As tournament organiser, I avoid playing if possible so I can concentrate on umpiring. But with an odd number of players (aren't all the players odd in some way?) I took to the field with what I expected to be a fragile mob of show-off rats. Only to find myself like some malefic Midas, turning everything I touched to corpses. 16 casualties and the highest cas delta on the day suggests that those mice aren't as nice as everyone expected, including myself.

For amazing sportsmanship and terrible dice rolls, James earned himself the coveted Wooden Spoon.

Content mostly to throw players at the opposition rather than do anything more sensible, opponents were often confused by a coach who seemed to know even less about what he was doing than they did. A slightly more reliable chef could have really caused some terror, but to only lose to Skaven (the bane of the short-legged pie-eaters) and OWA was something the little guys claimed to be proud of.