Not too long after I succumbed to my addictions, slinging cards all the live-long night and having a living room floor basically covered with basic lands, I learned that the local Book & Game affiliate (think Waldenbooks with half a game store stuck inside) was going to be holding a Magic tournament. I knew both the manager and assistant manager of the store quite well, as that was were I usually went to get my daily fix...it was a bit of a drive, too, but I was in my 20s, single (as most gamers of that age tend to be), living in a town that had zero nightlife and I had disposable income... what else was I going to do? 

I started going through my growing-but-still-inadequate collection trying to build a deck for the first tournament every held in central Oregon. I do remember it was U/B, since I had one dual land at the time, an Underground Sea, and quality rares like Royal Assassin and Sorceress Queen, as well as a couple of Sengir Vampires. I also remember it was about 108 cards, which, amazingly, was rather small compared to other decks I was paired up against. 

Yes, it was 108 cards, and small. This was not Highlander or 5-Color. This was Type II...actually, Type II didn't exist yet (that's how long ago this was).

You have to remember, this was 1995: The influential writings of Zvi Mowshowitz, Mike Flores, Ed "Danger" Taylor and Robert Hahn weren't yet written. StarCityGames.com and Wizards of the Coast's site weren't even up yet. Al Gore had barely gotten around to inventing the Internet! For information, you had to depend on the rec.games.trading-cards.magic Usenet groups. 

I did okay in a field of about thirty people, but it should come as no surprise that I went down to defeat. However, with the solid turnout, Book & Game decided to continue doing them. And there was much rejoicing. 

It became a monthly ritual: start building and testing decks for the tournament in the mall at the Book & Game. I'd have several good decks built, at least, decks I thought were good. My friend Paul would come over the night before to help test. He would proceed to shred them with his deck. Then he'd haul out his fun decks, like Shahrazad/Fork, and shred them again. And I'd say, screw it, I'm sticking to R/G "Ehrnam and Burn 'Em" again.

It was frustrating, as I kept finishing fourth or fifth in tournaments where prizes went to the top three. There is no tin medal in the Olympics. But I improved. Every issue of The Duelist was devoured for any new information I could use. Gradually, light bulbs started to go off as I learned how various cards should interact with one another. After each tournament, me and a few friends would go downtown, drink a few beers and discuss what we'd done right and done wrong.

Each month, the tournaments grew and grew, topping out at around 70 people, coming from as far away as Klamath Falls and John Day. I was so proud of myself when, one day, when playing with a mono-Red burn deck, a light bulb went off above my head as I realized that I really don't need a Zuran Orb in here. Back then, everyone played with a Zuran Orb, even after it was restricted. And a Feldon's Cane, too, can't forget those. Why, I don't need that in mono-Red, either. It may have been the first inkling of what would eventually become The Philosophy of Fire, but, alas, I didn't get around to writing about it until...about now, I guess. My bad.

I finally won one of those Book & Game tournaments one warm Saturday afternoon, when most normal people were outside, enjoying the sunshine, with a mono-Black deck chock full of Hypnotic Specters, The Rack and Mind Ravel (yes, Mind Ravel, don't laugh). It was hard, hard work, but I got it down to 66 cards, a personal record for me at the time.

Don't think I didn't figure out that a smaller deck did better, either.

We tried to get a sanctioned event held at the Book & Game, but back then, Wizards' wouldn't hold them at a retail establishment, and they doled out sanctioning like hoarded gold (eventually Wizards did see the light and make sanctioning much, much easier, but back then it was nigh-on impossible). No, for my first sanctioned tournament - the only one in Oregon that month, according to the paper four-page extra that came with The Duelist; remember those? - I would have to drive to Astoria.

Not like I had anything better to do.

Did I mention it, like all other sanctioned tournaments, was single elimination? Yeah, Wizards eventually recognized that that was a problem as well. Alas, I scrubbed out in the first round, but got to watch my friends advance to the finals. Yeah, that was a fun eight hours. Did I mention there were no side events, either?

It was the early days. Nobody knew any better.

Over the next few months, the crew from central Oregon would drive to places like Salem, Eugene, Roseburg and Portland, usually doing quite well, in search of new sanctioned tournaments. Eventually, Wizards figured out that their sanctioning process was far too cumbersome and restrictive and started opening things up.

Be thankful, for if they hadn't, this game would never have gotten to the rarified strata it now inhabits.
 
In 1996, Portland was going to host Oregon's first ever Pro Tour Qualifier. The Pro Tour! This became (and still is, to some extent) my dream, my quest, my brass ring. To make the Pro Tour...yeah, that's where it's at.

The format was ALICE sealed. I arrive in Portland early, with about 150 people crammed into a hotel ballroom. Again, let me emphasize these were the early days: between registration and cracking open decks, it was two hours. You think waiting during Sealed Tournaments is bad now? You have absolutely no clue.

Finally, around noon (after filling out all the paperwork at 9:30), I got to see what my sealed deck looked like. I was very excited. .... I had rares like Seraph and Ritual of the Machine and a total of seven fliers in a U/B/W deck (and for those who don't remember, ALICE block was very, very flier-poor). This was bomb-a-licious. 

Unfortunately, the person who first cracked open the deck had made several errors in entering it (such as listing a Dark Banishing as a Dark Ritual). I call the judge over... 

...and a) get a warning and b) get my cards taken away. 

What...the...frick? 

That was the policy back then. If there were any errors on the decklist, you lost the cards, regardless of if it was your fault or not. 

The "replacement" cards I received were less than spectacular, to say the least. I go from a flier-heavy deck to one where the best flier is Swamp Mosquito (I actually won a game with that, sadly enough). I slog to a 3-3-1 record and head for home, rather livid at this turn of events. 

The first thing I do when I get home is write a scathing, blistering open letter to Wizards of the Coast, posting it to the rec.games.trading-cards.magic newsgroups, regarding this rather idiotic policy. 

Two weeks later, I get a check from Wizards of the Coast for the entry fee for the event. 

Okay, I'm not quite so angry now. 

Two months later, I get another check, doubly refunding my entry fee. 

I won't say anything if you don't.