Magic is God. One need not eat or sleep, but only play Magic to sustain one's life. Love, Religion, Friendship; these are all demons one must slay to truly enjoy the sweet nectar of life that is Magic.

If you're reading this article, congratulations - you have not only mastered the reins of the internet, but you have also achieved an elementary level of reading comprehension. Kudos to you! And what is it that allows us to use the internet? What driving force is there behind the standardization of public schools? That's right - it is Magic. No one will argue this point, because only noob lamzors will say that Magic isn't the alpha and omega of existence.

But have you ever really asked yourself why?

You shouldn't have to, because the almighty Richard Garfield, who left the clouds on high and took on the form of a human being bequeath unto us the game of Magic. To deny the zeal that is Magic is to deny existence itself. But if you are still not convinced, consider the following:

No single game on earth has ever been as accepting, as universal, or as adept at bringing people together as Magic: The Gathering, except for Monopoly, poker, or quarters. It's in nearly every hobby store (except for the hobby stores that don't sell Magic, but those don't count), every city (except for cities that have no hobby stores), and every country in the world, sans Iraq, most of the Middle East, and a larger part of Brazil. Magic is available to people of all races, languages, and creeds. I mean, what languages is Magic not printed in? Excluding Hebrew, Latin, Aramaic, and any other language that isn't Spanish, Japanese, or English, no language has been unaffected by the influence of Magic. It's everywhere, except where it is not, and available to everyone, except, of course, to those without money or access to the game. There's no bias (damn the noobs who feel there is a bias - and slivers suck!), no pecking order (so long as Mark Rosewater continues to mandate that this be so), and no financial limitations, except the cost of cards. It's without judgment (Fireball to the face?! That is so cheese), without prerequisite (minus the whole language barrier and understanding of the game), and without limits, so long as you play with sixty-card decks and each player has a life total of twenty, the game only takes fifteen minutes to complete, two minutes between rounds to shuffle, etc. Age boundaries, color boundaries, and geographical boundaries are null and void. Who hasn't played Magic by mail with a blind, Jewish, 89-year-old transvestite from Trinidad?

There is no other product - no single recreational activity on this earth - that can boast that, except Pokémon. There are thousands of stories behind why we play, apparently, why the game is appealing, and why it's become as popular as it has.

I only know one, because, well, my lack of short-term memory forces me to constantly dwell on the past, and I lost my long-term memory to a fishing incident involving an ill-tempered grouper. So I am forced to adopt another's story as my own.

Some people are not stereotypical Magic players. Every Magic player that I know of - except one, apparently - wears thick glasses and smells bad. Every other Magic player talks with a nasally voice and watches Star Trek. Most players are horrifically shocked by the pile of pus and fat that they view sitting across from them at a tournament, yet those players must, sadly, realize that they are looking into a mirror, for they too are just as fat and puss encrusted. No attractive people, except one, play Magic. The idea that any two Magic players would ever breed by free will is a laughable farce.

The story that I am about to relate to you is one of shock and horror, a story of a fall from grace. They beauty and youth of the prime example of Aryan youth crumbled beneath the overwhelming power of the game. This story is not for the weak of heart.

Magic took this child in when he was eleven years old, give or take a year. He began playing during 4th Edition and Ice Age - but the time isn't important, which is why I am telling it to you. He had just recently moved to a new city and was not exactly a social butterfly. Despite his gorgeous good looks, rippling pectoral muscles, and flocks of women, he had struggled with every sort of human interaction one would dream up since arriving there, and despite his looks, charm, wit, and grasp of the English language, wasn't looking to do much better as he prepared to enter the horrific battlegrounds which exist within middle school.

One day, however, all of this seemed to change. (It didn't actually change; it just sort of"seemed" to. This is an odd thing, because, as the reader will soon see, things actually did change, in a very real and terrifying sort of way.) While walking through the lunch line on the first day of 8th Grade, he happened upon a small huddle of low-profile troglodytes who thanked the goddess every day that he happened to grace them with his presence. The proverbial storm clouds parted, and the choruses of heaven descended upon this mere mortal, the Socratic form of American youth. These worthless sacks of fat and pus were playing with decks of brown-backed cards. Colorful glass beads and twenty-sided dice lay strewn across the table, much as these boy's lives must have been strewn with sorrow and heartache. Two boys sat holding several cards, and seemed to be deep in thought, sitting across from one another. They each took turns laying cards onto the table as others watched in silence. Occasionally, one would nod in approval or shake his head in dismay, occasionally one from the crowd would grunt an affirmation towards a play, and the others would savagely beat the beast that grunted while ripping at his flesh with their teeth. Our hero assumed this to be some form of mating ritual, and decided that he must come to understand these beasts - or at least heckle them in order to obtain the level of entertainment he desired.

He aborted his lunch plans and wandered over to observe them. Their pungent aromas and horrid appearances hypnotized him with fear. Were these even humans? They appeared to be more like ogres than boys, hunched over their tables, slobbering over their pictured cardboard. As he approached, he saw not a single bizarre glance or scrunched nose as he, our hapless hero, joined the table. He had been welcomed into the herd! These were not savages - they were merely gentle brutes! Shunned by society they had formed their own tribe, perhaps for the purposes of hunting. They acknowledged our hero with distant nods and uninterested glances as their focus snapped back to the game at hand. They seemed amazed by, what he interpreted to be some sort of game - or maybe it was still a mating ritual. He wasn't sure. Perhaps there was a battle for dominance over the group occurring before his very eyes!

From that day on, he spent every single lunch period of his 8th Grade year there. He dubbed the player who seemed to claim dominance the most often"Bright Eyes," and the male who constantly challenged him was dubbed"Nob Ear," for he had lost part of his right ear while battling with the others for a morsel of food. Though not yet accustomed to their ways, and obviously much more attractive than these brutes, he had begun his descent into madness. He was becoming one of them. More importantly, however, he had found the group he would eventually invade, and lead to their own demise.

Flash-forward about seven years. Our hero was playing football. He had become separated from the Magic playing herd, and he had become separated from his Magic related article. Travesty struck his young life. Without the feeling of leather on his hands, how would he survive? His football career was ending, and so, too, his life seemed to be drawing to a close.

Then, a miracle! No more than two days later, he was walking past a group of small shops in Steven's Point, Wisconsin. Wedged between two buildings, he noticed a gaming and hobby store by the name of Games People Play. The sheer brilliance of the name drew him in. Our hero's attention focused, of course, on the various Magic stickers and posters in the window. It had been so long since he last played. Upon moving to Port Edwards, he had abandoned the game and sold off all of his cards. The Moxes, Ancestral Recalls, and Black Lotuses seemed drab and useless when compared with a football - and he didn't have a need for them anymore. The joys of sitting in darkened basements surrounded by other males lost its appeal when confronted with the images of sitting in a locker room with scantily-clad men of my own caliber and build.

However, reflecting on the recent demise of his football career, in as much as playing on a school team can be considered a"career" and could just as oddly be"demised," he found himself walking into the store. He was shocked by what was happening. Was he really becoming that which he had once only observed? As he introduced himself to the players there, he soon realized that Magic's face may have changed over the years, just as his own face had become more handsome and gorgeous. Archetypes had fallen, sets had rotated, levels of power had fluctuated - but what had drawn him to the game then was drawing him back to it. The dark arts were truly at work. In a week, his mind was running wild with new deck builds and ways to take advantage of the powerful new set - a set called Odyssey. He found this to be quite a remarkable coincidence, as his own life in Magic had been much of an Odyssey.

The rest is history. He rarely misses a Friday Night Magic, and he has graciously extended his circle of friends to include many of the people he plays with. He has opened his arms to those unfortunate souls cast aside by society and shunned by the opposite sex. Playing again helped him secure a job through a fellow player, and helped him find a competitive medium to occupy his mind with - whatever the hell that means.

The amazing thing wasn't that he was able to come back after so many years away. The truly amazing thing was that he would have chosen to come back at all. When confronted by the stench of Magic players and the wholly unappealing appearance of the lot, one would assume that no mortal could stomach the stench long enough to socialize with these worthless sacks of fat. When he walked into that store for the first time, he was welcomed by people who knew the game - which is odd, because normally Magic players are welcomed by people who don't know the game. It is common understanding that Magic players are always welcomed by Yu-Gi-Oh! players, and Yu-Gi-Oh! players are welcomed by people who like Akira, and people who like Akira aren't welcomed at all.

It didn't matter that he had no clue what the new cards were, because he had lost his ability to read the damn cards sometime in the past, or that he'd long ago sold his thirty-seven Black Lotuses; no, he could mention phrases like"Prosperous Bloom,""Necro," or"What are you guys doing tonight? " and they'd know exactly what he was talking about. Before he knew a single person there, or before they knew him, they knew things about each other.

It was, dare I say, Magical. Hahaha.

All right, I think I've made my point. To anyone that hasn't realize it, this article is a rebuttal to Magic Is The Greatest Game Ever.

The entire article was nothing but a self-glorification which relates the stories of how some kid who plays football fell from grace and became one of the"nasally speaking Star Trek watchers" that he would later joke about as he undressed in the locker room.

If you think that Magic is truly the"greatest game ever" and want to write about why that is so, here are some tips:

#1: When you write the article, write the article about MAGIC, and not yourself.
#2: Provide some sort of fact or relevant opinion. Broad generalizations and stereotyping the players isn't an assessment of the game at all.
#3: Don't write it.

I hope you enjoyed my article.

Have fun,
-J-