Throughout high school, I was labeled as the biggest drug addict in my class.

No, it's true.

Insomnia crept into my life far too early for me not to embrace it. In eighth grade, my inability to sleep for more than two hours each day is a blessing not to be slighted. In my restless hours, I would gather with the occasional delinquent and raise a minor amount of hell on the streets. When that"No Trespassing" sign caught my eye, I'd whip out my wire cutters and take it as a souvenir.

Of course, I wouldn't climb over the fence that was formerly warded: After all, named crimes just seem a tad more heinous than the childish recklessness I'd allow myself to indulge in.

With the exception of a couple of events that led to run-ins with the local law, the most severe crimes I committed were rationalized by the fact that I needed to add to my collection more than my victims needed their hood ornaments.

Anyways, so I was a druggie - even though I was completely against pot, meth, and all it's neighbors, cousins, brethren, and adoptive sons. I just fit a stereotypical mold. I wore the same flannel on a daily basis, a dog-leash that set me apart from all the posers who bought their chains at Gadzooks and Hot Topic, and a shoulder-length blonde-dyed abomination of a hairstyle that I was unfortunate enough to adopt right before the two-week reign of Hanson as the kings of pop music. And, of course, coming to school each morning with a dazed expression and the most deep-set bloodshot eyes didn't do much to dissuade my given reputation.

It was at about this time that I was introduced to Magic via one of my longtime friends. I immediately set upon stealing boosters of Revised, slipping two packs of their $5 packs up my long sleeves and purchasing a third. Sure, I was shaking as I handed over the assortment of crumpled bills and change pilfered from various vending machines, but I was convinced that as long as I was making a purchase, I would surely not be accused of shoplifting. I'd then hop on over next door and snatch about ten packs of Fallen Empires, reveling in that rush that you can surely only achieve by doing something you know could ruin your life. After attaining almost a full box of packs in a four-day span, I was finally caught. Standing at the counter at Kay-Bee Toy Store, I'm trying to pry far too many packs of Fallen Empires up my right sleeve while nervously watching to make certain that the twenty-something clerk keeps her back to me. While I'm focused on my shoving, she casually turns around and asks,"Do you need any assistance?" I turn green on the spot. I stutter out my denial of her aid, pushing my right hand back out of my sleeve and place the packs back in the box.

I quickly stagger out the door, run in a panic to the nearest restroom, and heave my guts out until I'm under control.

Yeah, it's at about this point that I give up my current life of crime, and take up a study of lockpicking instead.

Of course, I still add to my hood ornament collection every morning on my way to school. After all, that's not really a crime, is it?

Regardless, I was an addict. I stole pornography from my dad and sold the magazines at $5 a pop to classmates in order to pseudo-legally feed my addiction. I picked the lock to his filing cabinet, gaining a motherlode of $80 - all in one-dollar bills.

I wasn't too clever, though - I left my makeshift tension wrench at the scene, along with an assortment of oddly-twisted paperclips. Naw, that's not suspicious! And when I was confronted on it, of course I placed the blame on my brother's doorstep! I mean, I had no way of knowing that my mom, who I had bragged to about all my exploits, had already spilled the beans. So when the full scene came to light, I sobbingly told them about how some bigger kids from school were threatening me, and I had to pay them off. (Hey, drama classes have to be good for something, right?)

And no, I didn't know their names, and no, I couldn't find out, and dad, why did you have to leave us? (Feeding off guilt makes it damn near impossible to come back to the true source of the lecture. Insecurity is a wonderful thing to know how to take advantage of when you're still in your young teens.)

But now I had a reasonable collection. I wanted to compete. I was never very successful at my local Arena tournaments. But at sealed... Damn, did I excel at sealed deck tournaments. My first attempt earned me second place, and a sexy Ragnar from Legends. That sexy beast still stands proudly in my collection, forever immune to the temptations of being traded away. (It doesn't hurt that I couldn't pay someone to take him, either.)

Soon after, I entered into Mirage Block Pro Tour qualifiers. Of my three endeavors in that season, I managed two second-place finishes. The magnitude of that accomplishment didn't strike me until I started to hit the PTQ circuit again after the release of Mercadian Masques; I managed a fourth-place finish in one of the six tournaments that I competed in during this season, failing miserably during my first attempt at booster draft. For some reason, I thought that the fact that I got six rares, including a Rishadan Port, was a good thing.

Well, I've learned a great deal since then, yet I still manage only one top eight per season at the very best.

Yet I struggle on. Through two new engines. Through shattered windows in the snow. Through anemic and sleep-deprived days, parched and desperate nights, I can partially relive the thrill I once tasted from stealing boosters at a toy store whenever I deliver that tension-filled alpha strike.

If that's all I live for, then that's enough... But now I've got a great deal to prove. I feel that something has to come of this. Something more than horror stories of roadtrips gone horribly, horribly wrong. I also don't expect to have enough nightmares to fill another article for about eleven more months, so in the meantime I'll submit a recount of the events from the most recent of magical weekends.

Friday night, I meet up with some of the local crew at the local base of operations. They've been holding FNM there the past two months, but too often we're a person or two short, and must trek 75 miles north to Sioux Falls, where we compete at the Dragon's Den, home of (former?) StarCity Featured Writer, Michael Granaas. Today, we have exactly eight people in attendance - but unfortunately, Swiss decides that he won't be playing, so I announce my intentions to head north. Floyd, the one fellow who shares the majority of my adventures, immediately states his desire to join me, as well as Orgy, who would be joining us on a trip for the first time. Although my rear axle audibly groans beneath Orgy's sole weight in the backseat, we arrive at The Den in one piece... And despite my best attempts at swerving into the piles of cones neighboring the interstate on the way up, we manage to do it without incident or any pitstops as well.

This evening showcases a massive attendance of thirty-seven people. Orgy is running his Tog/Mists of Stagnation deck, which more often than not simply becomes a standard Psychatog deck after sideboarding. Floyd runs... Well, something. I think it's something with Opposition, but I actually don't see him too often over the tournament, and I don't watch enough of his matches to draw much of an impression from his deck. Myself? I'm running Red Zone 2k2, only very slightly modified from what Kibler posts on the Sideboard coverage. I didn't play with Flametongue Kavu for the entire time it were legal... And by God, I was going to before they were relegated to Extended. And damn are they a fun card to be sending at your opponent!

Time for a pseudo-aside. Strife resulted from the business practices of a neighboring store. Recently, another card shop moved in just three doors down from The Dragon's Den - while foolish of them, this isn't an immediate concern. It's not all bad; the resulting price wars benefit customers, now able to purchase packs at just over $2.50 apiece. No, the grievance is the fact that Dakota Cards, just a few doors down, chose to break street date for Onslaught packs. When confronted on his malpractice, the storeowner merely smirked and remarked on his lack of concern for the given rules. Thus far, Wizards has ignored such complaints - but in this small case, there's a great deal of impact. The Den is the sole location for a large number of gamers to play in the area, and the shop-owner is the only judge in the region. And of course, if he loses his business, he has no reason to continue to support the local scene.

Of course there was a wonderful crowd, waiting for that midnight bell to toll so they could obtain their packs legitimately and from an appreciated source. Unfortunately, there were also a couple fellows who loudly bragged about their purchases from the neighboring store, and left wrappers bearing the competition's name strewn across the table they were playing at. I was more than happy to crush one of these players in the second round.

Actually,"more than happy" is an understatement. So is"crush." I think,"grind into dust with my heel" would be more appropriate.

Regardless, my plan to play a few rounds and leave in time to rest up before the next day's PTQ is demolished when all three of us make top 8. I manage to pull a perfect 5-0 record, Orgy pulls up tight behind me at 4-1, and Floyd barely squeezes in at 3-2. If I had been thinking with good intelligence, I would have told my crew to drop before the cut - but visions of foil Spike Feeders filled my thoughts, and I disregarded any idea except the intention to make off with the first of those gorgeous foils for the month. Orgy loses his first match in the top 8, and I manage to barely pull out a match against one of the local netdeckers, who chose to run an innovative Miracle Gro adaptation for Type 2. Amazingly, it runs ten lands, and still manages to roll beautifully. In each game, I manage to pull Flametongues right when I need them, before I'm overrun by Werebears and massive Quirion Dryads.

I set into my top 4 match, and lose two games against one of the most enjoyable opponents at The Den, whose U/G madness deck simply churns out far too many threats for me to deal with. Even my Intrepid Hero was powerless to stop his flying Wild Mongrels and Basking Rootwallas, as his sideboarded Rushing River sealed the deal in our last game of the match. Exhausted, defeated, I check out my crew. Orgy lost his first match in the top 8, succumbing to the same jovial fellow that I did. Floyd? He was still on his first match of the top 8.

I groan my displeasure, but choose to sit it out. I trade. I watch midnight roll by, and see the gleeful faces of those first experiencing Onslaught.

And Floyd is still playing.

Well, he does manage to take the tournament at the very least, avenging both Orgy and myself, but at the cost of two and a half hours of precious, precious sleep.

So driving back home, I resolve to drive directly to Des Moines, the site of the next days PTQ, with the intention of catching my three hours of sleep at the site. Unfortunate obligations elsewhere force Floyd and myself into different vehicles, despite the fact that we share the same point of departure and destination. I cranked my motivational tunes loud during my trip up, regaling to the classics. Offspring's album Smash. Bush's Sixteen Stone. Catching some hardcore vibes via Boy Hits Car and Boy Sets Fire. All necessities to a day of impending annihilation.

And yet... something must have gone awry. Probably due to a lack of sleep, my inability cost me heavily during the latter rounds that a participated in, a rapid deceleration from my starting point. Sure, I attempted to sleep. I managed half an hour of rest in the parking lot of the tourney venue before the departure of hotel guests woke me from a restless and bone-chilling sleep. With two more hours to spell, I joined the other early birds in the competition area. I watch Kurtis Hahn attempt to dominate a Psychatog deck with his ninety-card random Balthor, the Defiled deck. If nothing else, he's a fun bastard to watch! The only competitor I recognized was former JSS champion Sean Tracy, as Floyd didn't show up.

After two hours of waiting, they announce the attendance of 107 players - forty more than had been anticipated. They expanded their competition area to a second meeting room, with additional tables outside the area to accommodate the last couple of players who couldn't be crammed into the main room. The deck I registered was quite the oddity, featuring three Screaming Seahawks, a Future Sight, and two Ascending Avens. So while the blue was a given, the other four colors were mediocre at best. Nothing stood out. Blue was strong, but light, so I was grateful that I didn't have to deal with it when decks were being returned. Instead, here's the deck I was given:

Aven Soulgazer
Battlefield Medic
Daru Healer
Daru Lancer
2x Defensive Maneuvers
Demystify
Gravel Slinger
Pacifism
Renewed Faith
Shieldmage Elder
Annex
Choking Tethers
Crafty Pathmage
2x Crown of Ascension
Discombobulate
Fleeting Aven
Imagecrafter
Information Dealer
Ixidor's Will
Meddle
Mistform Dreamer
2x Mistform Mask
2x Mistform Wall
Psychic Trance
Aphetto Dredging
Anurid Murkdiver
Cabal Archon
Cabal Slaver
Disciple of Malice
Festering Goblin
Gangrenous Goliath
Nantuko Husk
Patriarch's Bidding
Profane Prayers
Severed Legion
Spined Basher
Wretched Anurid
Avarax
2x Brightstone Ritual
2x Fever Charm
Goblin Machinist
Goblin Sledder
Lavamancer's Skill
Lay Waste
Lightning Rift
Shock
Skirk Prospector
Birchlore Rangers
Centaur Glade
Chain of Acid
Everglove Courier
2x Elvish Guidance
Elven Riders
Elvish Vanguard
Elvish Warrior
Kamahl's Summons
Krosan Tusker
2x Snarling Undorak
Symbiotic Elf
2x Treespring Lorian
2x Wirewood Herald
Wirewood Pride
Words of Wilding
Forgotten Cave
Lonely Sandbar

Well, the only obvious thing in this deck is that green is an absolute house. I mean... Centaur Glade wins matches, simple as that. Combine that with an incredible Elf engine featuring the Vanguard himself, plus two elves that replace themselves, and you've got some great confidence on your hands.

But... What to use as the second color?

I considered blue first, since it had three workable counterspells. I also desperately wanted to use either red or black for removal, but both were severely lacking in that department. In red I had Lavamancer's Skill and Shock; in black I had Profane Prayers. In white, I had Pacifism, the best temporary solution I could find.

My final choice was a Green base, with a good deal of white for its fliers, morphers, combat tricks, and splashing red for the Lavamancer's Skill.

Even the obvious choice to use green held some difficult choices for me, though. First, Chain of Acid is a bit of a pet card of mine. I've used it to devastate an opponent's mana base in previous games, but I felt that more often than not I'd have to trade my Centaur Glade or Pacifism for two of my opponent's lands, and so it got the cut fairly early. Also, the Words of Wilding was something I wanted to experiment with a great deal: The idea of skipping some mana flood in favor of a horde of 2/2 bear tokens spoke quite warmly in my mind, but I avoided that one, as well, thinking that by the time I would begin using it, it was likely to be far too little, far too late. I never regretted either of these decisions, though my mana base was poorly chosen. I ran eleven forests, six plains, and a Mountain; instead, I feel I should have run nine forests, seven plains, one mountain and a Forgotten Cave.

Round 1, Derek: B/G
Derek is running a heavy zombie build. In game one, he comes out with three consecutive turns of Spined Bashers, casts a 5/5 Soulless One, and hard-casts his Krosan Tusker. My total lack of white mana isn't assisting things too much, and I'm left defending an army of zombies and beasts with a series of 2/2 and 3/3 creatures. He attacks with his vastly superior army, and I'm able to gang-block everything, eradicating both of our armies. Now at eight life, he plays his trump card: Aphetto Vulture. I have Pacifism in my hand, the only workable solution to the menace, but no plains to cast it. And...

At last, off the top, a plains at last! Too add insult to injury, I drop my own bomb: The Centaur Glade I had been holding in my hand. He never manages to mount an offense to overwhelm the rapidly-multiplying 3/3s, and I manage to pull this game out.

Game 2, he keeps a solid hand featuring two swamps and a horde of inexpensive critters. Unfortunately, I manage to tear up his initial army, and his further draws leave him lacking in mana. It isn't too difficult to determine the winner from those odds.

Round 2, Greg: Almost mono-green.
Somehow, this boy managed to reap an incredible deck featuring Voice of the Woods, two Wellwishers, the land that untaps an elf, along with at least seven other elves. It doesn't take too long before the 7/7 Elementals begin pumping out, and I spend every draw praying for my Lavamancer's Skill to knock off a Wellwisher, allowing my Elven Riders to reduce his life total and simultaneously rendering his Voice of the Woods useless. Draw after draw I'm denied, and eventually I'm getting overwhelmed. Despite my ability to produce two 3/3s every turn, he's matching me with a 7/7 trampler. He deals the exact amount of necessary damage amidst an alpha strike.

In game two, I manage a fiercely quick draw, featuring Elvish Warriors, Elvish Courier, and Snarling Undorak, which leaves my opponent reeling. It doesn't take him long to find a Wellwisher, and he manages to stabilize. A Wirewood Herald chumps, and is replaced with a Voice of the Woods, but even after casting the Voice he only has four elves. I drop the Centaur Glade, hoping to overwhelm him, but he starts gain twenty-one life per turn, much to my frustration. I deal twenty-one damage each turn, but he refuses to risk killing any of my elves, soaking up any damage with the Wellwisher's instead. I take him to one life, only to see him rebound to above twenty life again.

And then I draw Wirewood Pride, with seven elves on the table.

Invoking my drama lessons of yore, I resign myself to a"futile" alpha strike, with my life dwindling. I have exactly thirteen power in creatures, with two Undoraks worth two additional +2/+2, and my Pride which can boost a creature for +7/+7, effectively nullifying one activation of a Wellwisher. I strike... And he declares no blockers. He gains his twenty-one life, rising to twenty-two.

I pump the beasts, throw down the Pride, and pump a fist.

Greg launches into a gleeful grin, and shakes my hand in a well-fought match, just as time is called. We're forced to accept the draw, and he drops from the tournament. A great match, and a wonderful opponent to play against, soured only because I would have liked to have a concession, seeing as how he couldn't continue the tourney anyways, but I wasn't about to bring it up. He was a blast to play against, at the very least.

Round 3, Unknown: G/W
Game 1 I manage to pull off an excellent curve against what is effectively a mirror match, but I can already see why he's in the draw bracket: He's got a whole host of healers to match my own pair. After the ground is stabilized, I go to the air with my Aven Soulgazer, without seeing any of my enchantments. Five turns of pounding on his deck leave my opponent still without a solution to the 3/3 flier, and we launch into Game 2.

During this game, I'm really beginning to feel my lack of sleep. Even in the last game, I was starting to get fuzzy on the math, and G/W has a great deal more board tricks than any other combination of colors, so it was severely taxing on my exhausted mind. This game I draw my Centaur Glade right when I need it... But he responds immediately with Demystify!

"Yup, I had to use it to have enough usable cards in my colors, but it didn't help me at all last game!"

I launch my Pacifism at a vital target - but it meets Naturalize, with that same smirk. His attacks are whittling away at my resolve, as I lose two blockers each attack while my lack of coherence leaves me failing to eliminate any threats in the process. I'm always lacking a point of power here, or missing a combat trick elsewhere. Eventually, I'm rattled with the knowledge that the fault of this game loss rests squarely on my shoulders.

The third game is even worse. An early Ballista Squad and hold off my meager army of x/2 creatures. Some beasts join the fray, but not before he casts an assortments of healers and medics. I grimace with every draw, again praying for either my Lavamancer's Skill or my sideboarded Shock, but both are denied to me. I cycle like a madman, and still I lack any answers. I use my Pacifism to bait out his Demystify... But he again has the Naturalize for my Centaur's Glade. More poor blocks, in addition to an Elvish Warrior that is gaining an additional +4/+4 each turn via the aid of a pair of white soldiers manages to whittle away my defense, and I succumb to my exhaustion, as much as his army.

I sign next to the"drop" box next to my name, and resolve to drive the four hours home. Grateful, at the very least, that my trip didn't involve the destruction of my vehicle or body - just the deterioration of my resolve.

But, you can damn well be guaranteed I'll be back at it next weekend.

Gabriel Phoenix
geckogambit@aol.com