Post by Arthur Kirkland on Nov 19, 2010 14:55:21 GMT -5
OhgodohgodohGOD! There was no way in hell this was football! At least, there was no way it was conventional football. This was like some strange abomination of Rugby! When he'd put his name down for 'football' he'd not once considered that what it ACTUALLY meant was 'AMERICAN football'. Those damn yanks had destroyed the name of a fine sport! Still, there was no time to really think about that when he had some burly bloke trying to mow him down.
Which he did. Hard.
With a grunt he hit a floor rolling himself over as the ball was snagged from him. Well... Well bugger to it. He was sick of this damn game, and wanted nothing more than to curse the soul of whichever dumb git had come up with such a thing (he'd certainly have to give it a damn good go when he got back to his dorm, of that there was no doubt).
Pushing up he cringed slightly, hissing through clenched teeth as he stood. Dear god this sport was violent. There was not a doubt that he was by no means suited for this game, not with his build. Sure he was fit enough, but he was lithe. He was built more for running than ploughing into people who were about twice his size. Alas, he couldn't do much about that when he'd already signed his life away to the damn thing. Backing out would be far too cowardly for him, no matter how much he may loath this so called sport.
As the opposition yelled something about a touchdown he couldn't say he really cared, not when he was forced to pull himself into another hustle... Or whatever they called it. In honesty he still didn't really grasp the sport as a whole. All he knew was what he was meant to do, which was get the ball, run like fuck, and avoid getting the crap beat out of him by anyone... Which was pretty damn hard in the position he'd been given.
Who the hell in their right mind had thought it best to make him a fucking running back anyway? Oh, yes. The damn well captain. He really needed to teach that boy a lesson, preferably with a thick book across the back of his head. Maybe it would damn knock some sense into the dense head of his! Doubtful to be honest, veeeeery doubtfu- "Hike!" Wait... What... What?!
Briefly he considered turning tail and legging it down the field. However, it was a short lived deal as the ball (pig skin? Ah, he didn't fucking know!) was pretty much shoved into his hands. “Wanker!” He barked at whichever prat had thought that idea was smart. Though really he had little time to think about it as the other team took to trying to snag the not so ball looking thing from him, which really left him the option of bolting out of the way of them all.
In a logical sense he supposed Running back made more sense than anything else, it seemed to involve less tackling and more running... Which suited him well enough. What didn't suit him was the fact Running backs had a damn nasty habit of being chased and fucking dogpiled on. Did the sods bother to pull back any due to his size? Pft, did they buggery! They came at him just as hard as anyone else, and already he was pretty sure he had at least three bruised ribs.
With a startled yelp he jinked to the side as someone tried to pounce on him, only to be intercepted by a member of his own team. To be fair he wasn't actually doing much, it was everyone else pulling all the weight whilst he just kind of... Ran like fuck. So far it was mostly working, right up until that big fatass started chasing him! God damn that guy!
With a huff he tried to pick up the pace somewhat, falling into yelling out a long string of cusses when he found himself unable to to. He supposed people were probably having a ball watching. An angry Brit legging it down the field yelling things that would make the most lewd of people, all whilst someone was hot on his tail. Hell, even he'd have laughed (… probably not, but the point stood) had it been anyone but him. Alas, since it was in fact him he found it rather lost any amusement that could have possibly been there for him.
As he reached the touch down box thing (he neither knew nor cared what it was actually called) he didn't jump around in joy as most did. No, instead he turned to the fatass who'd followed him and proceeded to hurl the ball at the other's helmet. “Piss off!” He barked as the thing bounced harmlessly of the other's shielded head. “Who the bloody hell do you think you are?! You're an utter barbarian!” Marching up to the stranger he puffed his chest up slightly, tilting his head up so he could glare at the other effectively. “Chasing a gentleman is not in the basic code of conduct!” He emphasised the point by prodding the man's armoured ches- Was he laughing?! Dear chirst, he was going to throttle this bastard.
Which he did. Hard.
With a grunt he hit a floor rolling himself over as the ball was snagged from him. Well... Well bugger to it. He was sick of this damn game, and wanted nothing more than to curse the soul of whichever dumb git had come up with such a thing (he'd certainly have to give it a damn good go when he got back to his dorm, of that there was no doubt).
Pushing up he cringed slightly, hissing through clenched teeth as he stood. Dear god this sport was violent. There was not a doubt that he was by no means suited for this game, not with his build. Sure he was fit enough, but he was lithe. He was built more for running than ploughing into people who were about twice his size. Alas, he couldn't do much about that when he'd already signed his life away to the damn thing. Backing out would be far too cowardly for him, no matter how much he may loath this so called sport.
As the opposition yelled something about a touchdown he couldn't say he really cared, not when he was forced to pull himself into another hustle... Or whatever they called it. In honesty he still didn't really grasp the sport as a whole. All he knew was what he was meant to do, which was get the ball, run like fuck, and avoid getting the crap beat out of him by anyone... Which was pretty damn hard in the position he'd been given.
Who the hell in their right mind had thought it best to make him a fucking running back anyway? Oh, yes. The damn well captain. He really needed to teach that boy a lesson, preferably with a thick book across the back of his head. Maybe it would damn knock some sense into the dense head of his! Doubtful to be honest, veeeeery doubtfu- "Hike!" Wait... What... What?!
Briefly he considered turning tail and legging it down the field. However, it was a short lived deal as the ball (pig skin? Ah, he didn't fucking know!) was pretty much shoved into his hands. “Wanker!” He barked at whichever prat had thought that idea was smart. Though really he had little time to think about it as the other team took to trying to snag the not so ball looking thing from him, which really left him the option of bolting out of the way of them all.
In a logical sense he supposed Running back made more sense than anything else, it seemed to involve less tackling and more running... Which suited him well enough. What didn't suit him was the fact Running backs had a damn nasty habit of being chased and fucking dogpiled on. Did the sods bother to pull back any due to his size? Pft, did they buggery! They came at him just as hard as anyone else, and already he was pretty sure he had at least three bruised ribs.
With a startled yelp he jinked to the side as someone tried to pounce on him, only to be intercepted by a member of his own team. To be fair he wasn't actually doing much, it was everyone else pulling all the weight whilst he just kind of... Ran like fuck. So far it was mostly working, right up until that big fatass started chasing him! God damn that guy!
With a huff he tried to pick up the pace somewhat, falling into yelling out a long string of cusses when he found himself unable to to. He supposed people were probably having a ball watching. An angry Brit legging it down the field yelling things that would make the most lewd of people, all whilst someone was hot on his tail. Hell, even he'd have laughed (… probably not, but the point stood) had it been anyone but him. Alas, since it was in fact him he found it rather lost any amusement that could have possibly been there for him.
As he reached the touch down box thing (he neither knew nor cared what it was actually called) he didn't jump around in joy as most did. No, instead he turned to the fatass who'd followed him and proceeded to hurl the ball at the other's helmet. “Piss off!” He barked as the thing bounced harmlessly of the other's shielded head. “Who the bloody hell do you think you are?! You're an utter barbarian!” Marching up to the stranger he puffed his chest up slightly, tilting his head up so he could glare at the other effectively. “Chasing a gentleman is not in the basic code of conduct!” He emphasised the point by prodding the man's armoured ches- Was he laughing?! Dear chirst, he was going to throttle this bastard.
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Today children you have just seen how not to play American football. Remember to pay attention in class from now on unless YOU want to end up like Arthur >:c
This isn't great and it's short, but it was hard to write about something I know NOTHING about... even after an hour of research >>; forgivemeXD
