Frey’s Prognostications for the 2011 Broncos Season

Week 1:  Oakland at Denver

If there is any silver lining to the state of our franchise, it may lay in the fact that our owner is not Al Davis.  If I don’t see a picture of Al Davis and Kim Jong Il in the same room together soon….. Anyway, the new coach, new system, and a healthy line-up energizes the men in predominantly orange on rival day.  Coupled with the fact that we don’t know we suck yet, the donkeys lay one on the Vandals.  Tebow-philes quietly lament Orton’s solid outing against the Asumahulaguala-less secondary.

                Prediction:  Broncos 31, Raiders 16          Predicted Record:  1-0

Week 2:  Cincinnati at Denver

McGahee isn’t hurt yet and the Bengals may be the only team shittier than last year’s Carolina Panthers team.  Andrew Luck throws up in his mouth a little when confronted with his fate.

                Prediction:  Broncos 23, Bengals 10         Predicted Record:  2-0

Week 3:  Denver at Tennessee

Bronco fans begin succumbing to Fox-mania and 18 year old girls start getting Tattoos of GM Brian Xanders on their lower back in lieu of a tramp-stamp.   The Titans remember the dishonor of losing to our band of nincompoops last year and come out pissed.  The gaping hole in the interior of our defensive line allows Chris Johnson to run over us like a jilted secretary’s SUV over her horrified boss who opted nopt to leave his wife.  The following Monday sets a record for laser tattoo removal.

                Prediction:  Titans 30, Broncos 20             Predicted Record:  2-1

Week 4:  Denver at Green Bay

I would love to call this a trap game but then I’d be a damn liar.  Orton gets pulled when the game gets out of hand and Tebow makes his first appearance of the season.  Facing an insurmountable climb, Tebow valiantly puts the team on his back and brings us from 31 down to 28 down when the final whistle blows.  Fans of #15 rejoice.

                Prediction:  Packers 41, Broncos 13          Predicted Record:  2-2

Week 5:  San Diego at Denver

A tough call here since Norv Turner coached teams usually still suck by week 5.  The game is at home, we are still .500, the Chiefs and Raiders are struggling, and the fan base is still hopeful.  However, SD had the #1 rated offense and defense in the league last year and was just a handful of special teams gaffes from being 13-3.  McGahee finally gets hurt and is replaced by Know-gain Moreno in the 2^nd quarter.  Orton (by necessity) has a heroic game offensively but Tebow apologists still call for his head despite his 363 yards and 3 TD’s.

                Prediction:  Chargers 33, Broncos 24       Predicted Record:  2-3

Week 7:  Denver at Miami

With McGahee’s injury plaguing the running game like a week-old squirrel carcass, Miami simply runs a nickel all game.  Orton struggles to find open receivers despite good protection and the offense stalls.  Chad Henne sucks rocks so Miami does little better.   A desperate Coach Fox plugs a 250 lb Lendell White into the backfield after Moreno trips on his dong and falls down in the backfield for the 7^th time.  It’s too little, too late.

                Prediction:  Dolphins 17, Broncos 13       Predicted Record:  2-4

Week 8:  Detroit at Denver

Unlike Miami, Detroit opts for a different defensive approach.  With the running game doing a Wal-mart-esque rollback to 2010, the Lions’ bad-ass interior pass rush opens up a can on Orton who folds quicker than Superman on laundry day.  In an unusual half-time adjustment, Fox decides to replace Orton with #15 and run a wildcat since we can’t protect the QB any longer.  Despite some struggles from Shaun Hill (Stafford, of course, is hurt by now) and Tebow’s 73 yds rushing, Denver just can’t get it done.

                Prediction:  Lions 20, Broncos 13                               Predicted Record:  2-5

Week 9:  Denver at Oakland

Gamblers in Las Vegas release a collective gasp as Tim Tebow replaces a dinged up Orton as the starter for this game and McGahee decides to test out his hammy.  The Raiders (with their 19^th head coach in the last 3 years) are suffering from a bad year themselves.  Eschewing “Pride and Poise” in favor of “Suck for Luck” Oakland doesn’t even bother showing up.  Tebow only throws the ball 13 times with 2 picks and 1 TD but also finds the end zone with his legs.  It’ll do.

                Prediction:  Broncos 17, Raiders 9             Predicted Record:  3-5

Week 10:  Denver at Kansas City

Suffering from a serious case of letdown following their solid season from 2010, the Chiefs look to get the ball rolling against the donkeys at home.   With fans across the nation gripped in Tebow-fever, Fox and Elway decide to give him another start.  Battling a hostile crowd (aside from a small corner of the stadium filled with people who look like Ned and Maude Flanders), Tebow struggles mightily once McGahee limps off the field in the 1^st.  3 picks later, Orton is back in but the game is already out of hand.

                Prediction:  Chiefs 31, Broncos 17             Predicted Record:  3-6

Week 11:  NY Jets at Denver

Despite the morale-busting effects of seeing their head coach attached to an oxygen tank due to the altitude, the Jets are still able to move the ball up and down the field on a defense completely worn out by a non-existent running game.  Orton acquits himself pretty well due to some unusually good pass -blocking and the aging Defensive front sported by NY.  Sanchez sucks but the Jets don’t.  Tebow fans blame Orton for 2 missed FG’s by Matt Prater.

                Prediction: Jets 28 Broncos: 24   Predicted Record:  3-7

Week 12:  Denver at San Diego

No rest for the weary as the Broncs run into the now red-hot Chargers on the road.  Nothing we try works.  Our defense is so exhausted from losing the time of possession battle in all but 2 games that they all look like Fat Albert on conditioning day.  San Diego knows they are better than us and so do we.

                Prediction: Chargers 38, Broncos 10        Predicted Record:  3-8

Week 13:  Denver at Minnesota

First, lets get something out of the way here.  Donovan McNabb is no Brett Favre.   I simply cannot ever see this guy texting a photo of his junk to some sideline reporter or team masseuse.  That having been said he can really hand the crap out of the ball to AP who cuts down the wreckage of our defense with ruthless efficiency.  McNabb also decides to throw 2 touches as well.  Again, Orton moves the ‘O’ pretty well but since the Vikings control the clock at nearly a 2-1 margin, the chances are few.

                Prediction: Vikings 31, Broncos 20           Predicted Record:  3-9

Week 14:  Chicago at Denver

That punk-ass Jay Cutler saunters into town and Invesco finally shows life.  The hatred of Denver fans for this jackwagon actually bites us on the rump as he decides to actually pay attention in team meetings for the fits time in his 2 years as a Bear and opts to play through a dislocated goatee.  Still, Denver shows up and plays their arses off.  Willis McGahee returns to the field and runs like a man possessed.  Kyle Orton forgot that he ever played for the Bears but still plays a smart game.  Andrew luck cries himself to sleep as he is now almost certainly slated for Bengal-hood. 

                Prediction: Broncos 33, Bears 30               Predicted Record:  4-9

Week 15:  New England at Denver

There once was a day when the Patriots cringed at the thought of playing the Broncos in Mile High.  There also once was a man from Nantucket.   Both statements have about the same relevance to this game (I know, Nantucket is in New England but that’s neither here nor there).  New England is fighting with the Jets for the division and plays like it.  McGahee leaves the game with a contusion on his uvula.   Orton, of course, is to blame for the injury according to Tebow fans.

                     Prediction: Patriots 30, Broncos 14          Predicted Record:  4-10

Week 16:  Denver at Buffalo

The season is done;  Orton is banged up beyond description;  The fan base is apathetic.  You know what this means?  Tebow time!  And what better place for Tebow time than a friendly game of meaningless late season football with the Toronto Bills?  It’s cold and snowy in the Land of No Trophies this time of year and the intrepid youth from Florida throws an even less elegant ball than we have come to expect.  Sans a running game, Buffalo locks down the game into one of attrition and wins it.  3 of the 7 Bills fans in the US crap themselves with excitement.

                      Prediction: Bills 14, Broncos 6                    Predicted Record:  4-11

Week 17:  Kansas City at Denver

Tragically, our lousy season wasn’t crappy enough for us to win the “Suck for Luck” sweepstakes so we still have motivation to beat up on the Chefs.  KC, still shocked at their sub-mediocre season following their good fortune in 2010, just kind of zombies their way through the final game.  Tebow, like the guy who chips in on 18 to keep from shooting 100, jumps around like he just came within 10 dollars of the actual retail price of a velvet ottoman on the Price is Right as the Broncos roll.  Delusional Tebow fans thump their chests and speak of what a valiant game it was and how Tebow as 2-1 as a starter.

                Prediction: Broncos 27, Chiefs10               Predicted Record:  5-11

Enough with the bleeding hearts

Under normal circumstances, I would never take the time to comment upon the personal beliefs espoused by individuals on social networking sites.   

Now that I’ve insulted your intelligence with a bald-faced lie, let us move on to the equally disingenuous statements claiming torn feelings regarding the demise of the Osama Bin Laden.

Nobody is buying the insincere self-therapy of those who (for reasons avoiding logical description) feel guilt at the prospect of rejoicing over the demise of a mass murderer.  

People are not celebrating the death of another human being.   Bin Laden may have entered the world a member of our imperfect species, but the measure of one’s humanity lay in their deeds.  This cretin brought death to the innocent , cajoled others to slaughter anyone with differing opinions or upbringings, and then mocked the victims of his butcheries.  He and his supporters made no distinction between the combat soldier and the 5 year old girl on her way to her first day of kindergarten.  This scum was less of a human being than my toilet brush. 

   

One must be criminally bereft of any moral perspective to assign even a fraction of the same value to Bin Laden’s life as is given to the young intern who leaped to her death from a 100^th story window so she wouldn’t have to burn; or to the young Kenyan  father who lost his eyes when one of Osama’s minions blew up the embassy in which he worked; or to the toddler who watched in tragic curiosity as the plane in which she rode with her mother headed toward the city and its unthinkable meeting with the silver tower.

People are celebrating the fact that justice has finally been meted out and this unspeakable bastard will never again plan, support, or encourage the extermination of anyone who does not embrace his special brand of hatred and zealotry. 

 

So to those troubled souls agonizing over the conflicted emotions raised by recent events, absolve yourselves of this “celebrating death” nonsense and grow up.   A human being didn’t perish on May 1^st, a monster did.

Observation about the Nugs' Future

The Melo situation reminds me of the country of China as described to me by my grandfather who was stationed in Shanghai just before WW II started.  The country (Nuggets) was in horrible shape before Mao (Anthony) arrived on the scene.  The people (Nuggets) were starving to death and dying in the streets and life expectancy was in the low 30's.  These poor stiffs (Nuggets) were working, living, and eating in the same little sampans (Pepsi Center) in which they also took their dumps.

Anyway, the communists (Anthony) came and despite all of their horrible faults, were competent enough to take an absolute human catastrophe (Nuggets) and make the situation tolerable and, for the people (Nuggets fans) who have suffered so horribly and for so long, the improvement even appeared glorious.  But like most flawed systems (Communism and Anthony) there is a peak.  Despite massive influxes of Soviet Oil money in the 70's (Billups) the reality is that your best hope under the current system is to be king of the dipshits.

Like China's economic reforms that have lead to the boom, I am hopeful that the Nuggets recent reforms will allow us to shed permanent mediocrity and ascend to something greater than "meh". 

Rantings of a Denverite

This recent Carmello Anthony fiasco has left me with one inescapable conclusion:  New York, the fans of New York, the New York apologists, and media in New York are a bunch of dickheads with a superiority complex..

Allow me to explain friends.  For 7 ½ years, Carmelo Anthony played for the Denver Nuggets.  This overrated one-trick-pony could bring the offense but was a turnover machine, a defensive liability, a crappy leader, a lazy rebounder, and couldn’t pass the ball out of a triple team to save his friggin life.  National broadcasters and columnists alike routinely pointed out the flaws in his game for public consumption. 

Then he’s traded to the Knicks.

Suddenly, as if by magic, he’s been transformed into a more athletic incarnation of Larry Bird before the ugly-assed Celtic developed chronic back issues.  There has been more press about the greatness of Anthony in the past 4 days then in the previous 2739 days he played in Denver.  ESPN is littered with New York lackeys thumping their chest about how great this guy is.  The preponderance of national columnists lauded the tenacity of the Knicks front office and the brilliance of the trade. 

Knick fans fill their smelly arena and swoon like low-IQ harlots in the presence of some Bourgeois underwear model while collectively trumpeting the prominence of their new savior.  All day long on the drive to work today, I had to listen to these Jackwagons on SportsCenter gush about how dangerous the Knicks are after they beat the Miami Heat.  The fact that the dog-butt Cavaliers, a team 1 loss away from the worst losing streak in the history of American professional sports, just thumped Melo et al was quietly swept under the carpet.  Hell, I just listened to Stewart Scott state that he might consider Melo superior to LeBron James for his “clutch shooting ability”.

Are you kidding me?  I mean, are you $#@&ing kidding me?  You would rather have a dude who is completely inept defensively, can’t pass worth shit, locks the ball down into a half court game on every possession, and turns the ball over as often as he gets an assist simply because he takes a better last shot?  Maybe if your team leader damn near averaged a triple-double like Labron and mans up defensively you’d be up by 17 and wouldn’t need Melo to chuck up some 22 footer at the buzzer you jackass.

To Jim Rome:  For shame.  This clown was yammering on about how if Carmelo would commit himself defensively that this Knicks team would be dangerous come playoff time.  “If he commits himself defensively”?  Really?  This then is equally true:  If my aunt had a badoinker she’d be my uncle. 

If he does man up, play defense, and start passing out of double and triple teams, it proves that he was dogging it for 7 ½ years in Denver and we can all collectively fling poo at him whenever he visits our fair city.

Subsequent to Anthony’s retreat east, the Nuggets have been running teams out of the gym and are 1 point away from being 4-0 against 4 playoff teams.  Our turnovers per game have fallen nearly in half and our team defense is something other than pungent for the first time in nearly a decade.  Good luck finding anyone talking about that in the national media.  Meanwhile, the Knicks beat a crappy Bucks team at home by 6, lose to one of the worst teams in the league, but manage to drop a Miami team that’s 14-15 against teams over .500 and the entire New York media machine and their fans are besides themselves with joy.  I suspect that when Melo wipes his own arse there are 17 NYC reporters there to discuss the creative brilliance of his methods.  “I’ve never seen such an ambitious wipe without crumpling!  Inspiring……”

Listen, I’m not going to say Carmelo Anthony is some suckhole.  He is clearly one of the greatest offensive forces in the league.  But that’s where it ends.  I don’t care what these stooges on the East coast prattle on about.  These baboons still think that their piss-ant little pimple hills are mountains and believe that everyone west of the Appalachians totes a 10 gallon hat and rides a donkey to the office.  The only donkeys around here are New Yorkers and their patsies in the established media. 

To New York:  David Stern and these corrupt NBA suits who pressure refs into creating the matchups most desirous for TV revenue (see Kings-Lakers game 6 in 2002 or Heat Mavs game 5 in 2006) will make sure you don’t entirely suck, but make no mistake, you’re shackled to a corpse. 

Go Nuggets!

Thank You Sir May I Have Another

So anyway, I’m sitting at my desk in the NE corner of our illustrious cube farm when The Djinn sends me an IM.  He’s got a constructed tournament coming up and needs some play testing to beat some deck called “Jund”. 

It’s been years since I have tossed down serious cards and at first, I have no interest.  I lean back in my chair and look at my surroundings.  The coloring of the cubical walls seems to suck all color from the light spectrum.  In actuality, I am hesitant to assign any specific color to the block ‘D’ in our building where we work.  Is “sooty” considered a color? 

Instinctively, I resume moving things from column ‘A’ to column ‘B’ when it dawns on me that I just turned down a chance to escape from the soul killing doldrums of corporate puppetry and to finally use my brain for something other than maintaining basic bodily functions.

With a speed belying my advanced years, I find myself sprinting over to The Djinn’s desk and shortly thereafter I’m slinging cards again.  I’m rusty.  Damn rusty.  I was somehow able to take the unquestioned power deck of the current environment and mismanage it so badly that I feared that I may have given my friend cause for misguided optimism in his control deck.  Still, it was nice to play again and with the ghosts of grand prix’s past nothing more than some angry little poindexter trying to claw his way out from under a pile of my subconscious, I made the decision to start playing Magic again.

In order to practice basic skills, I popped on to MTGO and played the pre-made free trial constructed decks.  After a few dozen rounds, I felt that I was back to a level of minor competence (notwithstanding the fact that nearly half my opponents ran the black vampires deck) and decided to hit FNM at the local gaming shop. 

Rise of the Eldrazi was the order of the day and despite my unfamiliarity with the set and my appalling lack of practice, I finished 2-1 with my only loss coming to the cat who eventually won the pod.  Secure in the knowledge that I didn’t get my ass handed to me on my first attempt to claw my way back into MTG, I excitedly planned to return for the M11 FNM pre-release event. 

It was here that I ran into something that seriously made me reconsider my return:  The Mythic Rare.

Prepare yourself readers, for I intend to beat the #@%& out of a dead horse.

This mythic thing is crap.  I know that scarcity drives up demand on an open market and so-forth but for Christ’s sake, did WOTC need to make these cards as overpowered as they did?  Nearly every typical rare was completely neutered by these elite and uber-rare cards.  I’ve been priced out before I even got started!

I can’t speak for all MTG players, nor can I speak for most MTG players.  Hell, I probably can’t speak for any MTG players, but I can tell you this, it was a lot more fun opening up 3 packs knowing that you’ll get something pretty bitching for a rare that might tilt a game in your favor than it is to open 24 packs and sift through rares that now resemble untreated septic systems begging the fates to bestow a usable mythic upon you.

When I saw the current pricing for a viable tournament deck I damn near crapped myself.  Who is the marketing genius that came up with this garbage?  The game may be showing substantial popularity right now, but what happens when the current crop of young stars get a few years under their belts and start having bills/girlfriends/spouses/families and can no longer justify such an exorbitant expense?

Does WOTC think that a 12 year old kid from a middle income family is going to be able to walk up to their parents and say “Hey Mom and Dad.  Can you buy me a viable tournament deck for 700 bucks?”  Will the poor young student eschew his rent or books to dump 500 bucks on case hoping against hope to land 1-2 Jayces?  Where will the new blood come from?

They may as well move all the tournaments out to the Hamptons or Beverly Hills as only those peeps will be able to afford to be competitive. I’d say that we can all just pop on to MTGO but that travesty of a money sink is almost criminal in its greed.

Listen, I’m all for making some coin, and moving things online does expand your player base through convenience, but the payout to investment ratio of this mechanism is so bad that betting against the Harlem Globetrotters seems like a sure thing in comparison.

As an outsider, I don’t have my pulse on the community by any means, but I can’t shake the feeling that WOTC exists solely to fleece Magic players.  While a more savvy business (or simply one with a viable competitor) would choose to nurture the goose that lays the golden eggs in an attempt to gently coax a fortune from it’s arse in perpetuity, these clowns have opted to choke the %$#* out of the goose hoping to violently coerce a few quick golden eggs out of it before it kicks off.

In short, my friends, as a newcomer without a substantial time and financial investment in the game, I see little more than some serious Limited play in my future.  My coin purse simply cannot handle the current direction of MTG when it comes to constructed.  Perhaps I should look into the new crop of MMO’s when I am not drafting or playing sealed deck.  I'll let you know what I find.

Take II Part V—The Grand Prix and the Grand Exit

In retrospect, it seems somehow appropriate that I did not quite appreciate the import of Grand Prix Denver as I prepared my deck.  Everyone I knew in the Magic community was running about this way and that giggling like a pre-teen girl opening up a life-sized Jonas Brothers poster on Christmas morning.

Trying to muster up the appropriate energy for such a life-changing event, I dove into my deck design with as much fervor as can reasonably be expected of a part-time magic player with a good looking spouse. 

In actuality, I was already becoming a little disturbed by the cost in time and money associated with MTG.  I knew that my deck would only consist of whatever cards were left over when the 2 full-time players with whom I associated completed their builds, augmented by my own meager collection. 

In an uncharacteristic display of optimism, I figured that my 4-2 finish sans a complete deck a few weeks back was indicative of my innate skill as a player and deck builder.  This can be forgiven as I had not, up to that point, played enough Magic to know how freaking lucky I was with my draws that whole tournament.

Still, I was ready to build.  Therefore, I sat like an annoying dog under the dinner table waiting for the scraps to fall.  When the plates were cleared, I was able to piece together an aggressive Red-White deck with a few cheap rares and 4 Urza’s rage (sadly, I could only obtain 2 and wasn’t gonna dump 50 bucks on 2 more).

Now I know that many of you would wonder why, in the name of all that is good and pure, would I drive all the way across town to a Grand Prix with a dog shit deck?  Well, my friends, the answer is simple. 

I played magic because it was fun.  I enjoyed the interactions with my friends.  I liked the challenge of cracking a pack, making a story out of it, and watching it unfold in conjunction with the imaginings of an opponent.  Each deck build was a journey I enjoyed, and I had no reason to believe that this next tournament would be any different.

You know what isn’t fun?  Hemorrhaging so much time and coin into cards of various rarities that I might have, in its stead, earned a fooking pilot’s license.  So, with my deck in hand, I said “Damn the torpedoes, full speed ahead” and headed off to the North to sling some cards.

The term “Grand Prix” evoked (in my mind at least) visions of busty models leaning over fast cars and quaffing champagne from golden trophies.  I half expected a checkered flag to wave in my face when the hotel came into view.

While none of the aforementioned visions came to fruition (although I do suppose some of the dudes playing could be described as “busty”), the hotel itself was a palace compared to venues of tournaments past.  The entire process was run so efficiently that I found myself looking for an angry German guy in a lab coat issuing sharp orders to subordinates.  There was energy in the air.  A competence and ambition that I never sensed in my previous events.  Players sorted and reviewed their decks with an urgency that foretold a great battle more than a few friendly games of cards.  I sat down across from some agitated dude who looked like Guile from Street Fighter and the game was on.

From the get go, this dude was a prick.  Even before the match started, he was unwilling to look me in the eye and gave me one of those “Queen of England” handshakes where the person seems disgusted by your appendage as though it were dripping with raw sewage. 

Any inquiry I made (Did you travel far to get here? Have you been playing long? Would you like to use my extra pen instead of dumping the contents of your backpack on the table) was met with terse, one word answers without elaboration.  In fact, I failed to detect common courtesy of any sort.  I’m no glutton, so I shut my yap once the game started. 

Upon determining after about 3 turns that this arsehole was incapable of multi-syllable speech (he only seemed able to spit out the word “Go”), I really wanted to kick this guy’s ass.   The draw went pretty well for me and I decided to Urza’s Rage of his dudes to clear the way for the coup de grace.  The guy quickly tapped 2 blue and a black to cast Undermine.  Unfortunately for my opponent, Urza’s Rage cannot be countered.  With as neutral a tone as I could muster, I reminded him of this fact.  He swore, untapped his lands, and removed his creature from the board.

Game two was going better for my opponent and my battlefield was not holding up well so I decided to burn out one of his dudes at the end of his turn.  I tapped a mountain and then, to my chagrin, remembered that strafe was not an instant but a sorcery. 

I said “crap, I can’t cast that right now huh”? and motioned to untap the mountain.  Before my hand got within a half-meter of the land, Guile’s arm shot into the air with the speed of a cracking whip and he shrieked “judge” (Also, you may note, a one syllable word).  

An unusually fit looking dude a few tables down jogged on over at which time my opponent explained that I tapped a land and then tried to untap it without casting anything.  The judge explained that I needed to take my mana burn damage and moved on to the next table where Newman from Seinfeld was having some issue with someone’s shuffling methods.

Listen, I know that, once tapped, the deed is done.  But my experience up to that point in both casual and tournament play was that the spirit of the law is adhered to more than the letter.  I let this friggin guy do the exact same thing not 10 minutes before.  I told him heatedly how uncool it was for him to pull that bullshit move and he just shrugged and said “you shouldn’t have let me do it”.  Unfortunately for both me and my blood pressure, I didn’t realize that by knowingly breaking the rules earlier he might have suffered some judgment of his own had I mentioned what occurred.

Frazzled, I went on to lose the match.  Without a word, the dude packed his bag, grabbed his mat, and left.

Still seething a little bit, I moved on to my second match whereupon I faced a blue/white control deck.  After about 30 minutes of bogging me down and dropping Wrath of God on me, he laid down some big-assed dragon and the gig was up.  With 12 land on the board, I never drew the Urza’s Rage that would have one me the game (with kicker).  My fault for not splurging for the other 2 I guess eh?

Between matches, this dude shuffled.  A lot.  He looked like he was taking a Sunday stroll through the park or punting on the Thames.  Once completed, he took the opportunity to shuffle my deck.  A lot.  While collating my cards, he noticed a small piece of mung on the back of 2 of my cards.  He raised his hand and yelled “Judge!” 

He could have saved some time by asking me to put new sleeves on the offending cards but that wouldn’t have taken all friggin day like waiting for the judge.  When the judge arrived, he examined the cards, didn’t believe there was any cheating going on, and simply wiped off the shmutz with his shirt.  Grinning, my opponent shuffled my deck yet again.  Needless to say, we did not finish and I lost 1-0.  I didn’t know stalling was against the rules or that it even was used as a tool by control-deck types until after the tournament…..

The rest of the day went as follows:

I defeated my next opponent only to be bombarded with a torrent of profanity that would have made a longshoreman blanche.  Without lowering his volume, this dude went on to tell me how crappy of a player I was, that my deck was stupid, and that I only beat him because he was mana-screwed.  All that was missing from this tirade was an offensive comment about my mother followed with pointed questions about my ancestry.

I evened my record up by defeating a friendly and humble lad of 16 who drove all the way from New Mexico.  His deck had even more holes in it than mine but, as he said after the match, the vendor prices were outrageous and he could not afford the cards to make it better.  I felt more saddened by this exchange than I felt pleased with my victory.

In my final match before I dropped, some blowhard from God knows where chirped throughout the entire match like he was Muhammed Ali or something.  The 3 game match was filled with such classy insights as “ooooo.  I wouldn’t have done that” and “That was dumb” and “How does that feel huh?” and the always graceful “Bet you didn’t see that coming did you? Wham!” 

When he burned me out to win the match, my erstwhile foe danced around like he just found out that Leonard Nimoy was coming over to his house for a pillow fight and makeover.

As this last Shmendrick pranced off to go be a jack-wagon to some other dude (hopefully he’d play that ass-face from the first round) I sat in my chair stunned.  What the #@$& just happened?  These dudes at WOTC expect people to pay top dollar to suffer this level of dickery?  Feeling as though I just discovered that a hot roommate looks like Ralph Macchio when seen without makeup, I walked back to my old truck, hoped the clutch would survive the trip, and began the long drive back to suburbia.

In the days after the event, I tried to talk to some people about my experience and the responses I got did not provide encouragement.  In a nutshell, the consensus seemed to be that many Magic players are extremely competitive and that a Grand Prix brings out a certain “assholery” in them.

#@%$ that.  I organized sports throughout my youth, competed for jobs, struggled for the best grades in school, was a world-class quarters player in college, and pursued and wooed the magnificent Mrs. Fryguy.  In these travels I engaged many fierce competitors where the rewards of victory and the price of defeat far outweighed whatever a single Grand Prix event has to offer. 

On the field, sitting in offices, in the classroom, or even across from some grinning frat boy who doesn’t know that I can bounce a coin into a champagne glass from 3 feet away, I had not seen so many poor winners and losers localized in a single place. 

With a heart made considerably less heavy by the knowledge that I would have to spend a crapload of coin to remain even slightly competitive, I boxed up the 40 bucks worth of cards that I spent a few hundred dollars to obtain, stashed it in the garage, and focused on Laetrik the shaman in Dark Age of Camelot.

Next Installment:  The Immortal Djinn needed to play test.  I’m back in but where is the game going?