Per usual, I’ll take about ten pages to”introduce” the report, which basically means that I read the net and get pissed about stuff people write or just people that I run into in life or traffic or taxes or whatever and open Wordpad and type some stuff and save it and repeat again the next day.
There were five instances of”and,” and four of”or” in the above paragraph, with no commas to separate them. I did it on purpose. So there.
And then I come home after an eighteen-hour festival at the PTQ and write the match reports while zonked off my ass at four in the morning and try to be clever by linking the whole friggin’ article to one catchy phrase that I use for the title.
After reading this article three or four times – and spellchecking it, which is about the most sickening thirty minutes a human can spend – I am still clueless on the”clever title” thing. Perhaps I should take the easy way out and simply give my column a name. Yeah, that’s what I’ll do.
But when I’m”proofreading” (heh, that’s worth a LOL!), I often drop random paragraphs up in here from out of nowhere. Thus, I even confuse myself.
Mouth is writing for CCGPrime. Props to anyone who could’ve possibly seen that coming.
“Are Type 1 players elitist?” was a sidebar topic on the Star City list for a day or two, but I declined to comment, since I figured that if I can’t even play it, putting in a few cents would be less than Jake and more than a little but funny.
Darren Di Battista implied, nay pretty much stated as fact (in two separate articles in two days, no less) that he was responsible for the restriction of Fact or Fiction in Type 1. While there are only five known Type 1 players on Earth, from the tone of his articles it does appear that Darren just might be an elitist. Sorta. Kinda. Barely.
Since Darren single-handedly, with no other outside influence, all by his lonesome, grass-roots campaign style, using Mafioso-enforcer approved intimidation techniques, got Da Facts banned in Type 1, I figured he’s the guy (a genie in a bottle, if you will, so long as you rub him the right way) to ask for favors.
Think you could write Rosewater a letter or two to get Wizards to stop making crappy rares? Or at the very least, insure that every pack I bust has a Bombay rare? And give me two to three hundreds points on my rating? And get a Pro Tour in Standish, Maine? And get me byes into the Top Eight? And get Garfield to do my taxes? And get me a harem? Or at least Becky, J to the mother freakin’ ill and Beyonce, with Janene Garafalo chain-smoking and operating the camera?
Dude, thanks much in advance.
It seems that lately I feel very little responsibility to”take it easy” on anyone. There are no sacred cows in the community (except Darren) and to think that some of us (me included) were fooled into believing that there were is simply a testament to the gullibility of the human form.
Man, we’re some stupid ass animals, ain’t we?
Thus, feel free to slam on Scott Panzini – he’s the famous”some kid” from the Torment Prerelease.
“Alex remains calm throughout and says something along the lines of”my rating is almost 1800,” to which [Scott] laughs.”
Let’s take a look at Scotty’s ratings…
Limited – 1796
Constructed – 1841
Composite – 1818
Tip: Unless you’re over 1900 in all ratings categories, quit thinking you’re good. And even then, it’s quite possible that you suck.
On my bad hair days (hey, a joke), I often think about becoming what I hate. First, I’ll play only Net Decks, and only then the most widely agreed upon best versions. Secondly, I’ll be a cocky prick, and only then to the scrubs and new players, while kissing the ass of pro or almost pro players. Thirdly, I’ll cheat my ass off. I guess I could ignore any and all emails from anyone who isn’t on the gravy train as well.
I bet I’d be a really good jagoff. No, I would be a really great jagoff.
I’ve finally found my niche – Magic-playing scumbag!
I could sit down to play round one, mumble a”sup?” or nothing at all when my opponent said hello… I could barely acknowledge their existence when playing except for saying”done”… I could lawyer them into oblivion and use phrases like,”you took your hand off that land – you can’t take it back”… I could get used to calling a judge at the slightest provocation (or none at all)… I could chat with my buddies while playing and virtually ignore my opponent… And when I won the match, I could give a limp-wristed”you’re not worth a firm handshake, loser” move and get up from the table without a”good luck the rest of the way” or such… Then I could run to tell my buddies how bad that guy sucked.
And how we’d laugh. Maybe I could even trade him my 6th Edition Goblin King for a Finkel.
If I happened to lose, I could bitch about how lucky my opponent was and how manascrewed or -flooded I was. Because, of course, that’s the only possible way I could lose. Those excuses are sounding sexier than a bagful of battery operated vaginas.
“I’d hate to see you in one of those everyday ordinary situations that calls for a battery-operated vagina and you not have one.”
-Joaquin Phoenix, 8mm
Please don’t edit that out chief, ’cause it’s some kind of funny. But he probably did. (No, and sadly enough, I’ll probably get complaints – The Ferrett, who firmly keeps StarCity a family-oriented site, except for when someone makes me snarf milk out my nose)
Dude, being a”good player” sounds like fun, doesn’t it?
Just like the writer kid in”Almost Famous,” I am the enemy – I write what I see. Before I move along into a new chapter of life sans Magic, I think I’ll point the spotlight on the jagoffs, and if I wander down the path of the scumlike, then so much the better. Right? Perhaps I can make a contribution to this game after all. Maybe.
Yes, you could say that I still can’t comprehend the Prerelease scene of tribal stoning.
Blast from the past:
When I announced that I was moving to Maine and would be playing at Boston area PTQs, more than a few peeps wrote me with a heads up: there are a lot of punk-ass jagoffs that play in the Boston area.
I’m usually one to take such heads up with a grain of salt, but after attending a handful of events I can say for certain that Boston has no more punk-ass jagoffs than the Ohio Valley had. And I imagine the Midwest, The Left Coast, and any other region you’d care to mention.
Point: Everywhere there are people, there follows a whole bunch of suck. In the last two-plus-going-on-three years, there is one undeniable truth that I have discovered:
In the Magic world, just as in the real world, there are a handful of people that give a damn, and the rest are a bunch of damned milky lickers.
And no, I haven’t heard of The Jerky Boys.
Case in point:
Bob the builder – can we fix it? Bob the builder – yes we can!
With a little help from our friends, until we turn states’ evidence and get the wrist slap, that is.
Bob Maher was a poster boy for integrity – everyone loved him because he was Johnny Honest Guy. To think that he would cheat would be, well, unthinkable. Guess what – his actions are as scumbag-like as Ryan Fuller, Casey Mac and insert your favorite PT scumbag here. But, at least he didn’t throw his deck or anything.
There are less than a dozen PT players that I would’ve wagered a large sum of money on that they could pass any integrity test – Bob was one of them, mostly because I believed the hype, like the horse’s ass that I am. Hype is ass.
“…it seems that he [Mike Clauss] should leave moral judgements against Mr. Maher to those who either know more about the case, or more about the man in question.”
–J Dan Ford
Um, no… The moral judgments should be up all in here. The shame was rightfully earned. He pulled a fast one, and regardless of how many kittens he’s pulled from trees, he is a self-confessed cheater. Is it wrong to call a cheater a cheater? Moral judgments rule, especially when someone confesses, which makes it even easier. Put it this way:
“Nice guy? Who gives a s***? Good father? F*** you, go home and play with your kids.”
-Alec Baldwin, Glengarry Glen Ross
“I would just like to ask that before people judge Bob Maher, and strike him from their list of ‘good guys,’ that they consider the fact that people do make mistakes… It doesn’t give the rest of us the right to attack the person’s character.”
Sure as hell does give us the right, nay the duty, to attack that person’s character. Or, at the very least, attack the improper action that led us to the character”assassination.” In other words, hells yes it’s proper to give a brother slops. And if by some chance Bob doesn’t feel shamed beyond belief right now, perhaps he might when he has to live up to said mistake by dealing with the”real” consequences when he gets back on the tour. Said consequences may (and should) involve a total lack of trust at the very least. But they probably won’t; it’ll be all open arms and Love Fest ’02.
Above semicolon usage copyright Anthony Alongi Enterprises, patent pending.
Somehow, I doubt that he will have as hard a time re-assimilating on the tour as Mssr. Fuller.
And has anyone heard or read an apology from Bob? Anywhere? Or Fuller? Or Casey Mac? Or Dave Williams? Trey Van Cleave? Ed Fear? Theron Martin?
No. In fact, the only things I’ve read are denials and implications of some”Truman Show” kind of conspiracy.
Are there any Magic players that accept responsibility for their own actions? Ever?
For every”I lost because I was outplayed” and”He is a better player than I am” I’ve read (okay, I can’t recall reading even one of those that wasn’t in an article written by me), there are literally hundreds of pages of”I got mana screwed” and”He topdecked like a god.” If you don’t believe me, just take a walk around any PTQ; you’ll hear it loud and clear, and I’d bet a dollar to a doughnut that if you can be honest with yourself, you’ve used those same excuses.
Back to the jerkies…
Know why they haven’t apologized for defrauding their opponents, themselves and the game? ‘Cause they’re guilty and don’t give a rat’s ass what you, or I, or anyone thinks. They’ll serve their time and jump back in like it ain’t no thang. And up your ass if you don’t like it.
So, go ahead and tell you buddies how your opponent just drew all his bombs and you got mana screwed in the first game and mana flooded in the second, while I’ll be over in the corner listening to you make a total ass out of yourself without even knowing it. But, even if you did know it, which is unlikely, you’d still bitch. Nah, there is no correlation between bitching about how you got so screwed and the fact that none of the above guys have ever, nor ever will, apologize for the crap they pulled.
And then this, which was not written about Mahergate or Scotty P’s bucket of love, but somehow fits:
“Seriously, guys… Grow up… It’s a game.”
Yeah, the cardboard pieces interacting with other cardboard pieces are certainly quite game-like, but the rest, I assure you, is not a game. Nice of you to think that though. Don’t bother to take off the blinders and realize how much of what you truly are goes into this”game.” Don’t take a good look at yourself through your gaming eyes, because you can bet your ass that you wouldn’t like what you see.
Funny how I’m the only one that sees things this way, huh?
Yeah, it’s hilarious.
With Honest Bob revealed to have his own scum-laden skeleton in the closet, that leaves Dave Price as the be-all end-all of integrity on the tour. If Dave is ever caught cheating, then it’ll be Burgess Meredith all up in here with his”Time Enough At Last,” which is to say that the end of the world would be upon us.
So, we have one guy who we know is above reproach. One. One friggin’ guy out of hundreds of regular PT players. You could blame it on the money or you could blame it…no, you can’t blame it one anything else – it’s the money. Save the speech about how some people need to cheat to feel, well, whatever it is they need to feel – it’s the money.
Bunch of dead bastards.
Yeah, this article qualifies as a”rant,” so far at least, and thank you for your concern.
If you look to your left, you will see the deep end approaching…
“I can’t finish any of your [Johnny Mintbox] articles. You ramble. It is jumbled. Unorganized. Dysfunctional. Just downright boring. Please don’t write anymore…”
-Shawn Houtsinger, CCGPrime
At first, I laughed: he’s kinda funny.
Then I got pissed: who the hell does he think he is?
And then I laughed because I got pissed: he spelled my name right, so word ’em up.
And finally, I said”heh.”
He’s right about the rambling and the jumble factor, and hits the head on the nail with the dysfunctional. But boring? Now, that’s going too far. I’d have to say that I am Johnny Disco Dancer With The Huge Lapels up in here. What, you don’t believe me?
Fine. The next page is hereby dedicated to Shawn Houtsinger.
In the interest of elevating the fine art of manipulating expensive bandwidth, I implore you to scroll through the white space for something truly magical and exciting…
You can always take comfort in the fact you never had a choice.”
-Christopher Walken, True Romance
Sometimes I think that I should’ve been a comedian. This has been one of those times.
It took me abour an hour to line that up, and it’s still kinda crooked. The things we do for love.
How many of you remember the Houston Oilers fight song from the late Seventies?
Man, was that lame. Ergo:
“Hous-ton Oil-ers. Hous-ton Oil-ers. Hous-ton Oil-ers number one.” (repeat for like five minutes)
But it’s always going to be stuck in my dome, and yours too if you’ve ever heard the song while the camera was focused on Bum Phillips.
When clicking onto Pojo Magic, is it at all possible to avoid going”Bounce! Pogo, pogo, pogo, pogo, pogo, pogo, pogo?” Didn’t think so.
That concludes the musical portion of tonight’s show.
Love ptr or hate him, I have to give him props for the funniest thing on the net for the week ending, well, whatever the dates were for last week. At the end of each Misetings article, there is a little comment area for peeps to, well, comment. Now, ptr will likely never be accused of saying anything profound, but after one particularly nasty exchange he simply replied with this:
fight me all of you
I think that will be my new power animal-type thing that I’ll use to pump myself up before each match. I’ll go into the head or outside to smoke and tell myself I’m going to win. And then I’ll scream (inside my head, silly)”fight me all of you!” Its simplicity and raw power almost gives me chills, just like the ending of every Rocky movie.
After filling in Wizards online survey for Magic the Gathering.com four friggin’ times, I finally said screw it – their damned form didn’t want to be submitted, and who am I to argue with a computer? Thus, those twenty minutes of my life that were wasted by a dumb-ass questionnaire that didn’t like my answers and spat the form back at me will be summed up here.
14. Do you have any suggestions for improving the Magic the gathering.com website?
How about ponying up the herb and getting more writers? You can never be too rich, too thin, or have too much content. Pony up the herb! Pony up the herb! In the previous two sentences, the”h” in the word”herb” is silent. We love the site, but we want more! More, damnit Woody, more!
15. Overall, how would you rate each of these websites?
Meridian Magic? Mindripper? Dudes, those sites, in case you are unaware, are no longer on anyone’s favorites list, for they, um, pretty much don’t exist, and haven’t for like six months. But you certainly could’ve put TheDojo and Magic Campus up in here for flavor.
Star City? Never heard of them.
By the way, isn’t it about time for MTGnews to offer up its quarterly”we can no longer afford to keep the site up and running” plea for whatever the hell it is they’re pleading for? I just hope God doesn’t call them home like He said He would with Oral Roberts or Jerry Falwell or one of those guys that would crap their pants and head for the hills if Jesus came down from the heavens.
Some jagoffs actually named their child”Oral.” Why not skip the softcore and go straight for the triple-x? Fellatio Roberts? Clitoris Falwell? Dude, those names sound like NBA players or something.
Other than those two items, the site is sexy. Oh, and get a real working poll next time, you bastards. In this case,”bastards” is a term of endearment. So there.
Per my usual Sealed Deck season preparation, I secured myself a box of starters and boosters and commenced to buildin’. Here’s some info that may or may not mean anything at all.
There were twelve decks built; this is the breakdown:
Decks that contained Blue: 11
And the most popular color combination?
Why, ’twas Blue/Black/spash o’ white, or U/B/w for the reading impaired.
What does this mean? Don’t know. But it looks like blue is some good, which of course it is, and with a bunch of sexy stuff from Torment, it looks like it is now some better. And black ain’t too shabby at all, especially with all the sexy creature kill that doesn’t say”non-black.”
And that”Butcher” guy is kinda good. Sorta.
Poor red. It gets stellar burn and crappy dudes yet again. Not all of the dudes suck, but good luck cracking a starter and two boosters and getting enough quality creatures to make it a major color in your deck. Splash red for some combination of Sonic Seizure, Fiery Temper, Flash of Defiance, Firebolt, Chainflinger, and Shower of Coals. If you have a lot of card drawing (read: 4x Accumulated Knowledge), then you might as well try to fit in Violent Eruption, but good luck with that.
And green? Come on, chiefs, can it be any more of a tease? Opening Mongrel, Overrun Man, Werebear and Seton’s Scout usually means that the rest of the green is a whole bunch of Simplify and Primal Frenzy. Green either knocks you on your ass with its depth and sexiness, or lets you know that, yes, these four green cards might fit nicely in your deck – too bad they’re all double-green.
By the way, I’ve now cracked fifteen boxes of Odyssey and found exactly two Jonny Magic. I still have plenty of Chance Encounter if you’re interested though, but please don’t be. And I got Shrines comin’ out my ass – don’t make me use them.
I have no more lessons to impart: Hope for multiple Butchers and a bunch of sexy blue fliers and card drawing, with a pinch of Mystic Zealot, Hallowed Healer, Kirtar’s Desire and Embolden between your cheek and gum. That’s what I’m hoping for, y’all.
Much like I pissed and moaned about how I couldn’t pull a Blazing Specter (aka Johnny Blaze) from way too many boxes of Invasion, then pulled two in a row within minutes of said pissing and moaning, I opened up my starter at FNM and saw Jonny Magic. And he was shiny. Bodes well, don’t ya think?
Here’s a short drink from a tall fountain that was my FNM deck:
Mista Lova Lova: Jonny Magic
More stuff and lands
Nope, you don’t have to be good at Magic to 3-0-get-a-sexy-foily-Albino-Troll with that disgusting amount of ridiculously good cards. I’m not but I did. Impressive huh? All right, it’s not that impressive, but what did you do with your Friday night?
And as an added bonus, a couple of guys informed me that Scott Panzini was talking mucho trash about me at last week’s GP Trial. Not that I have half a mind to mind, mind you – I’ve long maintained the sticks and stones mentality, and so long as what you say is true, I’ll even apply that to the written form. Just spell my name right. Or at least make it close.
Two Crossroads guys at a PTQ? Whatever.
Alex and I found our way to Brighton without incident, entered the cribbo and within minutes found foils being tossed a-this way and a-that way. Head Judge Nat Head Judge Guy thought he could get away with dropping off a stack of foilies and moving right along. Um, no, it doesn’t quite work that way – you have to sign them, even if you are a zebra. After beating him silly in arm wrestling and sumo wrestling and WWF wrestling and thumb wrestling, he realized that I have many Sharpies and I’m not afraid to use them.
Alex, Karl”So you can take that cookie” Rookey, Dan, a guy who simply asked”can I get in?” (and donated some love as well) and myself spread the fat and commenced to killing each other’s fatties. After thirty minutes, the game was all grid locked up in here, mostly due to my insistence that removal is sex-like and should comprise fifty percent of the deck, thus, unfinished business was the omen for the day.
In a 400 card deck, perhaps 100 removal spells is too many. Methinks I’ll have to reevaluate and rebuild for the sake of saving the format. But damn if peeps don’t keep throwing me badass removal spells. Tip: Throw me card drawing and mana fixers. Pls/thx/uguysrule.
How utterly kewl would it be to have twenty or thirty Accumulated Knowledges in the deck?
Rules, as they say, are ass.
Turns out that Chris Deroche also found his way to Brighton. I believe that he took a cab to the Portland jetport, where he then took a jitney to a bus station, where he hitchhiked to the nearest train station and cruised right in. Okay, that makes two Crossroads guys in the tourney, with Alex watching our backs from the judges station.
Here’s what I played:
2x Elephant Ambush (I cheated, or maybe one was foily)
Roar of the Wurm
In the words of Chevy Chase, after sniffing thirty feet of a demon-proof cocaine-like powder in”Modern Problems” :
“Yes (maniacal laughter), I like it.”
But I could’ve used a random Mongrel/Rootwalla/other <4cc stuff. Alas.
R to the ootwalla. Blame Alex for that, although I could probably get away with taking the credit.
Yeah, you could say I had some serious ass recursion and random graveyard friendliness. However, my removal basically consisted of me ramming my guys into yours and recurring them until you ran out of dudes. If I was under little pressure by turn four, it appeared that I would cold kick some ass. If not, well, then I guess I just lose.
107 peeps/7 rounds
Round 1: James Benjamin, playing B/G
I cast five Elephant Ambushes this game, and needed every one of them to kill his damned Nantuko Shade, which he kept bringing back with Morgue Theft. When James is at six and I’m at four, I swing with all my guys, which include Soul Scourge, three Elephant tokens, and Krosan Archer.
Who would’ve remembered that he had earlier discarded a Moment’s Peace?
Game two is tight as hell, but after I cast Sengir Vampire for the fourth time, he’d had enough. Three Roar tokens helped as well, although James filling his hand with Skeletal Scrying and recurring stuff with Morgue Theft kept it close. How many licks does it take to get to the center of a Sengir Vampire? I guess the answer is more than four.
With only a few minutes left in game three, James comes out blazing with turn two Shade. I’m able to drop Archer and get Roar into the yard, but next turn I draw Nostalgic Dreams and try to win – and I now have three attack phases to do so. I cast Roar and anticipate Wasting Away his guy and Flashing Roar on the third turn to win on the fifth, but James ain’t trying to hear dat. He drops just enough guys to insure that neither of us can win.
0-0-1 Better than a loss, right Mr. Forgot About Dre And Moment’s Peace?
“She wants diamonds, furs, and now she wants kids, but what she needs is somewhere else to live.”
Round 2: Matt”Da’ Judge Dat Don’t Budge” Villamaino, no relation to Alyssa Milano (I think), playing U/B/w
Matt comes out da’ closet with Putrid Imp, Escape Artist and then drops Ghostly Wings on the Imp. A turn 4 Archer stops the madness and allows me to breathe long enough to start dropping my sexy stuff: Ambush, Vampire, etc. I tried to Butcher something and Matt bounced it, which meant my Vampire took a little breather, which was like, a bad play on my part or something.
However, Matt would rather draw a bunch of lands instead of action cards, so I Innocent Blood my Butcher, serve with Vampire and start to recur a bunch of stuff.
Sometimes you can make stupid plays and still win. Props to Matt for drawing nothing for a long time.
The second game is a severe beating. I’m swarming the board with Matt at four, when he casts Upheaval. Good thing I played that eighth land and could float the mana and flash an Ambush, huh? Props to Matt for being the unadulterated king of drawing things that are one turn too slow.
“Pressed on 12″ singles, 45s, heart-shaped records I’ll rock any size.”
-Mixmaster Gee,”The Manipulator”
Round 3: Lucas Glavin
What a friggin’ beating. Lucas’s Rotting Giant seems like a non-threat until he drops Hypochondria. Yeah, I can win now. He drops the white Nomad tapper and Soul Scourge and I’m laughing at my Morgue Theft, Gravedigger and Zombify in hand. Would’ve been nice to draw a creature I guess. However, Lucas still had a handful of gas in the tank that I spied when we began shuffling up for game two, so anything less than two kicked Rages would be uncivilized.
That semi-obscure (if you’re less than, say, 22) reference was for the benefit of Chris Romeo.
Game two was even more of a beating. Lucas played dudes on turns two through seven, while I was behind the eight ball from the gun and was forced to drop Acorns in front of his Cabal Torturer. At least I can feel okay – I’ll win this match like 10% of the time. This was not one of those times.
“I’m sorry if you can’t understand, but I need a loud radio inside my hand.”
-LL Cool J,”I Can’t Live Without My Radio”
Round 4: Rich Marchand, fellow Mainer but not a Crossroads guy, playing R/B/g
On turn nine, I finally yell at Rich to stop casting stuff, for he keeps friggin’ casting stuff that either kills my guys or threatens my life total. I tell myself that he has to run out of gas eventually, and when he takes even a one-turn pause I’ll be able to get back into this game.
I cast Sengir six times before Rich finally stopped killing it.
He pauses on turn ten or so and doesn’t cast anything. I drop Butcher and have Gravedigger, Zombify and Morgue Theft in hand (thanks to one sexy-ass Nostalgic Dreams). With Archer, Nantuko Calmer, Gloomdrifter and Ambush and Roar tokens on the board, it looks like a waiting game, with me having much more left in the tank than he.
Since I’m going to die next turn, I serve with everything and hope he messes up. He’s at 16 and only if he screws up the blocking will I be able to win. He blocks correctly, goes to one, and I’m about to scoop ’em up. However, I look long and hard at the board, desperate for a way out.
We both counted out the damage and arrived at fifteen. But wait! I have Threshold, which gives my Calmer +1/+1, which we both missed. That equals sixteen, which equals I want your sex.
After a great game one, of course game two is ridiculous. I drop Farmhand, Frightcrawler, Imp, Ambush, Vampire, while Rich is struggling to find more than three mana. He does, but my fatties and extra fatties in hand are more than enough to get the job done.
“King Kut, ya know ya want a slice, scratchin’ so nice gotta hear it twice.”
-Word of Mouth,”King Kut”
Matty Too Hatty asks me if I want to money draft, for he assumes I’m out of contention, this being the end of round four and all.
Round 5: Craig Velozo, playing B/R
Tightness abounds. I eek out a win in game one when Craig takes a little too much damage in trying to secure board advantage, which was all for naught when I cast Waste Away and then Dreams to get it back.
Game two is all about creature parity until Craig Diabolic Tutors for…Cabal Patriarch. Yeah, I lost. I side in Volcanic Spray, Fiery Temper and Flame Burst, knowing that I have to do more than recur stuff until he runs out of gas.
The third game is all about Craig going first and taking just a little too much time to set up. When he’s at seven, he Tutors for Patriarch and plays it with the aid of a Cabal Ritual with Threshold. I have a Roar token and a random 2/2. I serve and hope that he blocks the 2/2 and risks it, going to one. He does and I Volcanic Spray for the win. Fresh.
“P for the people who can’t understand, how one homeboy became a man.”
Matty Too Hatty asks me if I want to play Type 1 Mental Magic for money, for he assumes that I’m out of contention, this being the end of round five and all.
Round 6: Brad Baker, playing U/W/b
Brad casts a turn 2 Fiend, grabbing a Roar, but all he can manage for offense is Aquamoeba. I drop Vampire, which he answers with Balshan Griffin, but without enough blue to trade. Thusly, I cast Acorn Harvest and Sadistic Hypnotist and take the opportunity to trade two tokens for his entire hand and put him in the unenviable position of next turn having to pitch the only card in hand to block and save his Griffin, while Vampire grows bigger and bigger. Not a great place to be for Brad, and eventually I drop Gloomdifter and Fledgling Imp and go to town.
The second game is all about his turn 2 Fiend that takes Ambush, and him quickly halting all of my beatdown aspirations with Blessed Orator. A few turns of me overextending leads to Brad dropping Chamber of Manipulation and stealing my fliers while flying over my bean. When I’m at five, he drops Laquatus’s Champion. Heh; Blaze you for six?
I come out like gangbusters in the third game, but of course the friggin’ Fiend grabs Vampire and forces me to win hard. However, I drop a ton of Acorns up on his ass and am willing to trade a few ‘Corns for a few points of damage; eventually I’ll have to draw some of my good cards, right?
Right on time comes Waste Away to get me back my Sengir, and the beatings commence. But what’s this? Brad just cast Animal Boneyard? Um, can you say”uh oh?” Ordinarily, this wouldn’t be much more than a mere inconvenience… But with Chamber in his deck, it could get obscene in a hurry. I smash for all I can as fast as I can and manage to rip chunks of his life despite the Boneyard, since most of his dudes are on the small side.
The Champion comes to play and I see this game slipping away. I’m at thirteen with Brad at six, but nevertheless I turn my guys sideways and force him to make hard choices. He takes a few points and sacs the Champion, which does two things – lets him live another turn and leaves him just enough life to cast Deep Analysis and flash it back, which means he gets one turn and five cards to find the Chamber.
He doesn’t find it because it’s the bottom card of his library, and my boys ride in for win.
“Little brother tried to stuff me inside the hamper, so I hit him in the face with a sh***y Pamper.”
-Funkmaster Wizard Wiz,”Bellevue Patient” (I think)
Matty Too Hatty asks me if I want to play some poker for, you guessed it – money, for he assumes I’m out of contention, this being the end of round six and all.
A potential Top Eight for Rizzo? Huh?
It’s win and I’m in or lose and, well, something that means”you suck” and that rhymes with”lose.”
- It’s win and I’m in or lose and sing the blues?
- It’s win and I’m in or lose and tell that joke about white trash women and flies in their shoes?
- It’s win and I’m in or lose and I’m taller than Tom Cruise?
- It’s win and I’m in or lose and maybe I should call a doctor about this pustule that continues to ooze?
- It’s win or I’m in or lose and have sex with whomever is anchoring the NBC Nightly News?
- It’s win or I’m in or lose and sell my semen to local petting zoos?
Round 7: Brian Whatever Lynch, who gets my vote for having the coolest nickname ever, playing B/W/g. However, John Whatever Rizzo just ain’t cutting it. I guess I’ll stick with Friggin’, but not in quotations – never in quotations. Ever. No. Don’t.
I think I get to rule with turn 3 Imp, turn 4 Ambush, but Whatever drops Teroh’s Faithful and gets himself a friggin’ Time Walk for like three turns. Still, I have a mess of dudes in my hand and will soon be able to just overrun his annoying wall.
Whatever taps out on turn six for Cabal Patriarch, says”just him” and I watch my men go away.
The second game sees Whatever drop Cabal Torturer, Mystic Zealot, Angel of Retribution, Patriarch and double Roar of the Wurm in rapid succession. Although I try valiantly to Butcher this and a gang block that and recur the hell out of my stuff, Whatever has seven cards in his hand at all times and is simply toying with me for the general amusement of Mike Bregoli, who has wandered over to see the carnage first-hand.
I did manage to sac Farmhand, Morgue Theft him, sac him again and Nostalgic Dreams him back to my hand, and cast him and sac him for a third time. Yes, that’s neato, and yes indeed I still drew thirteen lands and eleven spells during the course of this game.
Many of you would bemoan the mana flood, or simply cry”bad luck,” but Whatever had the goods, and if that wasn’t enough, he’s like, kinda good at Magic. He probably would’ve kicked my ass if we switched decks. Thus… Whatever. And now I have only two more qualifiers to grab a T8, which leads to a T4, which begat the blue envelope. Close indeed (for me), but the proverbial cigar was thrown in the proverbial toilet of the proverbial bathroom of the proverbial”I’ll get ’em next time.”
“Gerela’s Gorillas are here for the show, and so is Franco’s Army.”
-Some Italian Guy,”The Steelers Fight Song.”
Funny, but Matty Too Hatty is nowhere to be found, now that I’m out of contention.
All right, Mike Bregoli isn’t just some mean miser holed up in his basement researching the dirt on Magic’s best and brightest (or worst and dimmest?) a la Matt Drudge. And to think that I thought his roving reporters wandered the Earth, recording devices taped to their chests and pinhole video cameras jammed in their crotches, aiming to get to the bottom of this once and for all.
Since his site is much more of a ting than a mise it makes perfect sense when you think about it – much like DJ Lethal thought it would be entertaining to cut and scratch Rakim’s”Think about it” snippet for the entire length of that song – so make sure you do entertain the notion that it’s possible that it’s a little more mise than ting, so long as you realize that it’s ting first, ask questions later. Mise.
Maybe DJ Lethal could get a new record this year – using one record as your entire scratch”collection” gets old real darned quick.
“Fut you, I lite my hair.”
-Spyder D,”Buckwheat’s Beat”
Alex and I discussed how much Playboy should pay the Olsen twins to pose for them when they turn eighteen. I figured ten million each would be fair, figuring that the issue would likely sell forty or fifty million copies easy. I know I’d buy six or seven, and when I wore those out, I’d get another dozen for rainy days.
I wonder if they still say”you got it, dude” like they did when they were two and making Bob Saget and Dave Coulier play the straight men on Full House.
Me in 2006: Hey, Mary-Kate and Ashley, wanna, like, do me?
Mary-Kate and Ashley in 2006: You got it, dude.
That would be a savage mise that lead to a savage ting. And another savage ting, and another, and another until I needed a blood transfusion.
Misetings News Flash:
Rizzo Mises Olsens!
Don’t bet against it.
Okay, bet a couple of bucks just in case.
I was unsure of what to expect from Panzini and his crew, but it turns out that he and his boyz ignored me and I in turn returned the favor. I can’t bitch about that at all, since I’d much rather go to PTQs to play and hang out than deal with a bunch of crap or partake in wars of words and the like. Their silence in the matter leads me to believe that, while they may think I’m a real jagoff, perhaps they feel at least a little guilty for the crap they pulled on Alex. Either way, repeated confrontation at PTQs would not make for good times. Although, they’d sure make for some cool ass articles, huh?
I now officially consider the matter closed, and I think Alex does as well. But apologizing to Alex would go a long way towards restoring goodwill and whatnot. Just an idea there peeps.
1 Barrett Hathaway
2 Kush Patel
3 Brian Whatever Lynch
4 Jeff Magid
5 Bruce Cowley
6 Mise Bregoli
7 Chris Deroche
8 Joel Frank
Thanks for coming you buncha damn losers…
11 Adam Ruebens, NG stream of consciousness writer, who still hasn’t said”sup?” to me and now I think he hates me and I’ll try to get one of my buds to pass him a note in Study Hall that reads:
Why are you soooooooooo mean to me? Do you like me?
O I’m not sure
Passing notes is a lost art that I intend to bring back from the dead.
17 Gianni Roberto Rizzolinni, director of spaghetti westerns
20 Scott Panzini
21 I begin to Jillify, sans B to the motha Freakin’ F, who was in tow for a couple of tourneys but came to realize that there really is no legitimate competition for his girlie’s hand. Thus, go ahead and have fun, honey – I trust you to not flirt with any of those stinky, degenerate, annoying virgin losers.
25 Da’ Judge Dat Don’t Budge
26 I did it all for the Rookey so please don’t eat my cookies
30 Eric Ziegler
As an extra nugget of pure, unadulterated love, members of Team Academy that I finished above (and all NAME PLAYERS) but couldn’t beat up:
Matty No Hatty Evans, who maintains that he is more of a personality than a”name player,” although that’s purely semantics
Andy Stok, who grows one to two inches taller between PTQs
Mouth, who encouraged me to just”make stuff up” when I lamented that fact that not everyone can get laid at a PTQ
Doctor C Douglas, who, despite my initial doubts, might really and truly be a real doctor even though he’s like eighteen or so
Tony P, who showed both his wisdom and compassion for his fellow man by scooping to Kurt Hahn rather than face him in the Sumo ring
I think I finally convinced Alex that Keanu is likely the worst actor on the face of this, or any other, planet in this, or any other, galaxy by pointing out the sheer idiocy of the flowing scene:
Trinity walks into the club that Keanu ended up in after following the white rabbit, sees him and calls out”Neo.” He turns to her and, in an attempt to look and sound both innocent and curious, says
“How do you know that name.”
There is no question mark because it’s not a question. He is that damned awful, and the tone and utter stupidity in his physical actions makes it clear that he is Neo, and his feeble attempt to pull a John Gotti with his”I’m a simple businessman” denial is purely pathetic. Come on, the directors had to say”Okay, Keanu, she walks in and calls you ‘Neo’ and you have to sort of pretend it’s not you but at the same time let her know that if she’s the one that told you to ‘follow the white rabbit’ that you are Neo.”
Conveying two emotions at once is obviously beyond the scope of Keanu’s talents.
“How do you know that name…”
If you aren’t convinced that he is ass (although cute as hell) dawg, rewind that scene a few times. And be sure to freeze frame Trinity’s ass and crotch shots in her leather pants. Like I had to tell you to do that, all y’all that are on your third copy of The Matrix because the tape burned through from being on pause for an extended period of time and the VCR ate the tape.
Me? I’m only on my second copy. But look out when I get the DVD: Shuttle is a sexy feature.
Oh my God, am I nauseating or what?
Molly: Where’s your lunch?
Judd: You’re wearing it.
Molly: You’re nauseating.
Q: When’s the last time any member of The Breakfast Club did anything good?
A: I don’t know, but it wasn’t in this century.
Oh yeah. Deroche lost to Kush in the quarters and Bregoli beat Whatever and Barrett beat Frank and we left before the Cowley/Magid match ended. Bregoli probably won the whole thing, but how would I know? It’s not like the YMG site updates. Ever. Well, when you can reach the site that is.
I am in love with Ichorid. He’s the new sexual chocolate, with no disrespect due to the original sex muffin, or the last incarnation, Millikin. Ichorid sucks – you have to bury him and then remove a black creature! Peeps, did you happen to notice that he keeps coming back, again and again, for zero mana, with haste and three power? Nether Spirit was also”hard to control” at first, but became the king o’ the ring for a hella long time.
Give it up for Ichorid. Or just wait until later, when some pro wins a PT with him, and then jump on the bandwagon.
“From the bottom to the top, top to the bottom, I’m gonna rock ’em while I still got ’em.”
-Whodini,”Five Minutes of Funk”
“You ramble. It is jumbled. Unorganized. Dysfunctional.”
Truer words were never spoken.
John Friggin’ Rizzo