A Minnow in the San Diego Fishbowl

I sat down, opened my green acrylic deck case, and shuffled.

“This is my first CEDH tournament,” I said.

“Oh yeah?” said Blue Farm.

“I played Legacy back in the day, but a buddy convinced me to try this.”

“With friends like that,” said Monogreen Jank Pile, “Who needs enemies?”

We shuffled and drew and mulliganed and shuffled and drew and kept.

Blue Farm – Land. Go.

Talion – Ancient Tomb. Chrome Mox. Rhystic Study.

Me – Commandeer.

“Responses?” I ask.

They shake their heads.

[Holy shit. Did I just win my first CEDH game?]

[Did I?!]

No, because Monogreen Jank Pile plays STRIP MINE and kills my land to lose to Blue Farm. I didn’t even know what Blue Farm was or why it was called that stupid name, but turns out Esper Sentinel and Smothering Tithe are better than a Turn Zero Rhystic Study when another player fucking Strip Mines me.

“Now, wait a second,” you might ask, “How the hell would a Strip Mine stop you mid game?”

Because I play janky shit too!

And that’s the rub. That’s the sticking point that will prevent me from every being good at this fucking format.

I don’t mind the whining adult men saying, “Why would you do that? Don’t do that. Please, don’t. You can kill it when it’s a problem, but please, just leave it there. It’s not doing anything. Please, I promise I’ll be a good little boy, Daddy.”

I can deal with the team jerseys that make it obvious one of the two in the pod wearing them are walking away with the win.

I can hang with the gamer lingo that hits my ear in just the wrong way.

And I can even withstand the stench of a 200 person tournament after 8 hours of marinating. I can.

But where’s the style, baby? Where’s that personal touch? Why didn’t I see flair in the ten times I saw Thrasios? Or the six times I saw Tymna? Or the five times I saw Kinnan?

Because they’re trying to win, dumbass, not look cool.

And style, well, style means Monogreen Jank Pile runs Strip Mine, baby.