point bugger to them Jedis
Michelle: Really, I'm no numbers person

Katy: 7 points, that's two wins and a 1 draw difference.
Michelle: Well, sounds good to me
Katy: Jeru FC won too and Licentiapacisterra lost to the commies
Michelle: Good news!
Katy: Two points, Jeru FC are coming back into the fray
Michelle: I hope they make up those two points

Katy: Oh yeah, even Qazox won too!
Michelle: I noticed there's like 3 teams in 26 points in our group
Katy: Well, then the other teams on 24,23, and 22
Michelle: I'm glad we aren't in the traffic jam
Katy: I reckon two more wins should do the trick
Michelle: Why is that?

Katy: We have 7 points over the 2nd placed team. If they win 4 from 4 then we need to win 2 from 4 at a minimum to keep top spot
Michelle: Yes makes sense
Katy: Did you do well in maths at school?
Michelle: Not really
Katy: Why is that?
Michelle: I'm not good with numbers

Katy: You're doing a good job anyway. Leave the numbers to me.
Michelle: I hear you're a maths whiz.
Katy: Yes, I guess it's not from Mum's side. Melody isn't one.
Michelle: Funny, your dad was an army guy.
Katy: I guess he had some maths smarts on his side.
Michelle: I guess I don't

Katy: If we qualify, you're up for a pay rise.
Michelle: Really?
Katy: Yeah, don't you read contracts.
Michelle: I concentrate on the important things
Katy: Just keeping doing what you do best
Michelle: That's all I can do

Katy: Exactly
Michelle: More hard work to do.
Katy: We still have wolves in Group 6 chasing us for sure but we're ahead of them for now
Michelle: I'm hungry
Katy: I know a good place to eat here
Michelle: It is a vegan?

Katy: Oh nevermind

[Maklohi Vai]

Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4
Part 5
Part 6
Part 7
Part 8
Part 9

Tumo Makanopalani's Travel Journal
Day 8

Ok, I'm having a lot of trouble writing today. I have a lot on my mind, and writing in my daily journal just doesn't seem right. I can't quite think straight, and all the ideas I've come up with so far have just been awful. But here goes. I'm just going to write whatever comes into my head, and maybe something interesting will pop out.

I have four reasons for the downfall of the empire: bananas, people, issues, and jumanga. Jumanga is a concept that seeks to derive truth from the smallest porpoises in the world. They eat onions, jumangans. Lots of onions. They also try not to eat much meat, but they will eat a lot of shellfish, especially crabs and mussels. I don't like mussels. They're just not my type of food. Sometimes they are black, and other times they aren't. I like my food to be one color. Bananas are yellow. Pears are greenish brown. Strawberries are red. Why are strawberries red? That, little children, is called pigmentation. Like pigs? No, not like pigs. But wouldn't that be interesting? A pig who could decide what color other things were. Like, if he wanted trees to be neon orange, he could. That would surely stop a lot of car accidents. Drinking causes a lot of accidents. People should stop drinking. It's bad for their health. So is obesity. Get your lazy ass off the couch and stop drinking the soda, right? These people are annoying. I can't hink of much more to write about. Oh, wait, maybe marine biology. That's my major in college. I really love it. My grandma was a marine biologist too. She studied snails. I really wished she were still here. I miss her jokes and laughter. Why did she have to go? Why did she have to go? Why can't the world just stay where it is and be perfect?

Because it can't, Tumo

Grandpa?

Tumo, listen to me. You have to keep searching for your fight. You have not found it yet.

Grandpa, it's tough. I can't find anything today.

Maybe not, but you need to keep fighting. You cannot quit.

Ok, but it's tough.

Fight, Tumo. Keep fighting.

The voice of my grandfather woke me from my stupor, and rose me for another day. I cannot write more now, as I must go off, but hopefully tomorrow will be a better day. I know I need the strength.



OOC: Apologies for length and content, I feel much like Tumo today.
In addition,

Today, I want to tell you a story. Three years ago, my friend Manti met a woman online. Manti was a big football player, a linebacker, who had a strong work ethic. He worked so hard that he didn't have much time for a full relationship. He started chatting with this woman, day in and day out. She was fake.

[Andossa Se Mitrin Vega]

[Jeru FC]

Felicia Day and Jeru FC coach Melody Pond after another win

Felicia: Hey, we're back within two points of the leaders again.
Melody: That's good news. 4 games left and all we have to is claw back two points.
Felicia: I was worried for a moment
Melody: No time to relax girl
Felicia: Say, I'm actually older than you
Melody: I know but calling you lot women sounds weird

Felicia: People must be confused when the coaches are younger than the players
Melody: It's worse when people think I'm Princess Melody's sister
Felicia: I mean, when people think of a coach they think of an older person
Melody: In this case, I guess it's not
Felicia: I heard you're going on a cooking show
Melody: Oh that

Felicia: Yeah, celebrity MasterChef.
Melody: Yes, well ... not for myself. One of my charities.
Felicia: So can you cook?
Melody: Not really
Felicia: Getting lessons?
Melody: Princess Melody is trying to improve cooking but it's not working

Felicia: So you cook at home?
Melody: No, Mum does.
Felicia: Why?
Melody: She's retired and has nothing better to do
Felicia: You might learn something then from the show
Melody: Or look like an idiot

Felicia: I'm pretty good
Melody: Sure, you managed to burn sausages last week
Felicia: Um, that was a once off.
Melody: Don't let Carrie Buds near anything flammable
Felicia: Yes, she's a walking disaster.
Melody: 12 more points girls, all we need.

Felicia: All those draws, such a waste.
Melody: Three draws is one win. And a draw gives the opponent 1 point.
Felicia: I dunno, are we past our used by date?
Melody: Far from it
Felicia: I noticed Princess Melody is listed as player
Melody: Just in case we need someone out there. She's a top defender really.

Felicia: How's the kid going?
Melody: Like any other
Felicia: I hear little Princess Amy drops by to play
Melody: Ah yes, he's learning about girls real quick.
Felicia: Good then?
Melody: Err, not really ...

[Antoletia]

"Well that was fun."

"Yeah and we got our revenge on Bongo Johnson for that first half loss."

"Yeah i know, only really annoying defeat of our season. Well besides the other one."

"Yeah lol, we really just ended our season/."

"Basically we just won our only important game of the season."

"Yeah now what to do."

"We could try out some video games."

"Isn't their a new one from the Gordonopian company."

"Yeah lets go play that for the next few years."

"Totally."

[Taeshan]

"Well that was another easy game."

"Yeah, but sadly we let in another goal."

"Yeah what is with these goals all against shitty teams."

"Yeah its somewhat annoying that that happens but oh well."

"We got another 4 goals though, really helping our goals average after all those early 1 and 0 games."

"Yeah and the team really continues to click."

"Totally. Least we pretty much are assured qualification after Sargossa lost a stunning game. 8 points ahead, 4 games to go...Would take a collapse of Starblaydian player ego size to lose this size."

"Nice joke bro and yeah, even if we lost to both Cosumar and Sargossa we'd still need to lose to points against the other two lowly opponents we got this."

"All night long."

"You know it."

[Farfadillis]

The referee blew the whistle again. Yet another match. All those looked like homework now, win or win, they had to do it or face the consequences. They were vital points, maybe slightly easy, maybe not, but vital to stay as far from Astograth as possible. In front of them Cyborg Holland. At least it was at the I7'snerra, and against a team that was, at least according to the rankings, worse than them. The fans filled with expectations, it could be the time when they finally got that precious WC qualification.

The match started with Farfadillis taking the lead pretty quickly, in just ten minutes, thanks to a goal by O'rosso. It was because of his specialty: free kicks. Tuzzio had been fouled just outside the box, which was something all teams should avoid. If there's soething that makes Tuzzio deadly is that you just can't foul him, because O'rosso will tear you apart from free kicks. He laughs at the walls the keepers so desperately try to set up perfectly. Once again, he shot powerfully and over the wall, the ball then went down a bit, hit the crossbar and went in, all at very high speed, too much for Groenewald to even react. A fast lead, and something they sure wanted to keep. Afterall, it's always cool to win, right?

The first half would then turn worrying for the Farves, as they couldn't get many chances after that and their players sort of didn't react that well to anything. The thing was that, luckily, the opponents weren't playing that well either. The referee would blow the whistle after forty-five minutes of nothing but a free kick and bored fans.

The second half wasn't that different, except that Cyborg Holland started laying better and managed to equalize in twenty-six minutes, thanks to a penalty kick by Thorsten afer a quite silly foul by Setentriona, who's not in best form right now and hasn't shown signals of getting better anytime soon. The goal left Lisdiren just perplex and quite motionless as the shot was impressive in how precise and how strong it was. No chance in hell to stop it.

Luckily, the Farves would quickly retaliate - just two minutes later - thanks to Dandalleion. The false midfielder would get a through pass from Tuzzio from the midfield and outrun Lukas, then dribble Loitzer with speed and face the goalkeeper one-on-one. According to the media, those and free kicks were his specialties, but so were they his and O'rosso's. He chipped the ball over the goalkeeper with class but without enough power. Luckily, he had foreseen what cuold happen and had started running towards the line, and, once the ball stopped moving, sent it in. Now the Farves held the lead again and just had to keep it. Astograth had already defeated the Inevitable Syndicate, they just had to do the same with Cyborg Holland.

The game turned boring once again, La Verdheroja liked the result as it was and the Cyborgs weren't that bothered with a 2-1 loss away from home, either. It was sort of like an agreement in some kind of way. That or the Farves suddenly learnt how to defend, which is highly unlikely. Once the referee blew the whistle, the players exchanged jerseys and all that, and left with happy faces, they were about to make it. Just some more matches, they couldn't fail, or could they? Only time would tell...

[Kaledor]

MILCHAMA 1 – 0 KALEDOR
WORLD CUP QUALIFIER
VENUE: Unknown
ATTENDANCE: Unknown

The Knights could only take their hats off to a battling Milchama performance, who, through a mixture of effort and tenacity got the deserved victory. The fact is that Kaledor never got above third gear today, and despite having the most chances, their desire, passion and ability was second best, and they got what they deserved. At times it seemed that Sir Tristram was the only player on the pitch for the Knights, but even he seemed to lose heart towards the end as his hard work went un-rewarded.
The game started quietly, and the Knights did have their opponents pinned in their own half for much of the first half. A Sir Safir free kick from the left was headed goalward by Sir Tarquine, but it was a comfortable saved. From a Sir Tristram corner, Sir Tarquine actually got in the way of a goalward shot from Sir Lucan. Then Sir Safir got a decent shot in, which was well blocked by the defence.
Milchama, having weathered the early storm gained their confidence, and shot across and just wide of the goal. Sir Tristram responded with a series of excellent crosses, which were plucked from the reach of the Knights' below par strike force.
Milchama had another shot on target, but it was straight into Sir Gawain's arms. A decent build up by Kaledor culminated in the ball being fed to Sir Tristram, whose powerful shot rebounded off the bar to Sir Tarquine, who turned sharply to shoot, but was inches wide. Sir Safir then threaded the ball through to Sir Tarquine on the left of the area, but his rifled shot was again saved.
Milchama took the lead against the run of play after 38 minutes, when Sir Tor cleared the ball straight into the path of Cochava Cohen who easily beat goalkeeper Sir Gawain with a right-footed strike.
The Knights last chance before the break came from a Sir Safir ball to Sir Tarquine, who needed a little too much time to shoot. The ball was blocked and reached Sir Kay, but he hit the ball straight at the goalkeeper.
The frustration of the traveling supporters was not eased in the second half, as another chance went wasted when Sir Bors flicked wide from close range. With 64 minutes on the clock Sir Tarquine found himself, 6 yards out, with an open goal. Quite amazingly his shot went wide, glancing the post.
Lord Agravaine had seen enough and made a triple substitution. But of the three substitutes, only Sir Elyan showed some promise, as he at least got a couple of shots on target. However the other two did not improve on the players they had replaced.
Sir Tristram kept trying, but from this point on, it was Milchama who looked more likely to score, hitting two shots wide, and looking dangerous on the break. Sir Gawain had a bit of luck as he managed to save a deflected header, and Sir Safir tried a dipping free kick to no avail.
With six minutes left, Sir Tristram passed across the box to Sir Percival, who was forced to run to his left and shoot with his left foot. The goalkeeper tipped the shot over the bar. Then Sir Tristram battled his way across the area from the left, picked up a header from Sir Tarquine, but only shot into the side netting.
It was one of those days, and the players trudged off with their heads down. Lord Agravaine will be happy that all the big teams are now over and done with. The Knights have a favourable run ahead of them. This stage of the first half of the campaign saw them go on a four match winning streak, and a run similar to that again should see them over the finish line for third position.
First up is a home tie against The Royal Kingdom Of Quebec. The Knights edged past them in a 4-3 thriller last time out and home advantage should be enough to see them take all three points once again.

Group News
The Knights are only joint third as both West Guiana and New Ecopia moved on equal points to them, after a 2-2 draw with eachother. Thatius are only one point behind them as well after thrashing Timfen 4-1. Elsewhere group leaders Mytannion continued their unstoppable form with a 3-0 success in Patricant, while Quebec hammered Pugh 5-1.

   Group 16                  Pld    W   D   L    GF   GA   GD   Pts 
 1 Mytannion                  14   11   3   0    36    6  +30    36
 2 Milchama                   14   11   2   1    33   12  +21    35
 3 West Guiana                14    5   6   3    20   14   +6    21
 4 Kaledor                    14    6   3   5    12   12    0    21
 5 New Ecopia                 14    6   3   5    24   20   +4    21
 6 Thatius                    14    6   2   6    31   29   +2    20
 7 Timfen                     14    6   1   7    13   23  −10    19
 8 TRK of Quebec              14    3   1  10    23   37  −14    10
 9 Patricant                  14    2   3   9    14   32  −18     9
10 Pugh                       14    0   4  10     9   30  −21     4

[West Angola]

NAMIBE CHRONICLE

WEST ANGOLA, STARBLAYDIA BOTH WIN

West Angola managed to hold the ship upright last night, claiming a two-nil win over Bloodbath Generation on the road. Luke Parrish and Peter Wilson each scored a goal, and Blake Green managed to save all three shots that came his way. The win was vital for West Angola, as the team needs to win every single match from here on out in order to maximize its KPB ranking, which will fall if the team gains less than 37 points in qualifying. As it currently stands, if West Angola wins out, they will finish with 40 points. Coach Phillip Garren, when asked about the ranking points, had this to say:

We are not concentrating on working the KPB math right now. This team exists to play football, and that is what we are going to do. If our ranking improves because we succeed at football, that's an added bonus, but the KPB formula is not the first thing on our minds right now. We managed to beat a quality team tonight, and we've got to face another quality team later this week, and another after that, and another after that, and another after that. Our objective is to play to the best of our abilities, and win every match we play. If, at the end of the day, we've done our absolute best, then we are satisfied. If the Sporting Ministry is so concerned with the math, maybe they need to change jobs.

Last night also featured second-seed Starblaydia hammering Vakolic 6-1. Starblaydia, which is currently only a single point up on West Angola for the group's second spot, claimed a dominating win over a team which has thus far not even managed to win a match. West Angola and Starblaydia have already played both their matches, a road win for West Angola and a home draw, but disappointing results against Lymantatia, Anollasia, and Kishrael have kept West Angola from pulling away from the World Cup's purple-clad stalwarts. West Angola next returns to Namibe to face Lymantatia, who defeated them 2-0 on the road in the first leg of qualifying. If West Angola can claim a win, they will put themselves in position to grab the playoff spot if Starblaydia falls in the Dreamed Realm near the end of qualifying.

[Eastfield Lodge]

Shabeen Ahmad III's blog

Going better than expected.

OK, we may be fourth in the group, but I don't see that as a problem given how well we've done given the whole "they're going to fail so badly it isn't even funny" attitude most fans (and pretty much everybody who isn't a fan) seemingly had going into the start of qualifying. And on top of that, getting 23 points will herald a much welcomed rankings boost, which we hope will be increased further should we be invited to it (I'm only saying this now because the World Cup Committee has just opened voting for the Cup of Harmony).

Anyways, I was struggling to come up with anything to say after today's match report (losing 3-2 away to The Islands of Qutar, not too good), but then I remembered the prediction I made at the start of qualifying, so I thought that it's about time to compare them to reality. But first, my version of events from Qutar. And first of all, it was raining, so playing the Pyrovile was pretty much a no-go (we still haven't found a way to make him impervious to rain, it's annoying). And that really affected our play, as we didn't have that rock in front of the defence (both figuratively and rather literally), so it was rather harder to defend against counter-attacks, and in the end, they scored two goals on the counter-attack, one which was a long ball upfield from Stanis Bosko, beautifully weighted and whatnot, which Darren Quick managed to reach, control and fire past Blon. That was in the 18th minute, and the second goal of five was an equaliser, 8 minutes afterwards; Qutar captain Sparks clipping Jenny's heels in the D, and the free kick was fired low and hard underneath Edwards by Rory, using his hard plastic feet rather well there. Not much happened for the next ten minutes, just the odd back and forwards attacks but mostly sitting back doing not much.
On the stoke of half time though, we had a goal wrongly disallowed when a 20 yard shot by the Doctor forced a brilliant save by Edwards, pushing the ball onto the post, only for the ball to bounce off the post and cross the line before Edwards smothered it. I don't blame the linesman though, because Edwards' body was in the way of his line of sight, and it was a rather close call, one which I had to watch a replay for several times to be sure. But oh well, it just cost us a point, and possibly a win.
Second half was a a lot faster pace-wise, and that's what probably won it for them. We started brightly enough, the Doctor hitting the post and crossbar, plus two or three other shots and moves which were well dealt with by the Qutar defence and goalie. But in the 60th minute, Strax tripped up Darren Quick, and they had a penalty, which was duly put away by Young. They managed to seal the victory with 5 minutes left till stoppage time, when April Frye managed to cut inside Vastra and nicely curled a shot just inside the outside post. And to finish this off, the Doctor scored a consolation goal in the first and final minute of stoppage time, a nice passing move before he chipped the charging keeper.

Anyways, enough of that, I want to revisit my predictions (I haven't bothered even looking at them since I wrote them on here).

MD1: Away to Azox, prediction: draw, result: 4-3 win. This was a surprising victory to quite a lot of people, given our history of not opening a qualifying campaign well. Plus the fact that it was a team who should be battling it out with us for the third place spot, or fourth, depending on where we would be.
MD2: Home against Afrinesia, prediction: win, result: 5-1 win. Win as expected, but the demolition rather wasn't.
MD3: Away to Beaverriver, prediction: win, result: 3-1 victory. Again, a game we expected to win and did.
MD4: Away to The Archregimancy, prediction: loss, result: 2-1 loss. Sort of the reverse of the Afrinesia match; we lost as expected, but it was a lot closer than we'd thought it'd be.
MD5: Home against The Islands of Qutar, prediction: draw, result: 1-1. As expected, given the mere nine points difference in the ranking tables. Surprised that they haven't been doing well as I thought they would (well, before the match against us today).
MD6: Away to ASMV, prediction: loss, result: 2-1 loss. Basically, the Archregimancy all over again, although with even more surprise we lost by a solitary goal.
MD7: Home to Euskirribakondara, prediction: win, result: 7-2 win. Ouch. Ouch, ouch, ouch. 7 goals? Who on earth expected us to score 7 in a match, even with our attack minded play (pitted against their attack-minded play as well). But really, win was expected, the scoreline wasn't.
MD8: Away to Armed Bears, prediction: loss, result: 2-2. This one was a surprise as well, because I thought that they would be good enough to beat us on home soil, and to get away with a point is pretty good.
MD9: Home to Tyrants, prediction: win, result: 2-1. Finally, a result against a minnow that was rather unsurprising. Single goal victory seems lower end of normal expectations for us against minnows.

Looking back, the first half of qualifiers went extremely well by my predictions, going 5-2-2 and onto 17 points instead of the 4-2-3 I seem to have predicted. But I was rather close on the two I got wrong. Scary, right?

MD10: Home against Azox, prediction: scrappy win, result: 2-3 loss. Talk about a shock to the system, we came into this match expecting at least a draw, or a close one-goal victory like in the first leg. Instead, that's what they pull out on us. But hey, I had to get one horribly wrong at some point.
MD11: Away at Afrinesia, prediction: win, result: 2-1 victory. No real surprises here, moving on...
MD12: Home to Beaverriver, prediction: win, result: 2-0 win. Again, not surprising.
MD13: Home to The Archregimancy, prediction: loss, result: 4-1 loss. OK, this I have to say was definitely not indicative of the match itself, I for one thought we played rather well, but by some miracle, they pulled out four goals from goodness-knows-where: I mean, the third goal; getting the ball stuck in your goatskin cloth, losing your balance and falling over the line. Really?
MD14: Away to Qutar, prediction: draw, result: 3-2 loss. Ah well.

So, that puts us at 7-2-5 and fourth in the group with 23 points, whilst I had predicted 7-3-4, which is 24 points. Pretty good going at the moment, given that we're three points of Armed Bears and 2 ahead of Qutar. Looking at what's left during qualification:

MD15: Home to ASMV, prediction: loss. I stand by this, we should be thrashed.
MD16: Away to Euskirribakondara, prediction: close win. Actually, given the home leg, I might be inclined to scale it up to normal win.
MD17: Armed Bears at home, prediction: draw. Should be a draw on paper, given our home advantage, but we'll see. Could win out which would be surprising.
MD18: Tyrants Away, prediction: win. 'Nuff said.

This is Shabeen Ahmad III, signing out.

[Boring Paradise]

December 27th: 3-3 Khytenna (A)
December 30th: 3-2 Sicoutimont (A)
December 31st: 2-3 Equestrian States (H)

---

MD1: 2-0 Secundus Kasius (H)
MD2: 4-2 Free Swiss States (A)
MD3: 1-0 Wight (H)
MD4: 2-1 Amelio (A)
MD5: 4-3 Octinstine (H)
MD6: 3-3 Slembana (A)
MD7: 1-1 Nation M (H)
MD8: 2-0 Cowardly Pacifists (H)
MD9: 1-4 New Montreal States (A)

---

MD10: 3-2 Secundus Kasius (A)
MD11: 2-1Free Swiss States (H)
MD12: 4-8 Wight (A)
MD13: 2-1 Amelio (H)
MD14: 3-2 Octinstine (A)
MD15: Slembana (H) Win
MD16: Nation M (A) Win
MD17: Cowardly Pacifists (A) Win
MD18: New Montreal States (H) Lose

Already  - 10-2-2 - 32/42 points
Exspected (That are Left) - 3-0-1 - 9/12 Points

Group 18                     Pld    W   D   L    GF   GA   GD   Pts 
 1 Wight                      14   11   2   1    41   18  +23    35
 2 New Montreal States        14   10   3   1    37   16  +21    33
 3 Boring Paradise            14   10   2   2    34   28   +6    32
 4 Octinstine                 14    7   3   4    30   23   +7    24
 5 Slembana                   14    6   3   5    33   36   −3    21
 6 Cowardly Pacifists         14    5   3   6    12   16   −4    18
 7 Secundus Kasius            14    4   3   7    24   23   +1    15
 8 Nation M                   14    3   2   9    19   33  −14    11
 9 Free Swiss States          14    2   2  10    13   28  −15     8
10 Amelio                     14    0   1  13    10   32  −22     1

Can't go through
Not possible for first

Previously
Location: Green Knight Hotel, Paradisia, Boring Paradise, Rushmore

---

Luke Homewood: The battle with New Montreal States has come battle but with a different reward from it. A second place finish. Wight have secured a top two finish with a win against NMS last match, while we won against Octinstine. If it was a draw it would mean we would be one point away from Wight and two points behind NMS. If it was a draw it would have been a better last few matches than it would be now. It would decide between us and NMS in the last match if all the of us are winning the matches in Matchday 15 to Matchday 17. Then it would be decided in the Wight match in Matchday 18 as well as the others. Five nations are already out and only one who can still qualify but not in first place.

Gary Hughes: It can't get more exciting than this. If it was, then this will have the best ending for us in the qualifiers ever. Last few times we came 4th, 4th, 3rd and now it looks really close. It would have been better if NMS and Wight drew their last match. It would make things more exciting. But instead we are one point behind NMS and three points behind Wight.

Cameron Clark: We should be getting on now with the match against Octinstine. Well then we were away to Octinstine in the last match. The match was big. We already saw the NMS match end in a win for Wight. We the had to win to keep us in the chance of going through. It wasn't as interesting as the home match in matchday 5. But it has a lot of things to do. I was still shocked by it. Some really good attempts by both sides as they both had really good players but they have a worse defence then us. But it was close for us to decide who will win.


OOC: Can't finish it for the cutoff.

[New Montreal States]

With one half of play in the books at South Lawn, the Sondry Folk had a 3-2 lead over the Paladins in a match that had been back and forth from the start of play. The visitors from New Montreal States had scored first, then gotten buried under a half-hour of dominance by the Wight midfield, then stole back a second goal during stoppage time. Still, the Wightling crowd was feeling pretty good about its offense, and a pleasant vibe was sweeping through all parts of the stadium, except for the visitors' locker room.

Meanwhile, workers were busily setting up a stage at midfield, and hauling out a podium. The PA announcer told the crowd that a special joint announcement from Bùa, King of Uncertain Dimensions, and the New Montreal State Ministry of Morale would be made in a few minutes, if the crowd cared to listen. Some did, while others made a beeline for the concourses. Meanwhile, various dignitaries began filing onto the stage while the workers hurriedly plugged in the wires and cables needed to ensure that everyone could hear and see everything those dignitaries were about to do.

In a compromise between Wight's jocular atheism and the NMS Orthodox Church, the Patriarch would be allowed to chant a short hymn as a benediction, as long as he pretended to not notice any Wightlings who chose not to pay attention. As the Patriarch launched into Psalm 23, more members of the crowd headed for the concession stands while others wondered if a more safety-minded deity wouldn't first smite his enemies before eating instead of preparing a table in their presence.

After the Psalm was over, the Minister of Morale took the podium. She was a lovely old woman, age 67, named Agnès Rochon, who had been the receptionist at the Ministry's front desk for 39 years straight. As she neared the civil service's mandatory retirement age of 64, the former Minister of Morale had been arrested for trading pork-belly futures on illegal insider information. The Government had been deeply split on how best to restore the Ministry's good name, and weeks went by without a resolution. As other, more serious matters piled up and defections from the ruling party were seriously contemplated, Mme. Rochon was nominated as the most desperate of moves. She was confirmed with a whopping 87% "yes" vote, and began assembling everything she would need to make her mark in history.

For the last twenty-four years, she had been listening to the conversion of her bosses as they made their way in and out of the building. Using this scrap of information to build a mental collage of the world of football, she thought she'd figured out how to win hosting privileges for the World Cup. She'd never thought she'd have a chance to get her plans taken seriously by anyone in power. But here she was.

She'd chosen Wight as co-hosts after the success of Cup of Harmony 54, and after a personal meeting with Bùa, King of Uncertain Dimensions, who had been extremely courteous to her and had served her good tea and delicious crumpets. Now they were walking together towards the stage that had just been vacated by the Patriarch. They had agreed that Rochon would speak first, and she stepped up to the podium.

"Good evening! Ceremonies are boring, that's why we're doing this one during halftime of a football match, so it'll be short. We have an announcement to make: Wight and New Montreal States will be bidding to host World Cup 64. We both love football, and well-run football tournaments, and we look forward to sharing both of these passions with the rest of the multiverse.

"To the FAs of the world: please vote for us! Thank you." Rochon smiled her most grandmotherly smile and stepped aside for Bùa to make his remarks.

Bùa, King of Uncertain Dimensions, having been convinced by two consecutive weeks of nagging by Hassan that tonight needed to be taken seriously, had snuck off to New Montreal a week ago to go shopping. He had come back with a 7,500-oz. custom-tailored suit from New Montreal's bespokenest of bespoke tailors, silk habadashery to match, and a fine pair of designer sunglasses as the icing on the fashion-template cake. He had looked into the dressing-room mirror and congratulated himself for his impeccable sense of style. All of that confidence began to desert him as he got up from his flashiest portable throne, which he had repainted to match his suit. As the lights turned onto him and Mme. Rochon walked away from the podium, Bùa, King of Uncertain Dimensions smiled nervously. He felt surprisingly mortal as he walked up the three short steps onto the podium. He idled wondered if the Mitrin Vega was watching as he looked down at his notes before beginning: "Football is just as important as gravity in keeping the universe together, and it's a lot more fun to watch. The Multiverse is full of all sorts of people; humans, and talking beasts, and elves, and eleven-dimensional beings with names that cannot be spoken in the tongues of mortals. We look forward to welcoming all these beings - or at least the ones who are good at football - to Wight. And New Montreal States. Boredom is illegal in Wight, and I can assure every prospective tourist that he, she or it will return home with memories that even the most jaded of grandchildren will want to hear about. Lobsters, cuttlefish, crème fraîche, leeks..."

Bùa, King of Uncertain Dimensions suddenly remembered that halfway through writing the speech, his mind had drifted off and he'd begun writing a grocery list for the chowder he'd wanted his chef to try making for dinner the next night. He decided to quickly wrap things up: "Yes! Our cuisine is amazing. The best part about having your nation pop out of the middle of the ocean is that you're surrounded by delicious, fresh seafood. Vote for us! Thank you."

Bùa quickly left the podium after that, not even remaining for the standing ovation from the fans who had stayed to watch, and the curses at having spent a historical event in line for the bathroom from those who'd left their seats. And then the Sondry Folk charged out onto the pitch, scored a goal within the first four minutes of play, and generally made mincemeat of their prospective co-hosts for the next forty-five minutes.

[Apox]

The History of Apoxian Football

Part One: The Beginning
Part Two: Expansion and the Marshall Cup
Part Three: The Game Grows
Part Four: Moving on from Cups
Part Five: The Northern League
Part Six: The Midlands League
Part Seven: The Dwile League
Part Eight: The Seafront League
Part Nine: A Lack of Consistency
Part Ten: The Apox National League
Part Eleven: Growth

Part Twleve: Up to the Present

The third and fourth installment of the Apox National League saw Gwinevra Barbarians fulfill their potential, as they held down the top spot on both seasons, winning with 49 points in both 565 and 566, although both time, Dwile Warriors were right on their tail.

Dwile Central, the last remaining original club, although not in name, went bankrupt at the end of Season 3 and was bought out by Issington, merging the two clubs. Barbury Town was relegated after the completion of the 566 season, it a massive shock, meaning the number of experienced teams in the top flight were smaller, but this opens the league up to a number of new clubs who will be vying for those coveted titles, Champions Cup and Globe Cup spots.

Another development was of the merging of all the regional leagues to create a second tier for the 566, comprising of 15 teams. Two teams with past experience in the ANL won promotion during the season, with Exton F.C blitzing their way back to the top after 1 season out of it, and Cierbana surprisingly made their way back after 3 seasons in the lower leagues. However, what is encouraging is the skill and usefulness of the other SBCC teams, Gurdle A.F.C and the relatively new team, Miners '47 who performed well that first season.

In the international world, we fared very well, in the Qualifying stage for World Cup 62 we were one point off gaining a play-off play, but unfortunately Aguazul were too strong and we were sent to our second CoH, where we just crept in as 2nd seed.

We progressed out of our group and got to the Round of 16. There we lost to Saugeais on penalties, who we were to host the upcoming BoF with and who went on to lose the final to Androssa Se Mitrin Vega.

We went on a hosting spree, joint hosting the Campionato Esportiva with Swyftlandre where we won our first major international trophy beating the top seed Asadur in the final. Then we hosted the aforementioned BoF with Saugeais, which was regarded by the Apoxian public as a success!

---

Jon Quillisi Has Opinions Column from the Apoxian Word

Well, that was a very pleasant shock for us. 7-2. While San Potato are quite low in the ranking, we've gotta bear in mind that these guys were runners-up at the last Baptism of Fire, and we know them quite well as they played the majority of the tournament in Apox. As a result, netting that many can always be seen as a bit of a surprise.

We started quickly, Olim Benzari quickly scoring after receiveing the ball on the wing, skilling Patrick Edwards in defense, and sublimely slotting in past David Johnson in goal. And after only 3 minutes! A short respite from goal scoring followed, however, Dravid Scott had over ideas, hitting a typical Scott goal in from just outside the box in the 14th minute putting us firmly in control from very early on. We got our 3rd merely 4 minutes later, with Jack Moses getting his first ever international goal after receiving the ball from Olim Benzari and chipping it over David Johnson who was looking quite hapless in goal by now.

The San Potato players managed to rally slightly, however their respite was only temporary as Dravid Scott added his second in the 36th minute, to take him to 40 international goals, by far the most out of any Apoxian, with Chris Maarsden being the closest to him on a distant 22 goals.

Remarkably San Potato managed to score in the 43rd minute, after a mistake by Jack Moses in midfield meant that Wayne King was able to supply the ball to prolific striker Joe Johnson who made sure that the ball found its target, making the score 4-1 at half-time.

After half time is was more of the same really, with more goals, Dravid Scott completing his hat-trick for the team in the 56th minute, late substitute Tom Olfa scoring his first international goal to make it 6-1. Landry Shearer grabbing another goal on the counter attack to bring it back down slightly before Marlon
Vetta netted the final goal to make it 7-2, another fantastic victory for Apox and definitely the sort of thing we need to get our qualification hopes back on track. Keep it up!

Jon

Team Sheet from the Match (scorers in bold
GK - Will Hewitt
RD - Jack Forster
CD - Chris Neguwa sub Tom Olfa 65'
CD - Dan Weekes
LD - Oley Williams
RM - Olim Benzari
CM - Will Fich sub Tom Mills 79'
CM - Jack Moses
LM - Cas Newan
ST - Dravid Scott x3 (c)
ST - Marlon Vetta

[Ossidiacqua]

With another couple of hits under his belt, Re walked jauntily to his latest location, crossbow and bolts hidden under cloak. It wasn't his usual preferred method, of course, that would be his favoured short blade, but the Chapter Leader had specified that a crossbow was required specifically for this hit. He'd questioned why when he'd been given the commission, only to receive a blunt answer in response.

"Because I said so, that's why." she snapped.

"My preference is for short blades," continued Re, "I'm not fully proficient with with a crossbow."

"Well, consider this a training session, if it helps." replied the Chapter Leader, clearly trying to end the discussion as quickly as possible.

"Why a crossbow, though? I mean, did the customer request it specifically?"

"I am the customer." she said quickly.

"You ar-...? Then, wh-...?"

"That is irrelevant," she said, "just take care of the contract as you are given. That is your job, is it not?"

"Yes, Chapter Leader," he mumbled.

"Well then. You have the time, and the place. He'll be the only person there, you won't struggle to identify him."

"Who is it, Chapter Leader?" he asked.

"Just, someone I've had a hankering to get rid of for a while..." she tailed off, mysteriously.

He'd left after that point. It wasn't really a question he wanted to press an answer home for given the dangerous flashes of flint that could be seen in her eyes. Instead, he thought it pertinent to just get on with the job in question. And so he did. Fortunately, it was a Magisterium address that he'd been given, and he needed no further guidance to recognise the place he was needed to get to. He knew the shortcuts. He knew the streets. He knew the entire complex like the back of his hand. For years, he's wandered the streets and back alleys of the Magisterium palaces, just trying to get a grasp for how big the place was. The opulence and style of the building had bewitched him. The ornaments, the wealth that just seeped from the place, all of it had captivated his impressionable mind and had driven him to quietly brush the idea of re-establishing the parliament under the proverbial carpet.

He could still remember how he'd come into the post as Grand High Cardinal, like it was yesterday. There was that guy from Karditan called... erm... well, he remembered nearly everything about it like it was yesterday, anyway. He'd been mistaken for the now dead Grand High Cardinal, who had originally been all for the re-establishment of parliaments, and he'd just, assumed the position and become the Grand High Cardinal. Like it was the most natural thing in the world. It was remarkably easy if you already have a portrait, apparently, in a nation without instant photographs, to become a person you weren't ten minutes ago. Fondness for how easy it had been was one of the reasons Re was so dead against technology imported from other nations even now. He still forced Polarians to run those wicked aero-port things.

For a brief second, he wondered how Simplo was getting on, and how the Magisterium was getting on without a Grand High Cardinal at the helm. But, as he snuck into a secret tunnel by the training schools, he focused on the task in hand and put it out of his head for the time being...

---

Meanwhile, Simplo was walking the corridors in a different part of the Magisterium complex, wondering whom it was he was supposed to be meeting in the lower courtyards. It wasn't the first time he'd been asked to meet someone mysterious in the complex as part of his new assimilated role as Grand High Cardinal. He was finding out to his surprise that there were some parts of Re's job that even his closest advisor was unaware of, and he'd recently been a part of several underhand deals to keep various guilds of the city happy. Large sums of money had hanged hands, and Simplo was beginning to wonder how he could get hold of some of it.

"Evening, Your Excellency." nodded a Guarda Djocoranga as Simplo walked past him into a corridor.

"Evening," replied Simplo, with a smile. He was enjoying being in power.

Walking into the corridor on his way to the secret rendezvous, he wondered what Re was up to at that moment in time. Which reminded him, he hadn't checked to see whether he'd met his ends on the streets of Sant'Elia yet, perhaps he needed to speed that process up a bit...

---

Crouching in position behind a planter sporting a rather large palm tree, Re extracted his crossbow and made himself comfortable. Any second now, his target would be the only other man other than him in that courtyard. All he had to do then, was announce that he was on Guild business as was the custom, dispatch him, and return to the Guild for coffe and nibbles. He looked up at the palm and realised he had no idea on how much water all the plants in the Magisterium took up. Maybe he should look into that when he got bored and returned there. Perhaps it would be better used letting the important people drink, rather than elaborate plants in the complex that nobody would ever see. He looked around at the columns and ornate carvings in the windowframes many floors above the cloistered corridors that surrounded the courtyard. Certainly, he'd never been here before. He doubted people were appreciating the plants. So, what was the point?

It certainly wasn't like water was abundant in the nation. The fact that Ossidiacqua was formally attached to The Vatmark, a region of Rushmore famous for being wetter than the average, had always appeared to Re as some kind of practical joke at the nation's expense.

But, no matter. He heard footsteps approaching, and he took aim...

---

Simplo entered the courtyard and looked around. Nobody yet. Perhaps they were running late? Or maybe he was early. Either way, no matter. Nothing to worry about. It had happened before and it would no doubt happen again, so he took a seat on one of the four planters that were arranged in the courtyard, and waited. Except, no, wait, was that a cough behind him...?

---

Re squinted in confusion as he saw the figure enter the courtyard in... in... were those the Grand High Cardinal's ceremonial robes? He gave a cough, and stood up.

"Guild business!"

---

Simplo turned around, shocked. He recognised that voice. He squinted. He recognised that assassin, too, come to think of it...

---

Re lowered the crossbow, confused. He recognised that man in his ceremonial robes...

---

"Your Excellency?!"

---

"Your... Excellency?!"

[Sandwich Territories]

"We've done all we could. We've exceed expectations that the fans had for us, not management. We need to just keep on trucking. "I'm proud of us. For our first season, in arguably the hardest group, is, astonishing, really. But, don't stop here. We gotta keep going, no matter how point-less it is from here. For you. For me. For this team.....For Sandwich."

[Super-Llamaland]

Group 6
Darmen 2–4 Jedi8246
Kericia 0–1 Jeruselem
Powersith 0–2 Carmadin
Super-Llamaland 0–0 Pacificius
Cuboneland 4–0 Velkomorave

CODE: SELECT ALL
Group 6 Pld W D L GF GA GD Pts
1 Jeruselem 14 10 3 1 31 17 +14 33
2 Jedi8246 14 8 2 4 31 25 +6 26
3 Darmen 14 8 2 4 44 31 +13 26
4 Carmadin 14 8 2 4 35 19 +16 26
5 Cuboneland 14 7 3 4 25 20 +5 24
6 Powersith 14 7 2 5 22 22 0 23
7 Super-Llamaland 14 7 1 6 30 30 0 22
8 Pacificius 14 2 2 10 13 24 −11 8
9 Velkomorave 14 2 2 10 20 39 −19 8
10 Kericia 14 1 1 12 4 28 −24 4

The Post-Game Discussion Thread from NSoccer-Llamaland:

DeJesus101: The recap of the 0-0 draw to Pacificius: sucky defense, sucky offense, repeat for Pacificius.
FireFerguson: FIREFERGUSON FIREFERGUSON
WizardofMays: Shut up, spammer. When's the official recap on?
OfficialRecapWC: Well, nothing much to say except we should've creamed them. The Llamas are definitely slipping, two points back from fifth place, Bryan Ferguson's prediction yesterday. No defense, but Nick DeJesus stopped what got by. The new Ferguson Defense did not go well with fans or the pitch. Many opportunities were blown, FOUR MISSED SHOTS by Johnny Rushmore (At DaStriker51), all off target, easy shots, we should have won this. We didn't. Too bad, let's keep playing, see if we can salvage anything from this.

WizardofMays: At least we've guaranteed we won't slip any more.
FireFerguson: You are right, but we gotta fire Ferguson and hire George Martin if we want to win.
WizardofMays: I don't think so. Are any players online to explain?
DeJesus101: A lucky break- Darmen lost! Jeruselem's on first- no question, but maybe a tiny sliver for the Llamas?
WizardofMays: Don't know. See u tom. Hope we win!

[Audioslavia]

Jaffacake sat, forlorn, looking out through the bars of the prison cell. Beside him, Sanchez and Portico were talking, trying to make sense of what had happened. The one apparently known as 'Ted' was still pacing back and forth, scowling at the prison guards through the slit in the door, ignoring all requests to sit down despite the threats of taser guns and batons, while Niblick sat, slumped in a corner, propped up against the only cushion in the cell.

Each was wondering... how the hell had they got here?

The Unusual Suspects
A World Cup 63 'Character RP'

Seven days earlier...

"He's tall, he's quick, his name's a porno flick, Emanuel, Emanuel"...

This must be the five-hundredth time Emanuel Portico had heard this song, and he had to admit he hadn't gotten tired of it yet. The chants of the Karditan fans regarding his prowess as a footballer had gotten more frequent in recent years, correlating with the increased fortunes of Karditani football. Four years ago his heroics as the last line of defence had helped get the national side to within a whisker of the World Cup finals, and as things stood they'd be just as close this time around. 3-0 up against Tyrrin, just a minute to go, and heading towards his second clean sheet in a row.

A Tyrrin player broke free with the ball down the left hand side. Portico ambled over to that side of his goal, flicking a gloved hand out towards the post - a habit he'd forced himself to pick up after being beaten at his near post too often in his younger days, akin to a boxer punching himself lightly on the chin during a sparring session as a reminder to keep his gloves up near his face. The Tyrrin player tore down the wing and looked up into the box. Portico glanced to his left and saw no Tyrrin players anywhere near getting into the area in time for the cross. The winger, under close pressure from his opposite number, one Sweet Swing, Karditan wide-player and pony wife of Emanuel Portico, appeared to figure that the reason he hadn't seen any Tyrrin players running into the Karditan penalty area was because he hadn't looked hard enough, and crossed the ball anyway, swinging an awkward left boot at it. The ball sliced off the winger's instep and looped up in the air, towards the Karditan goal rather than into what would have been the 'danger zone' of the eighteen yard box, had any Tyrrin player been fit enough to get there in time. Portico took a step backwards, then a short hop backwards, watching the ball all the way. From the trajectory it appeared to be just dipping under the cross-bar, and Portico made a split-second decision not to risk trying to catch the awkward ball, but to jump and flick out a palm, helping it on its way over the bar. With a typical cat-like leap he nonchalantly scooped the ball away for a corner, landing elegantly on his feet to a smattering of applause.

He was reminded of his start in football, finding his calling as a goalkeeper due to his his razor-sharp reflexes, cool temperament and ability to read the body-language of the opposition, all skills honed to perfection during his life as a cat-burgler, a gentleman theif, talking and acting his way out of the few sticky situations he found himself in on the rare occasion his athleticism and nimbleness failed to get him out of harm's way in time.

The crowd started chanting again as the Tyrrin players flooded into the Karditan area for the corner-kick, hoping to get a consolation goal in the dying moments of the game. The same winger who had made a hash of the cross had gone over to take the corner. Sweet Swing trotted into the six-yard box, in front of Emanuel, giving him a playful swish of her tail.

"You still get a bonus for clean sheets?" she said, over he shoulder.
"Yup. You going to help me keep this corner out?"
"Of course, hun"

The corner was taken just as poorly as the earlier cross. It was too high, too close to the goalkeeper. Portico watched the ball hang in the air, felt a hand or two clutch his shirt, which he shrugged off quickly, his lightning reflexes proving useful yet again. He jumped for the ball, but realised quickly that he was off balance - an elbow pressed against his back from an opposition player, two light-blue Karditan shirts in front of him, two Tyrrin shirts jumping almost on top of them. He made an effort to punch the ball away rather than try to catch it and risk dropping it at the feet of a striker, and clenched his fists together, pumping them forward as the ball hurtled towards the melee. A clean contact. He watched the ball rocket high out of the area, and braced himself for a landing. It wouldn't be quite so cat-like this time. A left foot touched down on the grass, but his centre of gravity was well off, sending him tilting backwards, his right foot landing as well but being unable to keep him upright. In front of him, the melee of players landed too. One of them landed awkwardly, and a shooting spasm of pain zipped up Portico's leg, via his ankle. A Tyrrinite lost his balance and fell onto Portico's chest. Portico pushed him off quickly, looked over at the ball, watching it bounce over the sideline, and took a look at his ankle.

Ouch. It wasn't broken, but there was a tear in his sock and a puddle of blood forming around the sky-blue cloth. Ouch. Balls. This might be bad.

He felt a familiar feeling, a nuzzling in his neck. He draped an arm over Swing's mane and the pony hoisted him up. Portico kept an arm wrapped around his team-mate - and wife's - neck and tried to put weight on the affected ankle. No. No no no no. He wasn't about to do that any time soon. That was it. Nothing broken - he'd know by now - but that was a month on the sidelines waiting for the bruising to heal, and it felt like there was going to be a lot bruising. The next match, against Geisenfried, wasn't for a month anyway. He'd be back in time, probably, but it was still... annoying.

"I said, 'are you OK'?" came a voice. Swing's. Portico looked over and nodded.
"My ankle has had it"
"Had it?"
"Well, temporarily. Some idiot Tyrrin player trod on it as we landed. Bruising, maybe a sprain, maybe a twist. Not good"
"Oh.. erm" started Swing, interrupted by the referee's blowing of the final whistle. Swing looked round at the Tyrrin players leaving the field, and started looking anxious.
"What's up, Sweet?" asked Portico, arm now draped on her back as she searched in vain for something."
"I, err, I thought I trampled on a Tyrrin player as I landed, after that corner" she said, nervously. Portico looked at the departing footballers. No-one was hobbling. He smiled and gave his wife a playful scratch on the mane.
"It did feel a bit more... hoofy... than a human..."
"Oh, darling, I'm sorry"
"It's OK dear, I will survive. You can help me hobble over to the dressing room, though"
"I'm sorry"
"Don't worry about it"

"You should worry about it" said the Karditan team physio, twenty minutes later, Emanuel Portico on the physio's table, ice pack around the ankle, Swing looking like she'd just trodden on an orphan's christmas present, rather than her own husband's ankle. "You need to see a specialist, otherwise, well, this isn't something you'll recover from. Not properly. You'll have to play under the influence of painkillers, or not at all"
"I can't play under painkiller" said Portico, shaking his head, "they make me hazy, dull my reflexes. It wouldn't work"
"Then you'll have to see a specialist. Hold on, I'll get my contact list, though I doubt there are any Karditanis that specialise in human footballing injuries, let alone football injuries as a whole. You'll be looking at the black market or worse, abroad"
"Fine" said Portico. He looked over at Swing. "It's fine. I'll see a specialist, I'll get it sorted, I'll be back in action before you know it."
"I know... but"
"Do you think you have crippled me for life?"
"No, but..."
"Do you think that I am angry at you?"
"Well no..."
"Then why the long face?"

---

"Then why the long face?" asked Rubio, a few thousand miles away in Audioslavia. He's just been privvy to five minutes of moaning and whining by Jeremy Jaffacake, who was beginning to sound more and more like his four year-old son than his friend and occasional drinking partner. Jeremy was off the wagon completely having survived a matter of months in between his whisky intake in Wight and tonight, a matter of hours after his first appearance on Channel One's football program in years, his first appearance since he'd last said something horrible and controversial enough to get the most famous sporting personality in Audioslavia kicked off the network, possibly for good this time.
"I know I don't care but... I like television work. Pretty young girls following you everywhere, asking if you're comfortable, if you want more coffee, if you'd like more 'make-up', not that I have to use any with my naturally camera-friendly complexion"
"Of course" said Rubio, reckoning Jeremy's withering self-deprecation-via-aggrandising wasn't worth jumping on.
"I should have just not said anything" said Jeremy
"Well, you got that much right"

Jeremy downed the rest of his pint and got to his feet, shakily. "Another pint?" he asked. Rubio nodded, waved an empty glass in the air. Jeremy took it, along with his own, and plodded cautiously over to the bar. Above the old hack's head there was a television screen. It was silent - rock music instead blaring throughout the pub - but he could see from the caption that the 10:00 news program was featuring Jeremy, and his spectacularly ill-advised comment on the Football Tonight program.
"Infamous journalist Jeremy Jaffacake has been axed by Football Tonight during his comeback appearance" the attractive, if overly made-up presenter seemed to be saying. The program cut to a clip from the show. Jeremy muttering the line that would stick with him for the rest of his life, however long that would be.
It provided the context first. Cafunduese/Audioslavian ex-footballer and now-Pacitalia manager Andre-Luis Partico holding court with the show's presenter. Rubio watched Partico's lips as he said the line;
"Israel Klimt has done so well at Audioslavia, even after this horrible game I'd still give him a gold star"
"Shouldn't do that" Jeremy had said, the camera now pointing at him, "his kind have had to wear yellow stars before"
Rubio let out a short giggle. Jeremy turned round, saw his colleague, looked up, saw the TV screen, saw his own face, saw the camera cut back to the newsreader, saw another picture of his own face, this time with a comedically large axe photoshopped onto his head. Audioslavian journalism at its classy best. Jeremy glared at Rubio.
"It's going to get funnier before it gets less funny" said Rubio, honestly. Jeremy grumbled and handed over a fiver to the attractive barmaid, before carrying a drink in each hand back to the journalist's table, a packet of crisps hanging from between two clenched fingers. The crisps were ripped open, a fifth of Jeremy's pint downed.
"I mean, how could he set me up for that? He must have *known* I'd make a jewish-star-past-atrocities type joke"
"That's a type of joke, is it?" asked Rubio
"You know what I mean"
"In Andre-Luis's defence, I doubt he'd have been aware of such a genre of joke existing. Certainly from his facial expression afterwards which, like the presenter, was one of amazement, surprise and faint disgust. Phone."
Jeremy's phone was, indeed, ringing. It was a Krytenian number. Looked to be coming from the offices of the Emberton Post, his occasional employer.
"Hello?" he said. Rubio looked away, but looked back with an interested expression as soon as Jeremy said "oh, hi Cleo, long time since I last heard from you. How's..."
Jeremy had evidently been interrupted. Rubio tried to mouth a question to him, but Jeremy waved him away, not able to mouth-read and listen at the same time, at least not when two different people were trying to communicate with him at once.
"Oh"
..
"I see"
..
"I see... well that's interesting... Yeah of course. Yeah of course." - a grimace from Jeremy now - "no, no I've nothing planned in terms of TV work anymore. The jewish joke, yeah. Yeah I know. Yes I know. I can be there tomorrow.... yes of course I'll ask him....tell him... OK... OK... see you tomorrow... bye"
"Well?" said Rubio, immediately, not even waiting for Jeremy to hang up
"Sue isn't working at the minute is she?"
"Nope, off for a couple of weeks, stressed out with balancing the kid and work. I'm picking up her shifts, she's taking it easy, spending a bit more mum-time with young Guillermo. Why? What's going on?"
"Cleo would like us to go to Krytenia. Emberton Post have downsized a little, something to do with football not being quite so popular over there now that their national team is losing to the likes of Karditan and Bordurian. Our fellow sporting journalists have left, en masse, in protest. They'll be back but, well, they're in need of scabs, apparently"
"Oh, erm... did she ask for me too?"
"Yup. We're leaving tomorrow."
"But... two things. One, I'm not sure being a scab-worker is a great idea, and two, I don't want to leave Sue alone. She'll get fed-up within five seconds. I shouldn't even be in a pub, really"
"Do you like anyone at the Emberton Post?" asked Jeremy
"Yeah, everyone"
"Bullshit. Who do you like, then?"
"Well... James, he's alright"
"James left six months ago, works in the Cy'un's sports department now"
"Well, there's Cleo"
"Not sport anymore, she's a proper journo now. Office and everything"
"So who's running the sports section?"
"Dunno, we will be I suppose, temporarily"
"What about Johnny?"
"Gone. Cy'un again"
"Felicity?"
"Moved up to the business columns"
"Dave?"
"Music writer now"
"Janet?"
"Left the sports section ages ago, Arts and Theatre now"
"Claudio?"
"Moved back to Starblaydia"
"Harry?"
"Horoscopes"
"Horoscopes?!"
"Mid-life crisis"
"Well.. that just leaves... Kevin?"
"Kevin? You like Kevin? Kevin's a complete tool"
"Yeah, well everyone else has moved on, apparently"
"Students the lot of them" said Jeremy, "all the sports section is just a load of spotty graduates who think they've made it cos they've got their name in print. In truth, the whole population have moved away from sport. Even Rami Niblick is doing proper journalism now, at least as much proper journalism as you'll ever see at the Cy'un rag. These students have been given the best job they're ever going to get and they're kicking up a fuss because two of their number have had to take either a pay-cut or redundancy, so they're picketting. We're the scabs."
Rubio pondered.
"Well... when you put it like that... I need to call Sue"
"You'll see her in an hour, pubs close soon"
"Yeah, I know, I'd rather talk to her before I'm too pissed"
"I need to make a phone call too, actually"
"Who?"
"Agent. I'm gonna tell him I'm being parachuted in as an 'expert' for the Emberton Post in Krytenia, that I'll be leaving tomorrow, and that the Krytenians evidently see me as a valuable asset to sporting journalism even if the moronic televisual media in Audioslavia don't"
"You're not going to mention me?"
"Why would I mention you? Don't get ahead of yourself, sidekick" said Jeremy with mock distain.
"Who even says 'televisual' anyway" muttered Rubio under his breath as he left the pub to phone Sue. Jeremy, not caring about the ambient noise, hoisted his phone to his ear in the middle of the pub.

"Hi, Sue? Rubio. How are you doing?... Good... and the bairn? Excellent. No... no I'll be home in an hour, maybe less.... aye.... aye the gold start thing was a stupid thing to say. Glad you understand. No I'm not too drunk. Maybe a little smelly. Working all day dear. Less than an hour. Promise. Love you. You too. Bye.... bye.... bye"

*Hang up*

"...and another thing, c***, if I see another f***ing picture of a badly photoshopped [i]fucking axe through my f***ing head I am going to come over to your poxy little backwoods office, I'm gonna take my f***ing boot and I'm going to shove it so far up your f***ing a*** you'll be wearing my kneecaps as a skull-cap. NO THAT WASN'T ANTI-SEMITIC. F*** OFF[/i]"

*Hang up*

"How did your phone call go?" asked Rubio, having heard the last few snippets of conversation.
"He's a fat arse. Almost as fat as you" replied Jeremy. Rubio looked down at his torso in confusion, still rather athletic despite his years advancing to their mid thirties. He frowned at Jeremy.
"Aye, you're a fat b***ard so you are. You're round"
"What? No I'm not"
"I said, 'your round'" said Jeremy, with a wink that drew a groan from his colleague. Rubio stood up and traipsed over to the bar. One last drink before home...

to be continued

[Secundus Kasius]

PATRIOTS!

The time to act is clearly at hand! Nexus is in turmoil, and whilst our brave brothers and sisters are out fighting for us in the streets and underground, we should strike!

The tyrannical regime will fall, my friends! Too long have we remained in the shadows, fighting for rights beneath the eyes of the corrupt law enforcement and trigger happy military. But our anonymous hero showed us we can do more! Unknown though he is, this man has shown us the true way - we must put personal considerations aside and oppose the Haxtes suppressors outright!

We've a new, democratic leader ready to place upon the Kasian throne, supported by ministers who've been failed by those who claim to be our "Government". Whilst one is unfortunately under supervision, last night he managed to slip away from captors long enough to send us a coded message of support and assistance - we don't wish to risk his exposure by printing the whole document, in case this falls into enemy hands, but if you are able to decode the following extract please contact us.

Hius! o louved hhrm aLWyz lvef her. ANs sher abaned me! Ne1 haxtsd bitgvh. W;rre b disxoerd, nd alll gion fie...........

Those of you who are members of suppressed religions can see clearer than us all how God/Gods are on our side - even the football matches are being influenced by the Haxtes regime's poor karma! A loss to one of the lower ranked nations in the tournament is a sure sign that God/Gods is/are on our side! Take up your arms, brothers - soon we march!

[Mesoland]

OOC: Sorry for yet another short post, I'm finding it difficult to make time to RP.

MBC Sports News
Coverage of the LXIII World Cup in Aguazul and Turori

BLUES HAMMER JUKENIA

Mesoland 4
Nukaba 35, 67, 90, Balotelli 44

Jukenia 1
A. Ximelez 74

Mesoland recorded yet another comfortable home victory last night, marching to victory over unranked Jukenia. A Nukaba hattrick and Balotelli brace all but secured the game for the Mesomen, and despite Andros Ximelez's reasonably late strike, the blues held on (and scored once more), putting four past the little side coached by Robert Saurisoh.

Nukaba's first goal was scored after a whole 35 minutes, the World XI striker nodding home a Balotelli corner to send the Meso crowd into wild spasms of jubilation. The architect of this first goal himself, Litaka Balotellil, made it 2-0 seven minutes later with a powerful volley from the edge of the box, the ball thundering off the post and into the back of the net. After the break, following a period of quiet, Nukaba struck again, scoring a tap in following Zirka Bulu's parried rocket-shot. Against the run of play, Jukenia clawed one back through their captain, Andros Ximelez, however Nukaba settled the game once and for all with a powerful, curving strike from inside the D area after the hour and a half was up to bring the score to 4-1.

Man of the match, of course, went to hattrick-hero Nukaba, while Bulu and Balotelli both received praise from the Meso coach, Bert Giazanba, for their hard work and enthusiasm. The blues next face a fairly straightforward trip to Traila, the boys sitting fairly comfortably in fifth position in group 13, behind Liventia, Akbarabad, Polar Islandstates and Audioslavia. Mesoland are the clear favourites to win at Traila, however it is likely that Traila will have a few tricks to play on their own turf.

All World Cup and CoH news and results can be found on the MBC website, http://www.mesolandbc.mz, under the sports section. Article by Jonjo Tikali.

[Darmen]

TO: Board of Directors, Darmeni Soccer Federation
CC: Minister of Sport, Michael Harrison; Nicholas Salvatore, President of the Darmeni National Olympic Committee
FROM: Georges Thomas, President of the Darmeni Soccer Federation
SUBJECT: 63rd World Cup Qualification

So, as you probably already know, we're in a pretty good position to qualify for our first ever World Cup. We've tried seven times before, and failed every time. This is try number eight, and I think we can all agree that it's high time that we qualify. Of course, I think we all hope that this is our time to qualify, and we're in a fairly good position as we enter the final stretch.

But what happens if we don't qualify? What is our course of action? Who do we blame? Do we continue as is and just blame Margaret? It's something I think we need to discuss. Preferably tonight, as we're all going to be watching the game, and free from other duties. Not to mention I always wanted to try out the video-chat thingy-ma-bob. It looks so cool.

Anyways, I'd like to give O'Donahaue the benifit of the doubt when it comes to our decision. He helped us win our first major title, one I hope we'll be able to repeat should we not qualify for the Cup. But it is a bit concerning. He's been our manager for how long? And our players? We got rid of most of the aging players. And the players from the Under-21 team will make their debut either at the upcoming Cup of Harmony (assuming that we're in it), or the Copa Rushmori, or some other tournament that we enter before that.

Or maybe it's time we let him go, get ourselves some fancy international guy. Its just an idea, I'd really like to hear your thoughts.

Sincerely,
Georges Thomas
President of the Darmeni Soccer Federation

1 Attachment

Agenda for tonights Meeting
1. Who do we blame?
2. What do we do?
3. Is it time we let O'Donahaue go?
4. Anything else that comes up.

[Cambirano]

Part VI
The Kid Who Only Played Chess

Theo looked up at the old, worn scoreboard at the other end of the field. Its electric bulbs seemed reluctant to exert themselves and display the scores of the match, pulsating and bouncing from on to off and on again. But when they all worked correctly, the result made Theo happy, because under the Home side was a 1 and under the Away side was a 0. He knew that it had been a team effort, but he couldn't help feeling especially satisfied at the light orange 0.

He began the jog from the penalty box to the sideline, removing his gloves as he made his way off the field. He kept his head down, not sure if the team even noticed that he wasn't there in the huddle yet. He noticed the white chalk under his feet and knew that he was on the sidelines. He hesitantly raised his head, and it was fortunate that he made, because a mob of yellow was charging him like stampeding bulls.

The first teammate collided with him, sending him bouncing back about two feet. The wave wasn't over though, as the remainder of his comrades surrounded him, patting him on the back and rubbing his hair furiously. He felt like he was in the middle of a tornado, a tornado of human flesh. He'd never felt so exhilarated, so alive, before. This was what it meant to be part of a team, a part of something larger than yourself.

After about thirty seconds of madness, the circle began to disperse, and Theo was able to look around him, soaking in all the smiles, all the jubilation on the faces of his teammates. They hadn't expected to beat Barnard State, a true powerhouse. Barnard State was favored by at least a goal and a half, even on Dettheim's home field. They had won the national championship one year ago, winning 16 games and losing only 2 in the regular season, before sweeping through the playoffs. They'd made the playoffs 15 straight years, winning four titles, finishing as runners-up twice, and reaching the semifinals 8 times. They were the team to beat, the team with the large red target on their backs.

And yet, in their first game of the season, Dettheim College had knocked them off their lofty perches. It had been a dominating performance from the beginning; Dettheim scored their only goal on a corner in the 4th minute. It looked like they could have scored at least two more in that half alone, but they hadn't, and for some reason, Barnard State went into halftime with the confidence, despite having just one shot to Dettheim's eight.

The second half was much better for Barnard State, though, as the Tigers came out with a 4-3-3 formation, changing from their normal 4-5-1 alignment. It paid off with chances. In the 50th minute, a Tiger forward had gotten loose down the left wing, being joined by a wide-open midfielder at the top of the box. The Dettheim defense was caught unprepared, with only one defender between the Tigers and Theo in goal.

The winger had put a long, looping curve into the box, leaving the defender helpless. It looked like a sure goal as the midfielder controlled it on his foot, took a quick touch, and prepared to shoot. But Theo had leaped into action, coming forward to cut off his angles, and the shot deflected off his boot and behind for a corner, which he punched to safety easily.

This was the most impressive save of the night, but Theo made numerous other efforts to keep Dettheim in the lead. At one point, he managed to put a powerful header from five yards out over the bar; on another occasion, a free kick curving away from Theo was barely pulled in for an important stop.

Clint was now in his face, grabbing him by the shoulders and shaking him violently. He looked thrilled, his eyes were glowing and his mouth seemed pinned in a smiling position.

"You made that happen, Theo!"

"It was a team effort."

"Sure, but you were amazing."

Hmm, thought Theo, amazing.