Vindictus watched from his perch as the students arrived, read his warning signs, and grabbed a broom. Now it was time for the torture fun to begin. He pulled out his wand and pointed it at his throat.

Sonorus!

"Back in days of yore," he began in a booming voice, "Only the most brave and talented fliers would risk their lives for a broom game. For an old Gaelic poem tells us of the tragedy that surrounded this ancient game."

He cleared his throat.

"The players assembled, twelve fine, hearty men.
They strapped on their cauldrons, stood poised to fly.
At the sound of the horn they were swiftly airborne
But ten of their number were fated to die."

Vindictus stopped and flashed his award-winning smile.

"Who can tell the class what game I'm referring to?"