David Bowie lay there – again – dazed and really quite confused about exactly how it had come to this. Well, exactly how it had come to very specifically this, with him and many of his friends lying about on the bloody grass was quite obvious: this… “coach” was an idiot, these midgets’ hats were an atrocity to behold that by their very atrociousness could cause grown men to collapse to the floor, and Lou Reed the over-excitable ratling blitzer should never, never have put his head down and charged straight forward at that minotaur for a 1d block without a reroll. Everything had gone wrong from there on, and even the cheeses had started having a lie down. It was hard being a troll and having an unshakeable addiction to hideous quantities of nuclear-strength cheese. He wondered quite what a “reroll” was, and his mind drifted back a little further. He and quite a number of his equally musician friends were just kind of hanging out round his place, taking on something the kids called a “cheese bucket challenge” – ostensibly for charity, but really for pleasure, as Bowie was (it was well known) a cheesefiend of the highest order, as indeed many rock stars from the 60s and 70s were. It seemed to him that the last thing he remembered, before falling into a world of terrifyingly violent “football”, as his more American friends called it, a world filled with strangely hairy musical companions and anthropomorphised cheeses, was finishing off his fourth kilo of vintage stilton and passing out from cheese-sweats-induced dehydration. And now he was stuck here, in a bad trip badder than anything the early 80s had ever thrown at him. His “coach” told him, quite convincingly – although Bowie had to assume that he was just a figment of his delirious imagination (but then, just why had it hurt so realistically when that hobgoblin repeatedly stomped on his head while he was having his last lie down?) – that the only way out was to play this “football” until he beat the cheese. To become one with the cheese. Until he was no longer under the cheese, an Undercheeser, but over the cheese. An Overcheeser. He had no idea what this meant. Welcome to… The Undercheesers! Or; The Tale of a (nearly) Absolute Beginner Playing Bloodbowl with a Team of Incompetents! Hopefully in a season or two some of them won’t be quite so incompetent, but we’ll see. I’ve played not much more than a dozen competitive games of Bloodbowl in a private league, joint-won the first undefeated with Skaven, and then started again with Underworld. I’ve asked myself more than once if this is because I am an idiot, but have been convinced by the illustrious Underworld coaches on these very forums that Underworld can not just be very good fun to play, but can also, you know, win games and stuff. Even when the opponent’s average height is even more than yours. So this thread, which I’ll see how well I can maintain, is to chart the progress of my first attempt in UKBBL. Season One (or rather 19) sees the Undercheesers start in Altern Forest East: Tier 4. Match One saw the Undercheesers lose 2-0 to some chaos dwarfs, but nobody died and we won 60,000 euros to spend on more cheese, so all in all it was a decent result.