Take Two: Part IV – Constructed

Yessir, I had dipped my toe into the MTG tournament scene and was now ready to embark upon the treacherous waters of constructed play.  I’m not going to lie to you.  In hindsight, my deck building skills were half-crappy at best.  However, I knew enough about standard legal cards that I still came up with a stout black-green deck featuring Pernicious Deed and Spiritmonger.

As had become custom by now, we did some limited testing and I steamrolled my usual partner who insisted on poindextering up some control-based, combo-laden monstrosity.  I wonder if this dude goes to Vegas and bets against the Harlem Globetrotters.  It was like he had the MTG equivalent of battered-wife syndrome.  I’d beat him 5 straight games and then he’d get the Lord’s draw and lock the next game down and muster up a look that would say: “See?  This deck really does love me”.

In any event, I had the design.  I had the date circled on my calendar.  I had the Vick’s Vaporub for the underside of my nostrils (the event was at the American again).  Now was the time to get me some cards and trash these proxies.

Uh-huh.  Well…..um….@#&$.  I took one look at the prices for the cards in this deck and damn near soiled myself.   Listen, I’m not one of those guys that throws around nickels like manhole covers but I had bills, a mortgage, and an out of work wife.  I wasn’t about to dump $100 to buy the 4 additional cards I needed to complete my build.

I was going to take a stand!  This was an outrage!  $4 packs are one thing, but shelling out that type of dough for cardboard representations of creatures and spells was something else entirely.  It was my feeling that if I didn’t open what I needed over the past 3 months of buying packs and playing casually with buddies then I’d simply add some filler to replace the missing ‘Deeds and ‘Mongers. 

It is said that at high levels of competition, the smallest advantage, the most minute act or observation, can make the difference between glory and obscurity.  Even as a novice, I knew deep down inside that my already slim hopes of victory were dashed without those 4 missing cards.  It was like going into a chess tournament missing a Queen and a Rook. 

This bush league crap might work when pushing chess pieces with my buddy Manual after about 17 bourbon and Cokes, but competent players with complete decks were going to beat me like a rented mule.

When it was over, I almost wished I had done worse.  I had some great draws and good matchups and for the second tournament in a row, I finished 4-2-1, losing to the eventual champion in 3 games (he was running a Mirari deck). 

In all honesty, I can’t remember the placeholders I ended up using for the missing bombs, but they sure as hell weren’t as good as the cards they replaced.  The feeling upon leaving the malodorous halls of the hotel was less one of disappointment then one of resignation. 

I don’t eat precious gems and ride to work on a flying pony.  Given my financial realities at the time, there was no way I was going to be able to muster up that type of coin for a competitive constructed deck every time a tournament rolled around and I didn’t relish the thought of playing the same deck or some variant of it for the rest of my MTG career.

Yes, I was bummed by this somewhat stern wake up call.  However, I was fairly certain that my continually developing skills would allow me (if enough time were invested) to come up with some cheap rouge decks that would surprise and delight the Magic world.  In fact, the Grand Prix was coming soon.  It seemed to be the perfect time to test my deck building prowess against some formidable opponents.  Yep.  My next entry will tell you exactly how that went….

Next Installment:  The Fryguy gets his arse handed to him, has the pleasure to meet some real buttholes at the Grand Prix, and backs out of MTG.

History Speaks: A Journeyman’s guide to Limited

I know that this may come as something of a shock to my readers, but a seasoned Magic veteran I am not.  I try to read up and keep myself educated, but when advanced players begin pontificating about how a specific card or mechanism may not fare well when faced with some other card or mechanism of which I have never heard I kind of get sleepy.  Kind of like when that dude with glasses at work starts breaking out spreadsheets and graphs complaining about metrics or monkeys or some such thing.

Anyway, truth be told, I will never be able to afford the time investment to become a grandmaster deck brewer or draft stud.  I am a journeyman.  The back-up QB.  The dabbler.  The hot chick’s slightly pudgy friend who’s only about 6 bourbons away from getting hit on.

In lieu of experience and practice, new and casual players must rely upon focus and planning in order to remain competitive.  Let us, therefore, look to the voices of the past to streamline our game.  Who knows?  Perhaps even the very skilled can avail themselves of the wisdom of our forbearers.

“L'audace, l'audace. Toujours l'audace!" (Audacity, audacity.  Always audacity!)

--Danton

In nearly every form of competition whether in war, in business, or in sports, it is good policy to dictate the terms of the battle.   This is axiom holds particularly true when playing Limited due to the general dearth of precision builds. 

When the path to victory is clouded with uncertainty, attack!  Take the battle to the enemy.  Let your foe scramble to stop your onslaught.  Leave him shaking like a Frenchman in a thunderstorm.  With your opponent constantly reacting to you, less time is available to formulate a long term plan for your defeat. 

Ultimately, straining from the relentlessness of your assault, mistakes will be made.  In a tightly contested match, a poor block, the wrong land left untapped, or a poorly ordered combination often separates glorious victory from a shameful demise.  

“To be strong everywhere is to be strong nowhere”

--Sun Tzu

It is a strange man indeed who fears choosing “rock” when engaging in a game of Rochambeau due to its reputation for weakness to “paper”.  In limited, you cannot possibly guard against all possible contingencies.  Unless your draft table is full of a bunch of baboons, you will not be able to field a deck that is impervious to burn, strong against creatures, robust when faced with ramp, and magnificent against control.  This isn’t the NFL and your deck is not the 85’ Bears. 

By the second pack, you should ask yourself “what does this deck want to do?”  Identify a theme (subject to change, of course, should any notable bombs fall into your possession), select cards that complement it, and address any glaring weakness if the opportunity arises. 

There will always be some card or archetype (again, sans baboons at the draft table) that is going to piss you off.  Don’t worry about it.  Make yourself as strong as possible at what you want to do and odds are you’ll be the one doing the pissing off.

“The maxim, ‘Nothing avails except perfection’ spells paralysis.”

—Winston S. Churchill

I like to call this “Wiley Coyote Syndrome.”  That dumbass coyote is always bankrupting himself on crazy plans involving rockets, bungee cords, paint, cacti, roller skates, non-union immigrant workers, and ball bearings when all he needs is to dump a little rat poison in the bird seed. 

Don’t be a shill for those a-holes at ACME.  What use is having a good rat poison in your hand if it only serves to give your opponent gas unless combined with 2 or 3 other cards sitting somewhere in your library?  Whatever you draft should be good by itself even if you can’t pull off the triple-Lutz.  For the journeyman, keeping it real simplifies draft strategy and reduces the potential for errors during the game.

In a game that already spends at least every other Sabbath worshiping at the alter of chance, crossing your fingers and hoping for sweet music every time you draw your opening 7 is a recipe for bog-down.  Yep.  That’s right.  I’m telling you that the Tortoise and Hare fable is a bunch of flapdoodle.

“Nothing is softer or more flexible than water, yet nothing can resist it.”
--Lao Tzu

During game play, much as in life, you must be flexible in your approach in order to gain the maximum benefit.  In both MTG and in poker I have seen players become so unwaveringly committed to pulling off some nifty play (that hasn’t been a good idea for 2 turns) that they miss the reality of the current circumstance.

Keep abreast of changes in your hand and on the board.  What was a good play last turn, may not be the best play now.

I have a buddy who drank way too many 7 & 7’s once when we were all in Vegas and married our blackjack dealer.  As you might imagine, my buddy had the buyer’s remorse.  You may wonder where I’m going with this.  Me too.  I guess I would say that what was looking like a great idea at one moment might not be the best choice when circumstances change a bit.  Stay flexible.  Don’t marry the dealer.

 “There are more men ennobled by study than by nature.”

—Cicero

This advice is problematic for players unable to invest a lot of time in their game but it is extremely important nonetheless.  Drafting a new set is a lot like going boozing with my friend Irish Andy.  If you don’t thoroughly prepare yourself for what you are about to do, things will not end well.  Ever.

Unless you are a gladiator or adult film star, raw talent will not always suffice to win the day over the individual who spent time in careful study.  I cannot stress enough the importance of learning the cards before sitting down to draft. 

You don’t want to be the dude leaving the table, dejected, saying “Damn.  I didn’t know that the Stormfront Pegasus was that good” or “I didn’t realize a Sacred Wolf would work so well with that equipment” or even “Ice Cage does what?  Oh #@&$....”.

Take some time to learn the cards.  Your first opponent in any draft is the contents of the pack, not the guy across from you.

“Paying attention to simple little things that most men neglect makes a few men rich.”

--Henry Ford.

Read the damn cards.  Carefully.  Even goat farmers in Afghanistan know this to be true but so many players (including myself) fail to always thoroughly read the cards.   When you go to a new restaurant you read the menu before ordering right?  Granted, prematurely sacrificing an Ember Hauler may pale in comparison with staring down at the business end of a platter of “Sesame Kitten”, but it still surprises me how often players fail to consider the details on a card before acting.

A single half-assed play in an otherwise well played match can doom any player much less the novice or journeyman.  Quit being lazy and pay attention.  Losing a match due to mental errors sucks more than about any other type of loss.  Well that and losing to some ass-face who jumps around celebrating like a 5 year old earning his first “participation ribbon” at field day……

Next Installment:  The Fryguy hits his first constructed tournament and discovers some unpleasent realities.

Take Two: Part III --- The Tournament

The day had finally come.  No more would my MTG experience be limited to a coffee table in the living room.  I was going to a tournament to pit my skills (such as they were) against other players with whom I had no familiarity.  As a novice, I was pleased that the format would be sealed deck as not having to worry about what other people were doing allowed my brain to concentrate exclusively upon my own game. 

Dawn came early for me (I was on night shift at the time) so I may or may not have slept at the wheel as I began the long drive north to The American.  It may have been the dreariness of the weather, or it may have been the fact that I wasn’t accustomed to buildings that smelled of urine, but the venue seemed to be real shithole.  I’d been in outhouses in Mexican border towns that smelled better.  Seriously.  I had to keep checking the bottoms of my shoes to make certain I didn’t step in any raw sewage. 

Anyway, shortly after my arrival, either the coffee or the human piss odor jarred me from my pseudo-slumber and I began to survey the scenery as it were.  As many of you know, Magic players have labored under a pretty specific stereotype for years so by the time that I waded through piles of cigarette butts and through the front doors, I already had a preconception of how the community at large would look and act.  I can say with absolute honesty that things were exactly as I anticipated.

If someone had told me that the tournament was being held at a different hotel and that I was, in fact, waiting in line for a Napoleon Dynamite Impersonators conference I would have had to double check my Google map before calling them a liar.  Also as I expected, the players were friendly, helpful, and seemed genuinely excited to get their hands on a few packs and start going to town.  I was among my peeps again for the first time in years and my nervousness at playing in my first tournament was soon replaced with a feeling of pleasant anticipation. 

With a gleam in my eye, I cracked open some cards and began detailing the contents of the deck.  My exhilaration soon gave way to disgust.  These cards were crap.  Actually, the garbage I had the dishonor of listing in the inventory sullied the good name of crap.  I wondered if it would be frowned upon if I would, at some point during the tournament, throw down my hand, push all my cards along with some loose change into the center of the table and shout “I fold you cheating bastards!”

Well I certainly felt like an ass when they told me that the cards we would use to build our decks would not be the same ones we cracked and chronicled.  I tried to act cool about it but instead jumped up and down clicking my heels together in mid-air like a drunken leprechaun.  To the poor SOB who got the cards I opened I say this: “Dude, you got $#@&ed.”

Due to the presence of a few Terminates, 2 Flametongue Kavus, and some Lava Zombies, I opted for some Red/Black.  In hindsight, I should have paid a little more attention to my mana curve but compared to the filth that I brown-bagged for some other poor shmo this deck was stout.

My first foe was a young lad of about 18 or so years.  While he was not as green as me, he was new enough to the game that we ended up in a friendly debate regarding proper chronology after I cast a Thunderscape Battlemage with kicker.  We had a few laughs, summoned a judge (I was incorrect) and proceeded to battle to a tie.  I made some nervous errors and should have cleaned his house but he was a cool dude and I was a newbie so I didn’t get too upset with the draw.

I lost my next match to some lucky mullet who dropped a Verdeloth the Ancient on me with some kicker in 2 of the 3 games.  I never drew my Terminates and he laughed at my Flametongues.  0-1-1.   This tournament crap was coming dangerously close to sucking.  I had a mind to call the Djinn and tell him to take his deck building advice and shove it right up his arse.  And then, it all came together.  I rattled of 4 of my next 5 (along with another tie) and sat at a robust 4-2-2.  I was the freaking MAN!  Undoubtedly such a formidable record would land me some serious product!

Excitedly, I tracked down my told my old mentor and told him of my prowess but, strangely, he seemed less than euphoric.  Deciding that this cat was a total butthole, I sauntered over to check the standings and was mortified to find that there were like 50 people ahead of me.  Well, top 3^rd-ing was pretty friggin cool anyway so I hopped in my ride, and drove home with nothing but good feelings.

In retrospect, my first tournament experience was my favorite.  The bulk of the other players (while unlikely to become public speakers, football heroes, or man-whores in the supermodel community) were patient with my newbieness, helpful regarding rules, and reasonably engaging personally.  Despite the odor of the venue, I performed beyond my expectations and once I convinced my wife that I was indeed at a tournament and not playing in a cat box for 12 hours, she was only a little pissed that I spent the entire day away from the house playing a card game for 25 bucks.  Yep, I was going to seriously get into this magic thing….

Next Week, The Fryguy tries his hand at some constructed and discovers some unpleasant realities about MTG

Take Two: Part II --- The Draft

I stared at the mish-mash of cards in my hand.  How the #@%$ was I supposed to make this mess into a serviceable deck?   This was my 4^th go-around and I still couldn’t seem to get it right.  Over and again I kept getting trounced by my opponent/mentor and I was starting to get pissed off. 

I didn’t just fall off the back of a turnip truck so I generally know when I’m outclassed or if an activity or skill is beyond my full comprehension.  Examples of this include set-theoretic topology or how anyone could find Courtney Love attractive.  MTG was not beyond my ability to be adequate.  It wasn’t damn it, and I was going to plug away until I stopped sucking.

In my latest travesty of a draft, I selected what I thought were complimentary colors and tried my damndest to find synergies between cards as I was taught.   It seemed, however, that my knowledge of the rules and interactions just did not suffice to make anything but a big pile of ass out of the cards in my pile.  Before I dropped my first land, I knew I was in trouble yet again.  Resignedly, and with slumped shoulders, I began re-arranging deck chairs on the Titanic until I sunk.

A few days later I was sitting in my cube farm at the office valiantly moving things from column ‘A’ to column ‘B’ when it was brought to my attention that my buddy Nick a few rows down (known by some as the Immortal Djinn and to others as that big half-asser who spends his time listening to loud music and pontificating about crap that has nothing to do with work) had been known to drop a hand or two of MTG.

I figured, “what the hell?” and walked over to the Djinn to ask him some advice. It was his belief, contrary to the practices and advice of my existing tutor, that (for a novice player) trying to consistently piece together nifty combinations and eloquent schemes out of random and inconsistent packs of cards was folly.

He introduced to me what all new players should know when first starting out; the concept of B.R.E.A.D.  At my next opportunity, I applied these simple principles in a practice draft with my old teacher and nemesis.  In lieu of looking for cute little tricks, I drafted beef.  I didn’t look for combos, I snapped up Terminates.  While my opponent was drafting his 3^rd 1-2 Merfolk in hopes of establishing something nifty, I grabbed Flametongue Kavus.  I was pissed off and so was my deck.

In MTG, as it is with sports, binge drinking, hippy lettuce, hitting on chicks, and arguing with your spouse, it is vital to know your limitations.  My deck building for limited unquestionably lacked the eloquence expected of a more seasoned player, but by keeping it simple and grabbing value where I saw it instead of creating Rube Goldberg machines over and over again my builds were unquestionably better. 

Within a few games with my old mentor, I felt like Darth Vader facing off with Obi-wan on the Death Star and had to consciously fight off the urge to snarl “your powers are weak old man.”  Certainly I still had far to go to be considered even an average player as evidenced by my tendency to snatch defeat from the jaws of victory with foolish choices but the groundwork had been laid for a paved road to competency.  I was ready for my first tournament.

So with renewed confidence in my mediocrity and with a barbaric yawp, I packed up my 2 dice, grabbed 25 bucks, and made my way to the beautiful American Motel to play in the Planeshift pre-release.

Come back soon as The Fryguy battles through his intial tournament and describes his first exposure to the Magic community

Take Two: Part I --- Discovering MTG

At some point in the late 1990’s (I can’t remember exactly when) I was sifting through various cable channels desperately looking for something to give me an excuse to blow off my upcoming paper on Civil War infantry assault tactics and the advent of the rifled musket.  I was about ready to give up in disgust when the flickering light settled on ESPN6 or some such thing.

On screen, two warriors, each looking like the older brother from The Wonder Years, proceeded to lay down cards, turn them sideways, and then lay down more cards with fanciful names.  Sometimes, they would turn those sideways and sometimes they would drop them into what looked to be a discard pile.  Mostly, however, they glared at each other like two spouses engaging in their 45^th debate regarding toilet seat etiquette.

Excited commentators, speaking what seemed to be Hindi, prophesized the meaning of these activities as the two young men playing tried their damndest to look more and more like The Wonder Years brother. 

Shortly before, I was about ready to quit my search for diversion and focus on my paper; and after seeing this remarkable game, I did just that.

This, my friends, was my initial exposure to MTG.  The impression that it left on me can best be summed up as “What the #$@& was that?”

For years, the memory lay dormant, tossed upon my mind’s internal trash heap along with such gems as “my first Schlitz” and “I wonder if Chelsea Clinton will be hot someday.”

In late summer 2000, a guy with whom I worked noticed my affinity for fantasy games (I was a huge Baldur’s Gate/Torment guy) and suggested that I join him for a game of Magic.  As he described it to me it instantly registered that he meant me to play the game made famous by Wayne Arnold on ESPN8 a few years prior.  This cat had steered me right when it came to Everquest so I figured, “what the hell?” 

Using some pre-constructed decks, I played enough games to learn the mechanics and some rudimentary strategy.  I found the rules intuitive for the most part and enjoyed the variation.  Each game had a unique ebb and flow.  The cards had great diversity in both function and artwork.  Enjoyably, each color had a specific flavor that imparted a distinctive personality to the game and player.

Sure there was some luck involved, but such a flaw gives hope to new or marginal players and cannot be viewed as a detriment to the game.  Hell if it was 100% skill and experience then it would be like chess.  Don’t get me wrong, I love me some chess, but I have no interest in letting Gary Kasparov or some other Soviet beat me like a circus monkey every time I push wood.  If I knew certain defeat awaited me at the hands of some grandmaster every time a tournament was held, it would dissuade me from wasting my coin.  A little luck evens the playing field.

Simply said, it was fun, but something didn’t seem quite right.  It wasn’t rocket science but I still seemed to be crappy.  Not just regular crappy, but super crappy.  Crappy like whatever one-legged teams Nebraska schedules for non-conference games every year.  In short order, I began to despair.  It was at that point where my future hung in the balance, teetering precipitously on the edge of a great chasm.  I could quit now and return exclusively to my 39^th level Cleric online, or I could take an unlikely (if not outright crazy) step toward glory.  Reaching deep down inside, summoning up all of my strength, I said, “Dude, let me play with the green deck.”

The rest, as they say, is history.

In the next installment, The Fryguy is taught the art of deck building for draft and sealed deck.  It doesn’t go that well...

Take Two: Another Foray Into MTG

One thing became clear to me as I sat down with the Djinn a few weeks ago to help him play test for an upcoming event  --  I don’t know my arse from my face when it comes to Magic.  I retained a basic understanding of the rules (although being unable to assign combat damage and then sacrificing a creature before resolution weirded me out a bit) but I was outclassed.  Thoroughly.

So like anyone with even an ounce of self-respect, I have decided that I need to go back for more whuppings.  Not just from the Djinn, but from all of you. 

For at least the next few months, I am going to chronicle my 2^nd sortie into the glorious and ever changing realm of Magic: The Gathering.  Given my limited exposure to the game (I played briefly only during Invasion block) I hope you will forgive me if I abstain from posting detailed analyses of deck design or card function until I can lay a land without somehow losing 4 life and allowing my opponent to draw 3 cards.

Instead, I intend to provide the perspective of a new player making a journey back into a game and a community.  Expect to be wowed by my raw but undisciplined talent or, perhaps, floored by my incompetence as I pass on the Frost Titan to draft that nice Lava Axe I’ve been craving. 

Be cautioned, however:  Do not for a moment think that a complete lack of expertise is going to dissuade me from sounding off on things.  I am certain I will have ample opportunity to opine on issues ranging from rules to the dude sitting to my left that looks like The Unabomber.

Anyway, it is commonly known that a good story cannot be told without first establishing its beginnings.  In the next installment (this storyline will post each Friday), I will tell of my first sojourn into Magic starting with my first game and ending with my departure.

Look for additional posts dispersed throughout the "Take Two" storyline.  Sometimes, crap just pops up about which I cannot help but write

The Gridiron Nostradamus

It's Autumn and the smell of violence is in the air!

The NFL season is upon us and as a lover of games great and small, Sundays full of football and ale are always a welcome addition to my weekend.  I mean what's better than stumbling home smelling like the Mos Eisley Cantina to face the disapproving glares of your spouse and the skeptical glances of a 4 year old?  What I ask!?


As one of like 46 people currently living in the State who was actually born in Colorado, The Broncos are my team and I'll have words with anyone who doesn't think John Elway was the greatest QB to ever take has game to the gridiron. I suffered through the torments of 4 straight Superbowl arse kickings and recoiled with horror as Homer Simpson himself poked fun at my beloved Donkeys.

That having been said, I am a realist. I owe it to both my readers and myself to kick the fan to the curb and bring out the logician. So without further adieu, here is a game by game breakdown of the 2010 Denver Broncos season. Enjoy the predictions. Be warned, however, in this blog I write about football and as such, I may use some colorful language along the way. I'm no longshoreman by any means, but if you are offended by words that might give you pause when speaking with your grandmother over Sunday breakfast, then you might consider watching soccer instead of continuing with this read.

@Jacksonville--In front of like 470 fans (60% of whom will be wearing Tebow jerseys) this is damn near a home game for the Broncos. I don't know what some local sportswriters are smoking but if the Jags are wild card contenders then Frodo Baggins is a Japanese aviator. If Josh McDictator is good at one thing, it is preparation (it certainly isn't drafting, half-time adjustments, or employee retention rates). Orton has a solid start even without our first round draft pick with the chronically bad foot. We don't realize that we suck yet and play like winners. W--DEN--24 JAX--20.

Seattle--Much like last year, we meet a dogcrap team following an inspiring, if unimpressive, road win. Much like last year, we beat up on a bunch of nincompoops and gain a false sense of our own quality. W--DEN--31 SEA--13.

Indianapolis--People point out that we play Indy tough at home. What they should say is that we play Indy tough at home in late December when they don't give a damn anymore because they are 12-1. Leaves are not the only thing that fall in autumn. L--IND--38 DEN--13

@Tennessee—People are drunk if they think that our best running back (even after one of those million-dollar-man surgeries) is anywhere near Chris Johnson. Road game. Physical opponent with angry running game. Tired D-line from last weeks ass-kicking. L--TEN--28 DEN--23

@ Baltimore--While I'm not quite sold on the Ravens as an unstoppable juggernaut (their defense is old) they have an improved offense and a tall QB. I mean this guy is almost as tall as The Djinn. I think we move the ball OK but can't stop Ray Rice. Ravens control the line of scrimmage and the game. L--BAL--31 DEN--20

NY Jets--Am I the only one who remembers that the Jets were 9-7 last year and only made the playoffs because the cowards in Indy refused to chase perfection? Sanchez is mediocre at best and their line is a bit older. Don't get me wrong, the Jets are still better on paper than us but this game is at home and McDaniels loves beating teams from the right coast areas where people have ridiculous accents. Maybe that defective receiver with the bum foot plays in this game. We can’t draft worth crap. Flashback to 1908: With the 21st pick of the draft, The Denver Broncos select....The horse and buggy with a broken wheel. With the 22nd pick, Henry Ford selects the automobile. Anyway, I hate the friggin Jets. W--DEN--20 NYJ--17.

Oakland--As much as it pains me to say this, the Raiders will be much improved this year. However, they will not figure it out until week 11 because they are the dipshit Raiders. W--DEN--24 OAK--16

@San Francisco--Not really at the 49ers but London is also windy, rainy, dreary, and damp. Might as well be a home game for Singletary and his band. The Limeys are treated to a pretty entertaining game but in conditions only a royal Fusilier from Her Majesty's Venerable Coldstream Guards could enjoy, the ground game is the key. Know-gain Moreno is not going to feed the bulldog here. L--SF--21 DEN--20

Kansas City--If we have even an ounce of self respect, then we must come out and play like demons after last season's debacle. They may be improved, they may be division rivals, but they are still the ***damn Chefs. If our D isn't completely worn down by every player being like 100 years old, then we can take this one with relative ease. W--DEN--30 KC--14

@ San Diego--This is the exact opposite of the previous game. Simply substitute the following: "We" with "San Diego"; "They" with "We"; and "Chefs" with "Broncos". L--SD--34 DEN--10.

St Louis--Just what the doctor ordered. A home game against a bunch chuckleheads. We can play like garbage and still thump these chronic bed crappers. W--DEN--27 STL--9.

@Kansas City--I could say something about weather conditions or December records here. But I wont. Chiefs are just better than us at home this year. Mr. Gimpy foot will be making his second appearance for the Broncos at WR and catch a TD in this one. It's not enough. L--KC--27 DEN--21.

@Arizona--Not sure why, but we always seem to win here. Every year since I was a lad we always leave Arizona with a W. In the past, it was usually because they sucked. Due to the departures of their Hall of fame QB, #2 receiver, and some costly losses to the Defense, we have a hot tub time machine moment. We are going to Arizona to play football and the Cards suck again. W--Den--28 AZ--14

@ Oakland--I'm guessing that 40% of our defense is going to be on the shelf with injuries by this point in the year. 3rd straight game on the road and the Raiders have finally discovered that they are not the 5-11 team from the past 6 years. They are a 7-9 team playing a home game against a hated rival who hasn't seen a friendly skyline for 3 weeks. That, and a depleted and tired defense, should be just enough. L--OAK--26 DEN--23

Houston--There are few things more certain in the NFL over the last few years than this: Houston is always dangerous at the end of the year. Always. If there is anything more certain over the same time period it is this: The Broncos always suck at the end of the year. Always. The law firm of Schaub et al saunters in here and beats us like circus monkeys. L--HOU--31 DEN--17.

San Diego--Here is where I would like to say something stirring. Perhaps we can steal a hard fought game from our hated foes. Our old guys reach deep down inside for one last barbaric yawp and our youngsters find reserves of strength they never knew they had. Fiddlesticks. The Chargers have already clinched the division and don't give a rip if they win or not. With Rivers on the bench sipping a Petit Syrah, Denver blunders into a hollow victory. Apologists will point to our robust 3-3 finish as a beacon of hope. It is a false one given the baboon who runs our draft board. W--DEN--21 SD--10.

CONCLUSION: Denver goes 8-8......wait a sec? 8-8? How the hell did that happen? I must have missed something somewhere. That meaningless final victory threw a monkey wrench into the whole works. I swear that I had us 6-10 somehow......

Stay Thirsty My Friends

The Fryguy

Greetings Djinn-o-philes!

Welcome to the first installment of The Fryguy Invectives. Too long has the Hypnotic Specter of silence haunted my steps. Too long has The Man bogged me down in mind-numbing minutia and corporate baboonery. Henceforth, from my panzer-gray cubicle surrounded by a sea of the same, I will opine, harangue, and pontificate in that very special level of safety that can only be afforded by obscurity.

Among my writings you will find enlightened wisdom or (if you disagree with my position on an issue) fevered ramblings. Sometimes you will simply hear tales of vice and woe. But always, we will talk of gaming. There should be an abundance of Magic, a sprinkle of PC/Console games, the sporadic unrelated work/sports/political rant, and some occasional advice.

Aside from the obvious societal benefits derived from dropping my thoughts on the Djinn’s auspicious website, I’d like to have some fun along the way. So join me as I resume my travels through the community of gamers and help me negotiate the treacherous waters of observation and gamesmanship.

So bookmark Djinn’s Playground, alert your buddies, and let’s get this thing started off right. Should you wish to share some thoughts, make suggestions, laud my deductive reasoning prowess, or simply tell me that I’m full of crap, kick an e-mail over to thefryguy44@gmail.com or post a comment.

Stay Thirsty My Friends!

The Fryguy

In honor of the upcoming NFL season, I’ve decided to knock out a game by game breakdown of all 16 Broncos games for the 2010 season. This prognostication may provide a good baseline for extorting favorable over/under wagers from drunken comrades. Check back on Saturday!