Are you excited?
I just had the most wonderful and groundbreaking idea! Why don’t I start my article by…discussing why I’m never motivated to write anything?! I’ve certainly never done that before. I proudly remain your #1 source of rehashing boring crap that everyone already knows and no one actually cares about.
52 words down, 2,448 to go…and that’s not counting this sentence.
Apparently, I’ve built up this excellent defense mechanism where I’m only mentally capable of writing when I feel like it. This includes as necessary (but not sufficient) the complete absence of anything else to do. I included the “but not sufficient” not merely to flaunt my grasp of high school science class vocabulary, but also because it’s true. Sometimes when I have literally nothing to do, I grab a pint*, turn on MTV, and sit there slack-jawed for half a day while Xzibit parades the same [censored] former police car in front of me for the seventieth [censored] time. I also can’t force myself to feel like writing, as the logistics of that would, by definition, involve circumventing the aforementioned restriction.
Don’t worry. That last sentence didn’t make any sense to me either. We’re still on the same page. Truth be told, what I was trying to say was, “If I could force myself to feel like writing, then that, de facto, means that I could write more frequently than ‘when I feel like it,’ e plurubus unum, or that I was only capable of forcing myself to write because I actually already felt like it, sic semper tyrannis, thus rendering any such sentence complete pointless. I failed while striving for elegant, polysyllabic pseudo-intellectual diction, which again, is groundbreaking territory for me.
It was very stressful for me to be afflicted with writer’s block since I had countless reasons to write a Pro Tour: London report. These were:
-the chance to gloat about my undeniable mastery
-getting paid to make fun of Matt Abrams
-a nagging editor
-keeping my name out there for the Magic Pro trading card selection committee to see
Alright, I guess “countless” means “four” nowadays, but I suppose that makes sense since people are considerably dumber and have much shorter attention spans. Who has the time to count to four? Not me! Pimp My Ride is on!
A few apologies are in order before I get to my little tournament report thingie. First and foremost, I would like to apologize for the first few paragraphs. I know they were poorly constructed and hard to read, but it takes me a little time to hit my stride. I’m not deleting them. You can skip over them. Actually, it’s too late for that if you’ve made it this far, and I knew that when I made the “suggestion.” I’m not crazy. I know what I’m doing.
Second, I would like to apologize for only writing four dailies. On the Thursday when I was supposed to write the Friday daily, I became violently ill from eating the Linguini alla Marinara y Salmonella that Ben Seck sent me by time-traveling carrier pigeon. I’ll be putting the finishing touches on that as soon as Matt Abrams wins a Pro Tour.
Speaking of winning the Pro Tour, I managed to get Chambers to agree to something if he accomplishes said feat. Most of you probably think that this
http://www.wizards.com/sideboard/images/JSS01/300.jpg
or maybe this one from the same event
http://www.wizards.com/sideboard/images/JSS01/258.jpg
is the cutest gamer picture in existence. This is simply not the case, for in the living room of his dad’s house, there is a picture of a six-year-old Chambers baking cookies. He’d be rather embarrassed if the picture got out, probably due in no small part to his recent acquisition of a certain diminutive moniker. [Baby Chamby is quite adorable, ladies. — Knut, filling in the blanks] However, he says I’m allowed to take it and show people once he wins a Pro Tour. I also planning on using the picture as the cover for my first album, tentatively titled The Adam Chambers LP.
As was the case before I won Ohio Valley Regionals in 2001, I was seriously debating quitting Magic in the weeks leading to Pro Tour: London. I feel the need to emphasize “seriously,” because, let’s face it, who amongst you hasn’t halfassedly threatened to quit Magic when you 4-2ed a PTQ or got screwed by a vindictive MODO shuffler? No, this time I meant it, because there was more at play than a lost match or two. I won’t bore you with the issues not related directly to Magic. I will, naturally, bore you with the ones that are.
First of all, in the past two years, I’d had maybe half a dozen good draft decks and maybe three weekends where I played competently. If you don’t believe me, read my San Diego report and count the Drill-Skimmers, or read my Worlds report and count the Sundering Titans or cards that simply don’t do anything. In my last three individual GPs, my combined record was 0-6, which helped steer my 2120 Limited rating afoul of the 1900 mark.
I also figured that I had outgrown Magic, but unlike certain other people who’d reached that point, I wasn’t making any money playing. This left me with little incentive to stay in the game. Furthermore, there’s a certain stigma to falling off the train, and I was in “danger” of doing exactly that. Sometime by the end of the year, I needed to muster a solitary point above the 2 you get for showing up; that’s just one Grand Prix Top 32 or one Pro Tour Top 128. That sounds like it’s easy enough to do, but then again, so does writing an article…
Evil: A Pro Tour London Report
by Tim Aten
Our story begins in the quaint lakeside village of Vermilion, Ohio. A lone butterfly wafts gracefully on the midsummer zephyr as squirrels chatter idly from the trees as if to inform the innocent world below that everything is in order. At the end of a driveway on Pineview Drive, two young children are at play. Today’s capricious agenda: unearthing a mailbox spike with the peen of an old hammer.
This is the residence of the younger child, a towheaded little whelp named Timothy. Inside, his mother reads a magazine in her room, incapable of knowing that she’ll soon be making a fated trip to the emergency room.
Um…
Yeah, see I…unnecessarily long flashback…and the…and then I…
So, okay, let’s pretend that didn’t happen and just skip ahead to July 2005. I invited Gadiel Szleifer, John Pelcak, and Adam Chambers over to my house for the week leading up to the PT. With some of the best gamers in the country present, I expected to get a lot of testing accomplished for London, the block constructed GPs, and Nationals. All I can say is, the rest of the country better hope that roller coaster riding and Domino’s Chicken Kicker eating aren’t the formats for Nationals this year. I don’t know why I ever expect to get anything done. I should be packing for my imminent relocation to San Diego, but instead I’m making iPod playlists, defeating 44-card decks in MODO 8-4s, and yes, typing up an article so bad that Ted’s sure not to bother me about writing until Matt Abrams wins a money draft at the earliest.
Gadiel was scheduled to fly to London with his family, so his spot in the crew that departed from scenic Cleveland was filled by one Cedric Phillips. Cedric very nearly decided against making the trip on several occasions. At first, it was uncertain whether he’d get parental clearance for the escapade. With only a few weeks to go before the Pro Tour, and after a phone call in which both of Cedric’s parents insisted on talking to me and making me promise I’d be responsible for their baby, Cedric was granted permission to go. Unfortunately, it was only then that he decided to set the wheels in motion toward obtaining his passport, so he wasn’t sure if it would arrive on time. He decided to buy his ticket to London anyway and hope for the best.
Then, on June 29th, Cedric was informed that he had been banned by the DCI… for something that happened eight months earlier. Yes, they decided that the best possible time to take action against Mr. Phillips (for something that doesn’t seem like a bannable offense, but that’s neither here nor there) was about ten days before a major event for which he was qualified, effectively maximizing the chances that a plane ticket would be purchased and go to waste. I’m not saying the DCI planned this out to spite Cedric, but c’mon. The day before the flight, Baby Chamby managed to convince Cedric to come along anyway, as his passport had arrived and he’d already paid for the flight.
On July 5th, at the Cleveland airport, the nice man behind the counter only gave us our tickets from Cleveland to Cincinnati, explaining that we’d be getting our tickets for the second, longer leg of the flight in Cincinnati. This seemed a little strange to me, but I didn’t think much of it… until the Delta worker in Cincy informed us that he had given our tickets away. Delta ended up having to suck up the loss and bribe other passengers to give up their seats, so this was little more than a minor annoyance.
The flight felt like it took about an hour and a half since Chambers kept me busy by demolishing me at Spades. I figured he would sleep through the flight, but he drank literally seven Red Bulls, so he was good to go. Exhausted, we arrived in London sometime after 8 a.m. and hopped on a train to the majestic Ibis Hotel.
One thing that bears mentioning at this point is the fact that, no, I wasn’t blown up on a train. Our flight was the day before the bombings, and the particular line we took wasn’t one of the targets anyway. Believe me, I’m even more disappointed than you.
I’m actually asphyxiating on exposition here, plus cohesion was never my strong suit, so I’ll wrap things up with a few pre-tournament anecdotes and… are you excited yet? … my Top Five Songs from London!
Chambers and Pelcak were very excited that the legal drinking age was 18 in England, even though, to my knowledge, neither one of them really particularly cares for alcohol.** They proudly imbibed the beverages as we walked down the street as Chambers kept excitedly chanting “Lon-Don!”
We did a 4on4 money draft when we got back to the hotel. Squads were Chambers, Pelcak, Cedric, and myself against Brian David-Marshall, Steve Sadin, some dude I’d never seen before, and some buffoon from Neutral Ground that apparently goes by the name “Glasses.” I’m not sure how one maintains such a nickname past the age of four. You’d figure people would pick a more distinguishing characteristic or opt out of that formula for nicknaming entirely. “Yeah, hi, I’m Glasses, this is my friend Brown Hair, and this is my other friend Proper Number of Teeth. Pleased to meet you.” Anyhoo, despite Cedric going negative 1 and 5, the rest of the team picked up the slack and we took ‘er down.
On the day before the Pro Tour, the non-Wizards event staff held free booster drafts from noon until 1 PM, at which time the price was raised to a meager 1 pound for the rest of the day. Seems like too good a deal to pass up, right? Everyone might as well play in as many as humanly possible because of a positive expected value, yes yes? Guess how many I played in. None. What’s more, my decision to abstain from these drafts was probably an important factor in my success in the actual tournament. More on that later.
I wore my Thursday shirt on Thursday. It was the first shirt I reached for in my bag, and when I saw it and realized what day it was, I started to put it back. Then I reconsidered, deciding that the cooler play is to not care whether or not it’s Thursday when donning the shirt of the band that shares the day’s name. Thoughts?
From his 10th story window, Mark Zajdner spotted Hans Joachim Hoeh walking on the street below. In a rare display of boisterous uninhibitedness (www.m-w.com says that’s a word), Mark decided to shout down at him: “HANS YEKKKIM HUUUGHH!!! HHANS YUCCKKIM HUGGCCK!! HAAAAANSSS YUUUCCCKIM HUUUUGGGHH!!! YOU ARE CUTS!” He may be an acquired taste, but man is Zajdner awesome.
Top Five Songs, London Edition
5. The Offspring “Worst Hangover Ever” — Ordinarily, I would just post my current top 5 songs of the week, but a few of the biggest songs for me in London weren’t current, this being one of them. On the Sunday night before our departure, Eugene Levin decided to get plastered, which is a spectacle to which mere words can do no justice. Just a few of the quotes from his drunken stupor were, “The food is hunnngry,” and according to Chambers, something along the lines of “If you guys were gay I’d be having a lot more fun right now.” Whatever that means. The next morning, Eugene was pleading with us to go to the store and get him some Tylenol (which he mispronounced as “alcohol” in his first attempt). There was no time for that before my flight, so I did the next best thing—played this song while I packed. It’s not what I’d call a “good” song (unlike, say “Can’t Get My Head Around You from the same CD), but it has its moments.
4. Fall Out Boy “Sugar, We’re Going Down” — This song is pointless. There’s nothing special about the opening, the drums suck, and I’m still trying to figure out what’s wrong with the dude’s voice. However, everyone ‘round these parts seem to love it, and it’s the second catchiest song I’ve heard all year. Even Chambers got hooked on it. Cedric is the key reason why the song made the list, though. Every time I saw him, I couldn’t help but think of his fondness for the song and some contrived parallels to the unfortunate events of June 29th. Sample lyric: “We’re goin’ down, down wurrawurriaround.”
3. System of a Down “Old School Hollywood” — The entire newest System of a Down album could not be more ridiculous. There’s only one song out of ten that could be described as “average.” “Old School Hollywood” made the list because of a peculiar defect of mine. Whenever I see a conspicuous word from a song I know, that song pops into my head. In London, we passed by the five star haven of culinary delights known as Hollywood Chicken and Ribs every day on our walk to the event site. I am a victim of my impulses. I’m not sure whether ridiculous lyrics such as “Tony Danza cuts in line” detract from or enhance your particular listening experience, but I strongly recommend this song.
2. Gwen Stefani “Hollaback Girl” — Is there anything about this song that needs to be said at this point? Basically, I hate Pharrell if he is in fact responsible for this, and I’m going to kill him. I don’t need to go into detail about Hollaback Girl’s awesome powers, although it bears mentioning that in addition to replacing instances of “Girl” with “Bearl” (which I sure as hell don’t do anymore), we’ve taken to replacing the “ess word” with “Jitte.” That’s the gaijin pronunciation, not the authentic one. “Jit,” not “Jee-tay.” Sample lyric: “Let me hear you say this JITTE is banonners, B-A-N-O-N-N-E-R-S.”
1. Interpol “Evil” — This song was in my head throughout the tournament for no reason whatsoever. Tragically, I didn’t have it on my iPod; fortunately, Kate Sullivan had it on hers, so I was able to get my fix whenever I needed it. I never used to like Interpol, as the dude’s voice is cree-py. It is creepin’ me out. Now, I love them. I actually went to Best Buy yesterday, bought the CD for way more than it would have cost me to buy all the individual songs via the iTunes store, and listened to “Evil” three times on the way home. I just couldn’t wait any more. I should know by now that I ride the wave of every fad in rock music, so I should never say I dislike anything since I’ll be singing along with it myself wurrawurriaround. You were right, Jill. You were right, Sigler. The tournament report is, naturally, titled in honor of this song. Nothing that happened over the course of the trip really synchs up with the song’s lyric or themes, which is bad times for a melodramatic bastard such as myself.
Some Other Songs I Been Feelin’ Lately
Mindless Self Indulgence “Stupid MF”
Letters to Cleo “Dangerous Type”
American Hi-Fi “The Art of Losing”
Blindside “Cute Boring Love”
The Raveonettes “Love In a Trashcan”
The Used “Lunacy Fringe” and “I’m a Fake” (Bert Rules Numba 1)
On the morning of the PT, Chambers, Pelcak, and I all donned our Taking Back Sunday shirts and met up with Matt Abrams, Carlos Zambrano, and Gadiel at the site. The whole t-shirt gimmick is a little stupid, but it hardly registers as embarrassing now that I’m used to it. People can grow accustomed to anything. There are a dozen or so Ohio gamers, as you may recall, that proudly refer to themselves as the Get Fresh Crew without batting an eyelash. What I’m trying to segue into with this tired rant is the whole “7 Kings” debacle. What is the deeeaaall with the 7 Kings? Did they decide that the Taking Back Sunday t-shirt was an incredibly stupid idea and that the only way to outperform us at the Pro Tour was to come up with something even more foolish? Nice shirts, guys, really. [The level of tacky that was reached by the seven wearing their “Underground” shirts the day after the bombings was rather astounding. I guess if one were completely oblivious, one would wear said shirts on Friday, but otherwise one would… well, generally not out of respect. —Knut, bashing friends for being dumb]
I didn’t mean to offend anyone with that last paragraph. I like most of the people associated with all three of those teams; heck, I’m even on one of them. All I’m trying to say is that we’re all giant dumdumheads. Er, I mean, we’re all a little too into the whole “team pride” scene. Or maybe not. Teams are nice.
I’m digging a nice, deep hole here, so let’s just get to my first draft pod, shall we? Next week, I swear on my life that I’ll have real segues.
That’s one of my little jokes.
Get it?
Pod One
1 Nguyen, Xuan-Phi
2 Levy, Raphael
3 Oosawa, Takuya
4 Zambrano, Carlos
5 Shimizu, Akihiro
6 McKenna, Patrick Sean
7 Aten, Timothy
8 Polgary, Mikael
There are a few people I know, and a few I don’t want to play. I don’t want to play Carlos since he’s on my squad, and I don’t want to play Raph since he’s an unmitigated master who I’ve never beaten. I don’t particularly want to square off against Takuya, as I had barely managed to go 50/50 against him at Worlds.
I flip through my first pack and notice only three cards that anyone would ever dream of first-picking: Moss Kami or Feral Deceiver (I forget which), Soratami Mirror-Guard, and Azami, Lady of Scrolls. I quickly decide that I would rather fight for Blue with the person on my left than start off the day with a stupid Green monster, so that narrows the pick down to the wwwyzzerds. Here’s where the self-doubt sets in. Personally, I’m leaning toward the Azami, but in my head, I picture how some of my friends would react to that pick. After all, Mirror-Guard wins games; Azami just kinda sits there. I even consider the mana costs; I think about how the Mirror-Guard isn’t a definite commitment to Blue since it could conceivably be splashed. That shouldn’t have been a factor, because splashing isn’t something you should generally do unless you think you’re severely outmatched. Only the most ridiculous of cards should be considered for a splash, like Meloku, Ghost-Lit Raider, or Vine Kami. I think the “hand size matters” theme was the last thing that went through my mind as I slipped the rare face-down in front of me and shuffled the other fourteen.
The next pick is a Consuming Vortex over another Moss Kami, which I have no problem with. My third pick is somewhat problematic, as I’m staring at a pack full of cards I’d rather be taking on the lap. My best options are literally Brutal Deceiver and Hundred-Talon Kami. Ultimately, I decide that Soulshift is too powerful to pass up, so I grab Hundred-Talonsworth. I had no way to deduce which colors were missing from the pack, but I figured that Hundred-Talonsworth was a clearer sign to go into White than Brutal Deceiver was to go into Red. Perhaps I should have considered Red’s relative strength when making my decision.
I pick up pack four and, lo and behold…it’s the exact same pack I just passed. I snatch up yet another Kami With Like Way More Than the Normal Number of Talons, resolving to fill out my curve with picks 5-45. Plus, you know, get some creatures with power greater than half their casting cost. If you examine the rest of the cards from Champions that ended up in my deck, you’ll find that neither of my dreams came true:
Azami, Lady of Scrolls (power/casting cost = 0)
Hundred-Talon Kami (power/casting cost = .4)
Hundred-Talon Kami (power/casting cost = .4)
Kitsune Diviner (power/casting cost = 0)
Kitsune Healer (power/casting cost = .5)
Harsh Deceiver (power/casting cost = .25)
I console myself with the knowledge that my deck couldn’t have been much better regardless of my color choices and hope that things pick up in the next few packs. My final product can’t actually be half comprised of twenty-third cards, can it?
I unsheath the next pack and examine it. Now I’m not one of those tools who treats the Betrayers pack like a $%&*ing Wonka Bar, pulling the last card out first to see if it’s a Jitte, or maybe raising it a little bit to see if it’s an artifact and if it is seeing if it costs two, or intentionally slowrolling the rare to maintain the glorious yet dreadful suspense. I just open the stupid pack and look through it normally, unless it’s a money draft, in which case consider me Charlie *%^&ing Bucket. The point is, if it’s there, it’s there.
And…
It’s…
there!
UH-HUH, THIS MY JITTE! ALL THE GIRLS STOMP YOUR FEET LIKE THIS!
Barring the Saviors testing on MODO beta, I had never opened a Jitte, and I had opened quite a few Betrayers boosters. One of my little “jokes”*** was that maybe I’d just open five consecutive Jittes in London to make up for lost time. As much as I hate to ruin the suspense, and as much as you’ll hate being unable to discredit my finish as entirely luck, this was my only Jitte of the weekend. The only two people to get five Jittes in London were Eugene Harvey and Steve Sadin.
I round out the Betrayers pack with a Waxmane Baku, a Ninja of Deep Hours, and nothing else. I did pass two Torrent of Stone, though. Huzzah. I’d like to say that Saviors went better, but as you’ll soon see, it didn’t. If ever there were a deck a Jitte couldn’t save, it was this one.
London Draft #1 Deck
Kami of False Hope
Kitsune Diviner
2 Araba Mothrider
Inner-Chamber Guard
Floodbringer
Rune-Tail, Kitsune Ascendant
Waxmane Baku
Shinen of Stars’ Light (?)
Ninja of the Deep Hours
Kitsune Healer
Moonlit Strider
Harsh Deceiver
2 Hundred-Talon Kami
Torii Watchward
Azami, Lady of Scrolls
Hail of Arrows
Indomitable Will
Consuming Vortex
Umezawa’s Jitte
Toils of Night and Day
Terashi’s Grasp
9 Plains
7 Island
1 Cloudcrest Lake
Unfortunately, I only drew the Jitte during one match. Fortunately, hidden somewhere in the depths of that cesspool was another card capable of turning the tide of a match almost all by itself. See if you can figure out what it is.
I was pretty pleased to get the Araba Mothriders, as I figured my only shot of winning was to equip a quick evasion creature with Jitte. They make somewhat better targets than, say, Azami or Diviner. Or Inner-Chamber Guard. Honestly, nice deck.
I played the Terashi’s Grasp maindeck because it just seemed to me that there were dozens of targets for it floating around the table, and I was correct. It would not prove to be a dead card in any of my matches; in fact, I sided in Quiet Purity during round three.
My logic behind playing Toils of Night and Day over the various options in my sideboard (namely, Heart of Light and Kitsune Dawnblade, a much-needed 2/3 for five mana) was that it could provide respite for a key turn in a race situation. Just imagine—your opponent announces his attack step, expecting to win that turn with a Moss Kami and a Forked-Branch Garami, only to have them locked down by a surprise Blue instant. Then you untap and swing with all four of your creatures unimpeded. Your opponent takes 5, dropping to 12, and kills you the next turn. No no seriously, nice deck.
I maintain that the packs were shady, and I had no way of knowing what colors I “should have” been until it was too late. It just so happened that LCG’s buddy to my right was taking White cards throughout pack one. If I had taken Green cards and Brutal Deceivers, my deck may have been playable. Sometimes drafts just go badly, I guess, but since that seems to happen 95% of the time with me, maybe I just don’t have the first idea what I’m doing.
I try to get Cack to hold my Jitte for awhile for good luck, but he casually refused, so I contented myself with rubbing it against Gadiel’s head. I don’t actually believe in superstition, but it’s fun to pretend…just like I like to pretend my life has some value to coax myself out of the bed in the morning.
Round One vs. Mikael Polgary (G/B)
Mikael is from the coolest country on the face of the earth, Sweden. I totally have to move there. We played at the last booster draft PT in San Diego and I gave him a thorough thwomping. Despite having won a Grand Prix and having a nearly 2100 Limited rating, he didn’t really seem like the toughest opponent.
Game One: My hand seems somewhat playable, albeit a little land heavy and lacking in creatures. When he plays a Matsu-Tribe Sniper on turn 2 or 3, he’s effectively nullified all my ways to win except the Jitte. He’s “stalled” on four land for a little while, meaning that when he draws his fifth, he’s gripping a lotta buncha spells as his Okina Nightwatches do me in. My hand at the end of the game was 2 Araba Mothrider, Hundred-Talon Kami, and four land.
Game Two: See game one. No, really, it was eerie.
0-1
I take my loss like a man, telling myself that I was a little unlucky, but also that my deck is simply atrocious. I still hold out hope of drawing Jitte as I eagerly await the new pairings.
Okay, so that didn’t happen. Let’s see if this paints a more realistic picture.
I’m rather frustrated that I haven’t been able to deal a point of damage since Grand Prix: Chicago. When I finish getting my skull caved in by Gnarled Masses, I check on the status of my teammates. Carlos Zambrano, who I predicted would go 5-1 or 6-0, lost. Gadiel won. Chambers won. Abrams… won. Pelcak got a bye. Visions of sitting on the sidelines alone**** danced through my head. Cue the Green Day.
Nobody likes you
Everyone left you
They’re all out without you
Having fun
Not only did I lose, but I lost with a $%^ing JITTE in my deck. Granted, I didn’t draw it, but that does little to abate the ignominy. I knew my deck was a fly-infested clump of cat feces, but I still whined like the little girl I am that if I didn’t 2-0 the remainder of the pod with it, I was going to quit Magic.
Chambers was unfazed by this claim, as he knows that I know that we know that everyone knows it’s an asinine thing to claim. “I’m quitting Magic” has joined the proud ranks of “I’m going to jump off a cliff” and “I’m sooooooo unlucky” as worthless, meaningless, and I daresay detestably bratty phrases that everyone knows well enough to disregard. Pelcak and Gadiel simply didn’t believe me, but the poor California kids seemed genuinely concerned.
I borrow Kate’s iPod for three minutes and thirty-seven seconds and have a nice sulk.
Round Two vs. Sean McKenna (W/B)
Sean is Lucas Glavin’s associate who cut me worse than a Goth girl’s arms during the clockwise packs. He seemed like a very nice guy who meant it when he apologized for how the draft went, and well, we all know the Rounders quote about nice guys and playing cards and “the rake” and insisting on calling it luck and check-raising tourists and Christy Turlington and God do I ever hate that movie and poker and how I’ve succumbed to it just like I did with the Fall Out Boy song and Pogs and every other trend that sweeps throughout the country.
Game One: I don’t remember too many of my early plays, other than that they weren’t impressive. Given my decklist, I’d say that’s fairly intuitive. I do remember Mr. McKenna’s plays, however. On turn 3 he plays a Nikko-Onna, following that up with an Eiganjo Ruff Rydaz. On turn 5, he bounces the Nikko-Onna, attacks for three, and plays a Kami of Tattered Shoji. On turn 6, he bounces the Tats, attacks for three, and drops a Samurai Enforcers. On turn 7, he bounces the Samurai Enforcers. Meanwhile, there’s nothing I can do about a simple 3/ 4 flier that prevents its controller from developing his board. Eventually, he finds something smaller to gate with the Ruff Rydaz and adds a Mothrider Samurai to the fray. I manage to clear those away with my Hail of Arrows, but I’m in a bit of a bind when the Enforcers start swinging. I’ve lost at least three quarters of my life, and my Moonlit Strider, Kitsune Healer, and Harsh Deceiver seem paltry compared to, well, pretty much everything. After being forced to sacrifice Strider to get back Kami of False Hope simply to avoid dying, the game has reached the point where I have one turn to draw Jitte. I peek at the top card with Harsh Deceiver and it’s… It’s…
UH-HUH, THIS MY JITTE! ALL THE GIRLS STOMP YOUR FEET LIKE THIS!
I’m a little worried, since I only have a few creatures, and his are bigger than mine, and in short, while keeping me alive for at least another turn or two, the miracle topdeck may not be enough to win the game. I remember being forced to use the life gain ability a few times, but the turn before I would have lost even with Jitte in play, I swung with a Mothrider and pumped a few times to earn the concession.
Game Two: This game was smooth sailing, especially relatively speaking. Sean plays a turn 1 Isamaru and turn 2 Kuro’s Taken, but I trump them both with an Inner-Chamber Guard as I gaze confidently at the equipment in my hand. I don’t recall what he spent his mana on, but on my next turn, his only untapped permanents are the Hound and the Rat Samurai. I attack with Inner-Chamber Guard. He debates my motives aloud, ultimately deciding that I may very well have a Nanja and it may very well be in his best interest to double block. Hm. I hadn’t considered the possibility of a double-block. That would actually wreck me, as I’d be trading off a creature that effectively held off several 2/2s for just one of said 2/2s. Fortune smiles upon me as he decides at the last minute to simply let the Guard through, and naturally I Nanja him. A few turns later, I attack into his Eiganjo Free-Riders and Kuro’s Taken with my Nanja of the Deep Hours and Waxmane Baku. I had drawn Indomitable Will and planned on saving Waxmane Baku with it if he decided to block both my creatures. He opts to block just one. Was it the one that, if unblocked, frequently allows its controller to draw a card? No, it was not. I Will the Baku to keep it alive, peel for my Nanja, and pass the turn. When I play and equip Jitte the next turn, Sean wastes no time in extending the hand.
1-1
I’ve regained some of my confidence, and I gloat to Gadiel about the match that I won solely because I opened the most coveted rare in the format. I tell everyone else that I lost. I’m not sure why I do that.
Round Three vs. Raphael Levy (G/U)
And here’s where our whimsical journey ends, I told myself. His deck is probably ridiculous, and I probably won’t draw my Jitte. Why couldn’t I have been paired against someone else?
Game One: I mulligan into five lands and Inner-Chamber Guard. That’s a keeper if I’ve ever seen one. His only action in the first five turns is a Gnarled Mass that simply can’t attack, and I actually draw several spells in a row. I’m pecking away in the air for a few points a turn, but Raph eventually plays Jetting Glasskite and beats me to death with it.
Game Two: I curve out beautifully this game with a turn 1 Kitsune Diviner, turn 2 Floodbringer, turn 3 Rune-Tail, and turn 4 Kitsune Healer. What an aggressive strike force I’ve assembled! I realize that despite the defensive nature and overall worthlessness of my squad, my only chance of winning was to treat them like Battle-Mad Ronins. Raph plays a turn 1 Child of Thorns. On his third turn, he declares an attack; I make the professional play of opting not to tap it. When he plays a Gnarled Mass after combat, I tap it so Rune-Tail can get his beat on. Raph manages to stabilize at about 8 life, but he can’t attack me because of my super secret hidden combo: Rune-Tail and the Healer. That’s right, boys, he’s indestructible. Raph starts to flood at a crucial point in this game, and I somehow manage to chip away the last of his life. I looked at my decklist just now in an effort to remember what I could have drawn to break the stalemate, but nothing’s coming to mind. I must have drawn a Hundred-Talon Kami and smashed him with that while keeping his Blue Shinen at bay with Diviner.
Game Three: Raph’s start is slow, while I play a turn 1 Kitsune Diviner and turn 2 Araba Mothrider. On turn 3, I tajooordan the Ninja of the Deep Hours off the top, attack with both my guys, and replace the 0/1 with the 2/2 Ophidian. I replay the Diviner and soon add Waxmane Baku and both Hundred-Talon Kamis to the fray. My deck was firing on all cylinders this game, boy howdy. By the end of the game, Raph has summoned Shinen of Flight’s Wings and not one but two Jetting Glasskites, but they’re a little late to the party. Kitsune Diviner and Waxmane Baku work together to clear a path for a lethal alpha strike.
2-1
Intermission: Trivia and SGF
In my continued efforts to keep my writing style disjointed and schizophrenic, I have decided to eschew any further played-out transitions about my mindset in favor of extras like one would typically find in my “Post Signoff Bonuses.” We’ll start with some trivia about the members of Taking Back Sunday. Answers are at the end of the article.
Who are the two money draft teammates with whom I’ve had the most success?
What song does Adam Chambers use as his ring tone? BONUS: What song plays when a new message has been added to his voice mail?
Why is Matt Abrams such cuts?
What was strange about Carlos Zambrano’s attire the first time I met him?
What is Andrew Pacifico’s favorite sleep aid?
What’s Rasmus Sibast’s nickname?
No, seriously, why is Xeracy such cuts?
If Xeracy were a woman, to whom would he be married?
Who are the two nicest people on Taking Back Sunday?
True or False? Gadiel’s mom is a MILF.
I clearly don’t know much about fashion. Three seconds in my presence will alert you to that choice piece of information. However, Chambers and I have noticed a certain appalling trend in appearance enhancement that we point out to one another every time we spot it. This particular fashion statement has been utilized in the past, and during any given year a few brave souls decide to run it, but this year in particular, it seems to be back with a vengeance. The phenomenon to which I refer often seems to be as notorious an indicator of a certain “lifestyle preference” as rainbows, pink triangles, or calling Justin Timberlake “J.T. Lake.” The phenomenon to which I refer is a senseless crime against humanity. The phenomenon to which I refer is…I shudder even as I type this…Sunglasses on the Forehead, or SGF. Technically, I suppose, it’s actually “Sunglasses Perched Atop the Head,” but SGF is the shorthand we’ve been using.
Do people think this makes them look cool? Do they think it looks stylish or European or something? And if you’re one of the offenders, don’t bother trying to explain it away with something like “I need a place to put them when I’m not wearing them.” It’s called your “car.” It’s called your “pocket.” You’re not putting them on top of your head out of convenience, since it couldn’t possibly be convenient to feel a thin frame of plastic or whatever on your head at all times. Isn’t it enough that you wear trendy clothing and play poker and go tanning and listen to the Killers? Seriously, what are you trying to prove? What’s the next step in looking completely ridiculous? Are we going to witness the triumphant return of mutton chops? Facial glitter, perhaps? How about those little plastic spider rings you can buy at the arcade for 5 Skee-ball tickets?
As you can tell, what kills me more than anything is that it’s a deliberate act. Looking stupid is one thing—I do it all the time—but making a conscious decision to make yourself look stupid, well…that defies all logic. I wonder if these people spend several minutes in front of the mirror adjusting their SGF to the desired tilt. I imagine some of them do.
Just remember, before you lift those sunglasses past your line of vision…you don’t want Chambers giggling at you. Even if he likes you, he won’t be able to help himself. If I saw Bert McCracken himself with SGF, I would throw away both my Used CDs. Of course, I’d say there’s a good chance Bert knows better.
Okay, it seems as though we’ve run out of time for this week. I somehow managed to spew so much gibberish and fluff that I only covered three rounds of actual Magic. Next week, expect a no-nonsense rundown of rounds 4-15…or maybe a some-nonsense rundown of rounds 4-12…well, maybe I’ll get to round 8. Cross your fingers.
Tim Aten
Taking Back Sunday
President of the Morgan Douglass Fan Club
Easy Target on Modo
loaf_Dog on PartyPoker
[email protected]
*of Ben and Jerry’s, obv
**At the time, anyway. Pelcak is now a raging alcoholic.
***more an “oft-repeated statement” than a “joke” really
****Well, Cedric would be there too ROFL.
Answers to the Trivia:
There are two people I’ve money drafted with four or more times against opponents of varying difficulty and won every single time: Gadiel Szleifer and Gerry Thompson. In London, Gadiel, Mike Krumb and I drafted against Gab Nassif, Amiel Tennenbaum, and Jeroen Remie. I’m sure to talk more about that draft next week, but my deck and Krumb’s were both terrible, yet we somehow managed to start off 4-0. Four matches later and the score was 4-4. Fortunately, Gadiel’s a clutch little [censored], so we nimbly evaded the dreaded 4-0 0-5. One time, both Gadiel and Gerry were on my team, and I went 0-3, but we still won.
Chambers’s ring tone is 50 Cent’s “In Da Club,” and the voice mail indicator is Kellis’s “Milkshake.” Chambers is cooler than you. Chambers is cooler than everyone. I defy you to name anyone white who’s cooler than Chambers.
Not only does Carlos Zambrano also have a lip ring, and not only is his lip ring on the left side like mine, but when I met him in Detroit, he was wearing the same Taking Back Sunday t-shirt I had on. This, by the way, was before the team even existed. Eerie.
THE AMBIIIEEENNNNN YAAAAAAAUUUUSSSSSS
Rasmus is better known as Uter, or “Big Oots.”
Matt Abrams is currently saving up for “the operation” so that he and Sam Stein can be joined in eternal marital bliss.
Two of the nicest people you’ll ever meet in your life are Don Smith and Matt Schmaltz.
True. Gadiel’s mom is in fact a MILF.