Bagenders – At Home With Boromir

Season 1, Episode 7

By Lady Alyssa and Random Dent

Disclaimer: JRR Tolkien owns all the characters used here: have just borrowed them, will be returned in almost working order. Debt to ‘Father Ted’ in the characterisation of Gandalf. General situation debt to the ‘Young Ones’. Any resemblance between the behaviour of the hobbits whilst drunk and the authors down the student’s union is purely coincidental.
Story notes: Would help to read in order. Would really, really help to have seen ‘The Full Monty’, or at least know the song ‘Hot Stuff’. Some jokes will go over your head if you haven’t read ‘Return of the King’, but not many. If you are concerned about the aspersions we are about to cast on Boromir’s sexuality Tolkien started it – look at Appendix A at the end of the bit about the stewards…

“Stoap pulling it!”

“Only if you stop pulling it y’great lummock!”

Gandalf looked at the scene being enacted on the living room floor in front of him. “Fool of a Took, what are you doing?”

“We’re trying to be occult. Look it’s a weejee board. Mavis at work does seLances, and we thought we’d try an’ contact Boromir.”

“Yeah, except Pippin keeps on spoiling it and pulling it to say ‘Merry blows goats’.”

“Hobbits, always meddling. Let me show you how it’s done.” Gandalf waved his staff and there appeared in the air at hobbit height what looked like an entry phone. Pippin looked at Gandalf who waved him towards it. He pressed the button.

“Good Afternoon and Welcome to the Halls of Mandos, how may I help you?”

“Ah’m trying to get in contact wi’someone.”

“One moment, I’ll put you through to the Spiritual Contact Department, please hold.”

There was the sound of a celestial choir singing ‘Greensleves’.

“Good Afternoon, Spiritual Contact Department, how may I help you?” There was a pause. “Doesn’t Gandalf, also known as Mithrandir, Olorin or Mr Grey, live at this address?”

“Um, yes.”

“If he’s trying to nuisance call Isildur son of Elendil again, his calls have been blocked. Since the mid-fifth age. We don’t appreciate passing on messages like that.” The last comment was distinctly dark and accompanied by sniggers from Gandalf.

“No, Ah’m no Gandalf, and Ah want to contact someone else.”

“Please state clearly species, approximate Age of earth when they died and name.”

“Human, Third Age of Middle earth, Boromir son of Denethor.”

“We have three Boromir son of Denethors who fit that description. Are you looking for Boromir son of Denethor, killed in an unlikely sequence of events involving a badger; Boromir son of Denethor beaten to death with a jar of picked herring in a drunken argument over washing up; or Boromir son of Denethor, kebabbed in a fight with Uruk-Hai?”

“The last one.”

“Are you requesting full manifestation, voice only contact, or one knock for yes and two knocks for no?”

“Full manifestation please.”

“One moment please.”

With a twinkle of surprisingly girly lights and noise not unlike that of a microwave when it’s finished cooking, the spectral Boromir appeared in full song, swinging a mug of beer in a manner described either as carousing or ‘looking a complete twat’.

“Four and twenty virgins went up to Minas Tirith and when – Oh, hello.” Boromir dropped the ghost of the beer.

“Hello Boromir, no, doon here.”


“Yeah, you still remember me after all this time?”

“As if tha could forget ‘im after that business wi’t’Horn of Gondor.”

The spectral Boromir kneeled down, pulled back one arm and let fly with a punch that went straight through Pippin’s head and caused him to overbalance and end up face down on the floor with the two Hobbits standing in the middle of him. Boromir picked himself up, and realising that he would not be able to express his anger through his usual preferred method of extreme violence, would have to do it verbally.

“What the hell do you think you are doing with your lives? I died to save you and look at you, you’re spending eternity stacking shelves!”

Pippin jumped in, “We havnae been stacking shelves the whole time, we’ve done lots of other stuff.”

“Yes, I know. Following armies to steal the boots off corpses after battles, selling ‘souvenirs’ at public executions and that business in Moscow in 1812.”

“It wisnae oor fault. We were freezin’ oor dangly bits off, an’ decided to start a fire an’ Merry had stolen this lovely chandelier, an’ we were so distracted looking at how sparkly it was in the firelight that we didnae notice how big the fire had got until it was too late. We didnae know it would burn doon the whole city, and who builds cities entirely oot a wood anyway?”

Pippin’s little speech had not improved Boromir’s mood. He was trying to use psychokinesis to hit Merry over the head with a small porcelain dancing pig, but was just making the lights turn on and off disco style. Gandalf saw what he was trying to do and although there was little love lost between him and Boromir, there was even less between him and Merry and Pippin, so he used his staff to whack them both in the back of the knees so that they fell forwards through Boromir.

Merry shuddered. “It’s like walking through a carwash on a cold day.”

“When have you walked through a carwash on a cold day?”

“Never, I just think that’s what it’d feel like it.”

Pippin hit Merry. Not for any particular reason, just because Merry could be a real smug bastard when he wanted to, especially when he started getting metaphorical.

At this point Frodo came in from the kitchen. Saw Boromir, made a strangled cry and tried run for the sideboard but saw that Boromir was in front of it. He darted back towards the door to hide upstairs and ran straight into Sam and seeing no other option, wrapped his arms and legs around him, causing them both to fall over. Frodo began muttering, “Mine, not yours, mine.”

Boromir had a moment of confusion because he didn’t really have any designs on Sam, but then realised that this was one of Frodo’s flashbacks. “Sorry, should I go?” asked Boromir with uncharacteristic tact.

“I think that’s probably for the best,” said Sam from somewhere underneath Frodo.

Boromir turned round and tried to turn the spectral door handle which had just appeared. It didn’t budge. He tried again. And again. He banged the door with both of his see-through fists until an automated voice gave the following recorded message: “We apologise for the over-manifestation of this spirit. Due to engineering work he will have to remain in the mortal realm for one week. We apologise for any inconvenience and suggest that in the meantime he possesses a mortal body to prevent spiritual decay.”

Boromir looked at Gandalf. Then he looked at the Hobbits. He didn’t really like the idea of his spirit coming apart, but then he didn’t want it to be four feet tall with hairy feet either. Gandalf had a thoughtful look on his face, which was always a bad thing. Which was why it with incredible bad timing that Legolas decided to come into the room, having just got in from work. Gandalf waved his staff, grinned, and Boromir disappeared.

“It’s you…” Legolas was not impressed. When he had last seen Boromir, they had been in the middle of an argument, the one that no longer has cause and effect, or any kind of coherent reason, but is merely made up of personal insults. He couldn’t remember how it had started, possibly Boromir had said something about his mother, or maybe he had said something about Boromir’s mother. Or maybe his smell: if he hadn’t said something about that, he had definitely meant to.

Boromir wasn’t exactly happy with the arrangement either. “Gandalf, I want out!” he said in his own voice.


“You put me in here, you can get me out.”

“No, done magic, tired.” Gandalf sat back down in his chair, turned on ‘Countdown’ and recommenced snoring and drooling.

Legolas and Boromir attempted to give each other suspicious looks, which involved Legolas going cross-eyed in a very amusing fashion.

“I’m taking a shower,” announced Legolas.

“No we’re not.”

“Yes we are, just because you don’t know the meaning of the word ‘shampoo’ doesn’t mean that I have to smell like you do. Or did, deadboy.”

Legolas-Boromir retreated upstairs arguing with itself.

Aragorn arrived home some time later and was perplexed to find Merry and Pippin sitting outside the bathroom chanting ‘Legolas and Boromir sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G!’ while abuse was hurled out of the bathroom in voices which sounded suspiciously like those belonging to Legolas and Boromir.

Aragorn grabbed Merry by the scruff of the neck. “What is going on?”

“Put me down, it’s Pippin’s fault.”

Aragorn picked Pippin up by the scruff of the neck with his other hand. “I don’t want to know whose fault it is, I want to know what’s going on.”

Merry and Pippin looked at each other and decided it was best to go for the speedy truth. “We accidentally summoned up Boromir and got him locked out of the Halls of Mandos, so he’s stuck possessing Legolas for the next week. And we’re very sorry and have learned our lesson and promise never to do it again.”

At this point the bathroom door opened and Legolas-Boromir stepped out dressed in a pink fluffy bathrobe with bunny rabbits embroidered on it, which Boromir was objecting to.

“Only an elf would cross-dress getting out of the bath,” said Boromir’s voice.

“At least this is the only time I cross dress. I’ve heard things about you, you had quite a reputation in your company back in the old days.”

Aragorn was treated to the strange sight of someone trying to hit themselves and stop themselves at the same time. The hand trying to hit Legolas in the jaw succeeded and both voices simultaneously went “Oww”.

“What are you doing? We’re in the same body so if you hit me you hit yourself, borscht for brains,” said Legolas.

Boromir said nothing, but Aragorn thought he could see an internal battle going on as to whether eyes should be narrowed in anger or not.

“Ah, Aragorn, gone down a bit in the world in the last few centuries, haven’t you?”

“I thought you’d be the one to ask about ‘going down’, you kinky Hobbit lover.” Merry and Pippin had the decency to look ashamed.

Legolas-Boromir took a swing at Aragorn, but Aragorn ducked and their fist hit the wall.

“Would you just stop that!”

Aragorn sighed. Someone was going to have to deal with this if Legolas’ body was to survive the rest of the week and he had a terrible feeling that it was going to be him. “Get dressed, we’ll talk about this over dinner.”

Legolas-Boromir was late for dinner because of the argument over clothing. Boromir had taken one look at Legolas’ wardrobe and refused point blank to wear any of it and insisted that he would make the two of them walk around naked if Legolas didn’t find anything else for them to wear. In the end, they had looked through the bottom of Aragorn’s wardrobe for the clothes he hardly ever wore to find something suitably manly for Boromir to wear and had settled on a red checked lumberjack shirt and heavy work jeans, which, because they were about three sizes too big were held up by a belt with a huge buckle in the shape of the word ‘buffalo’.

When they appeared in the kitchen the entire fellowship began to laugh, even Frodo who was still having issues about the fact that Boromir was around so it was the high-pitched giggle of those not entirely in touch with reality and slightly muffled because he was still attached to Sam. They sat down at the table wearing a look of mutual annoyance.

“So, Boromir,” began Sam, trying desperately to break the tension with a little small talk. “What have you been doing with yourself since we last saw you?”

“I’ve been dead.” This avenue of conversation turned out to have a dead end, the pun very much intended, but this was one subject Boromir wasn’t keen to drop. “You could have kept in touch you know, invited me to some of your little reunions.”

“What reunions? That time we all ended up in the same dungeon during the Wars of the Roses was a coincidence, we weren’t even all on the same side.”

“Then how come you ended up in the same dungeon?”

“Most of us were fighting for the Yorkists, but Merry and Pippin were fighting for the Lancastrians, or to be more precise, following their army and pinching armour off the dead bodies and got caught trying to sell it back to the same side.”

Merry and Pippin nodded proudly. “We were camp followers.”

There was silence as the rest of the Fellowship gave them a very suspicious look. “Yeess,” said Aragorn. “Moving on…”

The Boromir-Legolas situation had to be sorted out so a parliamentary debate was held around the kitchen table, involving all the traditional name-calling and personal insults, but the hair-pulling was something they came up with themselves. It was agreed that Legolas and Boromir should do things by mutual consultation, except for when Legolas was at work, when he was to have full control; as a reward for his co-operation in this matter, Boromir would get to have a few drinks at the end of the week. Therefore it was with a sense of contentment that they settled down to an evening in front of the TV.

However, it didn’t last.

Aragorn looked down at his thigh. There was a hand on it, a distinctly elvish looking hand.

“Which one of you is doing…that?”

“It’s him!” answered two voices in unison.

Aragorn looked at them.

“Hey, I’m an elf, no sex drive, remember. And I’ve been sharing a room with you for years, if I wanted to do anything, I’d have done it before now.”

The Hobbits and Gandalf sniggered on the other side of the room.

“You’d believe him? He’s just using me as an excuse. Why would I want to try it on with the bastard who stole my father’s kingdom?”

“You know, this would be a lot more convincing if your hand wasn’t still on my leg, and stop… stroking. It’s really quite unnerving.”

From the other side of the room Pippin joined in with “Unnervin’s not the word Ah’d use.”

Aragorn lifted the hand and put it back in Legolas-Boromir’s lap. “Just stop it.”


The next morning Aragorn woke up before the alarm went off, stretched, and got out of bed to try and beat the usual rush for the bathroom. He looked over at Legolas-Boromir, then stared at them. They were sat up in bed, obviously still asleep, their hands curled protectively around a near-empty family size jar of sandwich pickle with a spoon sticking out, their face covered in it. Aragorn decided this must be one of those dreams when you thought you’d woken up, so he pinched himself. No, he was definitely awake. There was only one thing for it – get into the bathroom right now, so that he was in there when Legolas-Boromir woke up.


The week passed, and once Frodo had been convinced that now he was not in possession of… that thing, Boromir was not a threat, and by Wednesday he was back to as normal as he ever was. Although he did twitch slightly when he heard Boromir’s voice unexpectedly. It was now Friday and Boromir was in a good mood because he’d behaved himself all week when Legolas was at work, even when that school trip from the local girls’ school had attempted to hold him down and sexually assault him, so tonight he was going to get alcohol. Legolas was also in a good mood because he knew that, as an elf, he had an amazingly low alcohol tolerance and if anything embarrassing did happen, he would be completely unable to remember it.

Later that evening…

“Legolas, Boromir, don’t you think you should slow down a little on the drink? That is an elf body that you’re in Boromir.” Aragorn was feeling very, very sober in comparison to Legolas-Boromir.

“He doesn’t mind, do you Legolas?”

“Min’? Why shou’ I min’? Dad used to tell me ’bout these great parties Galadriel had…” Legolas dissolved into fits of giggles, muttering about shaved eyebrows.

Aragorn gave up. It looked like he was going to be the only one there who was reasonably sober, since the hobbits were under the table singing a combination of ‘ho ho ho, to the bottle I go’ and Abba Gold. They seemed to be well on the way to passing out. Gandalf had acquired a large bottle of Goldschlager and a straw in the shape of a pair of glasses. Gandalf was now drunk enough to be laughing and going “look, y’can see all the pretty gold bits going round and round and round…”

As Legolas-Boromir reached out somewhat shakily for their second bottle of beer, the telephone rang. Even when drunk Legolas-Boromir was faster than Aragorn.

“Helloooooo, Fellowship residence, second mos’ royal member, hee hee, of household speaking.” Aragorn attempted to get hold of the phone but was batted away.

“Arwen, heloooo.” At this point Boromir took advantage of Legolas’ drunken state and took over. “Little elvin whore wants a real man does she?”

There was a torrent of abuse down the phone. “Yes it is Boromir. You want to speak about maintenance payments? Well, I don’t think Aragorn’s capable of maintaining anything much.” Legolas giggled inopportunely. Aragorn considered this provocation enough for violence against both of them and slapped Legolas-Boromir to the floor. Aragorn tried to patch things up with Arwen, not helped by the fact that Legolas decided that this was the moment for drunken affection and was hugging his knees. Aragorn kicked him away; “I don’t care which one of you it is, anything more like that and I’m calling the police to arrest you for sexual harassment.”

Legolas-Boromir decided to look elsewhere. The only other person still conscious was Pippin, atop a heap of comatose hobbits under the table, singing ‘Mama Mia’, drunken falsetto ‘andante fortissimo’ and licking the last drops from a bottle of Midori. “Heey, luke at tha’ my thongue’ gone green” said Pippin, both slurring and attempting to talk and look at his tongue.

Legolas managed to focus. “Hehehehe! Pretty colours!”

Boromir slapped Pippin heartily on the back, very nearly causing him to throw up, but Pippin wasn’t prepared to lose alcohol that easily. “Remember the good old days?”

“Wha? When you were tryin’ tae kill Frodo in his sleep? Cos if ye’re tryin’ anythin’ li’tha the noo you’re gonnae have tae come through me.” Pippin pointed at himself while swaying, the jabs at his chest threatening to overbalance him. “And afore ye say anythin’ ah know, AH KNOW, it was you, tryin to cop a feel o’me in Lothlorien, taking advantage o’me bein’ depressed, ya perv. AND, AND, you were like, 40 and no’ married yet. That’s a wee bit suspicious if you don’t mind me sayin’ so.”

Boromir narrowed his eyes. “I do mind you saying that. Anyway, Aragorn was 90 and not married.”

“Yeah, but he had the elf bird wi’ the…” Pippin used international sign language to indicate ‘enormous bosoms’, “and the…” Pippin attempted to outline in the air the shape of a woman, but ended up with more the shape of an aardvark stood on its tail. Pippin attempted another obscene gesture, but succeeded only in slapping the unconscious Merry in the face. “Sorry pal.”

Boromir was not going to let this drop. “And how many children did you manage to have with your wife? One? And this from the enormously fertile hobbits. Oh, yes and named after my brother. I sodding well died to save you and you name your child after my pansy brother! Anyway, I call that suspicious.”

“You never met mah wife. After the honeymoon, Ah try anything more than a suggestive look and she slaps me. With rolling pin. Jus after me for the money. No’ as bad as Merry’ wife, she started that before the honeymoon.” Pippin stopped and looked slightly confused. “Least, tha’s wha’ he says. Tired. Sleep.” Pippin gently toppled forwards until he was lying on top of the hobbit heap.

Aragorn slammed the phone down. It was time to move on from the beer to the whisky chaser.


Some time later…

Aragorn and Boromir had moved on to large scale military anecdotes, interrupted by various inappropriate comments by Legolas, along the lines of “I used to have a bow an… arr… arrrr… arrrrrrr… pointy things. Kill orcs.”

Aragorn was in the midst of restaging the battle of Pelennor Fields on the kitchen table.

“An, an, if this beer boll is me, being all kingy,” Aragorn attempted to crown the bottle with an upturned bottle cap but failed. Aragorn looked round for more props “An if this toaster is the army of orcs.”

“Dead people. Were dead people.” Legolas managed to make a vaguely pertinent comment.

Boromir looked confused. “Dead people lying on groun’ or dead people stanin’ up and fightin’?”

“Fighty dead people.” Said Aragorn “This, this packet o’ Doritos, is dead people.”

“Can I have some Doritos?” asked Boromir.

“No! Are fighty dead people, can’t eat them. Now need Eowyn.” Aragorn looked for another prop. “An this, this,” Aragorn tried to squint at what he was holding.

Boromir helped him out “Unconscious hobbit.”

“Yeah, an this unconscious hobbit.”

Legolas interrupted. “Name’s Merry.”

“Ok, Ok, and this unconscious Merry hobbit is Eowyn.” Boromir didn’t like Eowyn. He didn’t like anyone who managed to out-butch him, and he really, really hated it that Eowyn managed this while still being a woman. Well, probably, most of the time, or at least his brother seemed to think so.

“He could be himself.”


“He was there. At battle.”

“Wasn’ that Pippin?”

“Dunno. Can’t tell difference.”


Some time even later…

The hobbits had regained consciousness and to some extent sobriety and were sitting on the worktop swinging their legs and drinking coffee. Very strong coffee. They began to notice something. Or rather and absence of something, or someone.

“Aragorn? Legolas? Boromir? Where’d they go?”

“Dunno, was unconscious.”

Pippin looked sidelong at Merry. “Merry, are you alright? Cos when Ah passed out Ah was on top of you, an’ when Ah woke up you wir oan the table. And Boromir…”

“Nothing happened. I’d know, even if I were unconscious.” Merry seemed very sure about this.

“So where are they then?” The question was at least partly answered by the noise drifting in from the garden.

“Firs’ I wass afrai’, I was pe’rified. Was thinkin’ how coul’ neve’ live withou’ you bymyside.”

The Hobbits followed the noise to its source, the back garden. Aragorn and Legolas-Boromir had their arms around each other’s shoulders and a half empty bottle in their free hands and were swaying. They had got to the classic point of singing and the three singers, even though they were sharing two bodies, couldn’t quite remember the right words, but all had their own ideas as to what they should be. As the singing descended into cacophony the neighbours started to come out of their houses to watch – they were as keen on a floor show as anyone, the only time anyone had seen the whole neighbourhood together was the night the local Spar shop burned down. Frodo looked thoughtful. He had a score to settle with Boromir (Boromir had saved Merry and Pippin, but had made no effort to save him, and anyway anyone who sacrificed himself for those two had to be really weird). He whispered his instructions to Merry and Pippin. So it would involve taking Aragorn and Legolas down too, but there was always going to be ‘collateral damage’.

The window of the Hobbits’ bedroom upstairs opened and there was the subtle click of a CD drawer closing. There was a pause and then the unmistakable sound of Donna Summers’ “Hot Stuff”. Frodo grinned horribly as he saw that his plan was beginning to work; Legolas-Boromir and Aragorn’s eyes lit up and they began to dance, Full Monty style. Or at least attempted to, sometimes it was a little difficult to tell, but he was fairly sure the neighbours were all getting the general idea. Frodo knew that the second part of the plan was also working when he looked up again to see Merry leaning out of the window, camcorder in hand.

Legolas-Boromir started to attempt to remove their clothing. This was somewhat more difficult for Legolas-Boromir because they were still wearing Legolas’ work uniform, which involved a waistcoat with far too many buttons. Aragorn had succeed in removing his shirt and was swinging it round his head to appreciative shouts from most of their female, and worryingly, one of their married male neighbours. In fact the number of neighbours had increased significantly, leading to suspicions that they had rung their friends while the entertainment was still at the Gloria Gaynor stage and several other camcorders were also in evidence.

Legolas-Boromir was still having his problems with the waistcoat, so Aragorn loosened Legolas’ tie and pulled the whole lot, tie, waistcoat and shirt, up over his head. And there was much rejoicing. Legolas-Boromir and Aragorn were dancing round, out of time to the music and attempting to be suggestive. Then it came to the chorus. They all attempted pelvic thrusts and all fell on their arses, but gamely got back up again and carried on doing it, only to fall on their arses yet again.

At this point Mrs. Wainthrop arrived and Frodo and Sam both tried to hide behind each other before deciding that discretion was the better part of valour and retired to watch the rest of the proceedings from an upstairs window. On their way in, they passed Gandalf on his way out to letch.

Mrs. Wainthrop was so angry she could not speak. She just stood there, pale and shaking with her lips disappearing into her mouth as she watched Legolas-Boromir take their trousers off and Aragorn attempt to do the same while lying on the ground. When Legolas-Boromir succeeded they toppled over to straddle Aragorn.

“Finally, King ‘f Gondor where he shoul’ be, or where I wan’ him t’ be…” leered Boromir.


The next morning the Hobbits were well into second breakfast when Aragorn and Legolas-Boromir finally came downstairs. They all looked more than a little worse for wear and headed straight for the kettle to make some coffee, but the Hobbits ignored them and kept on talking.

“Shall we go get Gandalf?”

“Nah, just leave him there a bit longer. We’d need Aragorn to drive to the police station anyway and he’s in no fit state to drive.”

“You know, I never thought Mrs. Wainthrop would actually call the police, I mean, she’s threatened to do it enough times before, but it’s never come to anything.”

“D’you reckon they’ll charge him?”

“Nah, he’s pretty good at acting respectable, he’ll get away with it. The worst that’ll happen is that he’ll get bound over to keep the peace, you know, if he does it again they’ll put in him jail?”

“Haven’t they done that to him before?”

“Yes, but that was when he was calling himself Mr. Merryweather, so it won’t be a problem.”

Legolas-Boromir sat down at the kitchen table.

“You know, I hate you even more than I did before, if that was possible. I’d hit you, but I think it’d just make me throw up again.” Said Legolas shakily as he lowered his head onto the table.

“Just because you’re a wussy elf and can’t hold your drink.”

“Who’re you calling a wuss? Which one of us is dead?”

Aragorn managed to look suspiciously at the Hobbits. “What’s that in the padded envelope?”

“Nothing.” The Hobbits all attempted to look innocent (a feat which seemed to defy the laws of nature in the case of Merry and Pippin).

“Didn’t you have a video camera last night?”


“You’re sending the tape to “You’ve Been Framed”, aren’t you?”

The authors appeared wearing ill-advised furry parkas, headphones and holding strangely shaped microphones stupidly close to their mouths, but the fellowship were too involved in their argument to notice this strange phenomenon.

“Good morning and welcome to 69 Waterton Crescent where the teams are warming up for the International Video in a Jiffy Bag Rugby Championship. Today’s competing teams are the Men of Gondor vs the Hobbits of the Shire warming up by having a screaming row (as recommended by physiotherapists and sports scientists everywhere). The Men of Gondor, are unusually for them, fielding an elf. What do you think about that Bob?”

“Well, normally that wouldn’t be allowed, but as he has been possessed by a Man of Gondor the international committee have decided to allow it, although it does put them at a considerable weight disadvantage.”

“Yes, Bob, but the opposing team are only four feet tall. It looks like they’ve finished warming up and they’re ready for the game.”

“It’s a good start into the scrum with Aragorn son of Arathorn going in for the attack to gain possession of the video. Great aggressive play there, well supported by Legolas.”

“Though the hobbits are holding their own in the scrum, the real weight of the team are Merry and Sam. Most promising for today’s fixture is the speed that Frodo can muster if he has a clear run; we hear he’s been training hard, running into sideboards.”

“There was talk of Harlequins wanting him as their winger…”

“Wait! Yes! The Video has been passed back and it’s the Shire in possession, Pippin making a run for the door, not quite as fast as Frodo but still a good start.”

“But in from the outside comes Legolas, I wouldn’t like to be in his position, he’s too wide to get him before he reaches the door.”

“Though Bob, there is the superior elven speed to take into account, and yes, he is right on Pippin’s tail at the foot of the staircase, but the hobbits are supporting each other well this morning, and Pippin passes to Sam before he’s tackled.”

“Legolas was committed to that tackle, so its up to Aragorn to slow Sam down, as the action moves out the front door and towards the halfway line. And yes, with a great burst of speed from the man of Gondor Sam is down! Aragorn has possession and passes to Legolas, but Pippin now sees he has a score to settle and both he and Merry are going for Legolas. Will the superior elven speed be enough?”

“No! Legolas is down. I see now what you mean Bob about the weight disadvantage. That simply would not have happened if Legolas had not been an elf.”

“It’s the Shire back in possession, and this is shaping up to be a great run from Sam, He’s already sidestepped Aragorn, but those of us who remember him playing when he was king of Gondor know he won’t give up that easily, and he’s tailing Sam.”

“No…wait…yes, yes, he’s tackling Sam!”

“Oh, that was a beautiful moment, a perfect sideways pass, one handed, from Sam to Frodo as Sam was being tackled. You don’t often see playing this good from the Shire.”

“Now it’s all up to Frodo for that final burst of speed to the post-box. We all know about this player’s problems, do you think he’ll be dealing OK with this sort of pressure?”

“Well, taking from his previous form in the quest to destroy the one Ring, Frodo can be relied upon to deliver the goods when it’s needed, especially when backed up by such a reliable player as Sam.”

“He’s a real team player isn’t he Bob?”

“Well, all the hobbits are, they’re coming up behind him for support, but wait, what’s this? It’s Aragorn son of Arathorn coming out of nowhere, and he’s closing the gap on Frodo.”

“There are the other hobbits though, level pegging with Aragorn, and yes, they appear to be trying to take him down before he reaches Frodo. Now that really is foul play, there should be a penalty awarded for that.”

“They are slowing him though, and we’re getting no signals from the referee, in fact there doesn’t appear to be a referee, and Frodo is nearly there, only a superhuman effort from Aragorn or Legolas could do anything.”

“They’re trying, but, but, Yes! Yes! The Video is in the postbox! A truly marvellous run there from Frodo, and a convincing win from the Shire. Some marvellous play.”

“Yes, but a very disappointing match for Legolas, what do you think went wrong there?”

“Well, it’s the issue of having two personalities controlling the one body, something that all professional sportsmen try to avoid; those split second decisions simply can’t be made by committee.”

“There is also the fact that one of the personalities is used to a much larger body.”

“Yes, and we can see that on the replay, when Merry and Pippin try and tackle him. Look here, you can see that he doesn’t see them as a threat because he thinks he’s got much more bulk than he actually has.”

“But overall a good game.”

“Great game, great game, and great result for the Shire; there’ll be the 200 quid from ‘You’ve been Framed’ for them in the very near future. For the Men of Gondor though, a result they’ll be hard pressed to recover from, especially when that’s shown on TV. A humiliating experience all round, and I think Boromir will be glad to retire again and return to the afterlife.”

“Well said. Well, that’s all from us, and it’s good bye from the house of the Fellowship.”

Authors’ note: Don’t say we never do anything for you. For true authenticity we watched the England vs Scotland 6 Nations Rugby on Saturday, and Lady Alyssa is Scottish and Random Flatmate is English. *Random Flatmate starts chanting under her breath triumphantly ’22-3, 22-3, 22-3′, and moves on to ‘swiiiiing loooooooow sweeeet chaaaaariot’. There is a thump as Lady Alyssa twats her one with a hardback copy of Lord of the Rings.* So if anything more is going to be written we’re going to have to start talking to each other again.