Note. So, as it turns out, I was writing "Ered Mithuin" for no reason I can readily surmise throughout the pregame part of the match, and I'm too lazy to fix it. It's "Ered Mithrin". Just so you know.
SECOND HALF
"Here we're back at Middle Earth Wireless Stadium, previously known as Emyn Muil Stadium, where the weather's cool and the score is zero-zero. The dragons will be playing the rest of the game without a keeper, since Fabord the Buttmuncher was red-carded just prior to the break for trying - alas, unsuccessfully - to incinerate hobbit striker Mumbo Flubb. This should make little difference in the halflings' chances at winning, I should say-"
"Actually, Bret, it will make a huge difference. Before they had no chance at all-"
"-and now they've VIRTUALLY no chance. Yes. Anyhow, Marilac Porridgeface of Oatbarton will be coming in for Flubb-"
"-who's been taken to hospital with second and third degree burns on his upper half-"
"-leaving the Shire two more substitutions. And the hobbits have the ball!"
"Pogo Toadbottle passes to Bandobras Took, who, much to the disappointment of his fans, hid behind six-ton dragon Maudreg throughout the entire first half of the match. Took takes it past Glormor and kicks it under the hovering Yarma to Grandoc Goodbutter, who passes to Pondipot Longbrow-"
"Intercepted! Swafa the Great slams his massive tail down in the path of the ball and deflects it to Redgrave the Defiler. Looks like Ered Mithrin's through waiting around for the halflings to tire."
"Oh, was that what they were doing? I thought they were too paralysed by laughter to make any offensive plays."
"Yes, well, that too. At any rate, Redgrave's just spit the ball to Ortabong of the Massive Wings, who caught it in his mouth and- and the ball's on fire."
"Is he actually going to try and make a goal with it?"
"Why not? And he sends it into the Shire goal with a scorching blast of breath - Hambutt Weevil jumps out of the way-"
"Where's the ball? Was it a goal or not?"
"Uh... The officials are having some difficulty..."
"NO GOAL! The ball was vaporized by the dragon's flames somewhere outside the cage. Bad luck."
"What, is that sarcasm I detect in your voice, Merrypus?"
"No, of course not. I'm ALWAYS perfectly sincere, you know that. A new ball - the fourth of the match - has been put into play and now the hobbits are trying to get it downfield-"
"They get nowhere! The Worm Montague trips Marilac Porridgeface flat on his face with his tail and the ball's free-"
"Yellow card! Good, looks like Figglenob's actually got the right idea this time. Another charade like that and Montague's out of the match for good."
"Yellow card? THAT? There wasn't even blood shed! Is the Puce wizard become so soft-"
"Hobbit ball."
"What ridiculousness..."
"Toadbottle takes it past Swafa - past Glormor - passes to Muggo Proudhandle - oh, and it's 'ridiculosity', not 'ridiculousness'. 'Ridiculousness' isn't a word."
"Actually, I think it is. Proudhandle kicks it into the dragon goal, but it's easily blocked by Maudreg - Orogoth takes it in his mouth and barrels through the Shire defenders towards the box - he's going to get it in this time..."
"Weevil's looking a little scared-"
"WHAT! What is this nonsense?! I don't- By the Valar-"
"What happened? All I saw was Orogoth, who is wingless and fairly bulky, racing towards the hobbit goal, when suddenly he collapsed. Medics are running on to the pitch..."
"This is some kind of hobbit treachery, I tell you..."
"'Hobbit treachery'? Are you serious? Bret, these are HOBBITS, not goblins."
"Well, how else do you explain it?"
"That would be what the doctors are going to tell us in a moment."
"You know, this is not the first time a player's collapsed mid-game, not by a long shot..."
"Oh, Yavanna, not again..."
"Notwithstanding the very recent Rohan vs. Moria match, in which dwarf player Miner suffered a fatal heart attack when passed to twice, just last year Lothlorien team captain Lamalas Melwasul collapsed following the game-winning goal against Minas Morgul. After he was rushed to hospital it was discovered his water-bottle had been doped with a fast-acting poison at some point during the match. Unfortunately Lamalas did not survive, and the culprit was never found, though many suspect Morgul keeper Gr-"
"-and we've just got the report from the medics: Orogoth has had a major coronary infarction, that is to say a heart attack-"
"-which makes two in the quarterfinals alone! Of course, there were ten in one match back in-"
"Enough with the stories, Bret! Let me finish!"
"But that was an amusing story! It was back in the First Age, the poor oppressed peoples of Middle Earth vs the Balrogs of Iron Hell! Almost the whole oppressed peoples team died of fright in the first five minutes of the match! It's an historic game!"
"Yeah, okay, whatever. But apparently Orogoth's heart failure was caused by - get this - overdose of anabolic steroids. Steroids! A dragon using steroids!"
"Hmm, that might explain those rippling haunches... that beastly tail... the fact that he could run up to forty miles an hour despite his weight..."
"Well, anyhow, it's no goal and Ered Mithuin is substituting- wait."
"There's some kind of altercation going on between the referee and Swafa the Great..."
"HA! Orogoth's been posthumously red-carded for cheating! Ha ha HA!"
"Posthumously red-carded? They can't even do that! I mean, steroids are bad and unsportsdragonly and all that, but COME ON..."
"So the dragons will not- OH!"
"Ha, that's... hoo boy. Swafa in his anger just breathed fire on Figglenob-"
"-who is, of course, unharmed - though his robe looks a little worse-for-wear-"
"-but the wizard sure doesn't look happy. And... RED CARD! Gracious Ulmo in the Western Sea..."
"THREE red cards for Ered Mithuin now. This gives the halflings a great advantage-"
"-hardly..."
"The dragons will now be playing with only eight against the hobbits' eleven, which... well, the Shire's still at a disadvantage, but it's less of a disadvantage."
"Give me a break, Ath..."
"Oh, nonsense, the match is almost over. Hobbit ball!"
"Pondipot Longbrow takes it downfield - kicks to Bosco Lardbottom-"
"Lardbottom to Grandoc Goodbutter, who's dodging dragons right and left-"
"-and their plumes of fire-"
"Goodbutter's rump is aflame! But he's still going to take a shot!"
"Slog thunders in to stop him-"
"Grandoc fakes to Ban Butzbindle-Bundlebom! Butzbindle-Bundlebom fakes to Bandobras Took, and Took takes a shot before the dragons can react and-"
"-and Redgrave shoots a great blast of fire after the ball to scorch it all into cinders-"
"-but he misses by an inch and the ball rolls into the Ered Mithrin goal! SHIRE SCORES! And that's the match!"
"WHAT? Folks, what we've just witnessed is- well, is pretty much unprecedented. The hobbits have just, against all odds, beaten the dragons 1-0. I can't believe it. The crowd is going insane."
"The dragon team are looking a little insane themselves. After the repercussions from last match... I dunno, I'd get out of that stadium pretty fast."
"Which the halflings are doing, as fast as those short hairy little legs can carry them. They've hoisted the Bullroarer aloft and are flanked by about a jillion shrieking preteen big people - not to mention screaming hobbit women..."
"Bret, let's leave."
"Hmm? What's wrong, Ath, scared the dragons'll be doing a little laying waste here?"
"Duh."
"Well, I think you're just prejudice. Just because one stupid little-"
"Bret, Ortabong just incinerated the Shire goal. WE NEED TO LEAVE NOW."
"Nonsense. And now the spectators are pushing for the exits with a little more violence than before-"
"Bret-"
"I think I hear screams of terror-"
"BRET-"
"What's that whooshing sound?"
"BRET! DRAGON!!!"
"Um, ladies and gentlemen, join us next time for the final quaterfinal match of the 1,463rd-"
"Fifty-third!"
"-1,453rd Arda Cup! We'll be there!! RUN!"
There you have it, ladies and gentlemen. The next match is forthcoming, but if nobody minds I think I'll skip the semifinals and go straight to the big match after that. It's coming soon! Don't go away! I promise I'll add it within two weeks, I promise!
Yes. Done now.