At a hastily assembled press conference, the Goblin Council of Elders addressed the accusations of necromancy and corruption surrounding Blaseball's return. Its three senior members, Elders Gnarltooth, Fungella and Gurglax, denied any involvement and blamed their youngest colleague, Elder Gurglesnot the Great, the Council's resident êwklepth.
"While we cannot speak to the specific circumstances of Blaseball's return," Elder Gnarltooth sputtered, adjusting his ceremonial robes, "we can categorically state that the three of us have never engaged in any form of necromancy. We have a clean record, a spotless reputation and an unwavering commitment to the laws of nature, most of the time."
"The very idea that we would dabble in the dark arts is preposterous," said Elder Fungella. "We are paragons of virtue, beacons of wisdom and, well, we occasionally enjoy a fermented mushroom or two, but that's beside the point."
Elder Gurglax was more direct. "Let's be honest, folks," he said with a shrug. "Gurglesnot is a weird little critter with a penchant for cryptic prophecies and spontaneous transformations. It wouldn't surprise me if they summoned Blaseball by accident while teething on a cursed artifact."
The elders then presented their evidence: blurry security footage of Gurglesnot playing with a Ouija board made of teething biscuits, a suspiciously charred spell book recovered from the crib, and a crayon drawing of a baseball diamond surrounded by tentacles and eyeballs.
GNN, eager to avoid further scrutiny of its own Blaseball ratings, has embraced the Council's account and launched a series of "investigative" reports in which experts confirm that babies are capable of anything.
The public is divided. Conspiracy theorists such as Gnargleboggle the Skeptical are having a field day, describing secret rituals and a shadowy cabal of elders pulling the strings. Gurglesnot, asked for comment, sneezed.
