Archive for September, 2012

Magic: The Revisiting

Monday, September 10th, 2012

Over at the AV Club, Steve Heisler has a sweet and even touching look back at the game “Magic: The Gathering,” how we become nostalgic for something, and if it’s possible to re-experience a sense of wonder for something that was once important to you.

Context is what turns objects into artifacts. To most people, things are just things, unless we’ve decided to attach value—a memory, an explanation.

The whole thing is worth reading, especially if you’re a gamer — and particularly for me: his experience ran somewhat parallel to mine. I’m reposting a piece I wrote on it five years ago, partly for context, but mostly because the blog it originally appeared on has since been wiped out.

Equilibrium

14 years ago, in the late summer of 1993, I remember reading about this game called “Magic: The Gathering.” It was played with cards but you and your friends actually bought different random decks so everyone had a unique mix. What intrigued me (other than the art, which looked fabulous) was that no two decks were alike. It was a fascinating concept, and I recall quite clearly holding this idea in my head that we would each carry around this one unique deck.

Remember that line, so you can laugh at it later.

Being a Trostle, I of course filed away the article, fully intending to check it out “some day” (… hey, games came out all the time and I still had many I had bought we had yet to play, so what was a few months or years, right?) A few weeks later, a guy from one of my regular gaming groups called up all atwitter, said we had to come over that night and try this new game he had discovered. It was, of course, Magic. Bastard had stolen my thunder.

No matter. Magic tore through our group — and the gaming world — like a lightning bolt. We stopped playing anything else for almost a year. Even my wife remarked on it, and for her to notice anything about the games we played, well — the observation was telling. (Funny, too, but when we first started playing everyone remarked how like “Talisman” the card game seemed; years later, when we dusted off Talisman, we all remarked how much it reminded us of “Magic”).

My friends and I managed to catch the tail-end of the first release, before the initial print run sold out and cards became hard to find. It was all new and fun and challenging, and there was this heady headiness to it all like, I’m not kidding, falling in love. We played as often as we could and when we weren’t playing we were thinking about playing. In retrospect, that period lasted all of six weeks, maybe less, and I think the rest of the time we were trying to recapture that first high. The same was probably true of the publisher, Wizards of the Coast, who was caught off guard by the success of their creation. They threw their original game plan out the window and flooded the market with new sets and reprints.

Magic shook up the entire gaming industry in fact, and pushed me to the point were I got interested in getting back in the business — I even applied to Wizards of the Coast for a job but luckily (if this story is to be believed) didn’t get it. Personally, it was all downhill as well — when new sets came out, gamers bought cards by the shovel-load, and I couldn’t compete monitarily. When one friend eventually sold his collection he counted over 15,000 cards — 250 decks worth! — and bought a new top of the line computer with the payoff.

The sense of mystery and discovery were gone as well. I came over the night after one set was released, looking forward to opening a few bright new packs — only to find that two of the guys had taken the day off work, bought several cases of the release, and opened and sorted them all already. This was about a year after the game had originally been published, and already it had become mechanized, automated, all about volume.

WOTC put out new versions where the printing was poorly handled (some said deliberately, to drive up the secondary market on original cards), tournament rules were constantly changed to force you to buy more cards, snotty gamers sucked all the joy out of trading and even casual play, and during one convention, someone stole my most valuable card. Dare I say it: the magic was gone.

We ran a couple of small leagues, which admittedly were fun, but overall the game became a burden. Eventually, 3 or so years after first playing it and bitter, I sold my collection. My best guess is I broke even. I kept a handful of favorites and enough cards to make about 2 decks (which was how I first envisioned the game) and moved on.

+ + +

Fast forward to the next decade. Magic was still around and bigger than ever, even if it was a souless money-making machine and now looked like Pokemon. When our neighbor’s 12-year-old son found out I used to play, he brought his cards over and challenged me to a duel. I crushed him. Then I showed him how to build a better deck.

Over the next few years, Eli and his friends picked up thousands of cards. He entered and won tournaments, and began giving me tips on deck construction. Even though I absolutely hated the new card designs, WOTC had flooded the market with so many sets over the preceding years, you could find decent older stuff for cheap and I started buying cards again, if only to compete with Eli. The old obsession had returned.

As Eli got ready to go to college however, I realized I was going to lose my main (ok, only) competitor. Like so many other things in my life that have recently folded themselves up and put themselves on the shelf, it was clear it was time to put the cards away again.

Anyway, I helped Eli sort thru all his cards — which had been literally dumped in a drawer some years ago as he discovered girls and guitars — and got them organized as he packed for school. I couldn’t stand to see them languish there. He talked of selling them to help pay for school, or passing them on to the younger brother of a friend, but he’ll probably keep a deck or three with which to play. Then, I got out my own collection and divided them up. This time I am keeping five decks (symbolically enough the number of colors in Magic.)

I gave all the rest to Elliot, the 6-year-old son of my friend Kevin. He was overwhelmed by the gift, and excited by each and every card in the box. They are ALL new and mysterious to him, and he and his father are having a great time discovering the game together.

As for me, I am done buying cards. No really. Here’s how I know. The last card I bought from my last buying spree on eBay finally arrived in the mail yesterday.

Appropriately enough, it is titled “Equilibrium.”

[Originally posted August 8, 2007]

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Summer 80 — Long Way Home

Saturday, September 1st, 2012

Memory is a funny thing. When thinking back on this family trip west, I recall we dropped my mother off at the Denver airport so she could fly home early, her vacation days from work having been depleted; today, however, she reminded me she left a few weeks into the trip, slipping away in the middle of the night to catch a bus to the airport while my dad and brother and I continued to hike in the Rockies. While the details are unimportant in this case, the effect was the same, as it was just the three of us guys that came back over the great plains on the drive home. It was a drive that took a lot longer than we expected — or planned.

The family station wagon that summer had logged in several thousand miles in several weeks, and the effort of crisscrossing the country finally proved too much. The car broke down twice in Kansas, and what was supposed to take less than a day — crossing the flattest state in the union — turned into three. Each breakdown required a part that wouldn’t be available until the next day. On one of the nights we ended up in a town near a theater that was showing “The Empire Strikes Back,” so at least we got to see that once again. And we made it to Topeka, allowing Marty to finally complete a long-time personal goal of photographing all 48 continental state capitol buildings … only to return to find a flat tire.

By the time we got to Missouri, we were never so glad to leave a state (at least until the time my wife and I got trapped in Connecticut, but that’s another story). And once we were past St. Louis and the Arch — had to go to the top of the Arch — we were more than ready to come home. We pushed hard to make it back before the car broke down again.

While those last couple of days were a blur of concrete and sky — did we stop to say hi to the relatives in Columbus? Don’t remember — it was the return home that struck me. After being gone for half the summer, we couldn’t wait to get back to see our friends, to plunge in the Caldwell’s pool again, or ride over to the Links to play games. As soon as we unpacked, my brother and I jumped on our bikes and eagerly took off … only to find the pool closed, our friends’ houses locked. As there was no email, no internet, no texting, it was over a week before we discovered they were all off on holiday as well. The disappointment simply added to the downer of the end of any adventure. (I’m sure too we were crashing  after several weeks of being light headed from the altitude.)

It wasn’t until much later I realized this speed bump at the end actually marked a major change in the status quo. Stuff was about to shift: big, dumb things like Reagan getting elected sure, but also small important things like the disruption of my core group of friends, and the patterns we’d established. By the end of that year, a great many of my assumptions were no longer operative and it took a long time to reorient myself.

I’ve been thinking about that a lot lately. It wasn’t just those recent direct reminders of that trip. As it is clear now my parents will probably never travel again (and certainly never take another family vacation), as it is clear I am coming off another season where both actual and symbolic events have writ ‘Change is Coming’ in bright glowing letters, it is hard not to think of that summer 32 years ago and what it can teach me now.