Felicitations, my Frangipane fillies! I come bearing candied almonds and delicate orchids! I’m bathed, de-loused and rampant. It’s Valentine’s Day, love is in the air, and your good friend Doctor Mox is standing to attention!
I feel it in my fingers. I feel it in my toes. The swift bolts from Cupid’s Crossbow are peppering the hearts of Magic players everywhere, and I am no exception. While I am, and shall always be, bonded to my Swiss ladyfriend Jetta in ways beyond reason, I must admit that the temperance of the season — coupled with an alarming heat-wave one can only attribute to a vicious microclimate — has caused my love-sick head to turn.
Her name is Magma. She is of Bavarian stock, and stands a full six feet in height. Indeed, it was her prodigious stature that first drew me to her, as she sandblasted a septic tank with an industrial power-tool as part of an art exhibition. I gave her a nod and a wink, and she gave me a cracked rib with a single playful punch.
While she speaks little English, our flirtation knows no bounds. I’ve not felt this young since my days as a BMX Freestyle competitor, when I’d cut up the X-Games with my haphazard half-pipe routines.
Jetta, of course, is jealous beyond measure, but I hope this harmless fun will only serve to strengthen our love. And who knows… if she’s game, a little Magma-Jetta action could be on the cards. One hardly needs to scry to see the benefits of that particular scenario.
Yesterday, I dealt with three of the four Ravnica guilds. Bizarrely, I neglected Boros, the Red/White Beatdown Machine. I was distracted by Magma, you see… she was serenading at my window as I wrote my missive, and I lost my train of thought while swabbing the blood from my ruptured eardrums.
So… Boros.
Boros
Boros is the Red/White guild, and focuses its strength on little men, and fire. A weenie strategy, backed by Burn Spells. Noble, honest, and above all, superior.
The Mechanic
We can see from the above that Boros is the guild of choice for any forward-thinking and modern Magician. It eschews the frankly perverse “control” strategy — if one can brand a collection of slipshod and uninformed irritants an “strategy” — in order to rain down the pain as efficiently as possible. Boros Deck Wins bore down with monsoon-like ferocity, making a trip to Extended feel like a week in the Painy Season. In Standard two, the dual-action hurricane of Red and White has often drowns an opponent in the deluge of bad-guy beats. Boros is here, and there’s a painstorm a-brewin’.
Unfortunately, their mechanic is sh**.
I mean, what in Magma’s name is Radiance? Oooh, look, it boosts all guys that share a color! How neat-o! Frankly, I’d rather chew my own foot off.
NB: This is not advised. I’ve only done it once, and luckily I was able to reattach it through my expert surgical prowess. Thankfully, there were no lasting side-effects, although my Riverdancing days are now officially over.
Boros sounds like Boris; a stout, manly name. Radiance sounds like rainbows, fit only for idiots, ladies, and the greetings card industry.
The Win-Condition
Attacking. Burning. Damaging. Winning.
Boros relies on quick, efficient beats backed with direct-damage removal. This credo is laudable, of course, and is supported by a number of the game’s premier thinkers. In fact, as a homage to such talents, Boros was initially named the Paskins Guild. Unfortunately, the stalwart goblin gamer complained over the inclusion of White cards in the noble Red beatdown/burn gameplan; thus, a hasty name-change was mooted over a small bottle of peach schnapps.
As you can probably tell, I’m a venerate Boros Beatdown acolyte. My Swiss ladyfriend Jetta, however, detests this simple outlook with a fiery passion, claiming she’s had her fingers burnt in the past. Exactly what this injury has to do with Magic, I’ll never know. After all, the skin-graft was a total success, for Jetta if not for her porcine skin-donor. Having pig-skin fingers has its benefits: for starters, when warming her hands over an open fire, her knuckles exude the gentle smell of frying bacon.
…
The Guildpact guilds can wait for another day, as I’ve an important email to answer.
Dear Doctor.
My name is Darron. Recently, myself and ten friends were sent threatening letters from Wizards of the Coast regarding the content of our website. Something about “spoilers,” and “intellectual property.” I don’t know what Intellectual Property is, but it sounds scary.
They’re threatening legal action if we don’t Cease and Desist, and reveal our sources.
It’s not our fault! Information Longs To Be Free! Unless it’s Premium, of course, in which case Information Longs To Be Reasonably Priced!
We’re terrified. The threats come thick and fast, who knows where they’ll lead? Today, I think I was followed home by a midget dressed as a chicken. Actually, now I’ve written that down, it’s not scary at all. The FBI must be facing hideous budget cutbacks.
What can I do, Doc? How can I beat these bastards?
Darron
(Location withheld for security reasons)
My dear Darron, you’re in a pickle and no mistake. In the words of the classic song…
You don’t tug on Superman’s cape,
You don’t spit into the wind,
You don’t pull the mask off the old Lone Ranger
And you don’t mess around with Wizards of the Coast.
Spoilers, by their very nature, spoil things. Sure, we all love to bone up on the latest news regarding our chosen pastime… but those in charge of supplying the information must know that one day, the suits will come knockin’.
As we know, America today is litigation crazy. Last year, a Boston man sued his cat for, and I quote, “prolonged indifference leading to feelings of intense inadequacy.” The case was protracted: eventually, the man was awarded full damages, though the feline retained custody of the catnip. Last week, an Ohio man filed a suit against himself for “physical neglect resulting in obesity and ill-health.” Apparently, his refusal to diet and exercise means he has a strong case, and he’s set to make, and lose, millions.
I empathise with your “Little Guy versus The Machine” predicament, as Wizards will undoubtedly employ the best legal team since the trial of OJ Simpson. Indeed, while it is hardly an intelligent response to your problem, I heartily endorse fleeing the country, becoming a fugitive south of the border. The icy corporate tendrils of doom can only reach so far.
To aid your flight, I’ve prepared a crib-sheet of handy foreign phrases, enough to extricate you from potential sticky situations. Think of them as a passport to salvation. Commit them to memory, and then eat the evidence:
Magic: the Gathering? Never heard of it.
¿Magia: la Reunión? Nunca oÃdo hablar le.
I’m sorry, you’re mistaken. I’m not Darron. My name is Guido.
Estoy apesadumbrado, usted me confundo. No soy Darron. Mi nombre es Guido.
Spoilers? What, like, on cars?
¿Interceptores aerodinámicos? ¿Como qué, en los coches?
Have you seen this man? Grey hair, evil smile, acute dwarvism. Answers to the name of MaRo.
¿Usted ha visto a este hombre? Pelo gris, sonrisa malvada, dwarvism agudo. Respuestas al nombre de MaRo.
I didn’t steal from your store. I merely distributed your stock to those who expressed an interest.
No robé de su almacén. Distribuà simplemente su acción a las que expresaron un interés.
You’ll never take me alive, Rosewater!
¡Usted nunca me tomará vivo, Rosewater!
Please don’t lock me up, your honor. They don’t do booster drafts in prison.
No me trabe por favor para arriba, su honor. No hacen bosquejos del aumentador de presión en la prisión.
In all seriousness… I hope you survive these troublesome times, Darron. After all, we need you.
…
Finally, a word on the second round of voting for MagicTheGathering.com’s Legend MegaFight. Four more contenders to ridicule.
In the red corner today…
Akroma, Angel of Wrath versus Hazezon Tamar
Akroma, Angel of Wrath is the Poster Girl for reanimation targets. She comes out swinging, can shrug of most targeted removal, can trample, can fly, and has a sword the size of Sweden. If we add her sultry lips, heaving bosom, and emo-kid purple hair, she’s everything a growing boy could want from a vivacious Amazon-woman. Just imagine being crushed between those thighs…
Jetta hates her, of course.
Hazezon Tamar, on the other hand, is laughable. I’m sorry, I don’t trust a man who dresses like a pyramid. If he hangs around until the turn after you play him, he makes Sand Warriors. Okay, so he comes equipped with his own Boy Band, but this isn’t American Idol. Simon Cowell would have a field day with this insipid streak of monkey gunk.
Frankly, this one isn’t even a contest.
The Mox Verdict: Akroma, Angel of Wrath
Squee, Goblin Nabob versus Cromat
On the surface, this too is a one-horse affair. Squee is probably the most important Magic card never to be cast. He fuels insane discard combos, pays repetitive upkeeps on Solitary Confinement and Masticore, and is, after all is said, a goblin. In a pinch, he swings for two.
Another plus-point of Squee is his name and rank. “Squee” is now the official internet expression of fangasm delight, and as for “Nabob”… well, it just sound like “nob.” Come on, we were all thinking it.
Cromat, on the other hand, is a picture-book phallus, a 5/5 beater for five colored mana. And look at those abilities! If he makes play, it’d take Godzilla and Godzuki to defeat him in combat.
Cromat was the win-condition in Jetta’s very first Magic deck, and lead to her first victory over my good self, so he holds a special place in her heart. That said, her victory was hardly conventional. When Jetta drew her Cromat, facing a lethal attack the following turn, she simply leant across the table and delivered a deep paper-cut across my left eyeball with the corner of the card. I was rushed to the Ocular Calamity ward of our local hospital, while Jetta won the game at her leisure.
Overall, I’m plumping for Squee — he’s never been responsible for a hideous injury, which makes him okay in my book.
The Mox Verdict: Squee, Goblin Nabob
…
That’s your lot for today. I’m a shattered, pulsing husk.
Tonight, I plan to introduce Jetta to the winsome Magma. I predict they’ll become fast friends. Although Jetta is renowned for her short fuse, their meeting couldn’t come at a more opportune moment. If they can put aside their differences to join forces, their reward would be great. Our village fete is mere days away, and the ladies, if teamed together, would be shoe-ins for the Three-Legged Derby… after all, with one-and-a-half legs apiece, they’d be the only anatomically correct couple competing.
Until next time, keep boomeranging those Karoos,
Doctor Mox can be contacted at [email protected]
Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, is entirely fictitious.