Star Wars Elite League Limmie [A Sports-based RPG, New Players Welcome]

OOC: This post is a pseudo-birthday present for @JediMaster_1977 (not really, but it just happens to be his B-Day today). It has nothing to do with his team, though, so whatever.

IC: Dirxx Horstse
House

Dirxx woke up in a great mood. Or, at least as good a mood as one could be in after their Limmie team was blown out of the water by their hated rivals only days before. During the season, when the team was on road trips, he would always have to sleep on the shuttle. It wasn’t bad or anything, but it certainly felt nice to be alone for once to just sleep. And sleep he did; that was almost the only thing he had done since returning home the day before. It was nice being able to take the night off the shuttle, even if the team had a game coming up in a few days on Ralltiir. But that planet wasn’t too far away, so stopping by home, for even a little bit of time, was quite the luxury in a day and age where most teams were located in the far-flung outskirts of the galaxy.

Getting up, Dirxx sidled over to the fridge and opened it. Out came a bowl of cereal, which he then munched down in a contented state. After about a dozen years playing pro Limmie (well, OK, perhaps 266 didn’t count towards that total), he was trying to find everything he could get out of the game. Ever since his father had died, he had wanted to be every inch the man that he had been. Winning two Galactic Cup titles as captain was nice, as well as a championship in the IRLL, but the main thing that he had accomplished was that he was just as much the symbol for Coruscant Limmie as Dain Horstse had been back in his day. The fans loved him, and they gave him purpose. They made Limmie fun, even when the team was sometimes stuck on the shuttle for several weeks and he had to listen to the incessant word war between Shayt Contar and Jerek Deter. They were good teammates on the field, but sometimes wouldn’t shut up off it. That Deter kid could talk smack all day if he wanted to, and it amazed Dirxx that Shayt hadn’t punched his lights out yet for getting on her nerve. It wasn’t wise to upset Shayt; she was the stubborn one out of the three defenders who had called Coruscant “home” the longest, and she could pack a mean punch when push came to shove.

As he flipped through data on his pad, he saw the preview for the upcoming game against the Starkillers. Sure the Senators were a tough team, but they had a habit of losing to expansion teams, or at least ones that were returning to the league after a hiatus. Mounds of stats flashed by as he scrolled down. Every game in the League was tough, so he knew that it was going to be another grind come game-day.

Then the doorbell rang. Dirxx got up to answer it. Who could it be, this early in the morning? He checked the clock: 05:15, it said. Hm, either it was an emergency, or just an annoying salesman. Opening the door, he looked out. “Can I help you?” he asked.

The next thing he felt was having a black bag be thrust on his head and his body hit the ground. He tried to fight against his captors, but they subdued him by pouring some sleeping gas into the bag. Dirxx became drowsy, and quickly fell asleep, his body growing limp.

IC: Gark S’rily
Senators Team HQ

Gark woke up drowsily from his slumber. Even in the temporary bed he had rigged up at the office, it still felt more comfortable than the sleeping quarters on the team shuttle. Besides, at least he had peace and quiet here, instead of having to listen to Andrew Mundle’s snoring all night while in transit. The thoughts of that critical loss against Bakura was still fresh in his mind, and no matter what he did, he just couldn’t get the memory of it out of his head. Only a win would remove that bitterness.

It was then that he heard the buzzing of his comlink. He picked it up and thumbed the connection on. “What?” he said lazily.

“There’s a situation, Coach,” Andrew’s voice came in from the other end of the line.

“Don’t tell me the shuttle broke down,” Gark said, groaning. “I keep telling them to get that stuff fixed . . .”

“It’s not that,” Andrew said, in a concerned tone of voice. “It’s about the team. Some of the players have gone missing overnight.”

Gark shot up out of his trance-like state immediately. Some of the players were missing? What was going on? “What’s happening?” he asked.

“None of us know,” Andrew replied. “All we do know from the police is that about a dozen of our players mysteriously disappeared over the last few hours. Nothing has been heard from any of them since.”

Gark rubbed his eyes. This was the last thing he needed; were his players all right? What had happened to them?

“Turn on the HoloNet,” Andrew said.

Gark did so, getting out of bed and turning on the Holonet console nearby in his office. An image sprang to life of a street, filled with people. And in the middle stood Calo Mornd, a blaster in his hand. He was silhouetted in the early morning Coruscanti sunshine, his shadow elongated behind him. Behind Mornd stood about a hundred guards, most of them the rank-and-file troopers that Gark himself had taken part in punching over the various raids. But what was in their hands disturbed him the most. A dozen or so Senators players were being roughly handled by the guards, some of them fighting for freedom while others were easily subdued by their captors.

“It looks like I have the upper hand here,” Calo said to the crowd gathered at the scene. “I hereby offer a challenge to the one known as Superbothan, who seems to be your savior these days. I promise to release these hostages if he promises to surrender himself to me. And, if he doesn’t, well, then these players, your idols, are going to die. Very. Gruesome. Deaths.”

Gark knew what he had to do; there was no way around it.

“We can only hope the masked man shows up to save their skins,” Andrew commented from the other end of the line. “Either that, or we don’t have a team for this week. Or after that.”

“I have a feeling that he will,” Gark said. “He has to.” With this, he cut the connection.

---

Gark donned the mask as he left the dilapidated restaurant that served as cover for the Bothancave. What had been sunshine only hours earlier had turned into clouds, and a feeling of dampness crept in. The rain poured down in a steady drizzle, quickly coating his mask with precipitation. He took in a deep breath; none of this had been his plan. Mornd had the upper hand, and both men knew it. Gark took several steps forward, and then stopped on a dime. He was not alone.

“I knew you would come,” he said, not even looking back at the person he was addressing.

Me’lin came around the corner, a look of concern in her eyes. “Don’t go,” she said. “It’s suicide!”

Gark turned around and took his mask off, revealing his face. His fur began to get wetted down with the steady drizzle, but he didn’t care. As far as he was concerned, it was only him and Me’lin out there in a void filled with nothingness. “If I don’t, lots of people are going to die. They’re my friends, and I have to help them. This is my choice.”

“But why?” Me’lin asked, distraught.

Gark hesitated for a moment. “Because I have no other options,” he finally stated. It was true; he was stuck in a corner, and now had to fight his way out. But he was afraid there might not be a fight to win this time. “You have to understand that.”

“Wait for backup,” the Twi’lek said. “The other agents shouldn’t be too hard to reach . . .”

“By the time they get here, it’ll be too late. Maybe I’m a fool for doing this, but at least my conscience will be clear knowing that I did what I could to save my players. I’m sorry, but that’s just the way it has to be.” He readied himself to take off, but Me’lin held out a hand to stop the Bothan before he could do anything.

“I love you,” Me’lin finally said, a look of pain on her face. One of utter terror, the kind you had on your face when you had the sickening feeling in your gut that someone you cared about was going to get hurt.

“I know,” Gark said slowly, deliberately. He then turned to leave, to face his destiny. Taking his grappling gun, he shot the cable off towards a nearby building and vaulted out of sight, leaving Me’lin to stand in the ever-dripping rain feeling more alone than she had ever figured she would be in her life.

---

There was a ruckus in the street. Thousands of people had gathered to watch this spectacle as the crazed Calo Mornd, who had been the cause of so much destruction already, was going to make his spectacle. Holocameras were showing this as millions of people around the planet watched in horror as the abducted Senators players were shown to the public. Mornd’s henchmen, wearing their trademark black jumpsuits and masks, held the players roughly. Dirxx was getting half-choked as he struggled to free himself, but the guard keeping him in arms was able to overpower the Besalisk and keep him quiet. Alysha had already been punched in the face and was out cold, her eyes staring out into nothingness like a corpse. Other players shared the same fate; they were trapped with no hope of escape.

“Seems like your savior decided not to show up,” Mornd said, looking at his watch as he said this with a sneer. “Oh well. Looks like I’ll have to go to ‘Plan B’. One that you won’t like, I’m sure.”

“Let us go, Mornd,” Dirxx said, still struggling. “If you don’t, I’m going to get free and I’ll wring your neck in seconds flat.”

“Oh, really?” Mornd asked, getting up close to Dirxx’s face and spitting in it. “And who’s going to save you? The police? The Air Fleet? Your fans? There’s no one to save you, hotshot. It’s just you and me out here, and I’m the one holding the gun.” He pulled out a blaster and pointed it at Dirxx’s head. “Now, for something I should have done long ago, back when I was too naïve to do anything about it.” His finger stroked the trigger, ready to jump whenever the brain told the finger to flex.

“Calo!” came a shout from the crowd. A shadowy figure shot down from the side of a building and landed in front of the gathered crowd and the police barricades. It was the one Mornd had been waiting for ever since the ruined gala.

“Ah, right on time,” Mornd said with a sneer. “Superbothan is here once again to save the day, are you not? Well, I’m sure you know this as much as I do: there is no hope for you this time.”

“Let them go,” the figure said, pointing to the players. “You wanted me to show up, Calo, so here I am. Now you need to hold up your end of the bargain.”

“Why would I ever do that?” Mornd said. He flipped the blaster up into the air and brought the barrel down on Dirxx’s skull. The Besalisk crumpled into a heap on the ground, knocked out cold.

“Dirxx!” Cam Veryist yelled out, and then was suddenly silenced by a hand going over his mouth.

“Let. Them. Go,” Superbothan said fiercely. “Otherwise, I’m going to have to hurt you.”

“I’m shaking,” Mornd said sarcastically, re-gripping the blaster so that it faced the Bothan. “You don’t terrify me. Maybe my henchmen aren’t privy to you, but I know that you know . . . that you can’t beat me. Not when they,” he gestured to the players, “are in my . . . care, right now. ” Then he looked at the crowd and the cameras that had gathered. “But, I am a man of my word. So, release them,” he said to his guards, who let the players slump out on the ground. “Now, I’ve held up my end of the bargain. It’s time to uphold yours.” Superbothan stood there for a second or two, motionless, and then raised his arms in the universal surrender gesture. “You don’t know how long I’ve been waiting for this moment,” Mornd said evilly. “And now, people, it’s time to show you who your masked avenger truly is. Take him.”

Superbothan was wrestled to the ground on his knees, his arms tied behind his back roughly by two of the henchmen. But he didn’t attempt to free himself; he was upholding his end of the deal. Mornd then proceeded to kick the Bothan several times, causing the crusader to bend over in pain. Three more punches landed on the man’s face, causing some whiplash to occur as his head snapped backwards. Then, Mornd bent down so that he was right in the face of his do-gooder nemesis. “Now they will all know who you are,” he whispered. “Your efforts were oh so good, but not enough to defeat me.” He looked back up at the expectant crowd. “I’m sure you’re all dying to know who’s been saving your skins for so long. And it’s time that you shall all have your answer.” He then reached down and started to tear off the orange mask that Superbothan was wearing. The mask wasn’t easy to tear off, but Mornd’s dogged strength finally broke it off its moorings. The fabric floated to the ground, unceremoniously, revealing a face. Gark stared back up at Mornd, blood running from his nose down across his face, staining his fur as it went. There was a collective gasp from the crowd. Gark S’rily, the GM and coach of their Limmie team, was Superbothan? This was incredible!

“Shocking, isn’t it?” Mornd announced as Gark was dragged into easy view of the crowd. “That such a pure person was out saving lives by night while coaching during the day! He tricked you all into thinking that he was some sort of deity, that you could worship him whenever you felt like it. He had you kissing his feet at all times because of some game! I cannot believe that you found some sort of spiritual regeneration by watching a bunch of dumb brutes hit each other with a ball! But, now that you know that this . . . wretched creature before me was truly your savior, I am happy to know that your shock will become much greater when I finish him off.”

“No matter what you do to me, Calo, know this,” Gark said, spitting blood out as he spoke. “As long as there is justice in this galaxy, a calling to bring swine like you to your knees, someone will stand up and fight. No matter what you do to my team, to me, you’re finished.”

“Really?” Mornd asked with a quizzical look. And then he laughed heartily, making sure that everyone could see his glee. “Not this time, my boy. Not this time.” He then landed another blow across Gark’s face, causing the Bothan’s neck to recoil after the fist made contact. As Gark’s head bobbed up and down as he strained to keep it up, Mornd looked back at the crowd. “Which one of you is going to save this man, the one who made your lives so easy in recent time that you could sleep soundly at night or walk alone in the rain? Is it going to be you?” he said, pointing to a small boy. “Or you, or you, or even you?” he repeated, pointing at different people. “But I know none of you are going to do anything. He may have been saving you before,” he pointed to Gark, “but now when he needs you most, you turn your back on him. It’s always the same; the crusader of justice, of peace, of righteousness, learns that justice means nothing when the villain holds the gun and they’re on the ground begging for mercy.” He held the blaster aloft, letting everyone get a good look at it. “Justice doesn’t pay the bills or feed the family, or heat the home or allow you to buy something in the store window. Justice . . . truth . . . reason . . . they’re all a myth. Because when the time comes for you to do the right thing . . . it’s inconvenient. Why bother helping out the person who helps you when they need you? Because you’re all afraid. Because I am one to be feared. Because I will make you fear me. Because I have the power to make you afraid! And I’m going to start right now.” He went back to Gark and pulled his head up. Gark struggled to keep his chin up, so one of the henchmen made sure to support it with a meaty hand. “And now,” Mornd whispered, “it’s time for you to meet your doom.” He then took three paces backwards and waved the guards away. Gark, still on his knees, looked up at Mornd and spat more blood out of his mouth.

“It’s over, Calo,” he said, his breathing ragged as he panted, looking for enough air to say his piece.

“So it is,” Mornd replied calmly. He then raised the blaster, aiming it at Gark’s chest. Time seemed to slow down as the disgraced former CEO of Andromeda Steel and Droid Corp. faced down the current CEO, with everyone across the planet watching, transfixed to the HoloNet screen or standing there in person. Mornd’s finger once again stroked the trigger, ready to pounce when his brain gave the order to push down the lever. Finally, the green light came. Mornd’s finger punched down, sending an angry red laser beam out like a shot. The beam caught Gark square in the chest. When he was hit, Gark’s head shot up, his eyes wide open. He then looked down at the burn mark in his suit, finally looking back up at Mornd. Then the lifeless body of Gark S’rily hit the pavement with a dull thud as it keeled over forwards.

The crowd was dead silent. One could easily hear a pin drop; it was like everything had stopped when Mornd had pulled the trigger.

“It is done,” Mornd finally said, placing the blaster back in its holster. “Now, don’t you feel so accomplished? You have just witnessed the end of your Caped Crusader! The man who you so dearly cherished, the one who had done everything for you, is now a lifeless corpse in front of me! And none of you had the guts to do anything about it. Bravo, bravo.” He then clapped his hands together several times, slowly. They rang out in the void of silence, easily audible to all of the cameras floating in the area. “He sacrifices himself so that you may all live your lives happily, and you thank him like this. I must say that I am impressed. And now I take my leave; you will see me again very soon. Until then, so long.” He motioned for the guards to take action, and each of them whacked a blaster butt over the heads of any Senators players who were still wriggling about. Those who were hit then fell to the ground, their bodies as limp as Gark’s corpse as it lay in the street. Finally, the guards fell back, surrounded Mornd, and melted into the shadows of a nearby building.



For many minutes, the assembled crowd just stared at the body of their beloved Limmie coach as it sat there in the pouring rain. And then, one by one, they proceeded towards it. A tradesman, wearing his work overalls, picked up the limp body and raised it above his head. He then passed it off to another person whose hands were on high, and the body slowly made its way on top of the hands of the crowded masses. There were a few whimpers, but otherwise the scene was silent. Background noise echoed faintly around the area, but no one dared speak. They could not believe that Gark was dead, that Superbothan was no more. And what did Mornd mean about them being scared? What was he planning to do next after he had successfully gained his revenge?

Watch This

“He seems so . . . small,” one person whispered quietly as they reached out to keep the body aloft. “He looks like anyone else, you or me.”

And so the procession of the body kept on going through the crowd, those who had held the body already falling off to see where it was headed. Finally, the body reached the barricade, where several police officers took Gark from the huddled masses. They then found a litter and placed the Bothan on it. Picking it up, four officers were able to put the body in one of their cruisers. Curiously, without thinking, the crowd began to mass around the back of the cruiser, staring blankly at the man who had risked his life to save that of his players. One of the officers then got behind the wheel of the cruiser, the rest of them fanning out to disperse the crowd.

---

(Start at 3:34)

The procession of mourners was, simply put, miles long. As soon as they realized what was going on, ordinary people on the street would fall into the back of the line and keep going, their heads looking down as they trod along. Beside the casket carrying Gark’s body were many of his players and coaches. Dirxx, wearing a long black suit with no tie for probably the first time ever, kept looking now and then at the casket, hoping, expecting to see Gark arise from its confines and prove that he had truly defeated Mornd. But this action never came.

“You all right?” Polis Vayne asked, putting his hand on the Besalisk’s shoulder.

“I . . . I can’t believe he’s gone,” Dirxx said slowly.

“I can’t either,” Polis replied. “But we need to move on without him. That’s what he would want, I’m sure. He’d want us to play out the rest of the season.”

“I guess you’re right,” Dirxx said.

When the procession finally got to Andromeda Steel Corp. Field, the casket was lowered into the ground slowly as the thousands of mourners looked on hopelessly. Around the burial site were two standard wreath holders, both of them adorned with the traditional wreaths that hung silently. A headset was placed on the ground, along with a ratty old sweatshirt and ball cap. It was in this scene that Gark S’rily, the man whom had bestowed the same great honor in death on deceased former coordinator and coach Aspa Bursya after her death in a speeder accident 264, was now going to be laid to rest right next to her grave. Every time the Senators took the field at home, they would see the headstone of the late, great Bothan coach, and know the sacrifice that he made to save the lives of his players.

(Start at 0:09, but you don't need to have the audio on)

Someone finally began to sing out a funeral hymn, one that reverberated around the stadium. No one spoke; they all just looked as the strong men placed the casket into the ground and covered it again with dirt. And so the crowd eventually dispersed, leaving the Senators alone to stare at the monument to their late coach.

“Somebody pinch me,” Jerek Deter said out of the blue. It was so out of character for him to be so depressed. “Please tell me that this is a dream, a terrible dream.”

“It’s not,” said Syprul Raches. “Trust me, I wish it wasn’t true either.”

More moments of silence followed. Then Dirxx looked back. “Let’s go,” he said to everyone else still left there. “It’s over.” And so the twenty or so players, staff and coaches left the stadium, leaving it in revered silence once again.

TAG: Everyone

Endgame: Part 1 of 5

IC: Fravid Deese

Rough Rider Locker Room, After the Week 6 Game vs. Onderon

Fravid was riding high. He had finally been able to eliminate Zeke from the picture. It had been 5 weeks since he had framed Zeke for PED use and he still couldn't believe that the team had fallen for it. Taking over this team for his boss was going easier then he thought.

He had just gotten out of the shower after the Game against Onderon, which was a win, when one of the assistant coaches came in and said Coach Mothker wanted to see him. This surprised Fravid a little bit. It hadn't quite been the season he was hoping for, with the team sitting at 2-4 and at the bottom of the conference, but Mothker had shown no displeasure in him. Reluctantly Fravid put on a shirt and made his way to the office area.

Mothker was sitting at his desk, glasses on, and shifting through some papers. When he heard Fravid knock he looked up. "Ah Mr. Deese. I'm assuming you got my message. Please sit." Fravid did but not by choice, since 2 assistant coaches appeared and shut the door. "Why did you frame Zeke?!?"

"Excuse me?!? What do you mean?" came Fravid's shocked voice.

"You heard me. I didn't stutter. The investigation into where the drugs that were in Zeke's Locker came from led to a drug factory about 40 clicks north of the city here. Turns out the factory is run by the Double Threat Duo based off of Nal Hutta. Their latest shipment was tracked to your apartment. The same drugs used in Zeke's locker. Can you explain that?"

Fravid went completely still when Mothker mentioned this, but almost passed out when he heard this voice. "Yeah Fravid. Please tell us why you framed me." Zeke walked out of the shadows of the office with 2 members of the Local LE office behind him.

Fravid gained back his composure almost as fast as he had lost it. Then he began to applaud mockingly. "Very impressive. You caught me thought I never thought you would. I knew it couldn't be this easy to take over a Limmie Team."

Zeke Started walking over with a clearly irked expression. "You still haven't answered us! Why did you-----". He never got finish, because an explosion erupted, then gunfire erupted tearing down the 2 officers. Zeke immediately dove to cover up Mothker letting his military instincts kick in.

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IC: Zeke Barbosa

The explosion almost ripped Zeke off his feet. Something hit him in the head and disoriented him, but he regained his balance and ran to cover up his head coach. Smoke from the explosion rose, and when it cleared revealed a huge hole in the side of the wall. Also Fravid was no where in sight, but Zeke did she a comlink in the parking lot. He walked over to it hearing it beeping. He picked it up and hit the play button. Fravid's voice immediately came across the speakers. "You may have won this time Zeke, but if you ever want to see your girlfriend and baby again you will leave the Rough Riders and never return."

The comm then cut to the ever recognizable scream of Gargova. It was like a knife to Zeke's heart. He slammed the comm down breaking it, not caring that it was evidence. Then he shot back to the office and yelled orders at Mothker. "Call the PD. Call the ELL front office. Call the local military. Call anyone you know that can help us with this situation. NOW!!!!!"

Zeke had let Fravid get the best of him twice now, but he wasn't going to let it happen again. He told himself he would track Fravid down, he was going to figure out who the Double Threat Duo was and why they targeted the Ryloth, and he was going to get Gargova back. Limmie Zeke had left and his former military personality had replaced it. No more fun and games here.

TAG: @Trieste, any one else wanting to react to this.

Jenna Leed
Onderon

It was the worst day of Jenna’s life. Not only did she have to see Zeke but to play against his team in her condition. She was a mess because of her relationship with Zeke. Or rather his relationship with his ex girlfriend. She hasn’t taled to Zeke since she heard over the Holonet Gossip Channel about him getting his girlfriend pregnant. Her comlink was always turned off so that she would miss his calls. She didn’t know what to do or what to think. She thought she knew Zeke, but that turned out to be not true. Now he will be involved in the baby’s life and Jenna doesn’t think she could handle it. After all it should be her pregnant not the ex.

Was that why she was mad cause it wasn’t her? Was that what keeps her up all night crying her eyes out? There was so much going on in Jenna’s head that she couldn’t think anymore. All she had right now was tears.......tears that seem to never end. Now she had to get ready for the game. Her mind was not in to Limmie. Usually she could concentrate on Limmie because it was a distraction. This time was different. She had to play the Rough Riders and Zeke. Maybe she will pretend to be sick.

“Get with it Jenna you have a game to play.”

She couldn’t let her teammates down. She would have just get through it, even though it’s killing her. She was quiet in the locker room as she dressed. The pep talk came and Jenna’s voice could not be heard. It was a first. When it was time to go out on to the field Jenna could see Zeke on the other side. It was painful to say the least. It took alot of courage not to cry just then.

During the game Jenna tried to keep focused but she kept letting the ball go past her to the other team. Coach had to put Jenna aside. “Jenna get your head in the game. I don’t know what’s wrong with you today but you better get over it quick.”

Jenna nodded with her eyes almost tearing up. He was right she had to do something but this feeling of deep depression was starting to take hold of her in the worst way. She hated for Zeke to see her like this. She wiped her eyes as if she just had something in her eyes. She didn’t want anybody to see her cry. If it wasn’t for Gayla Renhorn and Aeron Vos the Crazy Dragons would have been blown out by now. That’s saying something because Gayla and Aeron don’t get along.

The game was finally over but things were just beginning. The Crazy Dragons lost thirty five to twenty. Jenna had no goals. Her streak was now over. She didn’t care her heart was broken. Jenna could see Zeke walking up to her. She didn’t want to see him but it was too late, he had caught up with her.

She tried to smile but it was weak. In a whisper she said “Hey Zeke”

Tag: @JediMaster_1977

GM Post
Coruscant

Niakara Kayl’hen approached the podium for what could well be the biggest press conference she would ever give as Commissioner of the Elite League.

“Good morning, gentlebeings,” she said, “As you are aware, yesterday the Elite League and the rest of Coruscant became aware of the death of Coruscant Senators owner, General Manager, and Head Coach Gark S’rily.”

That was as far as she got.

“Commissioner! Did the League know that Gark was Superbothan?” a reporter shouted.

“No,” Kayl’hen said, before ignoring other questions and pressing on, “Mr. S’rily’s death is a tragic event that shocked everyone at the League.”

“Does the League endorse vigilantism?” another reporter asked.

“The League has no comment at this time on Mr. S’rily’s personal matters. They were just that: personal and therefore not something that the League has the right to comment on,” Kayl’hen said, “What the League does have the right to comment on is the renewed uncertainty regarding the Senators franchise. As Mr. S’rily only recently assumed ownership of the Senators, the League is currently unaware of succession plans. It is possible that Mr. S’rily died intestate. I have dispatched the League’s General Counsel to determine the current status of the Senators franchise and provide League assistance as needed to help the Senators finish the season.

“The League also became aware of an explosion at the offices of the Ryloth Rough Riders yesterday. Initial reports allege that organized crime was involved in the explosion. There have been no reports of injury associated with the event. Eyewitness accounts indicate that there was no target, but rather the explosion covered an escape made by a player who has been accused of links to organized crime. Before this being could be handed over to local police on Ryloth, the player escaped.

“Who is the being?” a reporter asked as he and his compatriots scribbled wildly.

“The League is declining to say at this time. The matter is in the hands of local authorities.

“As a result of these events, I am personally working with officials on Bakura, Mandalore, Onderon, Ralltiir, and Ryloth to take extra security precautions for Week 7 games. These precautions will extend into the Galactic Cup Playoffs,” Kayl’hen announced, “I have already received detailed assurances from authorities on Bakura that this week’s Black & Blue Battle will have increased security. These assurance come from the Salis D’aar Police Department Commissioner, the Ministry of Defense, and the Prime Minister speaking from the West Office at Marian Square. Additionally, the Senatorial Guard will be increasing protection for the Supreme Chancellor during her attendance at the game.”

“Niakara, does the League have any comment about Calo Mornd’s role in killing Gark S’rily? Mornd was a former member of the Board of Governors,” one reporter asked.

“The League and the Board of Governors has not been enamored of Mr. Mornd for a couple years ago. We did not find him fit to be an owner of the League based on his deplorable conduct then. As to what has happened now…” Kayl’hen paused and looked down. “…there are no words. The League will fully cooperate with local authorities here on Coruscant as best we can to ensure the swift application of justice.

“Now, if you will please excuse me, this has been a trying day and the regular season isn’t over yet. We still have awards ballots to prepare.”

Tag: @Bardan_Jusik @CPL_Macja @jcgoble3 @Jedi Gunny @JediMaster_1977 @Liam_Vehn @Runjedirun @Teegirloo

IC: Lucie Vigo


Lucie felt like she was on the top of the world. She had just returned from Vandelhelm where the Starkillers had played a spectacular game against the Jets. They won 22-6; they had been ahead the whole game and the fans in Vandelhelm and even been supportive of the dance team. Things were coming together just at the right time, the end of the season when the team needed to be united. If they beat the Senators this week Lucie was sure they were going to the play-offs in their very first ELL season.

She was in her apartment on the couch curled up in a blanket and leaning up against Bough. He wrapped her arm around her and she laid her head on his shoulder, fully relaxed. Bough was a nice warm muscular male body to lean on. She suspected he was gay since most male dancers were, but she enjoyed his company and at this moment was just enjoying passing the time away with a friend.

No pressure, no concerns and then commissioner Niakara Kayl’hen appeared on HSN. The news made Lucie feel ill. The owner of the Senators was dead. An explosion had rocked the stadium of the Ryloth Rough Riders. All of the joy Lucie felt a moment ago was stripped away. She looked at Bough and felt a tear falling down her cheek. “Is it safe to hold practice in the stadium tomorrow?” she asked.

Bough gave Lucie a hug. “You should wait for further developments and make that decision tomorrow” he suggested. “As of right now I don’t see any reason for us to believe there is a threat here on Ralltiir. Let’s change the channel find a lighthearted holo-drama to watch. This is upsetting you.”

Lucie wondered at first if it was the right thing to do. She was the dance team captain and the rest of the dancers were her responsibility. She should probably keep her eyes on the news and make an educated decision. But then she realized it would all be summarized in the morning and that Bough was right. It would be better not to dwell on these events now. She began to flip through the channels and settled for a comedy she had seen enough times to know most of the dialogue before it was said.

Lucie relaxed again and soon fell asleep. She was startled to wake up the next morning on the couch with her head in Bough’s lap. “Bough, why didn’t you wake me?” she exclaimed. “Why are you still here? Why didn’t you go home?”

Bough blinked his eyes awake. Once he got his bearings he began to explain. “You were pretty shaken up last night. I figured you would need a friend this morning.”

Lucie smiled, she could never be truly angry at Bough, he was too sweet for his own good. “You were right.” She conceded.

After watching the news and eating some breakfast Lucie decided it should be safe to practice in the stadium. She and Bough noted there was extra security on the property, but all the players were there for practice as well so Lucie soon forgot the circumstances and conducted rehearsal as normal.

It was a very busy week. The final game of the season was a big deal. Lucie wanted a production the fans would remember. There were late nights and early mornings, but in the end it all came together. Lucie was so proud of her team. She really hoped the Starkillers won this week so they could stay together for the play-offs.

On game day as Lucie approached Bankers Mansion the stadium was quiet. The parking lot was not open early for tailgaters as an extra security precaution. The pep she usually had in her step was not present. There were no expectant fans there to create her usually joyous game day mood. For the first time ever she found the fatty nacho cheese smell when she walked into the stadium comforting. A little reminder that today wasn't just another rehearsal.

@Jedi Gunny

IC: Zeke Barbosa
Zekes apartment, day after the events of Part 1

Zeke felt like he was hyperventilating. Even though he and Gargova had been over for over a year now, the fact that she had been kidnapped almost crushed him. There were so many questions he was asking himself like Why was this crime group after him? Or why did they kidnap Gargova? And many other questions.

He needed a distraction to get his mind off of what was going on. Mothker had sent him away from the team until things were sorted out for good, which wasn't helping the situation. In Zeke's opinion it just made it worse. He walked over to his communicator console wanting to call someone to help get his mind off of things. Who would understand me with whats going on, he wondered. Then it hit him. How could he be so stupid. In all of this chaos of Gargova revealing shes pregnant, Fravid taking over and framink Zeke, and the explosion last night he had completely forgotten about the love of his life. He immediately began to punch in her frequency code. But then he started second guessing himself. What would she say to the fact that he hadn't been keeping in touch. Would she resent him? Would she think they broke up? Or even worse had she broken up with him? Then before he could stop it his comm indicated he had connected to Jenna's comm.

"Hey there sweetheart. Hope you're not mad at me." Zeke then sat down on his couch, dreading what might be said next.

TAG: @Teegirloo

Ryloth Rough Riders Transactions:

Rough Riders announce the reinstatement of Zeke Barbosa (Bith, Male) as the starting goalkeeper

GM Post

The Elite League is not the only league in the galaxy. Far from it. Some of the galaxy's msot impressive teams outside the Elite League have gathered into the Galactic Limmie Championship Association. They include the venerable Chandrila Patriots, one of the oldest and most respectable professional limmie teams in the galaxy. There are the Corellia Rebels, another member of the old guard. Empress Teta, a team that hit hard times in the 260s, has made a resurgence. The Genet Vornskrs, once the Elite League darlings in their rookie season, are in the GCLA. Even the Ord Mantell Scrappers, a tough and nasty team like their name implies are present.

And then there are the Ylesia Lightning, newcomers to the scene. They hope to emulate the teams that have come before them that have made the jump to the Elite League: Ryloth, Onderon, and Ralltiir. Here those teams proved their mettle and here Ylesia, a planet historically known for exporting spice and not athletes, looks to make a splash. It's happened before, but they've already discovered it's not been easy. The Lightning stand at an even 3-3 coming into the final week of play. A win would make their spot in the GCLA Playoffs assured. A loss makes things look very bleak.

Naturally, they find themselves on the road taking on one of the GCLA stalwarts in what may be their biggest game yet this season.

Week 7 Schedule
Ylesia Lightning (3-3) at Agamar Packers (1-5)

Tag: @Rebecca_Daniels

IC
UBCS, Cape Suzette, Bakura

The Bakura 10 Conference did not play a championship game. With ten teams, they opted for using straight-up conference record. Best of 9, winner take all. Tie breaks were broken head-to-head. In the rare event of a three way tie that couldn’t be broken based on simple head-to-head it got messy and people yelled and screamed, but the win went to the team who had the latest victory in the season. It was better than two coin flips and luckily rarely happened.

Today’s game did not pit the top two teams against each other, but one of the teams could clinch the conference title if they won. That team was not the UB Cape Suzette Blue Birds coached by Galactic Cup winning coach Mick Hancock, the man who had tutored future champion and Salbukk winner Alana Glencross.

It was the most unlikely of teams: the Prytis College of Natural Sciences Rangers.

The Rangers had the least championships of any Bak10 school. In fact, their continued participation in the Bak10 had sometimes been something of a joke. They were derided as “tree huggers” and “farmboys.” They were often called an easy win on the schedule.

But this season the Rangers were 6-2 coming into the final week of the season. They’d blown an early game against Atalanta, but come back with shocking back-to-back upsets of the College of Deredith & Millicent (the equivalent of Bak10 royalty) and the UBTV Pioneers who held the last two Bak10 crowns. They’d done it through defense and that meant that everyone was looking at one being in particular.

Junior center half back Falene Trieste who was not just any college limmie player. She was the daughter of the Chancellor, the former UBSD Golden Bears captain who had won the Bak10 in her Senior year. Her daughter was looking to beat the family record by a year.

The Chancellor had flown out for the Blue Birds/Rangers game due to its title implications. Her brother Declan was there too, but had hired a shuttle to get him back to Salis D’aar in time for the Big Game later that day, which was the UBSD/Tiarest game. It would be his last Bears game as a student and he wasn’t going to miss it—but he wasn’t going to miss his sister play for the championship either.

If the Rangers lost, the Deredith & Millicent Colonials were going to take the championship with a 7-2 record. If the Rangers won, it didn’t matter what anyone else did. They’d officially share the championship with the Colonials in the event they both had 7-2 records, but the Rangers would get the Carnation Bowl berth and that was what mattered.

The student body of Prytis College was much smaller than the big UB public schools so their fans were dwarfed by the Blue Bird Herd, as they were called. But the Rangers were screaming their lungs out as Mick Hancock deployed his pro style offense against the Rangers. Hancock’s system wasn’t daring, but it was effective. He met strength with strength, which was why he was running straight up the middle, right at Falene Trieste.

The brunette had been a walk on to the team her Freshman year. She beat out scholarship players to earn a spot on the team and started half her Sophomore year. She didn’t have the size that her mother had, coming in at 1.65 meters, which made her a smaller than average limmie player. What Falene lacked in stature she made up with tenacity. She was fast and attacked the opposition. Three years in the college system had honed her instincts and she was the leading tackler for the Rangers. When she wrapped someone up, she didn’t let go. She might get pulled along, but she slowed opposing players up enough so her teammates could record an assist.

And she had something her mother never had—a solid right foot. Falene could get the ball from her hands onto her foot and down the field with alacrity. Kerry Trieste had always been a hurler, and not much of a kicker, save her golden point to beat the Fleet Academy in her Senior season to win the Bak10 championship.

Consensus was, the daughter was better than her mother. And everybody said that if Kerry hadn’t gone into politics she could have played for the Miners. People were buzzing over what Falene could do if she carried her game to the next level.

The Rangers held a narrow lead, 16-14, and Hancock had pulled one of his midfielders to play four center forwards. It was unconventional, but he was allowed to do it. He’d get burned by the open midfielder if the Blue Birds couldn’t hold the zone, but he didn’t have a choice. He needed the goal right now as time ticked down.

The Rangers were bending, but they weren’t breaking. Every time they repulsed the Blue Birds, UBCS came right back—right up the middle. Right at Falene. These were hard minutes at the game, but she had no choice but to attack, attack, attack. Drag those powder blue uniforms into the grass. Chop at the ball. Lay herself out in front of kicks and take it right in the gut. Falene Trieste had been the sort of girl to climb trees and skin knees and get dirty. She was used to the hard way and this game was the hard way.

She took a kicked ball right in the chest at close range, which bowled her over, but she held onto the ball as she hit the turf. She curled up into a fetal position to protect the ball, hoping for a referee’s whistle.

She didn’t get it.

She got the horn instead.

And with that, the Prytis College of Natural Sciences were on their way to the Carnation Bowl. Falene was sore and bruised and didn’t look very pretty, but her mother and brother hugged her on the field after the game anyways.

“I’m so proud of you,” Kerry told her daughter softly, “So very proud.”

Falene Trieste smiled and hugged her mother back. She was going to enjoy this for a few days before she forced herself to acknowledge that she was about to get the best of what the Super 16 had to offer.

---

Quinn Cundertol left his seat, the game completed. It would come as no surprise he had been scouting this game with very specific talent in mind.

He had a sneaking suspicion that he was not the only Elite League scout or executive in the stands today. He was pretty sure that the Bakura 10’s best kept secret just got blown wide open.

---

IC: Sydney Talon
Bakura Gardens, Salis D’aar, Bakura
Truce Day



Sydney Talon stepped off the monorail with the press of people. It had been a wet early morning, but the clouds had cleared in the afternoon. The pavement was just a saturated, but not damp. The tramp of thousands of feet had evaporated any lingering droplets of water in the stadium district. The pub owners had clearly watched the weather report and waited until after the rain had passed to hang their blue and gold bunting and Bakuran flags. The bunting that stretched above the pedestrian paths had been up overnight and was still drying out from its morning soaking.

The rain hadn’t stopped the beings from clogging the stadium district early this morning. The late afternoon start time was designed to cater to the postgame fireworks, but the restaurants and bars loved the fact that they’d have a longer day of business to pick up the Miner fans.

Of course there were the assorted black and burgundy-clad beings (who were made up of a markedly higher non-human percentage than the Miner fans) who were also out early for the game. Bakura was a generally safe place for opposing fans. The Molly Malones limited themselves to relatively gentle ribbings like one that Sydney heard called out as he passed.

“I hope you brought Chambers with you today. It’d be a shame for the Miners to torch Gunba instead!”

Conversely, Sydney found it was generally advisable when approaching Six Boroughs stadium to not make too big a display of one’s support for the Miners before the game. Smuggler fans were not quite as…genteel sometimes. Then again, there were the drunks stumbling out of the bars here. However, before they got too out of hand someone who was more sober—and usually wearing blue and gold—would put them in their place. So maybe coming to Bakura wasn’t exactly a walk in the park either.

Sydney pulled his scarf tighter around his neck. The air was cool and crisp on Bakura today, still laced with the chill of rain. It was a heck of a day to have your playoff hopes riding on one game.

The Miners’ consecutive blowouts had vaulted them into the lead in all statistical categories in the League, but their conference losses to the Mercs and Monarchs had put the Miners in a win-or-go-home situation. Sydney’s travels to Abregado-Rai had meant he hadn’t been in touch with the BBC Sports this week. He didn’t know if it was official, but he knew that it would take one crazy tiebreak for the Miners to get into the playoffs if they lost. Likewise, the Smugglers also had their playoff hopes riding on today’s game. It meant that today was not going to be pretty.

It might be Truce Day, but what a lot of people forgot about Truce Day was that it was celebrating not the cessation of hostilities, but the Rebel Alliance and the Galactic Empire kicking the Sithspit out of the Ssi-Ruk. Truce Day was about fighting for your life.

Sydney had a quick bite to eat from one of the street vendors. The sit down restaurants had good food, but there was something quintessential about grabbing something you could eat with your hands that was probably bad for your health, but getting it at three or four games a season you’d be fine. It also gave Sydney the opportunity to people watch a little bit as they headed for the game. Families with kids, couples on dates, friends in groups. The truth was that Sydney could get a much better view of the game on his vidscreen at home—but that wasn’t what sports was about. It was about being part of something bigger than yourself, of being a member of a tribe, of belonging.

Sydney did not need to belong. By nature, he was something of a lone vornskr. He had never played well with others. But the Miners was something that he belonged to. It reminded him that he hadn’t always been alone, that he’d shared this once with someone who was close to him, with his father.

One thing was different today—there was a much higher SDPD presence than usual. With the events on Ryloth and Coruscant, the League had immediately reached out to local authorities for all home games to provide for higher security for the remainder of the season. The Prime Minister had taken this seriously and had made a public announcement that Defense Fleet Marines were positioned for rapid response in the event of terrorist actions. There had been no public word on extra precautions taken by the Senatorial Guard for the Chancellor’s attendance, but Sydney figured they were probably on edge today.

Section 210 was full when he got there, as he’d expected it to be. This was the one game that they never missed. Everyone with jobs told their bosses when the schedule was released at the start of the season that they wouldn’t be available that day. Some of the kids had never missed a Black and Blue Battle in their lives.

As enjoyable as last week’s luxury box experience had been, there was nowhere else Sydney would watch this game from. There was being at the game, and then there was being at the game with your friends.

“You practice your ‘Whiskey in the Jar?’” he asked Crysten as he sat down next to her.

“You bring me some in a flask?” Crysten replied.

“Crysten!” her mother scolded.

“Hey, your mom’s got a nasty left hook and I’ve got a beautifully chiseled jaw. I like you Crysten, but not enough to risk my beautiful mug,” Sydney said.

“Uh huh. Sure,” Crysten said, crossing her arms.

The usual pregame pageantry would have been modified anyways thanks to Truce Day, but today it was even more different. Before anything started, the lights dimmed in the stadium, allowing the Gardens to be bathed in the long golden rays of the afternoon sun. The giant vidscreen jumped to life with Alana Glencross, looking off camera towards a being unknown. She appeared to be in a locker room somewhere.

“We’ve lost this game too much in the past,” Alana said, “Way too much. That’s unacceptable. We’re playing the Smugglers on Truce Day, at home, and this is do-or-die. This is basically now playoffs. It does not get much bigger than this.”

The screen faded to black before it a new clip faded in. It was old Holonet footage of Gaeriel Captison, that formative Prime Minister of Bakura, standing before the old Bakuran Senate Building.

“In our darkest hour, so lately passed, we cried out in the darkness. In that moment, when all was bleak, the inherent goodness of the galaxy was affirmed. In that moment, our faith was rewarded. We did not allow ourselves to be saved.

“In that moment, Bakura stood together and we fought for everything we held dear.

“And, with the galaxy watching, we proved our mettle.”

Once again, the footage faded to black. Now the usual pregame sequence got underway. Everything was made more dramatic set against the blue and gold bunting that draped the railings of the stands. The Bakurans were in full throat today. Last week against the Senators had gotten them—

It was at that moment that Sydney realized that had been Gark S’rily’s last game. The news about him was shocking. A superhero? Sydney didn’t know how to process that. But he did know that some of the luster of that 36-2 demolition had come off that win now. Gark was one of the greats. Hall of Fame bound for sure. He had been a worthy opponent and Sydney knew he personally was never his best unless he had a worthy opponent.

When the Miners took the field at the traditional time, there was one thing different. Alana Glencross was in the van as usual, but she ran onto the field with a Bakuran flag, the dark blue field with 32 stars arrayed in a circle, its colors mirrored in the uniforms of the Miners. Today, she was immediately followed by Rodders, North, T.K., Wizmark, Jorpik, and Tarth. They were the native Bakuran starters. It was an homage to the fans, but also something that Sydney figured meant a lot to them, to represent their homeworld on the field of competition.

After the teams had lined up for the anthems, the public address announcer came on. “Gentlebeings, today it is the great honor of the Bakura Miners to celebrate Truce Day with all of you. Join us now in recognizing one of Bakura’s most recent heroes. In 272, she served as Brevet Admiral in command of the Republican Second and Fourth Fleets in operations that found and defeated Coronad Yssenn. She is currently a Rear Admiral in the Bakuran Defense Fleet and Superintendent of the Bakura Fleet Academy. Gentlebeings, please join us in saluting Rear Admiral Fiona Westenra!”

Honoring members of the military was a tradition at Truce Day games and it was no surprise that Bakura’s most recent hero was the subject of this year’s tribute. The fact she happened to have a maiden name of Trieste didn’t hurt either. Sydney joined the standing ovation for Westenra who came out to a quarter of the width of the field at midfield and gave a wave before she stood at attention with crisp salute directed at the color guard for the national anthem.

When all that was finished, the crowd remained standing despite no instruction to do so. There was something left to be done. It might be Truce Day, but it was also the Black & Blue Battle.



It was a traditional song that had spread through Bakura Gardens two years ago. Most beings knew it, especially those who had spent any time at all in pubs (which was pretty much most of the crowd who was above the legal age). Some resourceful fans had taken the liberty of rewriting some of the lyrics to include some notable old friends from Smugglers history that Miner fans knew well.

As I was goin’ over the Glengarry mountains.
I met with Tover Micjaa and his money he was counting.
I first produced my blaster and then produced my saber.
I said: “Stand and deliver for you are the bold deceiver!”

Musha ring dum-a do dum-a da,
Whack for my daddy-o,
Whack for my daddy-o,
There's whiskey in the jar.

I took all of his money and it was a pretty penny.
I put it in my pocket and I brought it home to Rhia.
She sighed and she swore that she never would deceive me.
But Palpatine take the women for they never can be easy.

Musha ring dum-a do dum-a da,
Whack for my daddy-o,
Whack for my daddy-o,
There's whiskey in the jar.

I went into my chamber all for to take a slumber.
I dreamt of golden jewels and for sure it was a wonder.
For Rhia drew my charges and she filled them up with water.
Then sent for Tover Micjaa to be ready for the slaughter.

Musha ring dum-a do dum-a da,
Whack for my daddy-o,
Whack for my daddy-o,
There's whiskey in the jar.

Twas early in the mornin’ just before I rose to travel.
Up came a band of footmen and likewise Tover Micjaa.
So I first produced my blaster, for she stole away my saber.
But I couldn't shoot the water so a prisoner I was taken.

Musha ring dum-a do dum-a da,
Whack for my daddy-o,
Whack for my daddy-o,
There's whiskey in the jar.

If anyone can aid me it’s my brother in the Fleet,
And if I could find his station in Prytis or Karajeet,
And if he’d go with me we'd go rovin’ through Formia,
And I’m sure he'd treat me better than my darlin’ sportin’ Rhia.

Musha ring dum-a do dum-a da,
Whack for my daddy-o,
Whack for my daddy-o,
There's whiskey in the jar.

By the time they’d finished the game was already under way. The Black & Blue Battle was on.

Tag: @Liam_Vehn @Jedi Gunny @JediMaster_1977

Jenna Leed
Onderon

She been crying again. She felt ashamed for doing it but she can’t stop thinking about how hurt she is over Zeke. She was also worried about him as well. She heard on the Holonet News Network that there was an explosion at the Ryloth headquarters. She knew she had to speak to Zeke to make sure he was alright. After all she still loves him. It turned out that Zeke contacted her first. Jenna hesitated to answer but finally did.

"Hey there sweetheart. Hope you're not mad at me."

Jenna paused then cleared her throat. She didn’t want him to know she was crying. “I have been upset. I don’t know what you expect from me. This is hard for me but I still love you.” Tears started rolling down her cheek. She promised herself that she wouldn’t cry but here she is wailing away.

“I been worried about you. I heard there was an explosion at the Ryloth headquarters. Are you alright?”

TAG: @JediMaster_1977

IC: Coruscant Team
Bankers’ Mansion, Ralltiir



Space was like a vacuum. Black, desolate, devoid of life. This was the state of the Coruscant Senators locker room before their season finale against the Ralltiir Starkillers. After the events of the past week, with the death of Coach/GM/owner/superhero/do-everything Gark S’rily, the team had absolutely no life whatsoever. Their fire had been severely diminished the previous week in the demolition derby that the Bakura Miners had against them, and now any remaining flame had been blown to bits ten times over. Saying that the players were depressed would be an understatement. There was almost no pulse in the locker room at all. One could hear a pin drop and echo on the hard ground of the room, it was that quiet.

Andrew Mundle, the offensive coordinator now pressed into head coach duties, had just left the room for an interview. The Senators HoloNet team wanted to interview him before the game; ask all the typical crap. But none of the players cared; this wasn’t about the game. Frankly, especially for the long-time Senators, this game meant nothing. 60 minutes of a void in front of them, bringing them to the brink of utter collapse. Another reminder of what they had lost this last week, another loss for themselves and the fans at home. What was there to play for when all the joy, the happiness, the energy, had been sucked out before they had even left their shuttle?

Finally someone sneezed. Some of the players looked around at the culprit, and then just sat back in their locker chairs and sighed. Many players were staring at the ceiling, others at the floor. Moen sat quietly, fidgeting with his hands as he waited for Mundle to return to the room. Alysha rubbed some dandruff flakes from her scalp, but she did this in a very slow, deliberate manner.

Finally, Dirxx stood up. He walked to the head of the room, where the wily old Bothan had always patrolled when it had been his locker room . . . when it had been his team. All eyes looked at him, but he could tell that there was no life in any of the players. Hell, a load of undead creatures had more animation in them than this bunch.

“I don’t really know what to say to y’all,” Dirxx finally said. “It’s not like I have to repeat . . .”

Polis stood up, but, unlike the others, there was something . . . different about him now. The 262 Numifolis winner walked over to the Besalisk captain and gave him the sign to move away. Dirxx, confused, did so.



“Look, guys,” Polis began. “This hasn’t been our week.” Nothing was said in response to the obvious. “Frankly, I don’t know what more can go wrong for us, and I’ve been through a lot. We get blown out last week, then we lose Coach. And with him went all our spirit; we don’t care about today’s game. We just want to get off the ride and go home. I know this is true, because I feel that same empty void that you do. It’s a painful feeling knowing that we’re still here and he’s not.

But you know what else I do know? Despite all the misgivings we may have had about coach over the years, there was . . . something about his act this last week that really stands out. Sure, being an armed vigilante is not exactly what we had in mind he’d be doing in his off time, and maybe it cost us a few games in the process. But what he did for us is the most important thing. He believed in us, enough to sacrifice himself to save our lives. Without him showing up, a lot of us wouldn’t be here now. I’m not ashamed to say that he had a lot more courage in him than myself; I never could have willingly gone to my death like that, even to save my friends.

Today’s game, it’s going to mean a lot to the fans if we show up and play. If we win, we go to the playoffs, and that’s important since we have the Final on our home turf in three weeks’ time. This is put-up-or-shut-up time; I’m sure I don’t have to get much more into detail on that. We need to go out there and prove to ourselves, to our fans, and to the galaxy, that we are still a team. Coach always preached the fundamentals, about playing as a team. That’s what we’ve built here over the last decade; sure, we don’t have superstars who do everything for their teams. We don’t have a Brooks, or a Glencross, a Kor’le or Braden. But what we do have is each other, and in times of trouble, we need to look out for one another. Coach would want us to play hard not just for him, but for ourselves. We need to prove him right.

I still feel ashamed that, back when Coach B passed,” he said, referring to Aspa Bursya, “that we didn’t honor her with a win. We fell flat on our backs that week, looked lethargic. We let her down by not playing hard. I don’t want to make the same mistake with Coach now; I want to honor his memory by going out there and being the best Limmie players we can be for sixty minutes. Because we are the Coruscant Senators. We’re built a team around the concept of hard-nosed Limmie, and we’ve won a ton of games by following that mantra. Now we need to go out and show the galaxy that we mean business. You don’t screw around with us, or you get burned.”

There was more life in the locker room now. As such, Polis was raising the volume level of his voice. Things were starting to spiral upwards; the empty void was becoming a simmering pot, one that was going to boil soon. All emptiness in the locker room was gone, replaced by energy. The great engine of the Senators, the well-oiled machine of years gone past, was now kicking in.

“This is our time. That field out there, even in enemy territory, will be our stage. Coach gave us a chance to be out here one more time, and we ought to give a performance worth of his legacy with this ballclub. This is our chance to make up for lost time, and go out and play one hell of a game. They say that the Cup Final game is the biggest game of the year. Well, I beg to differ. This, everyone, is our Cup Final. We must tackle well, pass well, score points, beat the crap out of the Starkillers whenever we get the chance. Put everything we have into this game! We will play through bruises, cuts, twisted ankles, sore joints! We will play until that last horn sounds and we know our fate for this season. Everyone . . . what shall we play for? What shall we play for? Ourselves, for Coach M, for the fans . . . for Coach! This game will be our finest hour!”

The entire team was now standing in unison around Polis, who had since stood on one of the benches as he preached his message. “Hoist the colors,” Polis said, this time in a much lower, yet still firm, tone.

“Hoist the colors,” Dirxx said.

“Hoist the colors,” Shev said.

“Hoist the colors,” Shayt said.

The other players began to say this amongst themselves. Finally, Polis ripped off his road gray uniform, revealing his athletic undershirt. “We’re either going to win today, or go down trying. But no one will ever be able to say that we gave up!” Then, out of his fist, he put on his black uniform top, that belonging to the Senators’ home kit. He then slid off his gray shorts, revealing the other half of the home jersey in the black home shorts with their orange accents.

“Hoist the colors!” he finally shouted. The entire team gave a huge roar; they were in things now.

During the speech, Andrew was outside fielding questions for the HoloNet crew.

“No, I . . . I’d rather not comment,” he said.

“What’s that ruckus?” asked the cameraperson quizzically.

Andrew turned around and opened the door. To his shock, and to that of the viewers, the Senators were undressing right on camera. On the floor were their gray road uniforms . . . and on them were the black jerseys. The camera operator had to block the view due to some potentially inappropriate views of some of the players as they changed. The league probably would have an issue with them wearing their home jerseys at a road game, but they didn’t care. What would the league do to them, slap them on the wrist? All they cared about was channeling the spirit of a home game, and these jerseys were the symbol of the Senators franchise and its success as a team unit.

“What the hell?” Andrew asked to himself.

Finally, Polis came forward, decked out in his black kit. “Game time, coach,” he said firmly. Then a shout pervaded amongst the crowd of Senators players.

“Hoist the colors!” they shouted in unison.

Then, in the middle of the hallway, still on camera, Polis put out his hand into empty space. “For Coach.”

Shayt put her hand onto Polis’. Then Moen. Then Alysha. Then Venn, followed by Shev and Jerek, who wasn’t able to dress for this game due to injury. “For Coach,” each player said as they added their hand to the pile.

“No matter what happens today,” Polis said. “We do this for Coach. Because he would want us to play our best. And that’s what we’re going to do. Now, let’s kick some ass.” The team’s hands shot up in the air as they all shouted “Senators!”

As the team marched towards the entrance tunnel, they were doing everything that they normally did before a game. Polis pushed Dirxx in the side, who then pushed back. Shev slammed his fist into the wall to pump himself up.

When the green light came, the flat, lifeless Senators did not come out of the tunnel. Instead, a team staffer had found one of the team flags, and ran forward with it as the team exited. It wasn’t exactly a popular thing for the Starkiller fans in attendance, but no one with the Senators really cared what the opposing fans and team thought. This was about their revival; Gark S’rily had left them with hope, and they were willing to use that to their advantage now.

As they spilled out of the tunnel, the team looked energized. A fire had been lit underneath them, and any casual observer knew that they would hate to be the Starkillers right now. A pumped-up Senators team was nothing to mess with, even for the best ELL teams. Brosh We’kyr, the team’s strength and conditioning coach, held out Gark’s headset near the visiting bench. As each player passed by, they symbolically touched the headset. Even if their Coach wasn’t with them physically, his presence was right there with them on the sidelines. That was enough to give them belief in themselves.

After the coin toss, the Senator starters huddled up. Polis looked at his fellow fourteen starters; Dirxx, Shev, Shayt, Eldis, Myles, Venn, Sheila, Alysha, Demetra, Moen, Lokesh, Syprul, Riff, Jet; all of them were looking straight at him.

“You want to say something?” Polis said, offering up his space to Dirxx. But the team captain shook his head.

“It’s time for you to lead,” said the Besalisk.

“We’re going to hit them hard and fast. Don’t let anything back; give them hell, and give it to them for all 60 minutes. For Coach.”

“Coach!” the starters yelled. Then they dispersed out to their respective positions on the field.

The Coruscant Senators were grieving, to be certain. They had lost everything in the prior week. But now they had purpose again, something to play for. The fans at home, spurred on by the team’s demonstration in the locker room, had taken the advice and flown the colors. Senators flags were flying all over the galactic capital, and people who had taken off their Senators gear that day put it back on. Calo Mornd had taken their coach from them, but he could never take away the Senators spirit. Gark S’rily was going to live on, and his team was ready to show everyone that they were still his team.

TAG: @Runjedirun, Anyone else who cares to comment

OOC: There's your obligatory sports-movie spirit speech.

GM Post
Bankers Mansion, Ralltiir

The referee of the game, a Gotal, saw the Senators come onto the field in their black-and-orange jerseys. There they were, the Coruscant Senators in their black and orange jerseys as usual...wait, weren't they on Ralltiir? Yes, they were on Ralltiir. They shouldn't be in their home jerseys. This was not something he saw every day. He scratched his head and then called the other officials over into a huddle.

"So...uhhhh...is this allowed?" the Gotal asked his fellow officials.

They deliberated for about a minute and eventually called up to the booth to check what they thought was the right answer. It was pregame still, so they had time. Turned out they were right. The Gotal went over to Mundle.

"Okay, so the whole wrong color jersey thing. It's different enough from the home Ralltiir colors that there's no competitive advantage and everyone can follow who's who. You can play in them but you forefeit one time out per half according to the rulebook," the Gotal said. It was an obscure rule, but now that teams knew about it he wondered if other teams would start taking advantage of it. After all, it wasn't so high a price to pay.

Tag: @Jedi Gunny

IC: Sydney Talon
Section 210, Bakura Gardens, Salis D’aar, Bakura
Truce Day

“Sydney,” Brock said as everybody took their seats and settled in for the game, “How’s work going? You’ve usually got at least one big case during the season.”

“Yeah, people get tired of suing each other or something?” Tripp asked with obvious humor.

“No, I’ve been keeping busy…” Sydney replied.

---

GCAA Headquarters, Abregado-Rai
Six days ago



Sydney Talon was on his way up, literally.

The lift, whose transparisteel looked out and away from the GCAA headquarters building, zoomed up to one of its higher floors that held the conference room where Sydney would make his case that the Miners should be cleared of all charges. This was the moment that the last two months had been leading towards, his showdown with Nola Feizal. He hadn’t had any contact with her since their lone holoconference, but the flurry correspondence between the GCAA (under her signature) and the Miners (by way of Fleetfire Zarmer, under Sydney’s signature) had already established that the two were not on the best terms. Sydney expected no mercy from the Devaronian today.

When the lift stopped and its doors drew open, Sydney adjusted his tie and walked jauntily down the halls of the GCAA. Their offices, at least this high up, were about as nice as those of Fleetfire Zarmer. How kind of them to make me feel at home, Sydney thought with a smirk.

At reception, Sydney was shown to the conference room where the hearing would take place. The large windows on one long side of the room gave a beautiful view of Abregado-Rai. Sydney admired it for a moment, but only for a moment.

“Mr. Talon, good morning,” Nola Feizal said as she entered, “If you’ll have a seat…” she gestured to the side of the table by the windows.

“Actually, I’d prefer the other side,” Sydney said.

“Excuse me?” Feizal said, stopping with one hand in her attaché case.

“The view. I simply cannot have that to my back during these proceedings. It’d be a waste,” Sydney explained, giving a point to the windows.

“The stenographer is already set up on the other side,” Nola pointed out.

“I bet he can move,” Sydney remarked casually. Feizal looked at Talon with narrowed eyes. “Indulge me. You get to work here every day. I’m just visiting.”

“Fine,” Feizal said with a cross sigh. As she moved her things and the stenographer, a droid, repositioned himself, Sydney looked at the view and smiled. He didn’t mind the fact he’d gotten under Feizal’s skin, but he truly did want to admire such a beautiful view if he had to be here.

It was not long after that the members of the Committee on Infractions entered. They were a cross section of species: Bothan, Ithorian, Sullustan, Wookiee, Talz, near-human, and Togruta. Every one of them shook hands with Sydney before they took their seats.

“Mr. Talon, before we begin, thank you for coming to Abregado-Rai. Your personal presence is appreciated,” the Ithorian said. Most of what was said was translated by the stenographer, who also served as a translator into Basic. “We were hoping that Mr. Cundertol would join you as well given his integral role in the events that the Committee is investigating.”

“Mr. Cundertol asked me to express his regret at being unable to attend—” no such thing had occurred, but niceties needed to be observed, “—and reiterate that as counsel for the Miners I have complete authority to speak for the team and answer any questions that the Committee has regarding the matter you outlined in your letter dated two weeks ago.”

“Excellent, Mr. Talon,” the Sullustan said, “Then let us get down to the matter, as you put it. As you know, this committee has opened an investigation into recruiting performed by the Miners of college athletes. This was made clear by Ms. Feizal in conversations and correspondence with you.”

“That is my understanding,” Sydney said.

“We would like to hand things over to Ms. Feizel for an outline of the Committee’s investigation at this time,” the Sullustan continued.

“Thank you,” Feizal said, standing from her seat at the far end of the commissioner’s side of the table, “The GCAA received allegations that the Miners had made offers of employment to Ms. Morgan Alesh and Ms. Becki Morlan prior to the end of their collegiate careers. In response to the GCAA’s initial inquiry, the Miners denied doing any such thing. As a result, the GCAA opened an investigation to ascertain the facts of the situation. Part of this process involved bringing in Misses Alesh and Morlan to describe the events of the day in question.

“I would now like to have read for your benefit, Mr. Talon, some excerpts from their testimony.”

The stenographer droid read out the following:

FEIZAL: Did you discuss your decision to not participate in the Elite League Draft with Mr. Cundertol?
ALESH: Yes.
FEIZAL: What was the substance of this discussion?
ALESH: Mr. Cundertol expressed an interest in signing Becki and me to entry level contracts if we didn’t.
FEIZAL: Did Mr. Cundertol go into particulars?
ALESH: Yes.
FEIZAL: What were those particulars?
ALESH: He said that if we didn’t go into the Draft, he would sign us to identical four year contracts of 2 million credits.

“Miss Morlan’s testimony corroborates this testimony,” Feizal said when the droid finished, “We also have a sworn statement from Miss Cephala who states that Mr. Cundertol made, in the presence of the entire Bakura Miners team, a statement to Dr. Tunross that he had, and I quote, ‘Verbal commitments,’ endquote.”

“Was Miss Cephala more specific about who she had those commitments from?” Sydney asked. He had already seen all of this courtesy of the Elite League, but he had to play along.

“He explicitly mentioned that he had recently returned from Chandrila. The timeframe fits when Misses Alesh and Morlan say they met with Mr. Cundertol,” Feizal replied.

“But he didn’t say who the commitments were from?” Sydney pressed.

“Miss Cephala does not say,” Feizal admitted, “However, it is reasonable to believe that he was referring to Misses Alesh and Morlan.”

“Mr. Talon, I assume that the Miners have something to say regarding this evidence?” the Bothan asked.

“Yes,” Sydney said, rising from his chair, “I would like to provide the Committee with some further evidence in this manner.”

“The Miners provided us with no advance notice of this,” Feizal said, her head snapping up just as soon as she’d sat down.

“I’m sorry, it appears I was unclear on the procedure of this investigation. Since the GCAA questioned Misses Alesh and Morlan, players currently under contract with the Miners and in the middle of a road trip during which time the Miners have a reasonable expectation to have Misses Alesh and Morlan available for team activities, I thought that wasn’t necessary,” Sydney said, digging into Feizal, “Then again, seeing as we’re all here, so why don’t we just take a look all the same?

“I first would like to submit the deposition of Mr. Quinn Cundertol, General Manager of the Miners,” Sydney said. He plugged his datapad into the conference table’s holoprojector. The seated image of Cundertol sprang to life.

TALON: Mr. Cundertol, in 271 did you go to Chandrila to evaluate players on the Chandrila A&M University limmie team?
CUNDERTOL: Yes.
TALON: Did you identify players that you wished to sign to contracts during this evaluation?
CUNDERTOL: Yes.
TALON: Who were these players?
CUNDERTOL: Morgan Alesh and Becki Morlan.
TALON: Did you speak with Misses Alesh and Morlan during your scouting trip?
CUNDERTOL: Yes.
TALON: Did you discuss your interest in signing them to entry level contracts outside of the Elite League Draft?
CUNDERTOL: Yes.
TALON: Did you discuss particulars of these contracts with Misses Alesh or Morlan?
CUNDERTOL: No.
TALON: Did you discuss financial figures or contract length of any sort with them?
CUNDERTOL: Yes.
TALON: Were these figures and lengths speculative in nature?
CUNDERTOL: They were.
TALON: Did these details constitute an offer of employment?
CUNDERTOL: No.
TALON: Did you make a written offer to Misses Alesh or Morlan?
CUNDERTOL: No.
TALON: Did Misses Alesh or Morlan receive from you or the Bakura Miners any compensation in the form of credits or other material gifts?
CUNDERTOL: No.
TALON: When did Misses Alesh and Morlan sign contracts with the Miners?
CUNDERTOL: After the conclusion of the Rovers' season.
TALON: At which time they were no longer student athletes?
CUNDERTOL: Yes.
TALON: Did the Miners make any payments to Misses Alesh and Morlan in the interim?
CUNDERTOL: No.

Sydney turned off the holoprojection. “As you can see, Mr. Cundertol admits that he held a speculative discussion about what the Miners would be willing to pay Misses Alesh and Morlan if they decided to sign with the Miners. While this conversation was held during their student athlete career, at no time were payments or gifts exchanged.”

“But there is an implied understanding in these discussions that the Miners would make these offers if Misses Alesh and Morlan stayed out of the Draft and signed with Bakura,” Feizal challenged.

“No commitments were made by Mr. Cundertol or the Bakura Miners organization,” Sydney said, “There was no contract entered into and no payment made.”

“But the terms of the contracts that Misses Alesh and Morlan signed are nearly identical to those that were discussed by Mr. Cundertol with them,” Feizal continued, “That sounds like an implicit contract to me.”

“If the GCAA wishes to conduct this inquiry on the basis of assumptions, then I don’t know why we’re here to ascertain the truth, as was stated at the beginning of today’s proceedings,” Sydney said icily. He then shifted gears. “I would like to call your attention now to this sworn affidavit by one Maximus Qorbus, who was a Senior on the Rovers in 270. Let me quote:

“During 270, Morgan Alesh expressed to me extreme reservations about entering the Elite League Draft. She cited the fact that she played well as a duo with Becki and that they almost certainly would not be kept together if both of them entered the Draft. It seemed very clear to me at that time that Morgan was seriously considering not entering the Draft, despite its promise of a lucrative, long-term contract.

“We have here clearly stated evidence that Morgan Alesh was strongly considering not entering the Elite League Draft as of 270. This shows that it was a situation she was considering well in advance of her meeting with Mr. Cundertol. While we can only speculate as to Miss Morlan’s thoughts, a reasonable being would think that Miss Alesh likely discussed these plans with Miss Morlan given the fact Miss Alesh expressed to Mr. Qorbus that one of her primary concerns was staying with Miss Morlan,” Sydney continued.

“And I thought we weren’t conducting this inquiry on the basis of assumptions or hearsay,” Feizal interjected.

“Allow me to introduce further evidence,” Sydney said, pivoting in his attack. He transmitted some documents via his datapad. “What you have here is the Chandrila A&M University student athlete code of conduct for the years 268, 269, 270, and 271 ABY. I direct you to page 13, which states as follows, that, quote, ‘Student athletes at Chandrila A&M University are subject to GCAA rules regarding accepting credits, gifts, favors, or other compensation from anyone in exchange for their play. Additionally, GCAA regulations state that student athletes may not accept offers of employment that involve professional sporting activity, nor may they financially profit from their status as a student athlete as Chandrila A&M.

“‘In the event you believe you may have been party to a conversation that violated or may violate these rules, you are to report the situation to the University immediately.’ Emphasis in the original, endquote,” Sydney said, “I direct you now to the signature pages for these copies, which show that Misses Alesh and Morlan both signed the code of conduct, including in 271, the year in question.

“I now submit the sworn affidavit of Head Coach Hexton Cordell of Chandrila A&M in which he states:

“At no time did either Morgan Alesh or Becki Morlan approach me regarding potential recruiting violations during their time as student athletes at A&M.

“Members of the Committee, armed with this information I put this question to you: do you believe that Morgan Alesh and Becki Morlan are good beings?”

Sydney stopped and he let the question hang for a second.

“A few weeks ago, you brought them here to answer your questions. At that time, I expect that you formed an opinion of their character. The fact that you have cited their testimony to me today indicates to me that you found them to be honest and forthright,” Sydney said, “I think you will agree with me that they are good beings who do the right thing.

“Quinn Cundertol did discuss contract length and yearly salary with Misses Morgan and Alesh by his own admission,” Sydney said, “I believe that when they testified before you, they were telling the truth. However, I do not believe that their answers to those questions captured the fact that the figures that Mr. Cundertol cited were purely speculative of what the Miners would offer them at the appropriate time. They did not constitute an offer of employment as their testimony indicated.”

“Mr. Talon, we have been over this,” Feizal said wearily.

“Ms. Feizal, if you keep sitting in that seat for the next five minutes, I would consider giving you 500 credits,” Sydney said.

“Excuse me?” Feizal asked. The Committee members started to look at each other in puzzlement.

“Now Ms. Feizal, before I said that, did you have any intention of getting up in the next five minutes? I don’t think you did,” Sydney said before she could answer, “The fact that I said I might give you 500 credits if you did didn’t change that. It didn’t introduce an idea that wasn’t there. I didn’t say that I would, but it doesn’t mean that I won’t either. In short, there was no exercise of power by me on you. That is why Quinn Cundertol did nothing wrong when he discussed hypothetical salary scenarios with Morgan Alesh and Becki Morlan.

“And I said that they are good beings. They are. I’d like to direct your attention to the codes of conduct. They signed them all four years. They signed that they had read and understood the contents of the code of conduct, and those contents included reporting anything they believed to be a recruiting violation. The person that they would have gone to—Hexton Cordell, the head coach that mentored them, who is widely known for being one of the finest coaches in collegiate limmie who enforces high academic standards—said he never heard anything about a recruiting violation.

“I put it to the Committee: if Morgan Alesh and Becki Morlan are good people, wouldn’t they have reported this? Wouldn’t they have known they shouldn’t be having this conversation? The fact that they didn’t means that they, the people in the room at the time of the conversation, the ones who had a lot to lose—because let’s face it, they stand in very real danger of having their contracts revoked based on the Committee’s findings and being branded as pariahs in professional limmie, never to play the sport they love again—wouldn’t they have reported anything that would have endangered that goal?

“Quinn Cundertol and the Bakura Miners did nothing wrong. Not by the letter of the law, not by the spirit of the law. Morgan Alesh knows it. Becki Morlan knows it. I know it. You know it.

“And that’s all there is to be said about it,” Sydney Talon said, sitting down.

The hearing did not go much longer than that. The Ithorian assured Sydney that the GCAA would alert the Miners “as soon as the Committee had a decision.” And with that, Sydney left the conference room to get back to Bakura.

---

Section 210, Bakura Gardens, Salis D’aar, Bakura
Truce Day

“No…I’ve been keeping busy,” Sydney said.

“Anything exciting?” Vanna asked.

“Nah, not really,” Sydney said as he settled in to watch the game.

Tag: No one, except you legal junkies who have been enjoying this storyline.

IC: Meredith Chambers
Bakura Gardens, Salis D’aar, Bakura

She knew this stadium well. Could close her eyes and tell you every strength, every weakness, every imperfection of the field, even what way each individual blade of grass grew. Yes, she had been in this venue many times, and nothing seemed more real to her or more important than today’s match up against the Bakura Miners. Playoffs were on the line and so was the individual pride of two franchises that once more took on their yearly tilt to determine who has bragging rights in the Outer Rim.

Meredith knelt down before the visiting team’s goal. Her gloved hand brushed the freshly manicured grass, her eyes absorbed the brilliant green of the field, the stunning sky blue of the chairs of the stadium, and she knew that right now, right here, she was being called to stand tall, to stand firm, against one of the most successful teams of the year. Everything she had felt this season, all the excitement, all of the despair, came down to this moment, this point in time, and as she closed her eyes and said a quiet prayer for every game she had ever played, she realized more than ever what a privilege it is to play Elite League Limmie.

Now the pre-game ceremonies were being conducted and Smuggler jerseys mingled with Miner jerseys at midfield. She joined them now, watched with a smile as the Old Whiskey Trophy was presented by Helena Forsythe, herself a galactic champion and veteran of many years. For three years the Smugglers had dominated the Miners in their annual tilt. Meredith Chambers had every intention of making that four. She stared at Red from across the midfield logo and all friendliness between them had been put aside. The two were exchanging looks of lasers, a battle was about to start, and there would only be one team left alive. One team that could claim a spot in the playoffs. One team that could hoist the Old Whiskey Trophy with pride.

She shook hands with Glencross, Rodders, and Andersen. Her grip lingered on Andersen a little longer, her eyes boring holes in the Hapan woman’s eyes. Andersen returned the stare, a clash of two women from the same culture, two women who had once been close friends, and now couldn’t stand one another. Chambers could never get over how Andersen could play for them. After all she had done for the Smugglers organization, she knew was sleeping with the enemy. That was the one move that had solidified for Chambers more than ever that she wanted to retire a Smuggler. She would take a pay cut, she would put in more time at the practice facility, she would do whatever it took, to avoid being sent packing to a rival franchise, a franchise that was full of unnecessary flair and zeal for the white-collar world.

Chambers gaze broke as the referees spoke. “Call the coin toss.”

Meredith looked at Corrie. The schutta who had turned her back on the team. With barely concealed anger, Meredith whispered, “Heads.”

The coin was tossed, flipped end over end for what seemed an eternity before falling to the grass. At midfield, there was a scrum to see which side was up and it wasn’t the side that Meredith had picked. The Miners would start with the first possession.

Chambers smacked her gloved hands together in eager anticipation of defending the first series. The series that would begin to give glimpses as to the Miners plan of attack. She trotted over to the sidelines, rallied the team around her, arms draped over shoulders, the group forming a concentric circle around her, the group swayed back and forth on their legs, a sea of burgundy and black. Her face had the anti-glare black streaked on her cheeks, to cut down the glare from the bright stadium lights, and now she was in full mode. She was pumped and never before, despite the pitfalls and triumphs of this season, had she more wanted a win.

“You know this place. You know this place! You know what this team brings. We’ve studied them through and through. Keep their shooting lanes closed, keep their defense off balance, strike hard, strike fast, do not over pursue! Now is the time, my friends, now is the time for us to rise up and go right back to the playoffs. Everything is at stake in this game, everything we have been working toward this year is at stake. You know, I love you guys, I would do anything for you, anything. When this battle is waged, when all seems on that dangerous verge of being lost, you look to me, okay? You look right to me! I have the face of a warrior, I have led you to battle time and again, and in victory and in defeat, we have always fought hard, with pride, with passion. But now is our time! Now is our time to show these Miners that the Old Whiskey Trophy, that Nar Shaddaa, has higher aspirations than watching the playoffs from the couch this year! You know that team, you know their strengths, you know their weaknesses, and it is up to us, up to us, to show them that they are not the most dangerous team in the Outer Rim. Show them that we are! Show them with your hits, show them with your energy, show them with your knowledge of the game! Every moment, every struggle, every pain I have felt this season is for you. I’ve had a hell of a recovery, I’ve been ridiculed by the media, I’ve had moments when I could almost see myself leaving this league for good, but I came back because of my loyalty to you, all of you. Now, let’s go out there and show them how we play Smugglers limmie!”

Chambers stared at the faces of her team. Graves, Luy’kin, Rypen, Dupont, Forsythe, McTodd, Ruunjaa, and she had them visibly charged. They were ready to battle. They were ready to spill blood. The roar of the crowd called them to the field as the game was about to get underway. Meredith squared up in the goalkeeper’s box, punched the hard posts of the goal, spread her arms, felt limber, more alive, knew in her heart that the vertical jump that she had been restraining all season long was with her now.

Yes, this was where she needed to be, leading her troops into yet another battle with the Miners.

She could hear the boos from the crowd behind the goal. She could hear all the disparaging things that they said to her. That made her stronger. That made her want to fight harder. That made her want to torch Bakura Gardens to the ground. Yes, there would be a sea of defeat today but it would not be the Smugglers.

The ball was put into play and Glencross was motioning it down the field. Chambers lowered her stance, anticipated Red’s every move, looked at Graves, looked at Luy’kin, whose ears were on her, though their eye were downfield.

“Cover 2 tight. Cover 2 tight. Double-down, midfield shot, on, three, on three!” Chambers barked as the Miners slipped into their first attack pattern of the game.

Tag: @Trieste

IC: Dawn Solo-Undolo
Keldabe, Manda’yaim

Once more the Monarchs found themselves in the precarious position of not only holding their own fate in their hands but also relying on another squad to help them out into the post season. Of course they were facing the Mercs, yet another one of their bitter rivals, in the all important final match of the regular season.

But when all the talk should have been about the logjam in the standings of both conferences it was actually about terrorism once more. After the third straight report of the explosion on Onderon and the fact that Gark was some masked vigilante, Dawn had stopped watching the holonet. Of course that did not stop the fact that everyone in the Mandalore system was buzzing about the news of Ryi Kor’le and how Kote Taab retired. Everyone knew the speculation that Ryi was still alive and that Kote was going to look for her.

All Dawn cared about was getting ready for the match, because if she did not she would most likely go out of her mind. Instead she did something she never expected she would ever do - she composed a message of good luck to fellow All-Star Midfielder, Alana Glencross. As she composed the short note, an idea came to her. She closed the message by telling Alana to at least catch the opening of the Monarchs/Mercs match. She then presented the idea to Ion and Setarcos who put the plan in motion for game day.

When the day of the match was upon them and the Monarchs were introduced to a crowd of armor clad Mandalorians and Galactic servicemember veterans, they did so in a manner they had not done in a long time. As a matter of fact they had not come out to the field this way since their first season in the Elite League. They did so in their old Maize and Blue uniforms.



As they sat on the sidelines waiting for the match to start there hung a huge banner.



Dawn turned to the entire squad and said, “Right, now that we have thoroughly ticked off the gun-toting bucketheads, lets go kick some shebs!”

TAG: @Bardan_Jusik @Trieste

GM Post

Well, here we are. Ten teams walk in, and six teams walk out. Bonus rolls on this critical gameday to Bakura, Coruscant, Mando'ade, Nar Shaddaa, Onderon, Ralltiir, Rydonni Prime, and Ryloth.

ELL

Game 7 Results

Rydonni Prime Monarchs at Mando’ade Mercs (23-33)
Vandelhelm Jets at Ryloth Rough Riders (7-26)
Nar Shaddaa Smugglers at Bakura Miners (21-23)
Coruscant Senators at Ralltiir Starkillers (22-16)
Euceron Storm at Onderon Crazy Dragons (3-12)

Final Standings

Skywalker Conference

1. Onderon Crazy Dragons (5-2, conf. 3-1)
2. Ryloth Rough Riders (3-4, conf. 3-1)
3. Ralltiir Starkillers (3-4, conf. 2-2)
4. Euceron Storm (3-4, conf. 2-2)
5. Vandelhelm Jets (1-6), conf. 0-4)

Solo Conference

1. Mando'ade Mercs (5-2, conf. 3-1)
2. Bakura Miners (5-2, conf. 2-2)
3. Coruscant Senators (4-3, conf. 3-1)
4. Nar Shaddaa Smugglers (3-4, conf. 1-3)
5. Rydonni Prime Monarchs (3-4, conf. 1-3)

Ralltiir wins the Skywalker Conference tiebreak due to their Week 3 victory over Euceron. Nar Shaddaa wins the Solo Conference tiebreak due to their Week 5 victory over Rydonni Prime. Onderon wins the Commissioner's Trophy for best overall record based on their Week 4 victory over Mando'ade.

Galactic Cup Playoffs
Galactic Cup Quarterfinals
(3) Ralltiir Starkillers at (2) Ryloth Rough Riders
(3) Coruscant Senators at (2) Bakura Miners

Galactic Cup Semifinals
Winner of Ralltiir/Ryloth at (1) Onderon Crazy Dragons
Winner of Coruscant/Bakura at (1) Mando'ade Mercs

GCLA

Week 7 Scores
Ylesia Lightning at Agamar Packers (8-33)

GCLA Playoffs
Quarterfinals
(6) Ylesia Lightning (3-4) at (3) Genet Vornskrs (4-3)
(5) Ord Mantell Scrappers (3-4) at (4) Empress Teta Pikemen (4-3)

Tag: @Bardan_Jusik @CPL_Macja @jcgoble3 @Jedi Gunny @JediMaster_1977 @Liam_Vehn @Rebecca_Daniels @Runjedirun @Teegirloo

Not-Really, Yet Still Important, Sub-GM Post

IC: No One

Before the HSN Sports rankings became available to the greater galaxy, the Helmsman panel had convened once again on Coruscant to determine who the four finalists were going to be for the coveted award. After spending countless hours debating about how Super 16 players just weren’t up to the muster of the Bak10, how the University of Druckenwell was abnormally strong this season, and why guys who put cheese on the nachos at concession stands didn’t get enough credit for what they did (especially those with only two arms), the final candidates were named. And when the HSN rankings came out, the real scrutiny began.

Zak Pers (Zabrak, Male, Midfielder, UCBV)

Ema Zostin (Chiss, Female, GVSU, Right Half Forward)

Jalin Mioree (Human, Male, Coruscant Air Fleet Academy, Full Forward)

Roz Cartel (Human, Male, Goalkeeper, UCBV)

Immediately, pundits were screaming about the weak field, saying that it was bad for the sport to have such low-ranked players be up for the award. But the panel stands by its decision, because they may know that these players are better than they appear. Plus, for the first time in 25 years, two players from the same school make the list, adding for extra intrigue come Draft Day . . .

TAG: @Trieste, @JediMaster_1977, @Liam_Vehn, @CPL_Macja, @jcgoble3, @Bardan_Jusik, @Rebecca_Daniels, @Teegirloo, @Runjedirun

IC: Polis Vayne
Banker’s Mansion, Ralltiir

Polis ran forwards on the Senators fast-break attempt. After the Starkillers had been stonewalled on the other end, the ball had come through the middle of the field and was heading in his direction. The score was Coruscant 13, Ralltiir 9, with most of the second half to go.

As the ball came towards him, Polis made sure to wrestle for position with the defender who was trying to push him out of his spot. Finally, as the ball came down, Polis arm-barred the defender and caught the pass. Doing a juke to avoid the defender, he deftly dodged an ill-conceived tackle and took the ball up the field. Two Starkiller defenders converged on him, but he busted right through them with some help of a partial screen from Moen Heatly. Both of the opposing players collided with each other, leading to a gap in the defense. Now it was just Woudron to go in goal. Polis picked his spot and pump-faked; the Talz fell for the feint, and Polis sent a rocket from his golden arm into the back of the net. Goal for Polis, Senators 16 Starkillers 9.

Polis was congratulated by his teammates on the goal, and he looked over to the sideline to see Gark give him the typical thumbs-up. But when he looked over, all he saw was Andrew Mundle calling the plays. Reality struck the assistant captain hard; that was all in the past now.

“Yo, Polis, head in it, man!” Moen shouted, breaking Polis out of his stupor.

“Right,” Polis said. He watched as Woudron kicked the ball back into play, but his mind was still in somewhat of a fog. No matter how much he had done to fire up the team, there was still a void in him that he couldn’t explain. The Bothan had certainly made an impression, and Polis was unsure of what he was going to do now that Gark was gone. But this game mattered first, so Polis finally got back into the swing of things.

After the Starkillers put up a point over the bar, Polis sent out the play call after Andrew had sent it in. They were going to try the Deep Crosses, Slot Z play, in which Lokesh would set up the play in the center of the field. The Bothan would then have several options from this formation; Polis and Moen would make deep crossing patterns near the goal, but these would be high-risk, high-reward plays. The underneath routes involved a curl by Riff, Jet would do a corner fade to get to the sidelines, and Syprul would set up camp in the middle of the zone. His height gave him an advantage over the smaller defenders, which would come in handy in case the zone collapsed on the Senators before the end of the play.

Alysha, who had been injured earlier in the game and was gutting it out, tossed the ball forwards to the Bothan set-up player. Lokesh studied her options, trying to hold off the over-aggressive defender who was staring her down, waiting for a hint of movement to jump at. Polis streaked down the field in his deep cross, Moen coming from the other side. At the time they were about to cross, Lokesh fired the ball to Polis. Moen, noticing the play, stopped in his tracks, causing Slynx, the Starkiller’s Right Corner Back, to slam right into him. Moen took the charge, freeing Polis up. The former Numifolis winner caught the ball and saw that his path to the goal was clear. Woudron was caught out of position, and fell down in a vain attempt to change direction. Polis hurled the ball into the back of the net once again, pushing the Senator lead to 9.

Later on, Polis had the ball at the top of the offensive zone. Dodging Slynx, who had come off his assignment to try and double-team the Senators’ star player, Polis noted that Syprul was open. The Shistavanen was fed the ball, but Ty Allie was draped all over him. The scrappy defender was trying to push Syprul backwards, but the experienced forward wouldn’t let him do that. Scrutinizing the situation, Syprul raised his arm above his head and let off a hook shot. The ball flew cleanly over the bar for a point. 21-12, Senators.

With about five minutes left in the game, Coach Mundle called a timeout. Polis grabbed a bottle of Gundarkade and took several swigs of it, the liquid washing down his throat in a pleasant manner. “I hate to break it to you all, but us winning this game won’t many any difference for next week,” he said bluntly.

“What do you mean?” Moen asked.

“The Miners and Mercs have won their games today,” Andrew replied. “No matter what happens here, we’re in the #3 spot. It looks like we’re headed off to Bakura next week.”

“Bummer,” Riff said, panting.

“Anyways, since we have this game in hand, you guys want to come out?” Andrew asked, looking at Polis as he spoke.

Polis shook his head as he covered his face in a towel to wipe off the sweat. “No. Coach would want us to finish this game.”

“All right,” Andrew said. “Just don’t get yourself injured out there.”

“Hey, get back out there!” the ref shouted at the Senators.

“Let’s finish this one for Coach, shall we?” Polis asked.

As the ball came in from the sideline after the timeout, Polis received the ball and looked up the field. The Starkiller defense was gassed; he could tell from the amount that they were sweating. That was the general idea with the Senators; they always employed a vertical attack that kept the ball in the air to prevent the defense from setting itself. Polis knew that this game was well in-hand at this point, but he wanted to finish this game off with a flourish. Something to make Senators fans proud of how their team had blasted through adversity to win this game despite heavy emotional baggage.

This opportunity came when Syprul came up off a failed set screen. The Shistavanen flashed Polis a “I want the ball” sign, and after faking a move to his left, Polis dumped the ball off to Syprul. Syprul charged forwards, running over a defender in the process. It was like watching a freight speeder run through a clogged hyperlane; everyone got out of the way. Another Starkiller reach out to try and poke the ball loose, but Syprul rammed into the player, sending them down. Syprul then passed out to Lokesh, who had come around on an improvised curl route to get herself on the wing. Syprul stopped and watched; Lokesh hold the ball in one hand, patting her head with the other.

(Start at 1:46)

Everyone was confused, especially when she started to touch her face and nod her head. But Syprul knew exactly what it was that was coming. He moved across the field, as did Moen, who had no idea why he was in motion on this play. None of them had ever seen it before; this was new territory for them. Lokesh finally moved around and tossed the ball up in the air. Syprul, who had separated himself from his defender, jumped into the air from the spot where the penalty stripe was. Woudron could only watch as the flying Shistavanen came through. With authority, Syprul slammed the ball over the bar and landed on the ground with a mighty roar.

But the stadium was silent. No one knew exactly what that had been, especially the other Senators. Finally, the Gotal head ref came over and shouted “Foul!”

“What?” Syprul asked, coming over. “I didn’t touch anyone!”

“You can’t have just flown through the air like that,” the ref said. “It’s illegal to be in the goal box.”

“Hold on,” Polis said, coming over. “You can only call offsides on that play if he established a foot in the box before the end of the play. He never touched down in that area until the ball was clearly over the bar, thus a dead ball. Also, he jumped before the foul line, which is in play. It’s a bar point, ref.”

Several seconds passed as the Gotal considered this. Then, he finally spoke. “All right. I’ll allow it.” Turning to the scorer’s table, he gave the sign for a bar point. The crowd couldn’t believe it, but the Senators fans went berserk with excitement. Syprul was mobbed by his teammates, even those who weren’t in the game.

When all was said and done minutes later, it was Senators 22, Starkillers 16. Nothing had been gained from this win in terms of the standings, but as Polis stood in line for the post-game pleasantries, he knew that this game had meant so much for his team. It gave them inspiration, something to play for. Gark would have been proud knowing how his team had gutted this one out on the road. This game had been for him.

After the game, Syprul was pulled over by a throng of reporters. The Shistavanen wasn’t good with the press, and thus Polis knew that he would have to intervene at some point to take some of the pressure off his teammate.

“Syprul, what do you call that play you made a few minutes ago?” asked a reporter.

“Uh . . . an . . . alley oop,” Syprul offered.

“Will that be your signature move from now on?”

“Doubt it,” Syprul said. “Just did what I had to.”

Polis then butted in. “Hey, that was one hell of a shot!” he said to Syprul. Hopefully his presence would get the reporters to follow him instead of Syprul.

“Polis! What does this win mean to your team?”

Bingo. “This game means a ton to us,” Polis said. “I know it doesn’t mean anything in the standings, but we played this one for ourselves and for coach. This win wouldn’t have been possible without my teammates, but Coach G was the real one who should be thanked. He assembled this team over the offseason, and then coached us this far. I’m just glad that we got a win for him.”

“Next week you guys go back into the Gardens for a re-match with the Miners. What are you going to do this week in practice to get ready?”

“We’re going to practice our butts off this week to make sure that they don’t get a chance to make it two-for-two this year. We won’t let them walk in and roll over us again.”

“Anything you’d like to say?”

“Yeah, I have one thing,” Polis said. “You can never count us out. We’re going to be ready for next week, and we’re going to play Senators Limmie. Game on, Miners. Game on.”

The locker room after the game was raucous. The players who had once been deflated now had new energy in their veins. They were ready to play another 30 minutes out there. Polis stood up on the bench once again, and all eyes looked to him once again. “Our season isn’t over,” he said. “But we’re going to have to grind it out from here on out. The Miners are always a tough team, especially at home. We need to practice hard this week and meet their strengths with ours. Coach would want us to play hard every week; let’s keep this momentum going and steamroll to the Finals. Our fans want to see us play hard, so let’s give them something to cheer for next week. Because if we play like this next week, no one can stop us.”

As the Senators boarded their team shuttle, Polis knew that he had done all he could do to fire up the team. He had planted the seed of energy in the belly of the team; now they had to play solid Limmie the next week to move one step closer to another Galactic Cup title. The road was going to be long, but at least they had taken the first step.

TAG: @Runjedirun, @Trieste

Jenna Leed
Onderon

Jenna felt a little bit better after talking to Zeke. He reassured her that their relationship was still important to him and with an apology to boot. Now Jenna had to pick up the pieces and start anew. Her and Zeke would have to deal with the baby when it comes. The only problem is dealing with the Baby’s mama, what’s her face. Jenna grew angry at the thought of the woman carrying his child. She wished she had someone to talk too. She missed her sister Jayla. She hadn’t heard from her in a good long while.

She was over the crying and now it was just anger that is deep inside her. Not at Zeke but at the woman. If she saw her in person Jenna didn’t know what to do. Probably pound on her. Well atleast she had a bye since the Crazy Dragons were the number one seed beating Euceron in their final game of the season. She was back on target getting her frustration out with goals. Jenna thought since she had some time off she can go see Zeke’s game. Of course it would be awkward if they win for that would mean they play each other. It was nice to think about something different for a change.

Things were feeling almost normal and best of all was theat the Crazy Dragons were in the playoffs once again. This put a smile on Jenna’s face. It’s been awhile since she had done that. Now she could properly keep her mind on Limmie. She was gonna come back stronger than she ever was.



TAG: No one

IC: Zeke Barbosa
Rough Rider Locker room, Gameday of the Quarterfinal game vs. Raltiir

Gameday once again. Zeke couldn't believe how much of a rollercoaster this season had been. Going from possibly having his Limmie career come to a screeching halt to coming back and possibly leading his team on another run in the Galactic Cup Playoffs. All the pregame rituals in the locker room had been done already. Everyone was in their gear and uniforms just chilling out and getting focused for the game while Zeke's favorite song was playing over the locker rooms sound system.



It explained the feeling of today's game perfectly.

Zeke on the other hand was jumpier and more nervous then usual. He walked over to where Qorbus was sitting. The green skinned Nautolan was in his regular neon blue cleats already and was wearing his recognizable jersey with the number 12 on the back. "Hey there Max. Did you get the package I asked you to get?"

Max got up and reached into his locker, lifted up a couple pairs of dirty stinky shorts, and pulled out a small cubed shape box. "Sure did my friend. So when did you finally decide you were going to do this?"

"Well I've been considering it for a long time now since it's going really well. My mom also approves so that's a plus as well." Zeke got up to start walking towards the coaches office. "Thanks again Max. You're the best."

The hole in Mothker's office was in the middle of being repaired by stadium officials, but for the most part it looked like nothing mattered. Zeke knocked on the doorframe and saw the coach give a light jump. He understood why since the last person to do that before walking into his office was that kriffing scumbag Fravid Deese, who was yet still at large on his rampage. Worst of all he still had Zeke's ex-girlfriend, and mother of his baby, Gargova Broussard. But that was not Zeke's top priority at this very moment. He had a game to play, and a plan to execute.

"Well hey there Zeke. How are things? You recovering well?"

Zeke had known Mothker for almost 8 years now. From the moment he first met him as a scout at Zeke's university til now he had been like a second father to him. His concern was a nice welcome into the stress he had had the past few weeks. "As well as a guy who has his ex kidnapped by a raging lunatic that's a part of a crime ring can be. Sorry but I'm in a rush. Did you get those arrangements taken care of that I asked you to do?"

It took a minute for Mothker to get what Zeke was saying then his face lit up. "Yes of course I did. Once we are on the field you can do what you need to. By the way congratulations."

Zeke couldn't help but smile. "Thanks coach. Thanks for all your help."

"No problem kiddo. Now back in the locker room we got a game to win."

Ten minutes later The head coach with all the other assistant coaches walked into the locker room. That was the cue for the team to take a knee up front for the coaches pre game speech.

"Its that time of year again. The time where you go out on that field and make this city proud. The time where you go out there and play the game you love. The time where you come together as a team for a greater cause. Now I know this team has come under great adversity this season," he motioned towards Zeke, " but you guys have done an excellent job of overcoming it. Everyone except me expected this team to keel over like a dead womp rat when we started 0-3. Only the people in this locker room knew what we were capable of. Now I know we haven't had good history in the playoffs in the past. 3 years ago we made the GCLA title game and lost. Year after we loose in the quarterfinals. Last year we loose in the semis. How do you want this year to end?!? I know how I want it to end, but it only matters what you want. It all depends on how you do the little things. Are you going to take one play off because you're tired? That one play could determine whether we win our loose. Are you going to let your team down like that just because you're tired?!? This is your time ladies and gentlemen. Question is how are you going to use it. Now lets get a break down. On 3. 1...............2..............3 RIDER PRIDE!!!!!"

After that every one got up and started walking down the tunnel in the clubhouse that led to the door onto the field. Zeke could already feel the boom of the loudspeakers as a medley of pump up songs began playing indicating how close the team was to coming out.







Just hearing the music gave Zeke goosebumps and made him want to run out onto the field right then and there. Then the older guy on the team, Joen Makker spoke having everyone gather around him.

"Guys this is going to be my last ride. My last year in this sport. I'm retiring when our season ends." Then Zeke heard him go into the greatest speech he'd ever heard.



Then the words everyone had been waiting for came over the boom of the loudspeakers. "Rough Rider fans are you ready? I can't hear you!!! I said Rough Rider fans ARE YOU READY?!?! Here they are your 272 Ryloth Rough Riders!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" and with that the floodgates opened up as the entire team ran out together onto the field.


TAG: @Runjedirun

IC: Sydney Talon
Section 210, Bakura Gardens, Salis D’aar, Bakura



There were two minutes left in the game. The Gardens had been standing for the last three minutes.

Both teams had come ready to play today from the opening whistle. The Smugglers were not about to roll over just because they were on the road. This was their playoff game too—and nobody was playing nice.

The Miners were taking an abnormally high number of penalties against the old rivals. Alana Glencross had gotten two and had been warned by the referee that taking a third would result in ejection—much to Red’s displeasure. Bree Tarth had hit Rolko hard—and clean in Sydney’s opinion, which was shared by most of the Gardens—and been called for an illegal hit that had given the Smugglers a penalty kick. Andersen was taking a lot of flak from her former teammates and was flirting with ejection. Alesh and Morlan were taking shoves from their old Super 16 friend, George Edwards. Morlan was giving them back. And T.K. had been jawing back and forth with Rypen. Both of them had been warned in turn by the referee.

In other words, it was tense in the Gardens. But it was a great game. The crowd was fully into it. Sydney hadn’t seen Miner fans like this in a long time. They chanted melodiously.

“Alive, alive oh!
Alive, alive oh!
Crying cockles and mussels
Alive, alive oh!”

When, at the first commercial break, they had put the Monarchs’ pregame message to the Miners on the vidscreen, the Gardens cheered and whistled. So what if they’d lost the last two games to the Monarchs? It was good to know somebody else was pulling for them today.

Playoff seedings make for strange bedfellows this time of year, Sydney thought.

It was a white knuckle game. Sydney didn’t even know that his hands were clenched, that was how intense this one was. The Miners were up 20-17 on the Smugglers coming into the home stretch. After two lights out performances by Jorpik, the Nar Shaddaa squad was finding holes in the rookie.

“Cover Forsythe!” Sydney yelled, even though his words weren’t going to make a bit of difference.

Nobody who counted heard him because Forsythe got a pass with just enough time before Uncia arrived to punch the bolo-ball over the bar for 20-18.

There was cursing from Miner fans as the game was now less than one score. Sydney restrained himself to a groan. After all, there were kids in the stands and he had to watch his language.

The Miners kicked long up the field to clear the zone, but mucked up the reception at the half forward line. Morlan started moving before she brought the ball in and dropped it—rookie mistake. Razyr made her pay for it by jumping his coverage and picking up the boloball. He elected to hold it and run up the field. He lowered his shoulder and blew through North and into an open midfield. Glencross was clear on the other side of the field, busy with Darkrider and though she was pumping her legs she was too far away. By the time she got even close, Razyr had passed to Rypen, who one timed it to Mctodd. The rookie shot—blocked by Jorpik.

Rebound.

Recovered by Rollko. Dished to Forsythe. Overhand hurl. Blocked.

Rebound.

Mctodd was ready with a wind up kick.

Jorpik had no chance to reposition after two saves. He couldn’t make the lateral movement.

Goal.

21-20, Smugglers.

Vanna screamed, splitting Sydney’s ears as he clutched his head in disbelief. “Force fr—” Sydney yelled, barely stopping the profanity from slipping by his lips. It was another Miner disaster. And only a minute left now. Valerii had called her last timeout and had called the team together at the sideline. Now’s the time for everything you’ve got, Valerii, Sydney thought.

“Come on Miners,” Brock said, “You can’t blow it now. Not against these guys.”

“Let’s go Miners!” Crysten shouted next to Sydney.

The Gardens were not growing quiet, but they were getting louder. They were trying to will their team to a win, the one they needed more than anything else. Sydney took his macrobinoculars out of his jacket pocket and fixed them on the Miners huddle. He could see the back of Valerii’s head from his angle. She had a datapad and was demonstrating a play. She motioned with her hand, open palm, pushing forward. She looked up at one of the players, Glencross, who had her hands on her knees, bent at the waist. The redhead nodded. Valerii looked at Alesh and grabbed her shoulder. She pointed down towards the Smugglers goal.

A sudden swell in the already loud crowd caused Sydney to pull the macrobinoculars away. On the vidscreen was a shot from just inside the door from the Miners’ locker room to the concourse, where Sydney had stood earlier this season.

Though much is taken, much abides; and though

We are not now that strength which in old days

Moved earth and heaven; that which we are, we are;

One equal temper of heroic hearts,

Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will

To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield.

Glencross’s words from last year’s Final, borrowed from her high school poetry. Very slowly they’d leaked out to the public at large. Whereas they had perplexed Sydney the first time he’d seen them, they were now part of Miner lore for him and for his fellow fans.

He clapped his hands. “Let’s go Miners! Let’s get it!”

The huddle broke and the team took up its positions for Jorpik’s place kick. The stands were going nuts. Valerii was standing on the sideline, as ever, silent and watching. Sydney didn’t need his macrobinoculars to know that Valerii knew she could do nothing more now. She’d built her team for critical moments like this, the ones that defined you, that beings remembered.

The players were tense, crackling with energy as Jorpik took his customary three steps back before the place kick. He looked out at the field before him and took a deep breath. Sydney wondered what was going through his mind. This kid had played the GCAA championship game. He had to know what the pressure was like. Then again, he’d also lost the GCAA championship game. That was a tough burden to carry.

Jorpik ran forward, kicked—and kept running.

The entire Miners defense moved forward in a wave, sprinting ahead. The Miners were going for a full field press, all 15 players in the offensive zone.

“Yes!” Sydney shouted, “Yes!” This was the way to lose—give it everything you had. Who cared if the Smugglers broke up the field? Stack the zone and get bodies everywhere. John Talley had never called this play. This was all Gaeriel Valerii.

The ball came down short, at midfield, where North received as he fought off his Trandoshan counterpart, whose twin brother was property of the Miners (oh man, if that kid ever made the Miners that was going to be a hell of a game). He passed up to Morlan, who was tightly covered. She chipped it off the turf to Andersen—who was cut off by her ex-teammate and champion Graves.

“No!” Sydney yelled with the crowd.

Graves hurled the bolo-ball up the field—with one mistake. In her haste, she went cross field with the pass and she didn’t get it far enough. A jumping Alana Glencross intercepted the long pass. She hit the ground and ran forward a couple steps before putting the bolo-ball off her on a cross to the right side of the field.

Morgan Alesh sprung above the pack of players in front of Chambers and headered the ball high and to the left—and into the back of the mesh.



Sydney exploded with words that were not part of a language that he knew. He was jumping up and down, he was hugging Brock, he didn’t even know what he was doing. Everybody was like that—except the Smugglers and their fans.

On the BBC, unbeknownst to Sydney in the stands, Lun was exploding. “HEAVENS TO BETSY! THEY’VE DONE IT!” he was shouting, blowing out Aerax’s ears, “MINERS WIN! MINERS WIN! TAKE THAT OMAR!” That last sentence probably confused a lot of viewers because Omar Mosk, former VCN Sports anchor and Smugglers play-by-play announcer, hadn’t called any games for years—and that was before Lun and Aerax’s time at that.

Section 210 was absolutely beside themselves with joy. Tripp was kissing Vanna, Sydney was kissing Caylee (he figured Petr probably wouldn’t mind given the circumstances), everybody was hugging everybody, it was unadulterated joyful madness. An overtime winner, at home, on Truce Day, against the Smugglers, to go to the playoffs. Short of a Cup, it did not get much better than that at Bakura Gardens.

Eventually Sydney, realized that something was going on down on the field. The Miners were milling about, shaking hands with their opponents—and worthy opponents they had been today. This had to be hard for the Crew to swallow—playoffs there and gone in the span of a minute. But Sydney wasn’t part of the Crew. He was part of the Molly Malones and today was a good day after three straight losses to the Smugglers.

There was a sea of holocameras around the player that had been nicknamed “the Baby Eopie” because she ran and ran and ran and did not quit. Morgan Alesh was all smiles in this moment of glory. The goal had been stunning. It was a career making goal—and she was only in her first season.

Sydney Talon did not know if his arguments had persuaded the GCAA, but he knew that he was glad Quinn Cundertol had done what it took to get the Baby Eopie.

He found his macrobinoculars and scanned the field for Valerii. She had clasped hands with Cutter and was speaking into his ear. She patted him on the back of the head before they broke. Sydney wondered what was said there. He’d have to check BBC on the Holonet to see if they posted any footage.

There was sudden a parting in the sea of players, reporters, and cameras. It was for Smugglers captain, Meredith Chambers, who had care of something that Sydney didn’t need his macrobinoculars to recognize. The tradition that had sprung up around the Old Whiskey Trophy was that it was kept until lost. It was not handed over to a neutral party, but retained by its possessors until wrested from them. As captain, it was Chambers’ somber duty to surrender it now to her opposite, Alana Glencross.

The Miner captain met Chambers and accepted the trophy with two hands. The pair shared private words together—once again Sydney would see if he could find out what they were later. Alana gave Chambers a pat on the back as she held the neck of the Old Whiskey Trophy with one hand. She then turned and raised the decanter high to the applause and cheers of Miner fans. It wasn’t long before she had a BBC field reporter at her side.

“Alana, this is the first time that you’ve won the Old Whiskey Trophy as captain. Tell us what you’re feeling right now,” the reporter asked, his mic tapped into the stadium PA system.

“It’s a great feeling. This was a tough one today,” Alana said, “We came through some tough stretches today. Nar Shaddaa did not go down easy and they nearly had us at the end there.”

“What went on there with Coach Valerii’s last play? That’s not something we’ve seen out of the Miners lately.”

“Coach just told us to get in there, mix it up, and fire. She thought the cross to Baby Eopie was open if we overloaded the zone and she was right,” Alana said. When she finished speaking she handed the Old Whiskey Trophy to her assistant captain, Uncia. The Miners were clustering around and Uncia started pouring the Nar Shaddaa whiskey inside into shot glasses.

“We’ve got Morgan Alesh here herself—” the reporter said, roping the brunette into the interview. The truth was that her teammates had pushed her forward. Alesh was grinning oh-so winningly, though somewhat abashedly. The crowd in the stands cheered and Morgan gave a little wave. “Morgan, this has been a pretty impressive rookie season for you. How does it feel to win the rivalry game in such dramatic fashion?”

“Well…ummm…good?” she said and then flashed a smile. Sydney knew that look on the vidscreen. It said, How do you think it feels, dummy?

“Let me tell you all something,” Alana said nudging in and putting an arm around Alesh, “You want to see the future of Miners limmie? This is it—and it looks good.”

The Gardens cheered. If this was the future—it was going to be fun.

Alana waited them out. “I’m told the Mercs won earlier today—”

“Boooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!” from the crowd.

“—so that means that we’ll see you all back here next week for the Quarterfinal.” The crowd cheered. “If you guys bring it like this, I like our chances,” Alana finished.

“Any last words before we get ready for the fireworks, Alana?”



“Yeah, the whole team has got something,” Alana said, waving them over. Dorf Landa handed her a glass. The team arranged itself in a circle, facing out towards the crowd. “We just want to thank everybody who’s come out this season. It got a little dicey there during the road trip, but we rely on you guys. That’s a perfect 4-0 at home this season and that’s thanks to you. Let’s make it 5-0 next week.” The crowd cheered.

“Since the Jar is back where it belongs,” Alana continued, “We’ve got something to say to everyone, the Smugglers included. I hope some of you out there remember this one. I know we had to teach it to the non-Bakurans.” She nudged Alesh in the ribs.

The Miners raised their glasses and said together,

“But since it fell into my lot
That I should rise and you should not
I’ll gently rise and softly call
Good night and joy be to you all
And fill to me the parting glass
And drink a health whate’re befalls
And gently rise and softly call
Good night and joy be to you all!”

And with that they all knocked back their shots to the delight of the crowd. Sydney was pretty sure that this was about the only situation in which Nar Shaddaa whiskey tasted good on Bakura. The Miners waved and gave each other hugs as they stayed on the field. Soon the lights of the stadium went down and the sky above Bakura Gardens lit up with bursts of light and sound as the Truce Day fireworks began. Sydney, along with the rest of Section 210, stood and watched.

“This one feels good,” Brock said in the night as he watched the bursts of azure, lemon, jade, crimson, and white light up the night in celebration of those fateful events 268 years ago.

Sydney put an arm around Brock’s shoulders. “Yeah, it does.”

“Your dad would have loved this one. He liked the hard ones,” Brock said as they both craned their necks upwards.

“Yeah, you’re right,” Sydney said.

From the other side, he felt Crysten put her arm across his shoulders as Section 210 linked themselves together in solidarity. They were a family here, the closest one that Sydney had anymore. There would be another game, but they didn’t know if it would feel so right then to celebrate the closeness that they shared over this sport. There was no reason for these beings to know each other outside of the Gardens. They came from different walks of life and their paths would have never intersected. But here they did and they shared bonds that were special as a result.

Section 210 would be here for 5-2. They would be here for 2-5. They’d be here for Galactic Cups and for 0-7, if it ever came to that.

And they’d be here next week, for who they would later learn were the Coruscant Senators, for the Galactic Cup Quarterfinal, for one last game at the Gardens in 272.

Tag: @Bardan_Jusik @CPL_Macja @Jedi Gunny @liam Vehn

OOC: Disclaimer—HSN commentary on nominations do not constitute a Trieste endorsement of a particular nominee. They are merely IC commentary by NPCs. Please vote for awards as you see fit!

GM Post
HSN Studios, Coruscant

“Live from Coruscant, this is Limmie Today, the galaxy’s top rated limmie show. Here’s Jek Fulbukk and Tarandella Herxpla.”

“Good morning, good afternoon, or good evening wherever you are limmie fans,” the male human Fulbukk said, “With playoff brackets set, it was only a matter of time before the Elite League announced the slate of postseason award candidates and that time is now.”

“Unsurprisingly, it’s last year’s champions that have the most nominations,” Herxpla the female Devaronian said, “The Bakura Miners lead the pack with 5 nods, missing out only on the Zumtak Award. Alana Glencross gets a well-deserved nomination for the Salbukk, which she has already won once in her career. In the front office, Cundertol and Valerii took home nominations in their categories. Though the award is for their 272 performance, it will be tempting for voters to reward them for their magic 271 championship run last season.”

“I think that the Cup is all the award they need for that,” Jek interjected.

“Aron Rodders gets his second straight Duchess Eldin nomination. And it seems that whenever the Miners get nominated for anything, there’s always an Ingbrand. This marks their sixth of the Kayl’hen Era and the speculation was not whether they’d get one, but who would get it. First round pick Anton Jorpik had an amazing season, but her Week 7 dramatics give the nod to Morgan Alesh.”

“Mando’ade, who topped the Solo Conference, is second with four nominations. Adenn Vizsla received a Langann nomination for his turn-around of the Mercs. Aay’han Vhett grabs a Grames nomination for her work building this year’s Mercs team, which includes the drafting of Ingbrand nominee Andres Fortune. Fortune did not start the entire season, which puts him at a disadvantage in the voting, but he made an impact with his playing time that obviously got some notice,” Fulbukk said, “Ryi Kor’le, who missed the last games of the season and is still on the injured reserve, received a Duchess Eldin nomination, her second as well in the category.”

“The Coruscant Senators were next with three nominations. Polis Vayne gets a Salbukk nomination, having led the Senators with 34 points this season. Long time veteran Dirxx Horstse rounds out the Duchess Eldin nominations. Gark S’rily has been posthumously nominated for the Zumtak Award. Given the League’s relative lack of comment regarding S’rily’s…personal activities, this is a bit of a surprise,” Tarandella said.

“Gark S’rily was a hero on the field, off the field, whether he was Superbothan or not,” Jek said firmly, “At least that’s my opinion on the matter.”

“If nothing else, S’rily was a formative figure in the Elite League. No being has had such an impact in recent memory,” Tarandella said.

“Commissioner’s Trophy winners Onderon received two nominations. Jenna Leed received a Salbukk nomination for powering the Onderon defense to a League low of 108 points—an impressive feat. Sam Poland also received her second Grames nomination,” Fulbukk reported, “Poland is a quiet, but firm force behind the Crazy Dragons. She’s not controversial like Cundertol, she hasn’t had the tribulations of S’rily, she doesn’t have the imposing public presence like Cutter, but she’s been quietly successful on Onderon. She might not win this year for her efforts, but I am confident that one day Elite League voters are going to recognize her efforts.”

“Though these top four teams clustered for nearly fourth fifths of the total nominations, the Elite League also honored four more teams with nominations,” Herxpla said, “Euceron, who had a monorail wreck of a season at the end there to narrowly miss out on a playoff berth, gets an Ingbrand nomination in Chenkabuk, their goalkeeper who posted surprisingly good numbers for a nonplayoff team.”

“You know, that’s the story with the Storm. They’ve got great player development and they’ve drafted well these last two seasons, but things haven’t come together for them quite yet. They’re waiting for that breakout season that’s going to just blow the galaxy away,” Jek said.

“We’ve been saying it for seasons now, but it just hasn’t happened yet,” Tarandella pointed out.

“But speaking of breakouts, the Ralltiir Starkillers, who edged the Storm out for that last playoff spot, get a nomination. Maxon Foress gets a Langann nomination for best head coach. Any first year coach who goes to the playoffs has pulled off quite a feat, so Foress should get some good attention for the award,” Fulbukk said.

“Ryloth Rough Riders Zeke Barbosa, who has played only a handful of games this season, gets a Zumtak Award nomination,” Tarandella said, “There have been rumors swirling about what’s been going on with last year’s MVP nominee, but it’s clear that there were some off field issues with Barbosa that he’s been able to conquer to get back on the field. The veil of mystery might hurt his chances with voters compared to other candidates for the award, however.”

“And the last nominee is Meredith Chambers of the Smugglers, also for the Zumtak. Chambers didn’t have the strongest season, but she was one Alesh header away from a trip to the playoffs and that says something. It is not often that you find beings who come back from surgery like Chambers did and the League is definitely recognizing the Nar Shaddaa captain’s efforts.”

“Unlike the past couple of seasons, this year’s nominees should be on hand for the award ceremony, which will take place before the Galactic Cup Final on Coruscant,” Tarandella said, “HSN will be there with full coverage of all nominees.”

“We’ll take a short commercial break and be back with our next top story: the 272 Helsman race. Are this year’s nominees poised for Elite League success or are they just college phenoms? More after a word from our sponsors!” Jek announced.

---

272 Elite League Limmie Postseason Award Ballot

Salbukk Award (League MVP)

• Alana Glencross (Bakura Miners)
• Jenna Leed (Onderon Crazy Dragons)
• Polis Vayne (Coruscant Senators)

Ingbrand Award (Rookie of the year)

• Morgan Alesh (Bakura Miners)
• Chenkabuk (Euceron Storm)
• Andres Fortune (Mando’ade Mercs)

Langann Award (Coach of the year)

• Maxon Foress (Ralltiir Starkillers)
• Gaeriel Valerii (Bakura Miners)
• Adenn Vizsla (Mando’ade Mercs)

Grames Award (GM of the year)

• Quinn Cundertol (Bakura Miners)
• Samantha Poland (Onderon Crazy Dragons)
• Aay’han Vhett (Mando’ade Mercs)

Duchess Eldin Award

• Dirxx Horstse (Coruscant Senators)
• Ryi Kor’le (Mando’ade Mercs)
• Aron Rodders (Bakura Miners)

Zumtak Award (for perseverance and dedication to the sport of limmie)

• Zeke Barbosa for overcoming off-the-field issues (Ryloth Rough Riders)
• Meredith Chambers for returning to the sport after a major injury (Nar Shaddaa Smugglers)
• Gark S’rily for contributions to the sport of limmie (Coruscant Senators)

Tag: @Bardan_Jusik @CPL_Macja @jcgoble3 @Jedi Gunny @JediMaster_1977 @Liam_Vehn @Runjedirun @Teegirloo

Votes must be submitted by March 26!

IC: Zeke Barbosa
Kala'unn memorial stadium, 1 hour before the start of the game

Zeke had to admit that was probably the best introduction he'd ever seen the stadium do. Could you blame them. 3 straight years in the playoffs, you'd think they might start making T-shirts for it.

The team had made its way onto the field and to their side of the field to begin pre game warm ups. The boom of the speakers had died down and the crowd was at a dull roar. The big jumbo tron in the stadium was showing highlights of the Rough Riders season to tide the audience over before the game started. The video currently showing a play where Zeke made a Highlight reel save in last weeks win over the Jets. It had made the HSN Top 10 plays that week and Zeke couldn't help but smile. He was looking forward to making many more plays like that.

After a few reps doing his daily Goalie workout with the team, Zeke walked over to midfield where Mothker was standing overlooking the team do warm ups. He was wearing his traditional gameday polo shirt with the team Logo in the upper left corner of the shirt. He was wearing his rusty old whistle that he had had for as long as Zeke could remember around his neck. "Coach I think its time," Zeke said to him as he walked past him.

Mothker reached to his belt and pulled out a walkie talkie. He punched the call button and spoke something into it, clearly inaudible for anyone to hear.

Even though things had been a little rough for Zeke and Jenna, she had told him that she was planning on coming to watch todays game. As he walked towards the sideline, Zeke caught a glimpse of her about 10 rows up from the bottom row. He jumped the railing about 20 seats away from her and began walking towards her. He noticed she was turned away from him talking to someone, which was fine with Zeke it just made what he was about to do that much better. He had the box Qorbus had given him in hand, and right when he got to about 10 seats away from her the loud speakers came on.

"Jenna Leed if you are in the building please turn to the nearest Jumbo screen." The sound clearly surprised her, but she complied and the screen showed Zeke coming up behind her. When she turned though Zeke was down on one knee with the box open showing a small gold band sitting in black velvet. The words came so easy to him, "Jenna Leed, will you do me the honor of marrying me?"

TAG: @Teegirloo, @Runjedirun, and anyone else that wants to react to this