The outlook wasn’t brilliant for the triple J’s that night,
Their draft sets were exhausted, with no chance of help in sight.
And so when many sharks sat down, surrounding each good man,
A pall-like wave of pessimism was felt throughout the clan.
A straggling few logged off, their hopes extinguished, but the rest
Crossed their fingers and went on, joining queues with zest,
They thought”If only Casey would log on and take a seat,
we’d run the eight-four all night long and never see defeat!”
But Tait proceeded Casey, and so too did JoshR,
And the former was quite awful, though the latter was a star,
So inside the silent chat room, a defeatist mood was found,
They’d have to win a couple sets, before Casey’d come around.
But Tait did draft a solid deck, much to everyone’s surprise,
And JoshR, facing certain doom, ripped Dirge of Dread to mise;
So after each triumphant split, the prize was divvied out,
And from the chat room of the clan, came a triumphant shout.
From Burlington to GTA, from Guelph to Waterloo,
It rattled all things digital, and all things solid too,
It clattered keys in Sarnia, smashed screens in Halifax,
For Casey, mighty Casey, had shown up to bum some packs.
There was ease in Casey’s typeface as he bogarted a set,
His rating: Nineteen-hundred, how much higher would he get?
And when the room grew silent as he sat to show his craft,
No grifter in the crowd could doubt ’twas Casey at the draft.
The first pack came and Casey saw that Rorix was his pick,
And then he grabbed a Sparksmith, for it seemed the red was thick,
So when he windmill slammed his mouse to yank a Brackus third,
The very thought he’d lose a game seemed palpably absurd.
Then a fourth-pick Gourna came a’ hurtling from the left,
But after that of green cards mighty Casey felt bereft,
He got double Charging Slateback, but now white was being fed,
“Ain’t my style,” said Casey.”I’ll just stick with taking red.”
And so the Onslaught pack did pass, and so too did the next,
the Legions pack was cracked but Casey didn’t look perplexed,
Confidence was on his brow, his will was hard as stone,
And when he spoke about his picks no doubt was in his tone.
With smiles to rival sunrise our man Casey did complete,
his draft of forty-five fine cards with which he would compete,
He messaged all his clanmates with a tale of goodly news:
“My deck is gas, my deck is nuts, there’s no way I can lose!”
With a grin of Christian charity did Casey start the Round,
but in his first array of cards, no lands were to be found,
and so when Casey sent them back, and once again had none,
he had to keep a hand of five…the match was soon 0-1.
“Fraud!” his clanmates clamored, and the echo answered”Fraud!”
“The shuffler is responsible, it’s obviously flawed!”
But Casey simply shook his head, absolving MODO’s blame,
“My deck is sick,” said Casey,”He won’t win another game.”
The sneer was gone from Casey’s lip, his eyes tense and alive,
Game 2 he mulled, and it would be sure death to go to five!
The shuffler holds his six-card fate, and now it lets them show,
And now the air is shattered by the force of Casey’s blow!
Oh, somewhere in this favored land the sun is shining bright,
Luck does not decide the game, and players keep it tight,
And somewhere skill is all that counts, and peeps win thirty grand,
But there is no joy on MODO – mighty Casey’s drawn no land.