Yesterday, I talked of my First Tournament. It was a Regional Qualifier for English Nationals 2001. A small affair, some thirty-odd players, but it sufficiently whetted my whistle for sanctioned play.
My appetite for tournaments was, and is, voracious. Anywhere, any time, funds permitting. I managed to play at two more regional tournaments that year, without success. I attended the Nationals tournament nonetheless, failing to grind into the Big One but having fun at the Apocalypse Prerelease side events.
Soon, my Magical play fell into the sweet rhythm of the Pro Tour wannabe: seasonal play based around PTQ requirements. Qualification, however, wasn’t an issue. If I made a Top Eight, I was ecstatic.
Of course, PTQs were great fun, but they weren’t the Real Thing. While my head was at 32-player tournaments in small pubs guarded by Pig-Dogs, my heart was in Hollywood… Nationals tournaments, Grand Prix, Pro Tours… they were the kindling for my fires of desire.
My first Grand Prix, GP London 2001, was fun. At least, I think it was. I can’t remember a single thing about it. According to the DCI, I went 2-4, or something. Nothing special happened, or I’m sure I’d remember.
My second Grand Prix, however, saw fireworks.
…
It was clear, by this stage, that Magic was a large part of my life.
For a variety of reasons, I was no longer working as a Computer Games Designer. Instead, I was trying my hand at writing a novel, earning my keep through temping. As I write this, I’m still trying my hand at writing a novel, and I’m still earning my keep though temping. One day I’ll try using both hands to write my novel, as it may make a substantial difference to my thus-far lacklustre efforts… but those Emo whinings are for my Live Journal and not for the fair readers of Star City Games.
My workday was, and is, rather dull. Therefore I could, and do, spend vast swathes of my time on autopilot, Fingers tapping and typing as I ponder metagames and matchups. This was coupled with real-life testing, matchup against matchup, deck against deck. Therefore, when Grand Prix London 2002 rolled into view, my Odyssey Block preparation seemed flawless.
My deck of choice? Blue/White Birds.
While conventional wisdom dictated that the decks to beat were the ubiquitous Mono-Black Control and the Savage Blue/Green Madness, I knew different. In testing, I’d posted a number of stunning adrenaline-fuelled conquests, snatching victory from defeat, dredging wins from the depths of my arse. The Birds were the best. I was sure of it. And boy-oh-boy, it was a blast to play.
…
The day before the main event, I entered a well-attended Trial, hoping to fly with my Budgie Brigade toward a mythical Three Byes. With a Constructed rating of 1636, I needed all the help I could get. My deck, however, could handle it. I was ready to kick some arse and take some names.
My trial performance? 1-2 drop.
My single win was more through fluke than fire.
Suddenly, my confidence was gone. While I’d never actually presumed I’d win the thing, I’d hoped to put in a decent showing. In the main event, I wanted to play the first three rounds undefeated, then face-off against a big-mane opponent, maybe one of the famous faces I’d read about on Star City or Wizards.com. Day Two play would be a bonus, of course. However, it was clear now that the Birds deck just wasn’t up to the task, especially with my good self at the helm.
I faced a dilemma. Do I stick with what I know, or do I change decks at the final hurdle?
My teammates were unanimous in their advice: “Stick with the Birds! It’s what you’ve been testing! Today was just a blip! You’ll be fine!”
Sage advice indeed.
What to do, what to do…?
…
Here’s the list I ran at the Grand Prix:
24 Swamp
4 Faceless Butcher
4 Chainer’s Edict
4 Braids, Cabal Minion
4 Millikin
4 Mesmeric Fiend
4 Nantuko Shade
3 Ichorid
3 Slithery Stalker
3 Zombie Infestation
3 Crypt Creeper
Sideboard
4 Mutilate
3 Innocent Blood
3 Buried Alive
3 Cabal Therapy
1 Shambling Swarm
1 Filth
Jonny Chapman, English player and ginger ninja, had won the Trail the previous evening with this “Pirates of Compton” deck. Jonny had blasted through the Trial field, coming home with the proverbial bacon in the form of three byes. Each round he’d sit opposite his opponent, wearing a jaunty bandana, and declare that he was “a pirate.” He’d then proceed to smash face with Crypt Keeper, Braids and Ichorids.
Heh. Ichorids. How’s that for topical!
A quick chat, a scribbled deck-list, and a trip to the traders…
Game on!
This Grand Prix saw 683 take the field to play. I was but one, a leaf in the wind… ready to be skewered without mercy.
I checked the pairings for the first round. The list showed foreign names by the caseload, exotic Europeans and ridiculous Yankee monikers. Alongside these names, there were players I recognized: Kai Budde, Bob Maher, Jeff Cunningham, Gab Nassif, The Ruel Brothers…
My goal was still simple. Win the first three rounds and get paired against Kai Budde. He may hand me my arse on a plate, but at least I’d learn something. And I’d have a nice ornamental plate to show my mum.
I won the first two rounds with some comfort. Just a single round between me and my goal. Well, that and the vagaries of the pairing system.
Round three saw me placed against Zdenek Dvorak, piloting Mono-Black control. According to Jonny, this was the auto-win matchup. Their removal, at sorcery speed was likely to be useless thanks to Ichorid recursion. Their discard simply fuelled my game-plan, and Braids? If she showed early, she’d keep them from insano-mana.
One match, and then a chance of a dream pairing…
I lost, of course.
At 2-1, I couldn’t afford another black mark if I aspired to Day Two competition. Not that it mattered: I knew I’d be hitting the showers soon. I’d had little sleep, my play was sloppy, it was a new deck… and, when all’s said and done, I was a bit rubbish at Magic. I activated Plan B, phoning my brother (a London resident at the time) and inviting him for a beer should I (or rather, when I) lost another match.
I was looking forward to seeing my brother. He’s a fun guy. And I desperately desired a cold Guinness.
The thing was, the Pirates of Compton had other ideas.
I won the next round.
And the next.
And the next.
And the next.
At 6-1, I was able to intentionally draw into Day Two play.
The rest of Team Leeds had either scrubbed out early or fell at the last. I was the only representative from my Home Team.
My teammates, ever supportive, were the first to point out just how lucky I was.
The deck struggles against Blue/Green. How many Blue/Green decks had I faced on the way to Day 2? None.
And my play was rife with errors…
In one game, I let a Braids get countered by a Circular Logic when I had more than enough mana available to pay.
I pumped my Nantuko Shade to the max, straight into an Aether Burst when I knew my foe had one in hand.
At one stage, I even tried to swing with my creatures during my draw step.
I was already a winner. Day Two play was a wild dream, especially once I’d ditched the Birds for a deck untested.
I shouldn’t be here, I thought.
But here I was.
Day.
Two.
My goal for the day was simple. Have fun, play right and smile. Because, you see, it didn’t matter. None of it. Sure, it was nice to be playing on Day Two, and maybe with a little luck I’d scoop some amateur cash… but I was against the best players in the World.
It’s a cliché, I know… but I was just glad to be there.
I was relaxed going into my first match of the day, even though it was against Blue Green. Perhaps my sauntering attitude helped me to victory.
If it did, it surely helped for my next match. Another Blue/Green deck, another three points. Sadly, the wheels came off slightly during my next round, where I was handed a 0-2 thrashing at the hands of Blue/Green Threshold.
But still, none of it mattered. It was fun, nothing more. Yes, I’d lost, but I was always going to lose. I was here to play, not to win.
Yet oddly, I kept winning.
Blue/Green/White Solitary Confinement? Win.
Blue/Black Braids? Win.
The final round, against Blue/White Birds? Again, win.
Those last few rounds passed in a daze. Six rounds of play, 5-1 record. Couple this with the 6-1-1 of the previous day, it led to 34 points. A shoe-in for Top Eight, or so I was told.
Did I believe it? No. Truth is, a part of me still doesn’t.
As I made my way to the Top Eight enclosure, I felt a stranger clasp my shoulder.
“Good luck, mate,” he said, his Cockney accent betraying his local roots. “You’re the last English hope.”
No pressure, then.
My quarterfinal, against Chrisophe Haim, was over quickly. When your opponent mulligans to five in both games, time does tend to fly by. I made men, I attacked, I killed things, I forced discard, and all they while Christophe slumped deeper into his seat. But my mind wasn’t on the match. It was on the surroundings.
Four tables, four matches. A handful of judges. All within a roped-off square no bigger than my bedroom. The tape was crowded by people, Magic players one and all, each straining to see the plays, the mistakes and the tells from the final competitors in the tournament.
I saw friendly faces there, some wearing England football shirts and egging me on. I saw scowling foreigners, each supporting their chosen player, hoping for reflected glory by dint of ancestry.
This is not a game, I thought, for the first time ever.
Yes, Magic is a game. We know this. It’s a silly cardboard frippery that whiles the hours to nothing. But there is something more, something special, that can bind us together.
- It’s the stuff that keeps us refreshing these websites, seeking tech and tips and knowledge.
- It’s the stuff that keeps our brains ticking over, searching for that super sideboard card that breaks the metagame wide open.
- It’s the stuff that keeps us glued to live Pro Tour webcasts at three in the morning.
- It’s the stuff that tickles our guts when we crack open a booster, or open a trade folder.
Put simply, it’s the magic in Magic.
If I knew what it was, I’d be a very rich man.
Eventually, I was swinging for lethal damage. Christophe looked at his cards, shook his head, and extended his hand.
The home-town cheer was deafening.
Shouts, cheers, clapping and stamping… People were whistling, and one guy was chanting… “ENG-ER-LAAAND, ENG-ER-LAAAND!”
I sat at the match table, looking into the smiling faces of the spectators. My head sank into my hands, and my shoulders shook. I was laughing, breathless, feeling fantastic.
Magic, as I’ve said, has been rather good to me. I’ve played on six Pro Tours, and visited some wonderful places through the ups and downs of a stack of cardboard…. But I can say, without question, that the moments following my quarterfinal victory at Grand Prix: London 2002 were the best Magical moments I’ve ever had.
Truth be told, I doubt they’ll ever be topped.
Magic: the Gathering… what a game.
Until next time…
Thanks for listening.
Craig Stevenson
[email protected]
Scouseboy on MTGO
P.S.: Oh yeah, I lost in the semis.