The Leaderboard: A Long Road to the Gathering
Garrett Martin contemplates setting aside years of contempt and learning how to play Magic: The Gathering.
We called them the vampires. They didn’t suck blood (at least I don’t think so) but instead of sleeping they’d stay up all night playing games. This enclave of friends and like-minded compatriots occupied the entirety of the other half of our dorm room floor. They specifically requested those rooms, staying in a dorm even though, unlike almost everybody else in the building, they weren’t freshmen. They built their own shadow fraternity on the second floor of Creswell Hall, a long row of double-occupancy rooms filled with gamers, Goths and other isolationists with socially maligned obsessions. The supposedly normal guys on our wing were outwardly civil towards them, but regularly mocked them behind closed doors.
They played Doom and Dungeons & Dragons and above all Magic: The Gathering, that peculiar card game that spread like pinkeye through the underclassmen at my high school the previous year. They’d be playing Magic in the common room between the two wings when I’d get home late from a rock show or party. They’d still be playing the next morning when I left for class. I could appreciate a shooter and a good old fashioned AD&D jaunt, even though I no longer had interest in either. Magic felt like too much, though, a reductive deconstruction of the role-playing game that removed everything good about the form, replacing cooperation and imagination with clichéd fantasy art and the addictive kick of gambling. I didn’t like Magic, and I’m pretty sure the Magic players didn’t like me.
Relations eventually cooled. By the end of that year I had a few friends on that side of the floor, and was an enthusiastic spectator of an epic game of Axis & Allies one night. I learned how to make four-track tape loops with answering machine cassettes from a guy who dressed like Marilyn Manson every single day. They were just people trying to have a good time and brave enough to do what they liked in public without worrying about what others thought.
I still hated Magic, though. Hatred might be a strong word—to hate something requires effort. I forgot Magic even existed. When confronted with the evidence I would wince and feel a little depressed. Why would any adult willingly play this in public, I’d grouse, failing to hide my resolute contempt for Magic.
Years passed. I fell hard back into videogames during the Nintendo 64 and original PlayStation era, sucked back in by Final Fantasy Tactics, AKI wrestling games, baseball simulators with co-op season modes and an ever-growing stack of cash earned from a summer driving for Domino’s. Though I was an adult, this time the habit stuck and lead to a (not that) lucrative side gig writing about games for money. I embraced games without reservation, unequivocally and eternally, even if I occasionally struggled to contain my inner cynic.