Remove this Banner Ad

Official Match Thread Season 39, Round 13: Coney Island Warriors vs Gold City Royals at Van Cortlandt Park

  • Thread starter Thread starter Mobbs
  • Start date Start date
  • Tagged users Tagged users None

🥰 Love BigFooty? Join now for free.

Brenton Davy said:
Hello Wazzas!
Click to expand...
2022 GIF by Adelaide Crows
 

Log in to remove this Banner Ad

Cadsky said:
You mean adminship hasn't driven you to alcoholism yet? I thought that was why you were packing it in early?
Click to expand...

It’s driven him to alcoholism but when he got there, only coffee was available…
 
Brenton Davy said:
It’s driven him to alcoholism but when he got there, only coffee was available…
Click to expand...
unlike the unrelated but available 1989 techno pop hit "Pump Up the Jam"

Music Video Dancing GIF
 
Cadsky said:
You mean adminship hasn't driven you to alcoholism yet? I thought that was why you were packing it in early?
Click to expand...

I need to have one day sober.
 

Remove this Banner Ad

I am working at the polling station at the upcoming Federal Election for the first time. I'm currently completing the online training and I'm surprised how much is actually involved just to issue a voting paper.
 

🥰 Love BigFooty? Join now for free.

Cadsky said:
I am working at the polling station at the upcoming Federal Election for the first time. I'm currently completing the online training and I'm surprised how much is actually involved just to issue a voting paper.
Click to expand...
Have you voted anywhere else

Ynooooo
This Is Us Laughing GIF by Emmys
 
Mobbs said:

You know the drill, its a Qootball match! (unless if its a Bye for you in which case it's ... not).


AFTER EASTER - A STORY OF HOPE​


In an attempt to break free from the game's outdated conventions, the league decided to level the playing field by embracing an equitable approach - equal representation for all players, no matter their gender.

The current Top 40 Dreamteam scorers of Season 39 to date took to the field in a friendly match to test out the new apporoach. These are all listed hence:

But as the changes took hold, the game spiraled into something far darker. Instead of evening out, the balance tipped—reversed. The players, once referred to as 'he,' now found themselves rewritten as 'she,' but something far more unsettling began to unfold.

What was meant to be progress unleashed a nightmarish force that turned the match into a deadly, out-of-control spectacle. For every change made in the name of fairness, there was a price to be paid—each player falling victim to the game's twisted retribution.

"The sorrows of death compassed me, and the floods of ungodly men made me afraid."
—Psalm 18:4


WARNING​

The following contains:
Horror themes
Depictions of deaths and stuff
Religious references & hopefully blasphemy
The use of ChatGPT (if there's any errors those are the bits I did)[/b]


“Let us swallow them alive like Sheol, whole, like those who go down to the pit.” - Proverbs 1:12
They said the fabric was new—something synthetic, flameproof, weatherproof, indestructible. Whatever it was, it didn’t feel right under her fingertips. Falconista had been adjusting the giant club banner in the race against the wind. It was a pre-game ritual. She was proud to be first through it.

The siren sounded, and with a cheer, the players burst forward. But the banner didn’t tear. It breathed.

Falconista didn’t bounce back. She pressed inward, as though sucked forward by some vacuum. The cheers dimmed. The banner shimmered strangely and began to ripple, drawing her further in. Her outstretched arms disappeared. Her face distorted, then vanished altogether.

Players stopped. Someone screamed. The wind died. The banner lay flat once more, no tear, no trace, no Falconista.

Later, a junior runner tried to retrieve the banner for folding. It was far heavier than it should have been.

And warm. Too warm.


“They were given power over a fourth of the earth to kill by sword, famine and plague, and by the wild beasts of the earth.” - Revelation 6:7–8
It was chaos on the field—there was no other way to describe it. The players, once so focused on the game, now moved like marionettes pulled by unseen strings. No one was safe. Mwpp was locked in a fierce contest with NaturalDisaster, both of them scrambling for the ball. But suddenly, the air around them began to churn, a violent force pulling at the world itself. A swirling vortex of wind rose from the ground, its roar deafening.

Before anyone could react, Mwpp was ripped from the earth, sucked into the tornado’s maw. Her body vanished into the swirling chaos, only to be torn apart by the violent winds.

NaturalDisaster, frozen in shock, never saw the dogs coming. They were everywhere—105 of them, a wave of fur and fangs. The dogs descended upon her in a frenzy, tearing at her limbs and dragging her down to the ground. Her screams were drowned out by the sounds of snapping jaws and vicious growls. But even as she tried to fight, it was clear that she would never escape.

Meanwhile, Dogs105, who had only just called her dogs back, was struck down by an unexpected force. Her head was severed in a clean cut, the shock of it leaving her body twitching on the ground.

But there was no time to mourn. Scythe94 stood frozen, a cold stillness taking hold of her. She didn’t scream, didn’t resist as the pressure around her increased. In a moment, she collapsed in on herself, imploding with a sickening crunch, as if her very body had been compressed by some unnatural force.

Orange Crush, watching in horror, was about to open her mouth to protest her innocence when something strange began to happen. Her shorts melted away, a corrosive acid eating through the fabric and searing into her flesh. Her legs were consumed by the burning pain, the agony forcing her to scream in terror as the acid ate through her muscle and bone.

Pantskyle ran—panicked, desperate to escape. But she didn’t get far before the birds arrived. Hundreds of them, sharp beaks and talons, swarmed around her. They pecked at her eyes, tearing them from their sockets before she could even react. Her screams were cut short as the birds tore her apart, one piece at a time.

GreyCrow, caught in the chaos, was swallowed whole by a massive serpent that appeared out of nowhere. Its enormous jaws snapped shut with terrifying precision, and the last thing GreyCrow saw was the darkness of the creature’s throat as it pulled her into its gaping maw.

Ssssss, who had been watching the carnage unfold, suddenly felt her body shift, the very essence of her changing. With a sound like cracking bones, her body split open, and a chickenlike creature emerged from the gaping fissure in her form. The creature clucked and screeched before disappearing into the chaos, leaving only a broken shell behind.

Hatchy1992, attempting to comprehend the bizarre events unfolding, was strangled by his own mullet. The hair wrapped around his neck like a vice, pulling tight and cutting off his breath. He struggled for a moment, but the force of the strangulation was too strong. As his vision faded, Elton Johns Wig looked on, a strange and almost amused expression crossing her face, as if she had known all along what was coming.

And then, just like that, the field was still. The carnage had come to an end. Silence fell, heavy and suffocating.


“Whoever leads the upright along an evil path will fall into their own pit, but the blameless will receive a good inheritance.” - Proverbs 28:10
It began with a sprint.

Anultimateressie broke from the pack, eyes fixed on the forward fifty. She barely noticed the subtle dip in the turf ahead—an unnatural sinkhole masked by sun-drenched grass. One misstep, a sharp yelp, and she was gone.

The earth had opened to swallow her, revealing not a chasm, but a narrow, vertical shaft—too thin to allow movement, too deep to allow hope. She had fallen headfirst, her body pinned in its own weight, limbs twitching in tightness, her breath ragged against soil-clogged air. She was alive. Just.

The other players gathered, stunned, peering in. One tossed a water bottle down. It never hit bottom. There was no scream. Only the soft, relentless sound of shifting dirt, as if the ground were adjusting to accommodate her.

She remained visible for a few minutes. Then the light changed, and she was an outline in shadow.


"For the great day of his wrath is come; and who shall be able to stand?" — Revelation 6:17
As the game approached, the locker room had become strangely quiet. Derrinalphil stood brushing flecks of white from his shoulders — chalk dust? No, enamel. His own tools clattered to the floor, the dental gear vibrating with a life of its own.

In the far mirror, Elton Johns Wig was fussing with her reflection, trying to settle a stray curl. “Phil, can you hear that?” she asked, her voice rising.

A low rumble vibrated through the lockers. A shadow stretched across the tiles — not cast from any light, but from the sudden absence of it. The ceiling above peeled like skin, revealing only darkness.

Derrinalphil turned, face pale. “Run!”

They didn’t make it far. Metal twisted. Light popped. The shadow swept down in a single roar of displaced air and unearthly pressure.

In the final moment, they looked at each other — one wide-eyed with dread, the other mouthing a defiant scream. The locker room collapsed inward with a crunching finality, and they were gone.


“He replied, ‘I saw Satan fall like lightning from heaven.’” - Luke 10:18
The ball ricocheted off the posts, a missed opportunity for a crucial score. Gws Goose was the first to reach it, darting in like a comet, determined to make up for lost ground. But as she leaped to intercept the ball, a strange thing happened.

The field seemed to ripple—a wave of distortion, like the horizon bending beneath a sudden heat. She was airborne, suspended just a moment too long. Time slowed. In that frozen instant, she caught a flash of something in the sky, an electric shimmer—a streak of something falling.

Then, the ground buckled beneath her. It wasn’t a tackle. It wasn’t an injury. One moment, she was at the apex of her jump, the next—she was in the dirt.

Her fall wasn’t the slow, painful one of a mortal drop. It was as though something had pulled her, straight down, like a bolt of pure force. There was no scream, no struggle. Just the crushing sound of bones snapping, as her body smashed into the earth.

By the time they rushed over, she was already gone—nothing but a crumpled heap, her eyes wide open, fixed on a sky that didn’t care.


“The grass withers, the flower fades when the breath of the Lord blows on it; surely the people are grass.” - Isaiah 40:7
Tonga Bob was jogging to position when she first noticed the sting. A nip through her left boot, like a thorn had slipped in. Then a sharpness in the right. She slowed, frowned, but kept going. Another few steps and the sting became a slash. She gasped, staggered. Blood was already wetting her socks.

She turned back, but now every footfall came with a scream from the flesh. The grass — it was cutting her open with every step. Long, thin blades acting exactly as the name once only metaphorically suggested.

She tried to make the boundary line, just metres away now. Her legs betrayed her. As her knees buckled, she threw her hands out instinctively to shield her face from the fall. Her palms hit the grass and she howled as the thin green stalks sliced deep.

Now low to the ground, breath ragged, she tried to shift—to roll free, to crawl, anything. But every movement cut her deeper. Blood soaked through her shirt, pooled at her belly. There was no violence but her own motion, no killer but the grass and her will to resist it.

Eventually, she stopped moving. The grass rustled gently in the breeze.


“Do not let the floodwaters engulf me or the depths swallow me up, or the pit close its mouth over me.” - Psalm 69:15
Cadsky was a natural leader, guiding her team with the kind of fierce intensity that felt almost divine. She was always the first to charge into the fray, but today, the field seemed off—wrong in ways that couldn't be ignored.

She slipped behind the boundary line to get a better angle on the next play, but as she turned the corner, she found herself on the edge of something new—an untouched pool, deep and dark, its water still and ominous. No one remembered it being there.

Cadsky didn’t hesitate. She dove.

For a moment, it was peaceful—clear water, cold against her skin, and the disorienting sensation of weightlessness. But then, the surface flickered. The smell of burning oil rose to meet her. She looked up. The pool’s surface wasn’t just water—it was coated in a thick, glistening layer of black sludge. The moment it caught flame, it spread across the surface like liquid fire, igniting the pool in an instant.

Her limbs flailed as she tried to resurface, but each movement was met with the unbearable heat of the fire above and the pull of the deep beneath. The flames crackled, spitting angry, scorching tongues, while the dark water below called to her, pulling her deeper, colder.

She gasped for breath, but all she could taste was ash and oil. The fire licked at her skin, and she knew, with sick clarity, she couldn’t survive either way. She sank, unable to rise, consumed by the twin horrors of burning and drowning.


“As it is, it is no longer I myself who do it, but it is sin living in me.” - Romans 7:17
She’d been holding onto the ball for far too long. Phenomenalv1 had scored earlier, but the game was slipping away. Her hands gripped the leather too tightly as she ran the length of the field, eyes focused on the goalposts ahead.

It started with a strange throb. At first, it was nothing—just an odd sensation, as if the ball were vibrating. But then it pulsed, harder, like something alive was moving inside. She frowned, glanced down—and froze.

The ball had softened, its shape warping like the skin of a living creature. The stitching stretched, contracting as if the ball was breathing. The leather gave way to an unsettling texture—flesh-like, moist, slick.

She tried to toss it off, but the ball wouldn’t let go. It sank into her palm, as if fusing with her flesh. The skin around it began to bulge. She felt something inside her, something scraping against the inside of her arm. She screamed, but the sound came out muffled, as if the ball was already pushing up against her throat.

Her muscles spasmed uncontrollably as the thing burrowed deeper, tendrils spreading through her veins like wildfire. It wasn’t just in her arm—it was inside her body now, working its way through her chest, her ribs, her organs, feasting on her from the inside.

By the time the medic reached her, she was convulsing, her body jerking violently. The ball, now completely integrated with her, bulged from her side, grotesque and pulsating, as her limbs twisted and spasmed in silent agony.


You hypocrite, first take the plank out of your own eye, and then you will see clearly to remove the speck from your brother’s eye.” - Matthew 7:3–5
The ball arced through the air, and Boncer34’s gaze followed it, her every muscle in tune with the game. The final seconds ticked away, the crowd’s cheers blending into the pulse of her heartbeat. Victory was so close, but there was one more move to make.

She pushed herself forward, the ball just within reach. But in that instant, the ground beneath her shifted. She misjudged her step, her foot slipping on the uneven field. Her body pitched forward, out of control.

She didn’t see it coming.

The goalpost—old, brittle wood—snapped under the pressure. With a loud crack, it split in half, and the top half of the post fell toward her, the broken edge falling with deadly precision. It was too quick for her to avoid.

The jagged end of the post struck her directly in the face. The impact drove the sharp wood deep into her eye, splintering through her skull with a sickening crunch. She let out a garbled scream, but the pain was immediate and overwhelming. The post pinned her to the ground, forcing her body into an unnatural position.

Blood poured from the wound, pooling on the grass beneath her. Her hands tried to grasp the pole, but her body was trapped, her face pressed against the earth, her eye impaled by the twisted, splintered wood.

She could barely breathe as the life drained from her, the game around her fading into nothingness. The others stood frozen, eyes wide, as the once simple match had turned into something horrific.

The whistle sounded, but it was drowned out by the shock of what had just occurred. Boncer34’s body was rooted to the spot, her life extinguished by the very structure meant to keep the game in line.


The fool’s mouth is his ruin, and his lips are a snare to his soul." — Proverbs 18:7
A still form lay contorted on the turf. Ossie_21 approached hesitantly to discover Philreich dead in the centre circle.

Apparently she'd told a joke. When asked who did it, many admitted guilt, with most others rueing missing the chance.

Stopping a moment to remember Phil, Ossie began to reminisce over some of those jokes. Then turned suddenly and impaled himself on Footyguy13's hands, which had somehow turned into claws. It wasn't an accident.

The demise of Footyguy was a strange one. He stared at the horrific scene, unable to comprehend. Then he rubbed his eyes to clarify the scene. He'd only had the claws a couple of minutes.

While Philreich was gone, it seemed his legacy was more robust.


"For, behold, the day is coming, burning like an oven, when all the arrogant and all evildoers will be stubble." — Malachi 4:1

Amid the fiery chaos of the pitch, Irish Blue dashed forward, dodging wreckage and crumbling debris. She had no intention of backing down, her heart pumping with adrenaline as the carnage around her reached a fever pitch. But then, with a sickening snap, the floodlights overhead shattered. The night sky above her grew darker, almost oppressive, and she paused in confusion.

It came without warning — a massive lightning bolt struck, arcing straight down at the ground, and Irish Blue was caught in its blinding flash. Her body jolted violently, her muscles seizing with the shock, but she didn’t fall. She stayed standing, her body twitching erratically, scorched and burned, her skin smoking.

With one final, unearthly howl, her body spasmed one last time, and her limbs jerked violently before she collapsed, lifeless on the scorched turf. The air hummed with the last remnants of the bolt, and everything fell silent.


“We are hard pressed on every side, but not crushed; perplexed, but not in despair; persecuted, but not abandoned; struck down, but not destroyed.” - 2 Corinthians 4:8–9

Royboy2 had always prided herself on her ability to weave through tackles, her agility unmatched. But this time, as she sprinted towards the goal, the field seemed like a trap, each movement more labored than the last. The game had turned savage, and the adrenaline-fueled plays were taking a toll.

She never saw them coming.

From both sides, two massive figures lunged at her. One arm hooked around her waist, the other wrapping around her legs. The force of the collision was bone-shattering. In a blur of motion, she was yanked off the ground, her body crumpling between the two players with the sickening crunch of breaking ribs.

Her vision blurred as the air was forced from her lungs. The weight of the tackles left her no room to move, no space to breathe. She gasped, but her ribs had already splintered, and each breath was a struggle. She felt herself being pressed into the earth, the weight of her opponents unyielding.

The crowd seemed to fade into the background, her world shrinking to nothing but the unbearable pressure that seemed to squeeze the life out of her. There was no escape. Her body was held there, crushed beneath the force of the collision, until her limbs went limp and the game was lost.

The whistle blew in the distance, but Royboy2’s body was already still, the play over for her forever.


“You have taken from me friend and neighbor—darkness is my closest friend.” - Psalm 88:18
No one had seen Blueallthru leave the field. She hadn’t been injured, hadn’t flagged for a rest. But when the siren sounded for halftime, her absence was finally noticed.

The locker room was dim, one of the overhead fluorescents flickering weakly. Her kit was laid out neatly. Her phone was still on the bench, buzzing quietly with missed messages. One boot rested on its side near her locker.

When Cap opened the locker to check if she was changing inside, the door gave way with a soft creak. Nothing. No sign of her.

Except the inside of the metal door was slick with condensation. And scratched into the back panel, faint but fresh: “I can’t see them but I know they’re still here.”

Cap didn’t tell the others right away. What was there to say? Blueallthru was gone. Not walked out. Not taken. Just… absent. As if she’d never been there at all.


"Fire from the sky." – Revelation 13:13
It began as a simple escape attempt. Ljp86, desperate for a vantage point, climbed the old light tower near the field. The rusted metal creaked as she scaled it, her heart racing with the realization that something wasn’t right. The wind picked up, howling past her, and the structure groaned as though it were alive.

Without warning, the tower snapped at its base, sending her crashing downward with a deafening scream. The structure shattered as it fell, taking Bovo, Truman#1, and Ty24 with it in a cascade of metal, sparks, and fire. The wreckage smoldered, and soon a fire began to spread, consuming the wreckage — and those still trapped beneath it.

From the shadows, Giant Yoyo tried to drag SpecialBruce free, but the fire spread faster than they could move. Tigerturbulance, attempting to save them, was caught in the inferno, her cries silenced as the flames devoured the field.


"You shall eat the offspring of your own body, the flesh of your sons and of your daughters whom the Lord your God has given you, during the siege and the distress with which your enemy will oppress you." — Deuteronomy 28:53
By the time the smoke cleared, only a handful remained. Among the debris, Fitzroybowiedog could be seen taking advantage of the barbecued flesh from the fire to appease his appetite, urging others to do the same. But soon her stomach groaned as the onset of kuru began to take hold. Her fingers twitched uncontrollably as her jaw locked, too late to speak out before it became unresponsive. She watched horrified as Boozedup and Wabulldog obediently followed her advice and ate.

As his eyesight failed and his breath sputtered to a close, the last of his senses heard the initial sounds of agony from those he had tried to help. The spasms began soon after, first a faint shake, then convulsions, and with each passing moment, the laughter and cries grew louder, more erratic, as the curse took root in them all.


"Your hands are full of blood!" — Isaiah 1:15
Crimson Azure staggered forward, feeling an unbearable heat pulse through her body, each breath she took more labored than the last. At first, she thought it was exhaustion, but the pain that surged from deep within her organs quickly proved otherwise. Her vision blurred, and a deep red tint began to creep up her arms. She looked down in horror as her skin flushed with blood, veins pulsating, the fluid now pressing outward, flowing into her limbs as if her very body was transforming from flesh into liquid.

A grotesque warmth spread through her chest, her insides liquefying. She cried out, but only a gargling sound emerged as her throat constricted with the searing, suffocating flood. Her organs melted, sloshing together in a macabre mix of blood, muscle, and flesh, and in her growing panic, she realized her arms, once solid and functional, were now filling—with blood.

Desperate, she tried to scream, but her mouth was now filled with the fluid, spilling out in a wave, staining the ground beneath her. Her hands, red and trembling, shook violently as the blood continued to pool in her veins, creeping toward her head. She felt her pulse slow, but the pressure was unbearable. It surged within her—too much, too fast.

With a final, horrible burst of pressure, her body exploded in a fountain of blood, her organs finally giving way to the flood, splattering the surrounding area with the tide of her destruction.


"The sword of the Lord is filled with blood; it is gorged with fat, with the blood of lambs and goats, with the fat of the kidneys of rams."— Isaiah 34:7
Amidst the destruction, Pamcake1 found herself alone. The others were either dead or scattered, the field a nightmare of torn bodies and twisted metal. A high-pitched sound echoed in the distance, growing louder by the second. Pamcake1 turned to see a huge, monstrous figure emerging from the smoke. It was colossal, a grotesque fusion of metal and bone, towering over her like some ancient god.

Taken by fear, Pamcake1 began to scream, but froze in place as the creature’s massive maw opened wide and roared. Ensuing from its throat was a torrent of green bile. It drenched Pamcake from head to toe, and poured into her open mouth. It was fast, too fast, and before she could react, she felt a pain gather withing. The fluid bubbled and boiled, and began to expand, pressing her insides into unexplored cavities as the foreign liquid commandeered all available territory within her. The bile welled up inside her, viscous and unbreachable. As her airways clogged, Pamcake1 collapsed to the ground, her life extinguished from the inside.


"For you are dust, and to dust you shall return."— Genesis 3:19
Phar Ace stood tall, head held high, a beacon of strength amidst the chaos of the game. Her gaze was unwavering, pride wrapped in each calculated move. It wasn’t just the match she ruled—she ruled herself, believing herself above the rest. The sky above, clear and endless, felt like her domain.

But then, something strange caught her eye. A shimmering reflection, like the surface of water, appeared high above, mirroring the very earth beneath her feet. A sensation of vertigo, of dissonance, struck her, but she couldn’t look away. The mirrored surface began to descend with impossible speed, and in that moment, everything she had known—the world, the game, herself—fractured.

The sky was no longer above her. The ground, no longer below. The reflection moved closer, a dark, incomprehensible force, pressing downward. As it fell, the earth below her twisted and buckled, and Phar Ace found herself, impossibly, trapped between two worlds. The mirror image collided with the ground, and she was engulfed in darkness, a perfect prison of reflection.

Her body was squeezed into the soil above and the heavens below, as if the very fabric of reality had turned against her. The tomb of earth and sky closed in, suffocating her, and in the quiet dark, the last breath of her pride was swallowed by the crushing weight of her entombment.


Epilogue:​


"There is an appointed time for everything. And there is a time for every event under heaven— A time to give birth and a time to die; A time to plant and a time to uproot what is planted."- Ecclesiastes 3:1-2
As the flames consumed the stadium, Pugsley was seen lugging a massive wooden cross up a hill, her face a mask of determination and despair. "What happened to all my teammates? What happened to all our opponents? And what's this cross for?" she cried out, her voice echoing through the desolate landscape.

In the distance, the faint sound of a whistle blew, signalling the end of the game. But for Pugsley, it was clear that more than just a football match was ending. This was the end of times.

Cap appeared suddenly, her eyes wild, her voice hoarse. The demon within Blueallthru's locker had not deemed her a worthy victim for now. Fighting her way up the hill, she grabbed Pugsley’s shoulders, shaking him, urging him to snap out of it. “Leave it Pugsley, this isn’t you, you need to fight!”

But even as he listened, blinked and widened his eyes, a dark shadow overtook them both. Mwpp’s lifeless body descended from above, crashing down with a sickening thud, pinning them both to the ground. The last sound was the wet crunch of bone and the soft flutter of a torn shirt caught in the wind.

There was a stirring adjacent, where the cross had fallen. Silently, measuredly, it came to life, or perhaps wasn't a cross after all. Arms unstraightened and legs relaxed, and ClarkeM rose to his feet, taking his first solid breath since Pugsley had had picked him up some time ago.

He surveyed the smoking, bloodied vista of the arena, and then looked down over the crushed remains of Pugsley, Cap and Mwpp.

Shaking his head, he muttered: "grow up" and began a weary walk off the ground, to run the league, or ruin it, or somehow apparently both.




Captains or remaining active players get your teams in by the time thingy!
Click to expand...
...Easter always brings out the weird CEOs.
 

Remove this Banner Ad

Similar threads

Chipmunk
    • Like
    • Love
Official Match Thread Season 41 Round 13 - Coney Island Warriors vs Gold City Royals at Van Cortlandt Park
46 47 48 49 50
Replies
1K
Views
6K
Cadsky
Cadsky
Supercheapgiants
    • Like
Official Match Thread Season 41 Round 11 (Heritage Round) - Coney Island Warriors vs Sin City Swamprats at Van Cortlandt Park
15 16 17 18 19
Replies
452
Views
4K
Tonga Bob
Tonga Bob
Pie 4 Life
    • Like
    • Wow
  • Poll Poll
Official Match Thread Season 41 Round 7: Coney Island Warriors vs East Side Hawks at Van Cortlandt Park
19 20 21 22 23
Replies
560
Views
4K
sausageroll
sausageroll
Pugsley
    • Like
    • Love
    • Disagree
Official Match Thread Season 41 Round 5: Coney Island Warriors vs Dragons FFC at Van Cortlandt Park
32 33 34 35 36
Replies
878
Views
7K
Ljp86
Ljp86
Wosh
    • Like
Official Match Thread Season 41 Round 10 - Coney Island Warriors v Baghdad Bombers @ Van Cortlandt Park.
31 32 33 34 35
Replies
851
Views
7K
Kilroy
Kilroy
DemurePrincess
    • Love
    • Like
Official Match Thread Season 40, Round 3: Coney Island Warriors vs Gold City Royals at Van Cortlandt Park
21 22 23 24 25
Replies
602
Views
8K
The Half Back
The Half Back
DenieD
    • Like
    • Love
Official Match Thread Season 41: Round 1 Coney Island Warriors vs Roys FFC at Van Cortlandt Park
36 37 38 39 40
Replies
981
Views
9K
spudmaster
spudmaster

Remove this Banner Ad

🥰 Love BigFooty? Join now for free.

Back
Top Bottom