Trivia night is the best night of the week. It's my only night off, for one, and it's also the night I get to meet up with Dave, Seth, and the rest of the guys to talk about fantasy football over two dollar beers. At the same time, we get to answer "Bill Cosby" to a myriad of impossible trivia questions, and make angry faces at the groups using their iPhones to get perfect scores. Sweet twenty dollar gift certificate guys, hope the French fries are worth the lifetime of guilt and bad karma.

But this Tuesday was different. Instead of our usual pre-bar warm-up games of Dominion or make-fun-of-Phil, I walked into Dave's apartment to see Magic cards all over the table. This isn't completely unreasonable, considering we all know each other through Magic, but there weren't any constructed events worth testing for on the horizon. Besides, there was a Krark's Thumb in play.

My inquisitive looks were met with: "Dave had all these crazy casual decks from when he lived up north. We're playing multiplayer!"

I frowned. My introduction to Magic was a stack of papers labeled "Comprehensive Rules," along with the words, "There will be a test" (thanks Brian!). A week after that, I entered my first tournament at Hammer's Comics and made top 8. I immediately jumped into the JSS scene, and PTQs followed shortly thereafter. I simply didn't have time for less competitive endeavors.

I did dabble in multiplayer when I was first getting started, but my long-time best friend Adam would always complain that we were ganging up on him (we were, the turn before his combo would kill everyone). Besides, it just wasn't as much fun as Super Smash Bros. for a living room full of preteens.

So I was never a casual player, and in fact, didn't understand how such a thing could exist. If I was designing a deck, I wanted it to win as much as possible. Fun was a side-effect of success, not the measure of it. All I wanted, since I was ten years old, was to be on the Pro Tour.

Flashback!

***

Since you were ten years old, all you ever wanted was to be on the Pro Tour. You know the grind. You know the four hour road trips. You know the heartbreak of the near-miss. Now, standing in the gathering crowd in the Hynes Convention Center, waiting for the Grand Prix Boston Top 8 announcement, you know the ecstasy of victory. Miraculously, after all the M10 practice pools, the busted Master of the Wild Hunt/Overrun sealed deck, the sixth pick Nightmare in the second pod, and no byes, you've emerged with thirteen wins; good enough for top eight.

So what if they don't even try to pronounce your last name when you come in seventh? Who cares that the whole world can see you second pick a Safe Passage on Draft Viewer? And yeah, you did look like an idiot playing against Ben Stark, letting him take a Bloodthrone Vampire with an Act of Treason, but guess what? You're going to the Pro Tour baby. It's your time.

Of course, you don't have an in with any pro players, because you've been out of the game for a few years while attending college. Your testing group consists of you and two of your closest friends; nice guys but really, these meetings are more like The View than focused testing sessions. After everyone shouts over each other about how to make the Rock deck work (good old rock), you decide on Dredge for the Pro Tour Austin extended format. You know you aren't nearly good enough to play it correctly, even after those ten games against Martyr. The day of your flight you decide to throw Hedron Crab in the pile (even though you're pretty sure it's terrible and you think you'll get laughed out of the room) – accidently making your deck a hundred times better.

You lose round one to Rob Dougherty (can't believe you played Rob Dougherty!) piloting what you believed to be a great matchup: Zoo. Your second turn Iona game one looked pretty good, but the next two games go like this: Turn 1 Wild Nacatl, Tormod's Crypt. Turn 2 Wild Nacatl, Wild Nacatl, Tormod's Crypt. Nice.

You rally and 4-1 constructed, and then have a good run in limited, only losing to Saito (can't believe you played against Saito!). Another good draft the next day, and it looks like, as long as you don't Horned Turtle (1-4), you'll probably make The Money. You play against your roommate for the weekend, a friend of a friend who decided to port his Standard Bitterblossom Faeries deck over to Extended (sup Jason Ford?). Back in the room, you smashed him every game. When it counts, though, you forget two Bloodghast triggers and lose while he's at 4. Nice punt. Don't tilt.

You tilt. Your next round opponent has the mental edge as soon as he shows up: a little late, a little cocky, eyeballing you like the scrub you are. On the critical turn in game three, he flashes you a hand of Bolts and Tribal Flames and says, "So that's it right?" You agree, without actually checking his lands or counting the damage. You scoop up. Before he walks away he adds with a snicker, "First pro tour?" You still wonder a year later if he actually won that game.

Then you squeak out a close one as Remi Fortier (can't believe yada yada) is unable to find a Scapeshift in about a million draw steps. Win out, maybe make top 32? Nah, you lose the next one, and Horned Turtle is suddenly a real possibility.

In the final round, a surprise Extirpate (surprise because it's terrible in the match-up) stops your opponent's Mindslaver lock in game three, and you manage to Nissa's Chosen. You only come in 57th due to your round one loss, but your rating is high enough to qualify you for San Diego.

This time, you tell yourself, this time you'll do it right. You'll network, maybe try to get in touch with Tim Landale or something. You'll test like crazy. You'll start earlier, and put more time in. You have no other commitments, besides the easiest semester of college ever taken, even by Liberal Arts standards. Totally free. Yup, no responsibilities.

"I'm pregnant."

That was your girlfriend of five years, love of your life, and now, your baby vessel. Kids, know your metagame: birth control is a nombo with anti-biotics.

Alright, you can handle this, keep it together. The two of you own a condo. You both have decent jobs. You have supportive and available parents. Raising a kid will be cake. But now you're at the doctor all the time, shopping for baby furniture, reading What to Expect When You're Expecting. All of your meager expendable income is spent on tiny socks that look like sneakers. You tell your friends sorry, it just doesn't look like the San Diego trip is happening.

Enter the grandma ex machina.

Yes, your kind, amazing, generous, young, hip, cougarish, moderately wealthy memere has offered to fly you out to San Diego for "that poker thing you like so much."

You're back in business, but with only three weeks left to test! You didn't get to network, or even introduce yourself to Tim Landale. School is starting to pick up steam, heading into midterms, and it's not nearly as easy as you expected. When you aren't commuting to school, working, or taking care of Pregasaurus, you're trying to get a few hours of sleep. All you can spare are Wednesday afternoons, when your friend the shopkeep can maybe play a few games with you, while helping customers and counting inventory.

The two of you brew up an incredibly bad innovative monowhite Allies list, which just seems to be killing everything you throw at it (including: a prototype Geopede Jund list, a Summoning Trap deck pre-Eldrazi, an old sock). This could be the spicy concoction that makes you rich and famous! Regardless, there's no time to figure out something else.

You meet up with that lucksack Jason Ford in San Diego, and he crushes you with his run-of-the-mill Jund deck. Sometimes you get the sick Freeblade-Blademaster-Evangel draw, and he doesn't have a Bolt, and you have Brave the Elements for Maelstrom Pulse, and Jupiter is in line with Uranus, and you steal a game. The rest of the time, Jund is Jund and you look like an idiot (seems to be a theme).

It was either Jason or Satan himself who suggested it: You know, you could play Jund. Everyone else is doing it. It feels really good. First one is free.

It only takes a few hits of Cascade-into-Blightning before you're hooked. I mean, you played Mannequin Jund back in the day, how different could it be?

Spoiler alert, you scrub out. After losing the first round mirror (I hate coin flips!), there's a flash of hope as you 2-3 constructed, but then you make the horrible mistake of first picking Sphinx of Jwar Isle in the Zendikar draft. That guy is like the hot chick who asks if you want to go to a party, but then when you get there she just wants to hook you up with her homely friend.*

(*Note: I have no problem with homely. Homely was my bread and butter in high school. It's really the underlying rejection that kills me, the "Oh you thought I meant me? I'm too good for you, but here's so and so." Yeah I'm still talking about the Sphinx. Honest.)

You spend the rest of the day sightseeing (read: drinking). You think about your life, your future, your regrets. What were you expecting, anyways? That you could ride the gravy train while Junior taught himself to read? That you could go to San Juan and Amsterdam with your buddies, family-be-damned? Why are you even in San Diego? How could you waste your grandmother's money like that? What kind of slob eats two plates of nachos?

There's a PTQ the next day, a prospect that once would have thrilled you. This time, though, you know you won't enter. What's the point? There are no more Pro Tours in your future, only manual labor, dirty diapers, and death.

There's more!

Your plane touches down at 11 PM, and you're greeted by the freezing New Hampshire winter you left behind. In five hours, you'll be shivering your buns off while unloading the bread truck, but for now there is only Lindsay. Her baby bump seems to have grown a little, and she has a jacket for you that she told you to pack, but you forgot. She tells you that she thinks the baby kicked today, but it might have been gas.

She doesn't ask how you did, because she knows that you'd have told her if you did well. Instead, she buys you a hot chocolate and talks about the coming week.

"Thursday is Nip/Tuck night. Friday is Kyle's birthday, but you'll be at FNM, so…"

"No. I'm not doing FNM anymore."

She looks at you with a knowing compassion. The Full House hugging music starts to play.

"Look, I know how much this trip meant to you, but you shouldn't quit Magic just because you didn't do well."

"It's not just that," you say, "I need to grow up. I'll be a father soon, I should be more responsible with money, my time."

"Growing up doesn't mean giving up what you love. You can play Magic and still be a great dad."

You smile, the water in your eyes beginning to pool.

"You're right. Thanks, dad," you say.

"That's creepy," Lindsay says. Always such a Stephanie.

***

Despite our Tanneresque conversation, I took a break from the game for a while. Aside from a few MTGO drafts and a prerelease, I mostly just finished up school, worked on poetry, and took care of my newborn son, Bryson.

So I wasn't particularly interested in playing free for all with the boys in Dave's kitchen, but we had an hour to kill and they were about to start a new game. I cracked a Sam's Club brand grape soda and got passed the Krark's Thumb deck. Great, coin flips, my favorite.

Seth looked at his opening hand and giggled like a school girl. On turn two I played a Krark's Thumb, eliciting an "Uh-oh" from Dave. The next turn, I played another one, anticipating the obligatory double uh-oh.

Instead: "Dude, those are legendary."

Why a stupid card like that would be legendary is anybody's guess, but I sighed and put both Thumbs in the graveyard. Dave took them out and put one in my hand.

"Don't worry about it." Ah, casual.

Seth was giggling more than ever as he slipped a card under his Summoner's Egg. Dave Wrathed it away, just to see what made Seth so giddy.

"Summoner's Egg reveals… Summoner's Egg!"

This sequence of events happened three turns in a row, as Eggs revealed more Eggs.

Apparently, Seth had drawn four Eggs and nothing worth hatching. Until the last one died.

"You're in trouble now. Summoner's Egg dies, revealing… Tangle Asp!"

I knew Dave had an epic collection, with all the high-dollar rares you could want, so I asked, "Why is that card even in the deck? It's strictly worse than like, a million other two-drops."

"I dunno, I just like it." Ah, casual.

Meanwhile my deck was doing what it did best: killing me with my own Mana Clash. I took a couple extra turns with Stitch in Time, but I wasn't doing anything except playing Crazed Firecats that proceeded to pick up some Plowshares, courtesy of Dave's monowhite control deck.

"These aren't particularly balanced, eh?" I asked, which is Canadian for, "These aren't particularly balanced, huh?" (Dave is a Canuck). He told me to wait and see.

Eventually, I drew the deck's signature spell: Fiery Gambit. With the help of the Thumb, I managed to win three flips, wiping the board, killing Seth and Phil, and drawing nine cards, two of which were Fiery Gambits. I stopped after two flip-wins with the first Gambit, bringing Dave to 5. I still had enough mana for the last one.

Everyone was on the edge of their seats as I flipped to see if I'd win on the spot, or if Dave would survive long enough to beat me down with Eternal Dragons. I flipped. Win. I flipped. Lose. Used my Krark's Thumb to flip again. I caught it in the air and slammed it down.

Did I win?

It doesn't matter. This was the most fun I'd had playing Magic in years. People were making plays that made little sense from a strategic standpoint, just because it made the game more interesting. Phil kept Seth alive with some clutch removal spells while Dave was bringing the pressure, solely because he didn't want Seth to have to watch the three-millionth airing of Sportscenter that served as our background music.

We skipped trivia that night in order to play more games. When I got home, I started tearing through my old boxes. Look at this gem from Prophecy! Calming Verse; that would be perfect against Phil's Enchantress deck. Ageless Entity is an Elemental? Where are my Flamekin Harbingers?!

I was looking at Magic in a way I never had before, and it felt good. I had always seen casual as a phase most players go through before they discover tournaments. I never realized kitchen table Magic could be better than competitive.

Now, our trivia team (I'd say the name, but this is a family site) has a new pre-bar ritual, and I'm working on putting together a regular gaming group. I've even started playing Magic Online differently. I have three Commander decks, and a slew of fun Standard decks based around wacky rares. Soon, I plan on making my first real-life EDH deck and battling the guys at the store with it between FNM rounds.

I never thought I'd be a casual guy. I never thought I'd have a baby at twenty-two, either. Life is full of surprises. It's all about how you look at them. For example, despite nipping my pro career in the bud, I love Bryson more than anything. He's given me a sense of purpose and meaning beyond what I thought possible. I can't wait to teach him how to play Magic – we could use a sixth for emperor.

Cheers,

Brad Wojceshonek

(Yes, I win the flip.)