You should see me flitting about the hive, gettin’ stuff done: work, work, work, so much so that I am manic, depressive, and could use a swift kick in the ass. To that end, strap yourself in for a journey that wishes it could be so generously described as “random.”
First Piece: The Good Old Days
According to Jim, the Magic Invitational has lost some of its luster. Once upon a time, only the best of the best could hold out the possibility of being invited. Nowadays, anyone can enter, anyone can win, and theoretically, that’s as good as it gets.
Alas, poor Flores. He can’t win for losing.
The Invitational is supposed to be Magic’s all-star game in which, well, the stars showcase their talents for the world to see, or watch live as the case may or may not be. It’s about purity at its most simple, of sorts: you earned your spot, now make hay.
Much like all-star games in other endeavors, only the absolute cream of the crop should rise past the chaff. See the Major League Baseball All-Star game for an example.
But oh.
Each league must appoint one player from each team, not simply the best twenty-five-plus players. If the Yankees have twenty-five players who are better than the lone Twins’ representative, plenty of Bronx Bombers must take one for the team, because hey, Minneapolis needs to be up in the hizzy fo’ shizzy.
Hey, ever hear of 1957? The starting National League team, as selected by the fans, looked like this:
C Ed Bailey, Reds
1B Stan Musial, Cards
2B Johnny Temple, Reds
SS Roy McMillan, Reds
3B Don Hoak, Reds
OF Wally Post, Reds
OF Frank Robinson, Reds
OF Gus Bell, Reds
Therein lies the origin of Red Deck Wins.
Perhaps the National Football League? The last I heard, each league is not required to select a player from each team, so by default, these all-star teams must be comprised of the absolute deader-nuts stars than in baseball. Probably.
Perhaps they actually do get the most deserving players, but then they have to “play” the game. It’s much more than a week in Hawaii with everything and everyone you could ever want delivered to your hotel suite, and probably naked while toting a tray of cocaine, it’s about the game… where eleven guys do their best imitation of Deion Sanders attempting to tackle anyone other than a diminutive place kicker. It’s not like this happens every year, though; some kickers are not diminutive.
Maybe the National Basketball Association, where the players with the largest shoe contracts completely destroy any semblance of the word “team” and vie for the most dramatic, selfish, and over-the-top Sportscenter moment. I tease; the NBA all-star game is about as simple and pure as your average festering peat bog convent; good thing the players are too busy to showboat because they’re always playing defense.
Hockey has an all-star game, I guess… I imagine… is hockey still around? Whatever, according to some well-placed (and highly intelligent sources with absolutely no ridiculous agendas whatsoever) it’s just aboot a racist sport.
And then there is Magic. One could call The Invitational an “all-star game,” but then the point might be missed — the active word appears to be “invitational,” which sounds somewhat like the arcane and obscure word “invite.” While “all-star” is a subjective term, and may not mean to you what it means to someone else’s sexy ass mom, “invite” doesn’t leave much room for interpretation.
It used to be that any number of players above pro point threshold x were eligible. If you were below that line, have a nice day, do better and maybe we’ll see you next year. This may be the best, or at least fairest, way to do things: these are the minimum requirements, if you fail to meet them, you will not even be considered.
If Ken Krouner is to be believed – or at least his implications – Wizards figures out who they would like to see attend, then attempts to get their guys chosen. While (practically) no one is suggesting the ballots are rigged, the insinuation is that Mike Flores was going to The Invitational every which way Clint wanted.
When I heard Flores was in, I pumped the fist. Not because he’s my best bud and we go way back; I never even met him. Not because we’re AIM chatty-pals or email lovers; I don’t think I’ve ever corresponded with the one Michael J, at least not in the last Deckade (rofl Magic reference!). The reason I offered a resounding “boo to the ya” when I heard the news is simple:
He belongs there.
Mike may not be a great Magic player, and according to any number of sources, himself including, he most certainly isn’t. It’s unlikely he’ll outplay Kai or Finkel in their prime, or even when they’re severely hung over, asleep, unconscious, or busy being drawn and quartered. One thing is certain though: he’d write about it.
K to the Krouner seems concerned that Mike being prominently featured on the top two Magic sites on the web may be a major reason why he was selected. High profile equals name recognition equals you are invited. Because the people who read Magic sites are incapable of rational thought and are complete and utter freakin’ morons.
Hey, er, uh, duh, I heard’a dat Flores guy. Let’s vote fer him!
Izzhe gud?
I dunno! Let’s vote fer him anyways!
Goobers’n beer’n let’s pick our noses!
No, er, duh, first I gotta sleep with my sister!
I voted for Flores. Duh, er, uh, because I doy… heard of him.
It had nothing to do with the fact that the guy wrote about one hundred articles last year, with absolutely zero of them falling into the “utter trash” category. Fifteen to twenty pages per week, for one year.
Dear Everyone,
Try that.
Love,
Go Ahead, I’ll Wait.
Never mind, let’s go back to the old ways: if you can’t earn x pro points, we don’t have time for you. This will ensure that only the best are invited. Well, not really.
If the threshold is, say, twenty points, then any guy with twenty or more points is eligible. Duh? What if “guy with twenty” makes the sweet sixteen, while “guy with twenty-four” doesn’t? Golly, if we’re going by pro points, which is a fairly accurate method to determine… Er, no it isn’t.
Guy A wins the first pro tour of the year, and doesn’t make Day 2 for the rest. This could give him a ton of points (if twenty-five is awarded for winning and two just for showing up, but I’m too dial-up to verify), while “guy who finished top thirty-two in five straight events” ends up with less than flash-in-the-pan boy.
Yet, Magic website readers, being as stoopit as they are, will probably see those thirty-plus points and conclude that guy is better than some random who didn’t even make a freakin’ Top 8.
While we’re at it, let’s nix the Latin America vote. Damn, I think I saw a couple guys on the ballot who didn’t have twenty points. Stop sucking at Magic, Latin America!
Road Warrior, you gotta be kidding. I travel the world hoping to cash in backwater events or accumulate twenty points on the skin of local yokels because I’m bad at Magic!
Eighty-six the Resident Genius: why in the hell would we want guys who build the decks that influence the entire world? By the way, if the decks were that good, we wouldn’t have to invent a category to get them invited, since they would have already had the twenty points!
The Writer’s Vote? Who cares about guys who are so bad at Magic that instead of playtesting and trying to get better they waste time writing? Start playing!
Kiss ol’ Fan Favorite goodbye because the “fans” are probably those dumbasses that read those lame Magic web sites. We all know down which slippery slope that’s led….
If Flores doesn’t belong, after having paid, um, like, ten years of dues, and gee, oh, hmm, well, I guess writing hundreds of thousands of words about this game, then… I guess he doesn’t belong. Until it’s The Magic Longevity Invitational…
It doesn’t matter that Mike represents, to me at least, the underdog: the guy who faces overwhelming odds, and ordinarily gets knocked on his ass. This is probably why so many are sucked into The Life Of Wakefield: lil’ guy fights the power, loses, and tries again. Every once in a while, he’ll make it to the show, but try as he might, he’ll shortly return to the land of milk and honey: PTQville. Because he doesn’t really “belong” in the upper echelon.
Okay, Mike’s not very good at Magic.
But he’s been not very good at Magic for ten freakin’ years in a row.
And he’s written about how he’s not very good at Magic for ten freakin’ years in a row.
And he’s made it to the show and got knocked back down for ten freakin’ years in a row.
This is perseverance. Some might say this is Flores’s out-of-whack ego at its finest: he keeps going because he’s stubborn and thinks he’s too good for the lowly PTQ crowd and won’t give up because his opponents are lucksacks but someday, cruel world, I’ll show you and everyone will bow on the altar of Bad Player Flores!
It’s hard to not be very good at Magic, trust me on that one. While I’m certain that Mike is a better player than most of you reading this right now (and since its my article i duh er know ur bad at magic if u were like good u would b reading a real article), it’s hard not to identify with a guy who busts his ass to reach a level that just may be unattainable.
Still, there are two things you can count on:
An article per week from Mike.
Fifty forums responses that trash him.
He’s like the Don Beebe of Magic.
Rudy! Rudy! Rudy!
Some people say Flores is an arrogant prick. Maybe he is, maybe he isn’t. But he attends more events and writes more words than anyone I can think of. Oh, and did you know that he’s not very good at Magic and still attends more events and writes more words than anyone I can think of?
“Cheswick, stay off my side.”
-Jack Nicholson, One Flew Over The Cuckoo’s Nest
Apropos or no?
Enough of that. You either think Mike belongs or you don’t. Since actual real human beings voted him there, inbred fools that they may be, you’re forced to suck it up and wait ‘til next year. In the meantime, feel free to protest. Or, ooh, great idea:
Let’s all quit Magic!
Second Piece: “Interesting” “new” draft “archetype” that probably isn’t very good
After besting the field with Secret Friggin’ Sauce, this time sauced up with four Basking Rootwalla (omg so absolutely stoopid lol I mispelt it!), I accidentally hit upon a severe pack of cards in the draft. This was my deck:
Gigadrowse
Lurking Informant
Roofstalker Wight
Dimir Signet
Orzhov Signet
Glimpse the Unthinkable
Remand
2 Last Gasp
Muddle the Mixture
2 Terraformer
Souls of the Faultless lol heh rofl at yawg4L!
2 Pillory of the Sleepless
Compulsive Research
Runeboggle
Convolute
Consult the Necrosages
Withstand
Putrefy
Absolver Thrull
Repeal
Psychic Drain
Disembowel
7 Island
6 Swamp
1 Overgrown Tomb
1 Forest
Tee hee at me, when putting in the lands, I somehow missed the fact that I have White spells, thus included a grand total of zero Plains.
Every mistake that I’m aware of, no matter how embarrassing, whether or not it involves completely misunderstanding not only one, but two cards in one sentence, gets chronicled so that you may be saved from such hideousness in your personal life. Because that’s my shtick.
There are six creatures in the deck, and two of them are Terraformer. Chuckle at the reverse synergy of Absolver Thrull plus Pillory, and then giggle at the dozens of playable enchantments in Ravnica, and oh, gee, um, does Guildpact have any?
I won the first game of round 1 thanks to Terraformer fixin’ and an opponent unable to successfully navigate their draw step. After I sided in a few Plains, I lost the next two.
I won the first game of round 2 thanks to Terraformer fixin’ and an opponent unable to successfully navigate their draw step. After I sided in a few Plains, I won the next game too.
I won the first game of round 3 thanks to Terraformer fixin’ and an opponent unable to successfully navigate their draw step. After I sided in a few Plains, I lost the next two.
Lesson: when you can counter, kill or neuter everything the opponent plays, you don’t need creatures, especially when you can obliterate their library with Glimpse and Drain.
Secondary lesson: adding Plains to any deck is a recipe for disaster.
Seriously, six creatures. Yet, every game ended with an opponent who was either out of cards, or no less than two draw phases away from death. Six freakin’ creatures. Welcome to RRG Turbo Drain, an archetype where you yawn a lot because you have all the time in the world to wait until you draw Glimpse, which you certainly will, even if it’s the last card in the deck.
As an interesting aside, pack two, pick two presented me with this:
Lurking Informant
Glimpse the Unthinkable
Vedalken Entrancer
Glad I didn’t send the guy on my right any conflicting signals, huh?
Nevertheless, I can’t recall a time where I had such confidence in my deck’s ability to take on all comers, and for kicks, keep Skarrgan Firebird off the board no matter how many times it was cast.
Food for thought, but not good food.
Third Piece: The Fold
You either care about Legacy, or you don’t. I’m not sure I do, but since it’s the format of choice at the Crossroads Casual Saturday tourneys, I must at least fake it.
First things first: the tourney “field” is ordinarily comprised of four or five “newer” players, four or five “not so newbs” and a half-dozen uber guys like me, though not as sexy or good at Magic.
Oh, you can untap that “Morphling” guy…?
When you add newbs that aren’t really “newbs” in the sense that the word is usually applied, the picture gets cloudy in a hurry. This one kid, who I’d say is about fourteen or so, is just like we used to be: a million deck ideas and he can’t wait to try every single one of them. From Elves to Arcane Laboratory/Erayo to mono-Black discard and back, he’s there every week with bells on. A casual format which allows and encourages new deck ideas and implementations can’t be bad, can it?
After the tourney, Berto pounded the life out of him with Bob Affinity, during which the kid was forced to question not only his deck and the choice of cards, but life itself. So I grabbed his deck and proceeded to annihilate my po’ child for two reasons: a) to show him that his deck wasn’t the total pile he thought it was, and b) to show them both that there are certain strategies involved in both playing and opposing a permission-heavy deck.
This is the part where you shudder at the thought of me having any influence on the Magic playing youth, especially in the “giving advice” arena.
::shudder::
((*collectively*))
Said kid was looking through my box of “generally useful stuff,” which is comprised of cards that are, well, generally useful. Lackey, Fireblast, Duress, Logic, Crypt, Rancor, Fire/Ice, FTK, Contagion, Sex Monkeys, Terminate, the man lands…
Why Megrim was in that box is still a mystery to me, but the reason he pulled it out was not. The first deck I ever built, which was probably about two weeks after I started playing, featured Megrim. He does two damage when you make them discard!
Yes, but while you’re playing an enchantment on turn 3, they’re killing you. It took a few games for him to learn this, namely, those in which my hand was empty, and I had a Cursed Scroll on the board to go along with tons of little Red and White beatsticks.
Facing imminent death, he drew another Megrim, to which the natural question was: don’t you wish that was a Black Knight? Or Order of the Ebon Hand? Or anything other than Megrim?
For some reason, Standstill is one of the most in-demand cards at the store. Everyone wants four, except those guys who understand it doesn’t go into every deck that has access to Blue mana. Much like the Megrim conundrum, I found a sure-fire way to demonstrate the one glaring weakness of Standstill:
I played turn one Savannah Lions…
…and said “I’m not going to play another spell this game.” Actual beads of sweat started to form on my opponent’s forehead because he realized his four Standstill might as well have been four Megrim. It’s quite an interesting situation when you can either mulligan until you have Force of Will in your opening hand, or simply lose to Jackal Pup, Isamaru, or Savannah Lions. I understand Landstill will drop a disk or O-stone or something, but this kid had none of that. Give him credit for trying to take advantage of the magic words “draw three cards.”
True to my word (and on my behalf), I didn’t play another spell. Wastelands dealt with his “answers” in the form of Faerie Conclaves, and after that, no amount of Impulse or bounce was going to save him because he was dead.
One kid showed up last week with a U/R morph deck — yes, all the creatures were morphs. I played him in the first round, kept a one-land opener and discarded for three turns. And still won. This doesn’t mean what you think it means.
Another plays U/G Madness religiously and doesn’t seem to mind that the deck can’t beat anything. Ever. It seems he has learned this, but is apparently so intimidated by real duals that he brings his obituary to every match, in the event that his opponent drops a turn 1 Taiga. You know the type: they know their deck and how to play it, but for some reason Bruce shows up and gives him a “gg” mere seconds after the die roll. This doesn’t mean what you think either.
Finally, I, and a few other guys, suggested he never play that deck again, thx. He’s building Survival. With Sneak Attack.
I doubt there are many other nine year-olds who can correctly evaluate a Friggorid opening hand, refrain from a turn 2 Bob because Sinkhole followed by Vindicate and Wasteland just ain’t right, work the stack like Pringles aren’t the best potato chip ever created, and place Megrim and Standstill in the category of “if you build a deck around it maybe it’ll work.” But all things considered, and despite his first 3-1 last week, Berto’d probably rather be trading. So would most of the guys mentioned above.
Competitive versus Casual versus This Is Who I Play With Every Week.
While I was caught unawares during my first trek to the land of Saturday casuals and was forced to run Ichorid… that quickly got old. Not because it beat the ever-loving snot out of everyone, but precisely because it beat the ever-loving snot out of everyone.
This doesn’t mean the deck is Legacy-viable, it only means it’s pretty damned good considering the field. Still, Ichorid is all about completely ignoring the opponent, except when you want to totally destroy his hand, and thus his ability to even play the game. Not very newb friendly, and to guys who oftentimes seem to play just to make it easier to trade, it’s probably enough to put them off their food.
After three weeks, I was sick to death of watching newbs helplessly watch me play with my graveyard and beat them into the losers bracket that I decided to actually build another deck: Secret Friggin’ Sauce became the new kid on the block (swoon at Donnie, such a rascal!) even if it’s not new at all, nor block-legal.
This lasted three weeks in which virtually every game either ended on turn 4 due to Fat Daddy Wurm, or went to time thanks to recurring Spike Weaver. This deck is much more reactionary than Ichorid, but it still seeks to eliminate the opponent’s ability to actually become relevant in the match.
I lost a couple games to Threshold, one to the semi-mirror and one to MUC. I managed to snag a game when the Blue mage tapped out to play Keiga. Choke resolved the next turn, and as Wakefield was fond of saying:
When Choke hits the board
Adam West, Burt Ward
One-hit wonder Willa Ford
Alternatively spelled “fjord.”
That Wakefield always had a way with words.
Since I wanted to engage the newbs and perhaps have some matches in which a give-and-take was a possibility, naturally, I, er, built a counter burn deck. It was bad. Very bad. It went 3-1 losing only to the sickest Goblin draw you ever did see.
Building decks is fun. Building The Invitational decks was fun. Writing about decks is fun. Perhaps they’ll suck, but the time spent is anything but wasted. Every format entails building a deck, and while some may claim it’s a lost art, it is one of the most enjoyable aspects, at least for me. And for those guys at the Saturday tourney: to build all those new decks running rampant in their domes, they must trade!
I remember spending untold hours building decks that were complete and utter piles, which was most every deck I ever built. Some may say I got “lucky” with Friggorid, and perhaps I did. However, the time involved agonizing over every card, testing the hell out if it and revisiting earlier assumptions offered such mental stimulation that I may or may not have spent two to three months with a chub.
Last weekend, I finally played against Friggorid — the extended version that wasn’t even tweaked for Legacy. I lost to a turn 3 lethal ‘Tog. Gee, I guess Crypt isn’t such a good answer when you only have two turns to draw it. It just felt wrong to lose to so many bad 3/1s, much like Jamie C. feels violated when he gets Forestwalked to death. Alas…
For reference, I mean, for those who religiously copy my decks and play them, here’s my latest happy little mix that was tweaked to the nth to beat, or at least contend with, Goblins:
4 Basking Rootwalla
4 Fyndhorn Elves
4 Llanowar Elves
4 Wall of Roots
3 Wall of Blossoms
2 Uktabi Orangutan
2 Spike Feeder
2 Spike Weaver
2 Stampeding Wildebeests
1 Kami of Ancient Law
1 Deranged Hermit
1 Verdant Force
1 Phantom Nishoba
1 Autochthon Wurm
1 Masticore
1 Squee, Goblin Nabob
4 Natural Order
4 Survival of the Fittest
10 Forest
4 Gaea’s Cradle
2 Savannah
1 Windswept Heath
1 Wooded Foothills
Sideboard:
3 Lifeforce
3 Choke
3 Tormod’s Crypt
1 Light of Day
1 Kataki, War’s Wage
1 Uktabi Orangutan
3 Defense of the Heart rofl omg lol so much anti-Goblin cheese for one man
Yes, it beat Goblins, thank you very much. Walls tend to do that, and when you drop four Rootwallas into play, you’re all set to sit back and take complete control, and at your leisure. Forget doing just that, then watching Defense of the Heart trigger during your upkeep. Win more! Hopefully, the Goblin players won’t figure out to toss in fetchlands and a couple Badlands and bring in Perish from the ‘board.
Fetchlands: best lands ever. Even in a mono-colored deck.
So.
PTQs are fun, so are the casual Saturdays – as much if not more so. The major difference involves when I peel a Sex Monkey to blow up a freshly-cast Aether Vial and say “I am truly good at Magic.” That’s likely to be answered with a chuckle at Crossroads, while at a PTQ, my opponent might put a switchblade to my jugular.
“Switchblade”…”jugular”… Cutthroat…”serious competition,” get it? I’m phunny.
Fourth Piece: Invasion Dot Dex
Use Blood Moon. Or don’t.
There are two schools of thought: everyone will be using tons of nonbasics to get their mana right — punish them. The second involves a little more schooling, but can be just as obvious is you’re asking the right questions. We can build anything — is Blood Moon a tremendous answer or just laziness?
That’s up to you to decide. Red decks will always be somewhat competitive simply because they’re Red. Even when they’re bad, they’re still Red.
Wizards has provided exploratory tools not seen since Invasion block, and while I’m sure they tested the hell out of as many guild derivations they could imagine, they couldn’t possibly figure out everything. (or could they!)
Sure, you might play Blood Moon, quick beats and direct damage, and it may even be viable. Heck, it might even end up being the best deck. It won’t be the most creative. Not to go off on a “creative v. just win baby” tangent, but with unprecedented diversity in the Standard environment, why wouldn’t we try to break fresh ground?
Three color decks are fun to play since you can usually include an inordinate number of excellent cards. Go four or five and you’re playing with thirty-six first picks and a three hundred dollar mana base. This is exciting, if not a reason to simply build a cheap Red deck with Blood Moon. Oh, or Dryad Sophisticate, who is sexy because she can morph into furniture.
Some people would take Friggorid to the Saturday casuals until someone figured out how to beat it. Then they’d go home, tweak it, and then win again.
Some people will go mono Red with Blood Moon.
Some will take the deck that gives them the best chance to win, grabs three packs, a rare from the auction and a couple rating points.
Others won’t.
As such, a conundrum of sorts:
Do I drive three hours to Brighton for PTQ It Rhymes With Blog, sans child of the corn, or a half hour to Crossroads for a tourney in which suit and tie is optional? Both will be fun, but only one of them will be surrounded with the minty-fresh taste of utter newbism, which is not necessarily “new” players, but a refreshing lack of dickness that, while not always prevalent at a PTQ, is nevertheless more likely to show up.
As much as I’d like to drive six hours, spend fifty bucks and type out an overly large decklist for the report, I kinda sorta can’t. But I wanna! How much is the question. Probably not enough. But a lot! Speaking of which…
I have yet to see a player walk away from a match with a grumble.
No dangling hands that were not shaken.
No IDs (yet?).
No use of the words “lucksack,” “god draw” or “prick bastard lucksack with god draws.”
No one that I know of has added cards to their deck in between rounds.
No one has thrown anything, such as decks, chairs or elderly persons.
Yet, it is with sweet sorrow that I realize the last Prague PTQ I could be reasonably expected to attend is, as of this writing, coming and going. Alas, capital of the Czech Republic, I hardly knew ya’.
While there are times that are good when playing with newbs and those who have yet to know the joys of a woman in real life, there is much to be said for the serious competition of your average PTQ. Plus, I like them. There is little that can spark the juices as my cards facing off against your cards, when an envelope that may or may not be blue is on the line.
Everyone who attends a qualifier wants to win. Some don’t really expect to hoist the brass ring, but the ratio of those who do to those who are just there to have a little fun is a greater discrepancy than those who bring Elves.dec to the table.
There is much to be learned from both events, and the lessons may not be as disparate as they appear. They are, in no particular order:
Play hard.
Play fair.
Have fun.
Last week, there were only four players who wanted to Draft. A snowstorm and large cash tourney at the other Crossroads store may or may not have contributed to the lack of interest. Four guys. Drafting. Unsanctioned.
We did a Rochester, kept the cards we drafted face up, and mostly cooperated.
I first picked Lurking Informant because Shante said to, and picked up another two packs later. Brenden started with Tolsimir, nabbed Selesnya Evangel, Congregation at Dawn and Borborygmos, while Matt first picked Galvanic Arc, then added double Peel From Reality, Vacuumelt and two Izzet Chronarch. Brian got what was left, which was, well, the worst Boros and Orzhov I’ve ever seen.
A four man Rochester with nearly perfect information may be fun, but the format is still difficult. As everyone’s new favorite whipping boy, Aaron Forsythe, said in Inquest (with a gigantic, nearly centerfold-sized blowup pic of Teysa on the cover and that’s not the only reason I bought it but it probably played a significant role in my decision):
“Guildpact is Apocalypse already and that thing on Teysa’s chin makes her look even hotter.”
Where the hell is this going…?
You had us at “hello.”
Then lost us.
Real quick.
It’s going where it’s going, which is Electric Avenue, and damn, don’t I wish I used that as a title on one of my own articles… Speaking of the good old days, if there is anyone who can say “Gristleback” without harkening back to those catchy yet annoying Chili’s commercials that went “baby back, baby back, gimme my baby back ribs,” then either you never saw the ad, or you’re just not hip enough to keep up with me.
Buehler printed Millikin as a “word ‘em up” to Nate, a Manakin fan from way back.
Forsythe printed Gristleback as a “word ‘em up” to the guys who saw that commercial.
None of you can disprove me, even an email from either of them actually disproving me will dissuade me because I’m a Taurus, which means I’m not only very good at Magic, but will never admit I’m wrong, even in the face of evidence that says just that. I wonder if Flores is a Taurus, what with daring to write one hundred articles every year when he is clearly out of his league. Hey, “Flores” and “Taurus” almost rhyme.
“We gotta lotta non-believers out there…”
-Flava Flav
“I hear ya’ Flav, and dayum, you did ‘Gitte? Girl’s been taxed like Willie Nelson, poked like the Pilsbury Doughboy, and slammed more than Mankind, David Carr, and Pamela Anderson combined.”
-Rizza Riz, vis-Ã -vis
But she was hot.
In 1985.
Dear Sly,
How much do you regret “Cobra?”
Love,
I Bet A Lot
Fifth Piece: Hatred For Eighteen
Despite what Peter Jahn et al claim, Leyline of the Void does not wreck Friggorid. Much like any other specific piece of hate, it does what it is intended: forces it to evolve. If it can, it will. If it can’t, it goes away. Er, maybe it does, or at least can, wreck it… I’d hate to admit that Peter is right.
Flashback: GP — Detroit, 2000:
Aaron Forsythe beats the hell out of Peter Jahn, and then mentions this to John Friggin’ Rizzo, who promptly gets his ass handed to him by Ingrid Lind-Jahn.
That’s why Peter can’t be right. Ever. P.S. I’m over it. Mostly.
The simplest way I see to beat Void (but you probably can’t so stop trying) is to toss in a Godless Shrine or two and main deck Demystify, Quiet Purity, Frantic Purification, or even Wipe Clean — which should not be the name of a Magic card. Ever. So many connotations, all are not good.
I don’t know how practical this “hate your hate” strategy may be, although it doesn’t take a genius to figure out that they pretty much need the Leyline in their opening hand. Turn 4 is usually going to be too late.
Additionally, to ensure the pre-game drop, they’ll likely have to side in four copies. While the power of the Leyline seems undisputed, I’m not ready to circle the wagons, especially since the deck has more than one win condition.
Furthermore, there are ways to minimize the graveyard dependency; a transformational sideboard is not out of the question. Swapping fifteen cards and completely changing the operation of the deck, which nullifies the opponent’s sideboarding, can lead to very interesting game three decisions: will he go back to the dredge build? Should I keep in the graveyard hate or should I anticipate more of what I just saw?
This is part of the fun and where the “mental sport” aspect of the game truly shines. Rock, paper, scissors may be frustrating to some, but I find it to be yet another fascinating element. Perhaps I’m wrong, and Friggorid ends up as a footnote.
I want Peter to be wrong.
So very much.
But he’s probably right.
About everything.
Bastard!
Sixth Piece: Hawaii, where I almost died of sunstroke in 1992 because I fell asleep on the beach like a horse’s ass
No one of great consequence used Blood Moon. I’m proud of y’all. But c’mon, no one used it? It’s one of those things that seems so obvious:
4 Blood Moon
56 other things that don’t even have to be good
Then again, perhaps peeps thought about and duly dismissed the ‘Moon because they saw the cheatiness of such a shallow strategy. Or maybe it sucks. However, adding a few basic lands to your deck du jour might not be the worst idea you ever had.
Nevertheless, eight kewl decks made Top 8.
Perhaps some of you had known about Owling Mine, but this is news to me. And no, the deck doesn’t appear to be very frustrating to play against. Whoopie, my opponent put out two Howling Mines! Once again, card advantage is proven to be an ass neck.
Orzhov should be renamed Orz(obv), because it’s just that damned good, or at least really, really neato. Twiddling around with the Guildpact precons led me to fall head-over-heels with all things Orzhovian, which kinda rhymes with “fallopian,” not to mention wonder how anything could beat it. Ever. Discard, elimination, fatties, Bob, drain, what’s not to love?
I can’t look at Zoo without wanting to call it a pile: it just seems so… piley. Sure, tons of undercosted beaters backed up with a little dome your chin, but, man, it just doesn’t look good. However, looks are apparently deceiving in this case.
Likewise, Gruul appears unattractive. Yes, it’s fast, yes it’s loaded with beatz, but feel free to refer to commentary above re: Zoo.
Izzetron is something I can’t get a handle on. You got the Urza lands and big fat flyers, bounce and counters and… Reading the match coverage looking for answers only led to more questions. By the way, is Meloku the only card that can make Tendo Ice Bridge nearly playable? Yet, it made Top 8, probably because, like the above decks, it’s good.
Still, there is a little patter in my chest. I like that there is a metagame (of sorts), even if it’s not really relevant to the wee folks who won’t have to deal with Standard until Dissension hits, but I also don’t like that there is a metagame.
I want a map, but need to flip a coin at every intersection.
I want a set of rules, but need to kinda sorta somewhat ignore them.
I want to know what I have to beat, but need you to remain blissfully ignorant.
Blood Moon didn’t make Top 8, and I’m glad. To me, this represents a vibrant and diverse (and fuzzy words libs use) format.
Although, it kind of makes you wonder: why did Wizards reprint Blood Moon…?
Seventh Piece: Biology
About six years ago, I spent about four hours writing my bio/blurb that appears under my article and in my archives. I hated it immediately and still do, yet it was sent into the morass of cyberspace and ended up in The F’s inbox.
Ted was completely unreceptive to my suggestion of changing it because he’s just plain cantankerous; Ben (editor for a week) had some ideas but scooped rather than helping a brother out because he’s just plain mean, and while I have yet to pester Craig, I imagine he’ll be Johnny Back Burner Boy, for he has other fish to grab from the Thames and fry because he’s a fish killer non-vegetarian.
This leaves me with a bio that induces nausea; “Senator Rizzo?” Psst: I’m not a real senator, nor a doctor, nor have I been knighted. Thus, if you have any ideas, get busy. In the forums!
You win nothing. Ever. But who knows, you could be the guy (or gyrl um okay) whose words accompany my shirtless pic (why?) for each article that this here site sees fit to print. That is, if Craig isn’t too mean to make a change, which he should not be, since others’ bios and pics appear to have more cosmetic surgery than the Vivid Girls.
An example:
By reading John’s articles, you are contributing to the demise of all that is good in this world. How do you sleep at night!
If no one helps me out, you may be stuck reading something that is even worse than “after watching his wife give birth…” If that’s possible.
Bonus Piece Of Ass!
Inquest Gamer, which you don’t read because you all have broadband, recently compiled a list of the one hundred bestest creatures in Magic ever so hold onto your lids.
I could piss and moan about the exclusion of my favorite 3/1, though Withered Wretch came in at ninety-seven because he’s “A bear that can deal with everything from flashback to reanimation to Ichorid…” S’long as Ichy got a little love somewhere.
I’ll list the top ten because I like lists almost as much as I like debating them:
10. Exalted Angel
9. Eternal Witness
8. Wild Mongrel
7. Birds of Paradise
6. Goblin Welder
5. Flametongue Kavu
4. Hypnotic Specter
3. Masticore
2. Morphling
What creature could possibly be superior to Superman?
Our friend, the bastion of utter brokenness, the lovable Dr. Teeth, Pissyhog himself.
I can’t complain (much) about that top ten, but I bet you can but only in the forums!
Insert closing paragraph that neatly ties the previous twenty pages together.
Who in the hell ends a twenty page article like
this,
John Friggin’ Rizzo