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At the last moment, I wave my staff and encant the ritual of time-out.
My [Jock of Holding] gives me a plus three to substitutes. I roll a twenty, scoring a critical hit!
I choose Narnawk, The Scrote-Chewer, a half-orc guard from Bristol to replace the now winded Farnum Tinklepants, the gnome who had served us so well first period by running in-between the legs the opposing squad to score a handy goal, early.
Narnawk's handlers unchain him from the pole near our bench. He bellows the orcish war-cry, now so feared by all.
"Nnnnggggrrrwgggl!" he shouts; which, of course, in half-orc means "soccer good"
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