World Cup 99 - RP Thread

[Squornshelan Remnant States]

The Black-and-Reds' dressing room was a lot quieter tonight, a few minutes after the final whistle against Aphrilia allowed them to escape with a narrow one-goal win. The team had been boisterous and loud, music playing and lively chatter in Vogsphere after blasting their way past Aleirave. Now the room was quiet, a feeling more of relief than celebration filled the air. What conversation came was hushed, localized. No calling out across the room, but only a few quiet words shared between neighbors. The hush descended to a near total silence as the door to the hallway opened and Dudu Madeiros entered the room. All voices fell silent, and the only sound as the Juven manager made his way across the carpet to the center of the space was the quiet rustlings of clothing and equipment as several players instinctively busied themselves with some step of changing, finding a reason to avert their gaze from their manager.

"I hope you all enjoyed your evenings out," he began in a quiet tone. "I'm glad you all feel you're good enough to win the World Cup without focusing on the task. I like confidence in a team, I have to say. What I can't stand, though, is cockiness." Madeiros looked around, staring back into the eyes of the few players willing to meet his gaze for more than a moment. "You got lucky tonight. Aphrilia had more than enough chances to take the match, and you were fortunate to catch them with a quick goal, because for the rest of the match you were hardly able to string three passes together. Dithering in midfield, no purpose, no intent, no aggression. That's not how we play." Madeiros paused and heaved a deep sigh. "We leave for Banija tomorrow morning, and I personally don't plan on coming back. You lot might enjoy coming back to Brantisvogan to party with celebrities and play for a consolation prize, but if you do, you'll do it without me. I'm going to Busukuma, with or without you."

Esti felt the same surge of embarrassment she was sure the others were all feeling as well. None of them had felt they were being cock or complacent coming into the match. They'd have called it something more like "enjoying their World Cup experience" or "confident in our abilities." What it amounted to, as Madeiros had so delicately put it, was a lack of focus. The team hadn't been at their aggressive best, they'd allowed Aphrilia to stay in the match, hopes of an upset alive until the very last. That wasn't what they'd trained to do. This team was built to get on top of its opponent, to push the score up and make the task of catching up with them seem impossible. When they had an opponent on the ropes they didn't step back and wait for a judges decision, they went for the knockout. They were supposed to anyway.

"If you think our next opponents will let you get away with a non-effort like that you're in for a serious embarrassment. In their last three matches the Owls have beaten our co-hosts, followed by the eighth- and second-ranked teams, and they've looked good doing it, so they're not going to be impressed one bit by the three next to our name. So go back to the hotel, get some rest, and think about what you are responsible for here, what you'll do to make sure we don't have another performance like that. The bus leaves at nine, so don't sleep in if you want a chance at breakfast before we head to the airport."

And with that, he was gone, leaving the team with their thoughts.

[Ko-oren]

Audio versus Ko-oren played for six more minutes to complete the first movement of the album, then their instruments quieted down. They saved the - first - crescendo for the end of the first half, which was supposed to happen to a backdrop of the two Anaian teams clashing into each other to frantically look for a goal, not to a backdrop of fans out of their seats and in lines for overpriced hot dogs. The arts come before everything, so the band finished their performance, and the first half of the recording, before they went down to the pitch to complain to the referee. Mind you, neither captain, coach, or even any player complained for the lack of 45 minutes - but the band was livid.

Confusion on whether the second half would kick off exactly on time - that is, 60 minutes plus hypothetical injury time after the start of the first - or fifteen minutes after the end of the first half meant that not everyone was back in their seats in time. The players did get the memo, and it was a Ko-orenite kickoff. Sawyer waited in the centre circle for the whistle. Seconds passed, bated breaths. The goalkeepers nodded to their captains, who nodded to the referee, but it wasn't their signals he was waiting for. The AvK guitarist - hang on, weren't they all guitarists save for the drummer? - checked his pedals, saw what he had made, and that it was good, and nodded to the referee as well. The whistle sounded, and Sawyer played the ball back to the midfield. Entatingun then did the unthinkable. A wild hand gesture and all Dragonflies took routes and positions around him. The relationist's dream. A perfect escadinha, all eleven players aligned. Goalkeeper Naaldemaker passed, pinpoint precision, down the axis of the formation. Sehorenden: stepover. Aelea: stepover. Todaka: stepover. Loper: tabela. Todaka: dribble to Senothonnau for a crowded situation. Senothonnau: stepover. Nakasarudhen: stepover. Laza: stepover and immediately sprinted back towards goal. His own, that is. Ogalthunden: stepover. Entatingun, who hadn't moved a muscle since his initial pass, received the ball. Upon completion of this relationist ritual, his arms moved in a different way. Immediately the Dragonflies aligned themselves in perfect triangles, all equidistant, equilateral, each other's perfect equivalent. Ready to tear apart the opposition via little lateral passes, give-and-gos, and so on.

The Bulls, meanwhile, arranged themselves in a clever 11-0-0 in their own goal. This amount of creativity, sheer playmaking, this orgasmic explosion of passion and everything that makes the beautiful game beautiful, could only be countered by the most defensive defence that ever defended.

Mind you, no Ko-orenite had passed the midway line to this point.

AvK went for their second crescendo of the half. Kick drum punctuating every single beat of every measure. For minutes. All three (visible and confirmed) guitarists noodled up and down their fret boards, chords frantic and fleeting. Tritones everywhere, but embedded in so many other notes that it sounded quite pleasant. To their fans, at least. To the fans that pretended to like it, at the very least.

Aside from the band, one other person on the planet was struggling to control his nerves. Katanmak Juliasterinthen paced around his Koroa City apartment, eyes glued to the screen, then whenever he completed half a lap between the living room and the kitchen, he whipped his neck across to miss as little of the action as possible. For the first time this tournament, he hoped for a Ko-orenite victory. And for the first time this tournament, he felt like he had no control over the outcome, though throughout the six games where he had some influence, the result was the exact opposite from what he wanted. Maybe he rather had impact and an adverse outcome than no impact at all and a positive outcome. Though what the result was going to be, was hard to say, as he saw the Dragonflies relinquish possession to Audioslavia with twenty minutes on the clock. Not that the Bulls had any intention with the ball, and both teams remained on their own half of the field.

Katanmak had thought of getting tickets using his status as an ex-President. But that would mean interacting with the WCC, something neither side probably looked forward to. That, or get tickets through general sales - impossible, it's a World Cup semifinal - or the third and final avenue, approaching the KFA. That was the worst of the three strategies for multiple reasons. First of all, he tried to force the KFA to take a handful of actions - sack Mivune as the oblivious idiot he was, hire Katanmak as the greatest genius in football since the 70s and likely earlier - and if you want the upper hand in a discussion, it's best not to owe something to the other party to start off with. Second, it would mean outing himself as a force behind the team. That wouldn't have been such a bad thing, maybe, given that he could always claim his tactical advancements were the reason for the Dragonflies' third ever semifinal, but if his intention - namely, getting Ko-oren eliminated as early as possible - leaked to the KFA, the press, the players, or the coach, his chances of making it back to national team manager would be infinitesimally small in milliseconds.

His mental flow chart had gone through hundreds of options, and it was now down to some of the least likely forks. After all, a bet on Ko-oren making the semifinal ahead of the tournament would probably be met by a hearty laugh by the bookie and a 'hey thanks for putting my kids through university' as one of the dumbest bets in the history of Margaret. But now that the Dragonflies did make it so far, Katanmak had to be known as the secret brain behind the operation.

The TV flashed from Loper juggling in his own box with no Audioslavians in sight to a close up of the WCC President. Right, Katanmak thought. He shouldn't lose sight of his real goal - this wasn't to bring back Ko-oren to KPB relevance. The end goal was revenge on the WCC for demoting him. Him, the best president of the first century of the World Cup. Getting that smarmy Chromatik to hand him a trophy did nicely, he thought. And if it's not on behalf of Ko-oren, why not on behalf of Squornshelous, Valanora, or a team much better equipped to win a cup than flash-in-the-pan and coming-out-of-a-decade-of-purgatory Ko-oren. If only he was born in a country with better football. Alas, that was his cross to bear. Dragging a team with downright mediocre players to a modicum of success through the only prize-winning tactic that can be employed by the incapable - all-out defence.

Sidetracked by thought, he glanced back at the clock on screen. 87 minutes played. Always 87.

No goals yet. No shots on goal either. There hadn't been commentary since halftime. They didn't want to jeopardise the album-in-recording. A long ball from Todaka at right back to Laza on the left wing. It zoomed out of bounds for an Audioslavian throw-in.

89 minutes played. Always 89.

The assistant referee walked out with the extra time. There were two options, Katanmak thought. Either +0 because nothing happened, or +6 to make up for the shortened first half. Either way, AvK weren't going to be able to end their crescendo until the exact moment of the whistle.

[Squornshelan Remnant States]

RP Cutoff for WC99 Semifinals

Can we have Pride without Gaga? Yes, of course we can, but why would we?

Today's matches are brought to you in part by:

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[Siovanija and Teusland]

Let's find out the identity of our second finalist! Cutoff for the Banijan half of the semis!

Today's cutoff is brought to you by Quanta Energy Drinks!

Quanta was founded by Julian Kessler, a former biochemistry prodigy and a semi-professional downhill cyclist from the industrial city of Struppen. Kessler was frustrated with the lack of quality energy drinks, having extensively explored the market through his cycling ventures. Most products on the market were imported and expensive due to import duties, and those produced domestically were of little to no standard. Using his knowledge of neurochemistry and natural compounds, he started working on his formula. His efforts came to fruition when he founded Quanta in 1983 and launched its first product.

Quanta's superior product at a reasonable price point tapped into a previously unexplored region of the domestic beverage market. This propelled sales of Quanta as revenue increased multiple-fold every year, with Kessler's ambitions getting larger. Kessler wanted to take Quanta region-wide, and for this, he needed to scale both production and distribution. Vielfaltig's limiting industrial laws meant that such a capital investment was not feasible without direct or indirect involvement of the state. Kessler recognising the pivotal role the State plays in most Vielfaltigian industries sold a 60% majority stake in Quanta to the Government while retaining his position as CEO and Chief of R&D. Partial state ownership has meant that Quanta has been able to expand rapidly while maintaining its focus on producing the best product possible from ethical sources.

Which team will have the energy to grab that key moment they'll need to keep their dreams alive? It's time to find out!

[Audioslavia]

The assistant referee signalled for 0 additional minutes of injury time. Audioslavia took the throw in. The referee looked at his watch. Goran Yurán looked up, saw a vague blur of claret far up the field, blinked, and launched the ball in that general direction. The referee got the whistle halfway to his lips. There was another sickening hollow sound. The ball ricocheted off the back of the referee's head.

He immediately collapses to the floor, legs like Bambi underneath. The ball flies into the sky and comes down at the feet of a Ko-orenite, the young full back Thalek Sehorenden, who absentmindedly knocks the ball away and jogs over to the check on the ref. Annefleur Nakasarudhen approaches too, seeing the ref on his back, his eyes closed, his mouth hanging open. He further pries open the referee's mouth and checks they don't have a tongue blocking their airways. All clear.
"He okay?" asked Laza
"Well he's not dead" said Annefleur. "After that, my level of expertise dwindles massively"
There is a roar from the crowd. In the distance, the three players could hear shouting from their Ko-orenite team-mates.

Audioslavia are attacking. Ten of the Audioslavia team are sprinting downfield. Ko-oren have about three players in position to stop them. The ball is played through to Lúnquerque, at that moment one of only three Audioslavians not offside - and the big striker has just enough time to pick his spot, change his mind, pick a new spot, and bury the ball under the goalkeeper for what he hopes will be 1-0.

Everyone's eyes turn to the three Ko-orenites, standing around the stricken referee. Behind him, Laza can hear the sound of footsteps approaching at a gallop. It's the Audioslavian keeper. What can he possibly "argh". Helder shoves Laza out of the way and pounces on the referee. He fishes into his top pocket for his whistle, and duly gives a peep to confirm the goal, followed by a peep peep peep for full-time.

The Dragonfly players feel the urge to complain vehemently to the referee, but the referee is still on the ground. Two players run to one linesman, then another, and remonstrate as close to their faces as possible.

Nothing doing. Again. You need to know your laws of the game. Law 5, Subsection 2.

If a referee is incapacitated, play may continue under the supervision of the other match officials until the ball is next out of play.

The assistants explain that play did not stop when the referee became incapacitated. No, not even due to a head injury. The assistants were in control of the game, and had to let it continue before they helped the referee. The fact that the next break in play was Audioslavia scoring a goal did not, apparently, matter. Thankfully, neither did the goalkeeper blowing the referee's whistle, all that did was earn him a booking.

After a brief delay to allow the referee to be carted from the field and the fourth official to become referee, the game ended properly after exactly six minutes of injury time.

---

What Year Is It?
Audioslavia reach the World Cup Final for the first time in 23 cycles

World Cup Fever initially may not have hit the mainland with the force you'd expect, but it's here now, and in full force.

Opening day defeat to Drawkland was difficult to swallow. A subsequent narrow win over Baker Park lifted the spirits, defeat to hosts and beloved allies Siovanija and Teusland was miserable, before the revelation that Audioslavia had done just, just enough to make the second round as the 'worst of the least worst' third placed teams.

And then the knockouts. 1-0 over in-form Eastfield Lodge was a very pleasant surprise. A 4-3 mugging of S&T truly brought the feel good factor to the country. And then came yesterday's vibes-heavy semi-final against fellow Post Footballers Ko-oren. We won't talk about what happened, but we know the result.

Suffice to say, no team has ever finished third in their group and reached the World Cup final.

We could go over the history, here, but honestly, do you need it? You're Audioslavian. You're taught at your mother's breast that Audioslavia lost four World Cups in prehistory, won World Cups 63 and 64, were cruelly beaten in the finals of World Cups 67, 69 and 76, and maintain a status as a perennial Heavyweight of world football despite how hard football, mathematics and reality protest. You're taught to look towards The Holy Empire, Starblaydia et all and say Sine Gratia, a way of saying There but for the grace of God go I that is so pompous that it's little wonder god denies Audioslavians this sort of fame or fortune, lest they corrupt everyone else. The saying doesn't even make any sense now that The Bulls are no longer the team with the most appearances in the final. The Holy Empire beat us to that long ago. They're 5-7 in World Cup finals. Valanora on 5-4, Starblaydia seemingly finished up on 5-3, Vilita on 5-1. Audioslavia, whether they should be putting themselves with this group or not, are 2-7, and will soon either be a 3-7 or a 2-8.

The last time we even made it here was back in cycle 76, with the loss to an admittedly vastly superior Sunrisia. As to why we haven't been back, the main theories are that Audioslavia's brand of football has simply been 'worked out'. Like how the Bulls seemed to work out the cheat codes to, say, the Marauders, the codes to bypass Audioslavia's staunch defensive nature are apparently freeware. AOur brand of football is old fashioned and old hat.

There has long been a fringe theory among Audioslavians that, when the nation had a blossoming domestic league featuring the greatest stars the world has to offer, the national team suffered. A cycle after Audioslavia won their second World Cup in succession, the LigAnaia was formed, and duly became a behemoth. By the time the National League was incepted, Audioslavian football was one of the most watched in the multiverse, and in the first dozen cycles of the IFCF era the league was ranked #1 in the world in most seasons.

The arse falling out of the game (the FFA's words, not ours. Money helped make Audioslavian football, but it also helped ruin it at the end) is therefore, supposedly, good news for the national team. If you ignore the last few cycles where we either failed to make the World Cup or massively embarrassed ourselves when we did, you could argue that this mid-ranked Audioslavia team making the World Cup Final is evidence that the theory might not be as hogwash as you might think.

Sure, the level of football in Audioslavia has drifted downwards with the gradual filtering out of foreign talent, but importantly for the Bulls, knowledge of Audioslavian football has dissipated. Whereas teams of yesteryear would have contained 11 household names due to the sheer volume of coverage overseas, this generation contains very few players of international repute. Everyone knew what, say, Rickson Marañon was about to do next. They'd seen him play for 1830 Cathair every week. With someone like Ivo Cavagnaro? Not so much.

With almost a full cycle of football behind this team, there are few secrets left that our opponents won't have figured out. Squornshelan Remnant States, once named Squornshelous, will be as ready for us as they always have been.

And they have always seemed to be really rather ready for us.

We could go over the history, here, but honestly, do you need it? You're Audioslavian. You're taught at your mother's breast that Audioslavia were famously thrashed 0-4 at home by Squornshelous on what is arguably the worst moment in Audioslavian football history. You're taught that our old enemies have something of a hex on us. In twelve games, they've won eight, including four recent qualifiers (SRS won three and drew one) and two recent playoffs (won, by SRS, on aggregate, by an embarrassing 4-0 scoreline).

The kicker is that the only two games won by Audioslavia were in the latter stages of World Cups. The first a 5-4 barnstormer in the quarters of World Cup 12 (yes, 12. Audioslavia versus Squornshelous has rivalry 'retrospectives' that are themselves over twenty years old), the second an insane game in the semi-finals of World Cup 20 where, after the match finished 2-2, the Bulls ended up winning out 5-4.

The final goal had an element of Post-Football about it, two decades before anyone would utter that phrase with a straight face.

With twenty-nine minutes registering on the clock, the 'slaves just needed to pass the ball down the wing and run the time down. The free-kick taker Karayan Araxie however, had other ideas. Araxie took the kick quickly with the goalkeeper off his line arranging his defensive wall. Caught unawares, Speer watched the ball helplessly as it dipped over him, only saved from his blushes from the cross bar. Speer was not to be spared for long however, as a goalmouth scramble ensued. Ole Erikson tried to clear but only found Jackie McLlroy's chest. The ball ricocheted between Erikspn's brother Sven's shoulder-blades before settling for Arie Jansen, who simply smashed the ball clean into the middle of the goal.
:- Jeremy Jaffacake, WC20 RP thread. February 2005

The Slaves/Bulls have beaten the Pschychoes/Black-and-Reds in the World Cup quarters and semis. If they are to beat them in the World Cup final, they may need to forget about all of the above and just try to play the type of annoying, elusive, capricious football that got the side here in the first place. Squornshelan Remnant States are likely to be the top ranked team going into the next cycle. Only a game of Audioslavian football, performed perfectly, will give the Bulls even an outside chance of winning an unlikely third World Cup.

[Ko-oren]

'Outgamesmanshipped by Audioslavia. I can't fucking believe it. Decades of proud tradition of doing exactly this kind of thing to other teams, and, on the biggest stage, we fucking fall for it ourselves. If only I'd been on the sidelines. I should have taken control of this team earlier. And the exact second that I hope for this team to enjoy any kind of success, we fall at the first hurdle.'

Katanmak caught himself thinking in 'we', which got a chuckle out of him. The first chuckle since the semifinal, and it's been a good 24 hours.

'Third place is still on the line. Should I interrupt the team now? That's the worst vibe one can give. No, best to let the team figure it out for themselves, truly the first game they do by themselves on their own strength, and then ring the KFA first thing on Monday.'

The kitchen table was full of lists of names, and Xs and Os and lines connecting them. Going into World Cup 100, with everything on the line, preparations couldn't come early enough. Katanmak would need the CAFA to get this team ready, or if anything, get an idea of what works in this day and age. He had been away from leading a team for a while, that needed no underestimating. He'd had to build on Manguele's work, as well as recognise that the Top League was no 0-0 fest - and that the few defensive teams that were there weren't as dominant as they once were, looking at Straudum, Schemerdrecht, even Maethoru's changes over the last decade, and the complete implosion of Maynard - so no matter what, it was Katanmak who would have to do the changing, not the players.

One of the lists concerned players that probably wouldn't be part of the team next time. Atop the list was Aelea, 33 years old already and moving back to Ko-oren to guide a team like Straudum, WSR, or Arboren to a last bit of glory. That's not unheard of in Ko-orenite football: players in their mid-thirties helping out a personal favourite team, sporting success be damned. These players are usually well compensated and act as a local authority for any player looking to make it big - the entire point is that not everyone has to go through the Maethoru or Aminey pipeline, yet in practice this is still what happens often. Also on the list: yCinrhadd. The guy that was always supposed to follow in Juliasterinthen's footsteps: extravagant, egotistical, ruthless, and more often than not the best player on the field. And he has expertise in nearly every system out there, having played in all major sporting regions. All eyes are on whether he returns to Ko-oren and if he's even looking for a coaching job afterwards. The risk is high, the reward potentially higher.

yCinrhadd on team staff? Now there was an interesting thought. Too many cooks spoil the broth, after all, but if you want the team to live and breathe a system of 'there's no system, only result', he was easily the best option right now.

The rest of the list was every single striker called up to the national team in the last three years. Lemaigre, Sawyer, Archer, Lignanier, Jubeck: old. Hiraide, Mamannau: interesting options and certainly not ruled out indefinitely but hard to fit into this team now. Kyukichi, Pomburgh, yOraenaig: unreliable. There was a young option at Cresthill, Ide Vekhikagun, but relying on the mental of a 16-year old is not a gamble Ko-oren should be willing to take.

Well, that narrows down his options on all the other lists and diagrams. Playing without a true finisher it is, then. Brutal defenders and technical midfielders who have a decent sense of when to shoot - but above all, everyone needs a great mentality. That's why he circled the names of Senothonnau, Todaka, and relative unknown Timmerman at Schemerdrecht, as well as Meigun, Loper, and Nakasarudhen. Not the most surprising names but all decent leaders on their own. But also Mellowby, yBons, Sehorenden, and yGorllaeneal - almost all defenders, but all tenacious players. Looking at his list of perfect players, he realised that almost all of them were defenders. Now if he could turn that into a functional team, he would...

[Tikariot]

Chapter 1: Welcome to Sugar Creek
Chapter 2: Cupcake Awakening
Chapter 3: Death by Dessert
Chapter 4: Sugar-Crazed Carnage
Chapter 5: The Sweet Survivors
Chapter 6: The Anti-Cupcake Plan
Chapter 7: Into the Cupcake Nest
Chapter 8: Bake or Die
Chapter 9: Frostbite Frenzy
Chapter 10: The Queen Rises
Chapter 11: Final Recipe
Chapter 12: Bakepocalypse Now
Chapter 13: Sugarfall
Chapter 14: Revenge is a Dish Best Served Frosted
Epilogue: A Whisper of Frosting
The Anti-Cupcake Cake™

Final Crumb: A Letter & Interview from the Heroes of Sugar Creek
Written in caramel-stained script, pinned beneath a frosting-splattered rolling pin, signed in raspberry jam

To all survivors, sweet tooths, and brave bakers of Sugar Creek,

Well… we did it.

Somehow—by the grace of gluten, grit, and Gwyneth’s very questionable vegan emergency snacks—we made it through the Great Cupcake Uprising. I’m not sure what haunts me more: the sound of frosting hissing in the dark… or Bob’s battle scream when he charged that éclair with nothing but a soup ladle.

The bakery’s in ruins. The town’s been declared “75% uninhabitable due to residual sugar fallout.” My rolling pin has seen things. Lucy won’t go near a muffin tin without full tactical gear. And don’t even ask Crumble about his mop. He’s… different now.

But Sugar Creek is still standing (kind of), and the ovens—bless their scorched souls—are still warm.

To those who fell to fondant… we raise a whisk.

To those still peeling caramel off their ceilings… we salute you.

And to the one last perfect mini-cupcake twitching in the ruins somewhere? Just know this:
We’re watching you.
And we’ve got recipes.

Stay frosted!

With gratitude (and mild PTSD),
– Doug Whiskers, Baker (Survivor, Reluctant Hero, Enemy of All Sentient Pastries)

“THE FROSTING FALLS, THE TRUTH RISES”
By Marla Quigley, Senior Staff Writer, Sugar Creek Gazette

A post-Bakepocalypse interview with the defenders of Sugar Creek

Transcript from the Sugar Creek Gazette, June 20th
Conducted by Marla Quigley (wearing safety goggles, just in case)

—

MARLA: Doug, first question: What possessed you to bake a cupcake from a book called The Dark Arts of Confectionary?

DOUG: Honestly? I skimmed the title. I saw “confectionary” and “art” and got excited. I missed the part about the “eldritch frosting rituals.”

LUCY: He also said it “smelled like vanilla and ambition.” I should’ve known it was cursed.

—

MARLA: Sheriff McGravy, you’ve fought your share of rowdy livestock and the occasional jazz band brawl. How did this compare?

BOB (clearing frosting out of his ear): Cupcake bit my cruiser in half. Ain’t got a protocol for that.

—

MARLA: Harold, you were pulled out of retirement for this. Any regrets?

CRUMBLE: I’ve seen things. Things that don’t belong on a dessert tray. I wake up screaming about éclairs. I mop in my sleep now.

—

MARLA: Gwyneth, you were a surprise addition to the team. You nearly vaporized a city block with a frosting bomb. Thoughts?

GWYNETH: My Fire Frosting recipe was always meant to challenge conventional pastry norms. Not obliterate them. But I suppose destruction is the ultimate form of critique.

—

MARLA: Lucy, sources say you launched yourself into a cupcake hydra with a stand mixer. Any comment?

LUCY (blushing): Uh… yeah. Improvised courage. Didn’t expect to survive. Pretty sure I still have a sprinkle lodged in my ear canal.

—

MARLA: Final thoughts?

DOUG: Don’t trust magical pastries.

LUCY: Always label the sugar and the salt.

BOB: My new squad car’s electric. And flamethrower-equipped.

CRUMBLE: I’m opening a mop museum.

GWYNETH: I’m writing a manifesto. Frosting & Fury: Dismantling the Dessert-Industrial Complex.

—

The Cupcake War may be over. But Sugar Creek will never forget.

And as the rebuilding begins—between the sprinkles in the gutters and the lingering smell of burnt fondant—one thing’s for certain:

Sugar Creek is sweet.
And we’re stronger for it.

[Squornshelan Remnant States]

Back in the dressing room post-match once again, and the atmosphere was certainly somewhere in between that which had followed the prior two rounds. There was an air of satisfaction, a job well done against a difficult opponent, a winning goal found as time dwindled and desperate counterattacks seen off without finding an equalizer. But it wasn't the party that had followed the 7-1 verdict over Aleirave. There were smiles, laughs, music even, and a gift basket of baked goods from the gracious Tikariotian side, but it was clear as Esti looked around the room at her teammates that there was focus still, awareness that this wasn't the match they'd come here to win.

In typical fashion, they'd scored first, but been struck back and then surpassed, trailing for the first time during the knockouts after the Tikariotians answered Starovoitov's early goal with a pair from Grimaud and Belfrage in quick succession not long before halftime. Esti had been disappointed with her play in the first half overall. Yes, she'd made a key pass in the buildup to the opening goal, sending Tatsinan forward into space to occupy the defense's attention while Starovoitov slid inside to make himself available for a drop pass near the top of the box, a position he didn't often miss from, and he hadn't there. As time wore on, though, they'd struggled to win and hold possession as they had done, running into the clear difference in class between Tikariot and their prior three knockout opponents. Nothing particularly against those teams, Esti thought, as if they were somehow privy to her thoughts there in the tunnel to the dressing room during the break, but the Snowy Owls were in a different category altogether. The battle on the left was between her and another young player who'd made his national team debut this cycle, Townsend Green, and thus far she felt he'd got the better of her, seeming to be just a moment ahead in his decisions. She knew she was capable of better, and could make him look like the slow one if she just sharpened up, and so spent most of halftime in conversation with Tatsinan and Starovoitov, talking about where the space had been and more importantly where it hadn't, hashing out likely counters to the looks Tikariot had presented both with and without the ball.

Madeiros had surprisingly little to say at the half, given the team was down one in a World Cup semifinal. He made only a single change, bringing off McGill, who'd picked up a bit of a knock during stoppage time, explaining to her and the team that he saw no reason to risk her health when they had a veritable stable of goalscorers behind her, and in any case his faith in the team to make up the deficit was absolute. "They will not hold us to one goal. We will not allow that."

So, with determination and purpose, they'd come back out, now with Sargsa as the spearpoint. As in the first half, the reward for their efforts and discipline came quickly, this time spurred down the left flank with Ksudach and Shakhnovich playing overlapping exchanges while seemingly sharing their thoughts, the awareness of the two veterans wingers of where the other was and would be was uncanny, and it eventually sent Ksudach around the defense along the end line where he eventually saw space open up for a low cross to Sargsa which she deftly redirected, side-footed, into the far corner.

But that was of course only the equalizer, and despite exhortations from both coaches, the teams inevitably began to think more and more of avoiding conceding more so than scoring one of their own, especially as the clock marched relentlessly foward into the seventies and then the eighties. That's not to say there weren't efforts toward goal, but both defensive lines were working fanatically hard at keeping their shape, denying the inside space and limiting attackers to the perimeter. Goalkeepers were called upon frequently, but more often to tidy up longish attempts at balls through or over the top, plus the occasional effort from distance.

Madeiros, in a final bout of frustration with the team's hesitance to get forward, brought off Sevet-Ibilx for Thakkar, switching his deep-lying captain for an out and out attacker. The message got through, and the Black-and-Reds were quite abruptly no longer playing for extra time. Early on, as Thakkar and Tatsinan worked out their respective roles, it very nearly backfired. In a crucial moment, each thought the other would backtrack, Þorgríma Vigdis pounced on the loose ball and a full blown counter was on with both the Squornshelan center mids caught behind the ball. Esti had sprinted back to support the defense, trying to block off the pass to her wing, but in the end it took a heroic save from Bláha, who held a grade-A chance from Nighthorse that left the Tikariotian gazing skyward with a few choice words. From the restart, the team pushed forward again though, with crisp, short passes and short memories. Esti stepped over a hard pass from Tatsinan, letting it through to Starovoitov on the wing as she ran forward, crossed over behind her wing partner to collect the ball on the overlap and swung the cross in. Punched out by Hurst, but Shiben collected it, coming forward, and sent it back in before the defense could reset their line. Esti broke, made a slashing diagonal run toward the back post, seeing Sargsa, and Thakkar rising up for the ball along with a crowd of markers. She could feel a defender close on her back too, but she had the crucial step, and as the ball sailed high, overtop of even Hurst's hands, she saw it descending into a small open space, knew she couldn't get there with a toe, and dove, eyes locked on it. The ball struck her forehead square, propelling her face down into the sod as she landed with a thud. She came up, spitting grass and dirt, to a roar, and the feeling of hands on her back and shoulders, pulling her upright, slapping her back, cupping her cheek. Confused, blended words, exultant faces, and the realization that she'd just put her team ahead with under ten minutes to play sank in.

Madeiros brought her off immediately, sending on Arenz and Amjol for Esti and Tatsinan. One part time wasting, one part fresh, defensive-minded midfielders. Some desperate defending that seemed to drag on forever, and then, there it was. The whistle, the answering roar of the Squornshelan supporters, the rush of the bench running onto the field to celebrate. A bit later, hence the broad smile on Esti's face as she looked around at her team. One step away from where they wanted to be.

---

What does it mean to call a team a dynasty?

In domestic sports, pundits typically define the term as to refer to a team that wins three championships during a period of four seasons. Internationally, a definition is less certain. Temporal relativity being what it is, it's not even perfectly consistent just how often the World Cup is played, depending where you're from. Once a year if you're Juven. Every second year for many others, and every fourth for a few. Winning a yearly tournament back to back, by the same reasoning as the domestic example, wouldn't seem to qualify, but what if those back-to-back wins happen two years apart, or even four? There are thirteen nations to have successfully defended their World Cup titles, and each of them given the time between tournaments, should probably be considered a dynasty. But what if a team wins three out of four, separated by years, or even just two out of three. From World Cup 32 to 36, Arrida won three titles and finished second to Bettia once. The Holy Empire, champions of editions 60 and 62, were also podium finishers from 54-57, kept from racking up more titles during this period of dominance by the even more dominant sides, Aguazul and Sorthern Northland. Can all three of these be considered dynasties of the late 50s, or can there only be one dynasty for any given period?

The point being, as you've surmised by now. Would a win in the upcoming World Cup final by the Black-and-Reds solidify dynasty status for this team? Already Champions of the 97th edition, they'd have two in three cycles, and a pair of regional trophies during those cycles to boot. Being able to say they've beaten Valanora in three international finals en route to earning those laurels isn't too shabby either. While many here at home would likely try to make the point that the SRS has already met the definition of a dynasty, and just about everyone would agree that the Black-and-Reds are the dynastic power of early Arrosia, winning three of the first four footballing championships in their region. But adding a second World Cup title for the current generation of players seems necessary to cement the kind of legendary status that gets you talked about in footballing retrospectives as more than just a footnote. The team, of course, will insist they haven't thought about any of this, giving the proper sporting responses to leading questions, and are just focused on winning the next game, beating the next opponent.

Ah yes, the next opponent. Audioslavia, whatever phoneme you use when pronouncing the penultimate A, are an odd phenomenon when viewed from the Squornshelan perspective. Joined by happenstance and a frankly bizarre result from over two centuries ago, subjectively, there's no one alive today, (used to be one but, you know) who remembers the earliest meetings between the sides. Patchy records from the pre-modern eras of the World Cup certainly indicate a fierce rivalry, which was odd considering the teams actually hardly ever played, meeting just five times over the first fifteen cycles of Squornshelan international football, and then never again for over 70 cycles. Since our return, a little under 20 cycles ago, there've been six more such meetings, all in qualifying or playoffs, and all ending in either Squornshelan victories or a draw. Most recently, the teams were drawn together just last cycle, with the Black-and-Reds taking a comfortable 2-0 victory at home in Damogran, and settling for a 1-1 scoreline in Cathair. So despite the deep antiquity of this particular derby, it's not just one for the pundits, as the teams have a lot of familiarity with one another in recent history. Naturally, the Bulls would love nothing better than shithousing their way to spoiling the Squornshelan bid at footballing immortality. The SRS does, after all, occupy much the same position Audioslavia did not so very long ago. A pot one team with a domestic league reckoned among the best in the multiverse, very much enjoying their laurels. We certainly relished our qualifying victories against the Bulls in the early 90s, and to get a similar upset in the final no less, will be a mouth-watering prospect for them now. It also won't be lost on either side that the winners will claim the edge in all-time World Cup titles with their nation's third.

And in the end, that's really what being able to call your team a dynasty comes down to. The definitive, "vi er de beste, ingen protester" that all competitive athletes and their supporters live for. So let's fucking go, you Black-and-Reds!

[Siovanija and Teusland]

Let's find out who grabs 3rd place at World Cup 99! Final cutoff from my side of the World Cup!

Today's cutoff is brought to you by Real Indoor Skydiving! The team at Real would like to suggest an offer to become the official hype partner/family fun partner of the tournament. Part of the offer includes official virtual reality skydiving soccer simulator outside each stadium, to be provided by Real. We would also like to offer a limited-edition Real X World Cup 99 merch set, and there will also be major discounts for every World Cup ticket holder, redeemable after the tournament.

Two teams who fell from their dream in the semifinal - but who can break that fall and skydive into 3rd place?

[Banija]

Kabaka - King
Luguba - Queen Consort
Sarauniya - Queen Mother
Omukama - Regent
Isebantu - Crown Prince
Omugabe/Omugaba - Prince/Princess
Omulangira/Kyabazinga - Duke/Duchess
Kagere/Kiweewa - Lord/Lady
Katikkiro - Prime Minister
Waziri - Foreign Minister
Lukiiko- Parliament
Kiongozi- Leader of the Opposition

The Busukuma Post
Covering All of Banija, All of our News, All of the Time

Home sweet home: all eyes on our own city as the biggest event in sports reaches its pinnacle in Busukuma

BUSUKUMA, NATIONAL CAPITOL REGION- World Cup 81 and 83 were both on home soil, co-hosted by Banija- and yet, in both cases, the Final was held elsewhere. 81, FFR hosted the big one, while at 83, the final was played in Canterlot(and won by co-host Equestria). And now, 16 cycles later, for the third time, Banija bid to host the World Cup- and for the first time ever, the final will be held in Banija. You don't have to think hard about where it will be- the Stadium of the Restoration, which now seats 101,835, will play host to the biggest match in world football for the very first time- the World Cup Final.

While it is the first time the venue has been home to a World Cup Final, the Stadium of the Restoration is certainly no stranger to hosting major events. Banija's most storied sporting venue has built up its name through being the feature home of the biggest matches in both gridion and association football. Any Finals in soccer are held here- including the RBSA Cup Final, Promotion Playoff Finals, Pro/Rel finals as necessary. And in gridiron as well- this stadium is the annual home of both the Simba Bowl(Banija's professional championship game), as well as the BCSG National Championship Game(college-level). A stadium that is an old stadium- first built in 1960, as Banija's largest stadium, seating just over 69,000. A stadium built to be a world-class sporting venue in Banija, opening originally for the 1960 Commonwealth Games, before becoming the annual host site for the events mentioned above.

Yes, the Q. Commonwealth Games were the origin of this stadium. But what's in a name? 1960 was also the 125 year anniversary of the Restoration of the Banijan monarchy, in 1835- after Banija's first independence from Quebec & Shingoryeo. The full restoration period(As it is generally called now by historians) is a pretty complicated era- but that moment both was, and remains, a point of national pride in Banija. A unifying moment for Banijans- regardless of how the period in general turned out(OOC note for the reader: civil war and then recolonization). The stadium was built exactly on the site where Sebowa publicly proclaimed his deal with King Henri VI of the Shingoryeoite Empire.

The glory of the Restoration of the monarchy. And the 1960 Games- the first time Banija led the medal count at the end of the Commonwealth Games. And then both slowly, and surely- becoming a stadium that is well-respected internationally. The NSCF 18 Final(gridiron). Then, the World Bowl XXXIV Final. Followed by a UICA(remember that!) Globe Cup Final, and the 67th Baptism of Fire Final. Slowly, but surely, the highest point in Busukuma gaining a strong reputation internationally.

Then, of course, World Cup 81 reached Banija. The RBSA felt as if they needed bigger venues. So they decided to tear down and rebuild the national stadium. The stadium's co-owners, the Olympic Committee of Banija, agreed. Teus architectural firm AEP swoops in and wins an open bidding process, with a grand, ambitious plan to build one of the mutliverse's state of the art stadia. Banijans sign off, and the new venue capacity is 91,835- a nod to the year 1835, which is when the Restoration period began. 35 suites. Two separate surfaces- grass for soccer, turf for gridiron, able to put one above the other to protect the grass. Since then, it has hosted nearly every event under the sun. AOCAF Finals. A second World Bowl Final(37). Multiple NSCF Finals. Multiple IFCF Champions League Finals. Hell, even Olympic soccer matches. In its two sports, hosted everything and anything- except a World Cup Final.

The RBSA, secretly, made World Cup 99 their target- a great timeline, not long after World Bowl L. Their partners at the Olympic Committee wanted to bring the special anniversary World Bowl to Banija. RBSA wanted to bring the World Cup Final to Banija- and felt as if they needed an expanded stadium to do so. Working with other sporting bodies to raise the money to expand the venue, and now it is 101,835- for the first time ever, it was the largest non-racing stadium in the country. The Olympic Committee pounced immediately, bringing the World Bowl Final to Busukuma with the expanded capacity. A critical goal of this project. Without that, the Olympic Committee probably doesn't buy-in, the funds aren't there, and the expansion doesn't happen.

But the RBSA was always the driver, and the goal was always this match- the World Cup Final.

Stadium is there. Now- bidding partners. Most details live in the shadows- these orgs aren't subject to public record keeping laws(at least in Banija). But, when the dust settled- Banija, Siovanija & Teusland, and the Squornshelan Remnant States emerged as the sole bid to host World Cup 99. Coequal partners, bringing the world's greatest sporting tournament to Arrosia for the very first time(or, if you date back to AO, back here for the first time since World Cup 92, when Vilita co-hosted with Electrum). A rousing, energetic success in all three countries- locals and traveling fans alike filling the seats, the streets, and the bars.

And now, Busukuma will play host to the final match of the tournament. On one side, you've got Audioslavia- trying to do a restoration of their own, at this aptly named stadium. They haven't won the World Cup since World Cup 64, nor been to the Final since World Cup 76- and suddenly, Bulls fans are as Bullish as they've been in 4 or 5 generations. Can they restore their glory? And on the other side, the Squornshelan Remnant States are trying their very best to establish a dynasty. The 90s have been the most egalitarian decade of World Cups- 8 different nations have won the last 9 World Cups. If the Squornshelans win today in Banija, there is no doubt that the late 90s is firmly their era- their dominance at both the regional and World Cup levels simultaneously cannot be denied. And they would be the defining story of the World Cup 90s. Not to mention, it's a home World Cup for them- so their fans, who have mostly saved money on travel until the semifinals, are in Busukuma in massive numbers.

As a city, we are prepared. Festivities on all day long- street festivals in so many neighborhoods. Both nations' embassies turned into party zones. The (uphill) march to the match. The Kabaka attending the game. Busukuma's guaranteed to be one huge party. What an experience, what a joy, and most importantly- what an honor it is to host the World Cup Final here. For a city- can it get better than this?

A few of the early editions of this article follow up the above by ripping on the Banijan NT and their performance in this tournament- quickly caught but not entirely buried.

[Banija]

The final cutoff of World Cup 99 is brought to you by



Bringing music and soul to this tournament!

The World Cup Final. There's been plenty said- you don't need me to hype you up for this one. Which legends will be made in this Winner take all match in Busukuma today?

[Squornshelan Remnant States]

My name is Squornymandias, Champion of Champions, look on my wins, ye mighty, and despair.

[Audioslavia]

VENI AD PAPAM
Audioslavia are World Champions

Read it! Read it again, and then again and again and again.

Audioslavia are World Champions.

It seems this nation is only able to experience victory at the highest stage of all if it spends the best part of 25 cycles on the unfashionable fringes of world football. Such was the case in World Cup 63, when an unfancied, lowly ranked Bulls side scraped and scrapped their way to a World Cup, with the embarassment of four lost finals (12, 19, 20, 29, the Shitbonacci sequence) well behind them. So it was last night, in the final match of Cycle 99, as the national team exorcised the horrors of the World Cup 67, 69 and 76 finals, and 23 cycles in the absolute doldrums, to steal the World Cup from the pockets of Squornshelan Remnant Statees.

Our opponents were stronger and faster, and equally willing to get stuck in to boot. They brought with them players of larger repute, a squad with more strength and depth than our own, and the experience of having been here and done it so recently before. That Audioslavia's players took the shinier of the two sets of medals is down to a number of factors, but one stands out. For once, on the biggest stage, Audioslavia didn't play with fear.

This wasn't a nervous team failing to cope with expectation, like those of World Cups 12 or 69. It wasn't a team who, in comparison to their opponents, couldn't quite bring themselves to put their neck on the line if it came to that, like cycle 67. This wasn't a team who might have stood half a chance against a better team if only they could stay loose, like cycles 29 or 76, and it wasn't a team too focused on not losing to see something foul afoot elsewhere, like cycles 19 and 20. Instead, it was a team that played like an Audioslavian team should always play: Like they had nothing to lose. No. Like they couldn't give a fuck.

The team that won World Cup 63 had to do so fighting against History, which was very much on the side of five-time champions Starblaydia. This World Cup 99 team had nothing of that. Audioslavia were the weaker team, the worse team, the frailer team, and frankly the team least deserving of winning the World Cup. Hell, you could take any other side from the quarters and make the argument that Audioslavia deserved it less than they did. The manner in which they played was entirely appropriate for the occasion and for Audioslavia.

The Bulls are one of nature's spoilers. The home aspirations of Siovanija and Teusland, Eastfielder resurgence, Ko-orenite resistence to a new Katanmakian order, all were ruined in the run up to the final. All that was left to spoil was the confederate dynasty set to be put in place by a Squornshelan coronation.

But then we know about Audioslavian attitudes to coronations.

Audioslavia's players weren't afraid of confrontation, as always, but this time they weren't afraid to take one for the team. Early yellow cards for Ronan Buckley and João-Fernando Gostamuito largely guaranteed that they'd be substitutes on or after half-time, but neither seemed perturbed when cynically pulling down opposing players in dangerous positions. Manager Salvador Monterroso knew that, in order to stand the best chance of winning, they needed to open the scoring early and defend it like hell. When this didn't happen - a speculative 8th minute effort from Lúnquerque proved to be the side's on shot on target in the first half - and pressure from the white shirts of Squornshelous started to pile on, the game changed to simply staying alive until half-time.

A boring final for the neutral spelled The Bulls's best chance of winning out, and as a tiring second half in Banijan summer heat wore on, the more mistakes the Black and Reds would make getting forward. Estina Magill hit the foot of the post on fifty minutes, but despite reaching the rebound first, she couldn't combine with Sargsa in a meaningful way to force a second opportunity, instead allowing the Audioslavian defence to flood back and defend. Shakhnovich would commit the cardinal sin of losing possession on the wing to an Audioslavian full-back, but a would-be killer through ball from Malcom was over-hit and well beyong Lúnquerque. SRS thought they may have taken the lead on the hour mark, only for Tiiu Aaltonen's cathartic celebration to be cut short by a linesman waving for an offside infraction that was marginal if it existed at all.

And then it happened. A moment of such sublime skill and glorious fortune that it almost made up for all those cycles in the wilderness.

A blistering counter-attack, Bastarretxea scorching down the opposite flank, a confederate defence momentarily disorganized. Drenel is beaten down the right, Lúnquerque is steaming into the box, the cutback is angled well behind him, in the path of Eyvindur Calderón, who shapes to fucking blooter the ball as hard as possible. The shot is blocked by a desperate lunge from Van, and spins up high in the air towards Tutku, whose hasty volleyed clearance is sliced wildly. The ball is sent skyward, and looks to be dropping down on the near side of the centre circle with a tremendous amount of backspin. Underneath it, seemingly a full sprint, is young defender Goran Yurán, eyes fixed on the ball's arc.

Crucially, at this moment, Confederate goalkeeper Radoslav Bláha takes four steps forward to lambast a defender, plus to scream at the rest of his team for not sprinting back at full pelt. Those four steps will be what ends up separating the two teams.

He meets the volley flush on the laces of his left boot, with the ball at the lowest it could possibly be on its arc before it hits the ground. The ball, already spinning, is given another generous helping of RPM in the same direction, along with a massive amount of force. The ball is propelled goalwards, but also skywards, smashed at a 45 degree angle. The sheer forwardspin on the ball means it will arc and dip downwards faster than any shot you've ever seen. At its apex, it's about three times higher than the goal, and it passes Bláha above and to the right of his flailing dive, level with the penalty spot, but it bounces just before the foot of the post before cannoning off of it and into the roof of the centre of the net.

Audioslavia, a team famed for scoring the worst goals you've ever seen, have just birthed a thunderbastard. Goran Yurán is its glowing mother. It doesn't have a father. The clue is in the name.

The game is over as a contest. They say don't get a defender sent off against Farfadillis, because they will treat that gap as a tiger treats a rabbit. So too: Don't go a goal down against the Bulls in a match where it would benefit them to defend a one-goal lead with outright gamesmanship, violence and sheer bloody mindedness. There is a vibe in the air, and everyone can feel it from Istria to New Hap.

Audioslavians have one more image burned onto the memory. The diminutive Uriah Malcom, looking at the World Cup like it's his first child, eyes wide, with two dozen team-mates behind him, eyes-wide, arms raised, mid-air, in one case giving an umbrella to a nearby camera. Champions of the world. Somehow.

It's beautiful. I've looked at this for 5 hours now.