With their low centre of gravity ["Oi... wazh dis 'Lwow'?"], and the tendency of the middle ranks to sneak away from their positions, scramble through their comrades legs and snap at your toes and ankles, the Durulzian team is always a good long odds bet for competitions. And their constant loud bickering and poor, misguided squawking attempts at motivational tactics* tend to put the opponents off even more than the ducks...
"Wonn, two... PWUSH!"... "No, Thwee! We sed we pwush on THWEE!"..."Pwush! PWUSH!"... "I AM PWUSHING!"..."Ya still didden count ta thwee"..."Sir, Can I leave da wanks... I need a pwiddle..."... "Why da hell didden ya go befwore we started pwushing?!"
And you try keeping your composure against duck barracking tactics. Fed up with the food jokes, veteran duck shield pushers have started fighting back. I challenge anyone to remain unperturbed by the sexual advances of a duck...
Big stoopid hwooman: "Heh... what do you prefer, featherball... frying or
roasting?"
Cigar-smoking Duck: "Yah can woast me any time, bwig bwoy! Nice cwalves! Can
I wub me fwippers against em? Ooooh, what number twent are ya in?"
Big stoopid hwooman: "Urgghhhh... ARRGGGHHH! Get orfff!"
Big stoopid hwooman's captain: "Keep the line, damn it! Keep pushing!"
Big stoopid hwooman: "I can't help it sir... URRGH! He's bloody sick, he is!
It's just not natural!"
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