The game has at last begun! The noise here is deafening! In a feat of coordination that rather boggles my mind, the crowd seems to be able to all yell the same thing at the same exact time. The effect is quite unnerving. I must find a way to harness this mass-hysteria for my own ends… If I can get them all chanting my name…
The beige-clad bald fellows are quiet at this particular moment (no doubt to allow the players of the team they favor to actually converse), but believe me, they are extraordinarily exuberant.
(a bit later)
The contest appears to be half-over. The home crowd is quite pleased because “our” team has manhandled the ball and opposing players more successfully than the other.
Now the two teams are taking a break to tend to their wounds and receive stirring exhortations from their leaders. They’ll reappear anon, hale, mostly whole, and ready to do battle again. Thor would just love this whole thing. It requires very little brain, glorifies brute force, and smacks more than a little of Valhalla… If we could stock the concession stands with Pop Tarts, he would be the happiest soul in all Nine Realms.
It appears that we are to be treated to some martial music while we wait. Sigyn–look over there. Some of the beige baldies, now with instruments, are assembling at one end of the playing field.
Such neat and orderly rows! Such a proud and noble mien! I may be the God of Chaos and Mischief, but such a display appeals to the conqueror in me.
Observe the precision of their marching! How nimbly they create their formations upon the grass! Would that it was my name that they were spelling with their very bodies. The snappiness of their turns is perfection! Truly, this is an elite corps which is used to practicing ceaselessly and obeying orders without thought. Here! Here is the army for which I have longed!
Whatever the cost, they must be mine…