I remember. I was so proud of you. I seem to recall that being your pot-luck prize tourney, a wild success in every way. And not just because I won. :)
The first time I spoke with the boy in person was at one of Game*Alot's mini-cons at the Vet's Hall. Thomas, Ben, Matt, Sid, Tony and I were getting down to some serious Shadowfisting. At the sight of M.C. walking thru the door, everyone scattered but me. He walked up to the table, saw the cards, and mentioned the possiblity of retrieving his cards and joining in. I looked him right in the eye and told him in no uncertain terms that the players I had currently assembled had no desire to play with him and would probably leave if he joined in. He was taken aback for a moment, acting as though I had physically struck him, mumbled something about thanking me for my honesty and that "he doesn't mind so much when people don't want to play with him as long as they just tell him." Then he meekly retreated back the way he came.
I wasn't mean about it, just deadpan and direct. He left, the boys returned, and we played some great games. Badly-baked pot-brownies were had by all.
If even half the stories I've heard about M.C. are true, I simultaneously pity him and can't stand to be in the same room with him. Tales abound of him playing miniature and card games against people several years his junior, and giving them a bad taste in their mouth about the whole hobby by cheating, rules-lawyering, being a sore loser, and worse, being a very, very sore winner. Towards someone several years younger than him. Pathetic.
The manner in which every game-store clerk shudders at the mention of his name does not speak well of him, either.
Oh, and gamers who ramble incessantly to others about games those unfortunate others do not play, even after being informed of this: Grrr. Kill...
The first time I spoke with the boy in person was at one of Game*Alot's mini-cons at the Vet's Hall. Thomas, Ben, Matt, Sid, Tony and I were getting down to some serious Shadowfisting. At the sight of M.C. walking thru the door, everyone scattered but me. He walked up to the table, saw the cards, and mentioned the possiblity of retrieving his cards and joining in. I looked him right in the eye and told him in no uncertain terms that the players I had currently assembled had no desire to play with him and would probably leave if he joined in. He was taken aback for a moment, acting as though I had physically struck him, mumbled something about thanking me for my honesty and that "he doesn't mind so much when people don't want to play with him as long as they just tell him." Then he meekly retreated back the way he came.
I wasn't mean about it, just deadpan and direct. He left, the boys returned, and we played some great games. Badly-baked pot-brownies were had by all.
If even half the stories I've heard about M.C. are true, I simultaneously pity him and can't stand to be in the same room with him. Tales abound of him playing miniature and card games against people several years his junior, and giving them a bad taste in their mouth about the whole hobby by cheating, rules-lawyering, being a sore loser, and worse, being a very, very sore winner. Towards someone several years younger than him. Pathetic.
The manner in which every game-store clerk shudders at the mention of his name does not speak well of him, either.
Oh, and gamers who ramble incessantly to others about games those unfortunate others do not play, even after being informed of this: Grrr. Kill...
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