And there's the pitch. Snargle Whitley has blocked the throw. Onto Phip Dudsnip, he's running, but his faceplate has fallen off. Rotten luck
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The Regulator is proclaiming a Sacred Moment. Both teams return to their yurts to replenish their supply of Blood and Gold. Score is
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What's this? The players are stumbling back onto the hyperbola, choking and inflating to tremendous size. Was the gold not pure? Seems dire
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