Grand Prix: Toronto, Part 1
This is broken up into parts for ease of reading, and to give myself some time to let my memories settle and become easier to scribe.
I hadn't planned on going with anyone to the event; my trips into Canada for GPTs(11th and 2nd) were solo, and I had enjoyed the simplicity of a trip without any outside complications. I felt bad for Ceilyn though, as his ride was jammed full of people, and he's a bigger man himself. So I had him come along.
My experience leading into this event wasn't much. A fat-pack prerelease at a local store, about a dozen drafts, some useful and some not, and lots of reading and discussion about what was good and what wasn't, including a SCG article for their writing contest, but I admit I was very sick and half assed it, which is why you don't see it on the SCG front page this week. As a result, I didn't have incredibly high hopes going in, not quite assuming day 2 was in the bag, and certainly thinking a Q for Paris next year would be an attainable goal.
Friday
The only reason I even talk about Friday is because the theme of the weekend was discovered then. We used the familiar phrase "One time, dealer," to describe the solution to our problems. It's overused, but really sometimes all you can do is hope things work out, and we did at every turn, starting with Ceilyn's misplaced passport.
I wouldn't have minded nearly as much having to essentially lie to the border guards, but we had actually spoken about our passports five minutes before we left.
"I'm glad my Mom reminded me to bring my passport, or we would have been in trouble."
No shit. Apparently Ceilyn also needed someone to remind him to take his passport from his truck and place it in his pocket. Given the obvious nature of this missing reminder, I wondered what would happen to Ceilyn if no one reminded him not to shit his pants or stick hot pokers in his eyes. Still there we were, about 1/8 mile from the border on the side of the road, me holding his ridiculous looking pillow as I watched as he pointlessly dug through my trunk. After he slowed and finally gave up looking, I determined that I'm not going back to Shelby Township for it, and driving back in rush hour only to arrive in Toronto at like 11PM; either we got in now or we're done, reservation costs be damned.
"Cmon dealer one time?" Ceilyn meekly said.
It was all we needed. That and some small white lies about registration only being Friday until 9pm. When asked how we were going to get back into the US, I sorta stared at the guard, not wanting to say what was on my mind, which was "Etiher we'll cross that bridge when we come to it, or maybe just I will be crossing said bridge."
The actual drive through the flattest part of the world on the straightest highway in the world went uneventfully and fast. We arrived at the site just outside Toronto at about 6:30pm. After driving around the entire International Complex and making jokes about finding Ceilyn shoes at the Designer Shoe Show taking place in another hall, we parked about 400 feet from where we entered.
Inside we walked up, registered and were the beneficiaries of our timing for the first of many times during the weekend. After getting our Jittes, someone walked up before we could leave the registration area and commanded us. "You two, don't move." I thought we were busted for something or another, but instead we got two of the last GP Toronto playmats featuring Skyythrryzzzxxxzffgw, Blight Dragon.
We could have left then, and Friday's story would have ended peacefully, but of course I wanted to draft. A cursory search of the premises for people we knew, which for me entailed glancing around knowing full well I had few friends here, revealed everyone C-word knew was already drafting, so we just sat around comparing Sealed pools we had opened in an attempt to learn a thing or two about this seemingly complicated format. Just before we left, six people sat down next to us at the end of the table with packs to begin a draft. A quick thought, and I loudly offered. "Hey we can make it eight if you want."
Yea that 's just a little rude, but whatever, I wanted to draft. Some short deliberation and glances later, we were in. Hooray for us, but that was when I realized I recognized some of these people from somewhere. About halfway through pack one I realized I was drafting with some great players. Osyp, Gerry T, and David Ochoa, with three others I didn't know, Ceilyn, and I were the eight. Not that I minded drafting with skilled players, in fact I prefer it, but I felt slightly bad about butting my way into the draft without even saying hello. Oh well, I'm a jerk sometimes, why hide it?
I opened Putrefax, which I feel is good enough to dive right into G/B infect. Gerry, seated three to my left, was the other poison drafter, and still my deck was a little weak. My deck is lost to me(explained later), and I don't remember much from the games other than a few key points:
I used my only Steady Progress instead of an Instill Infection early in a game against someone with a TERRIBLE deck(At one point he used Kuldotha Forgemaster to find Tower of Calamities, and another time Perilous Myr if that clues you in), and I lost the game holding the Instill in my hand, while Progress would have been Wrath of God for me. I quickly went down 0-1, then 0-2. I lost the first game of my third match to Gerry, and after he Arc Trailed my first two guys in game two, I had to ask "Dealer? Please?" Some good positioning and a little luck later I won to avoid gimping, while Ceilyn went 2-1 for the other team, losing to Ochoa but beating Osyp(I think). We swept the last round to tie at 6-6, and instead of a tiebreaker, we just Italian gamed all the rares. I was fine with that; I had learned enough from the draft, and I Was just glad to not gimp after inviting myself to the draft.
We left at about 9PM for our hostel, and discovered it was right downtown, while the site wasn't. It was about a 10-15 minute drive on the expressway to the entertainment district, where we circled the place twice before finally pulling into what looked like an alley. Parking in a spot that didn't really look legal but had someone else there moments ago, we checked in and walked around looking for a bar.
Toronto, as it turns out, has alot of clubs. If you've ever been to downtown Windsor, imagine that except minus all the annoying underage Americans and plus a million Asian people. After almost an hour of walking among throngs of people dressed like they owned the club they were in line for, deliriously desperate for beer and food, we finally found a place without booming music called the Fox and Fiddle.
I marked myself as a tourist right away by ordering a "Molson," not realizing that I more or less said "Beer," without specifying. I hadn't eaten anything but one sickening helping of McDonalds all day, so one Molson and one Moosehead(great beer btw) later I decided I should stop; Canadian beer IN Canada hits hard when you're not used to it. I settled my stomach with an order of somewhat spicy chicken curry(and yes it was fucking excellent not just for a bar, but for anywhere). My exhaustion here sorta blurs things, but I know we befriended some Scottish dudes named Adam, John, and Daniel, and played some pool. I distinctly recall shooting first and after stating I hadn't played in like two years I sank six balls straight away. Ceilyn couldn't clean it up though and we lost. I also recall our hostel room being in an attic with a door that led out to an awesome balcony, but it was miserably cold in the room and I wasn't used to the bed I was in so I slept awfully. At least it was just Grimmace and I in there.
BTW, Grimmace sings with his headphones on. Yes, it's annoying. Finally fell asleep at about 2:30 to the sound of revelry in the city below that never seemed to end. I thought of my chances tomorrow.
"Dealer? Once more please?"
I hadn't planned on going with anyone to the event; my trips into Canada for GPTs(11th and 2nd) were solo, and I had enjoyed the simplicity of a trip without any outside complications. I felt bad for Ceilyn though, as his ride was jammed full of people, and he's a bigger man himself. So I had him come along.
My experience leading into this event wasn't much. A fat-pack prerelease at a local store, about a dozen drafts, some useful and some not, and lots of reading and discussion about what was good and what wasn't, including a SCG article for their writing contest, but I admit I was very sick and half assed it, which is why you don't see it on the SCG front page this week. As a result, I didn't have incredibly high hopes going in, not quite assuming day 2 was in the bag, and certainly thinking a Q for Paris next year would be an attainable goal.
Friday
The only reason I even talk about Friday is because the theme of the weekend was discovered then. We used the familiar phrase "One time, dealer," to describe the solution to our problems. It's overused, but really sometimes all you can do is hope things work out, and we did at every turn, starting with Ceilyn's misplaced passport.
I wouldn't have minded nearly as much having to essentially lie to the border guards, but we had actually spoken about our passports five minutes before we left.
"I'm glad my Mom reminded me to bring my passport, or we would have been in trouble."
No shit. Apparently Ceilyn also needed someone to remind him to take his passport from his truck and place it in his pocket. Given the obvious nature of this missing reminder, I wondered what would happen to Ceilyn if no one reminded him not to shit his pants or stick hot pokers in his eyes. Still there we were, about 1/8 mile from the border on the side of the road, me holding his ridiculous looking pillow as I watched as he pointlessly dug through my trunk. After he slowed and finally gave up looking, I determined that I'm not going back to Shelby Township for it, and driving back in rush hour only to arrive in Toronto at like 11PM; either we got in now or we're done, reservation costs be damned.
"Cmon dealer one time?" Ceilyn meekly said.
It was all we needed. That and some small white lies about registration only being Friday until 9pm. When asked how we were going to get back into the US, I sorta stared at the guard, not wanting to say what was on my mind, which was "Etiher we'll cross that bridge when we come to it, or maybe just I will be crossing said bridge."
The actual drive through the flattest part of the world on the straightest highway in the world went uneventfully and fast. We arrived at the site just outside Toronto at about 6:30pm. After driving around the entire International Complex and making jokes about finding Ceilyn shoes at the Designer Shoe Show taking place in another hall, we parked about 400 feet from where we entered.
Inside we walked up, registered and were the beneficiaries of our timing for the first of many times during the weekend. After getting our Jittes, someone walked up before we could leave the registration area and commanded us. "You two, don't move." I thought we were busted for something or another, but instead we got two of the last GP Toronto playmats featuring Skyythrryzzzxxxzffgw, Blight Dragon.
We could have left then, and Friday's story would have ended peacefully, but of course I wanted to draft. A cursory search of the premises for people we knew, which for me entailed glancing around knowing full well I had few friends here, revealed everyone C-word knew was already drafting, so we just sat around comparing Sealed pools we had opened in an attempt to learn a thing or two about this seemingly complicated format. Just before we left, six people sat down next to us at the end of the table with packs to begin a draft. A quick thought, and I loudly offered. "Hey we can make it eight if you want."
Yea that 's just a little rude, but whatever, I wanted to draft. Some short deliberation and glances later, we were in. Hooray for us, but that was when I realized I recognized some of these people from somewhere. About halfway through pack one I realized I was drafting with some great players. Osyp, Gerry T, and David Ochoa, with three others I didn't know, Ceilyn, and I were the eight. Not that I minded drafting with skilled players, in fact I prefer it, but I felt slightly bad about butting my way into the draft without even saying hello. Oh well, I'm a jerk sometimes, why hide it?
I opened Putrefax, which I feel is good enough to dive right into G/B infect. Gerry, seated three to my left, was the other poison drafter, and still my deck was a little weak. My deck is lost to me(explained later), and I don't remember much from the games other than a few key points:
I used my only Steady Progress instead of an Instill Infection early in a game against someone with a TERRIBLE deck(At one point he used Kuldotha Forgemaster to find Tower of Calamities, and another time Perilous Myr if that clues you in), and I lost the game holding the Instill in my hand, while Progress would have been Wrath of God for me. I quickly went down 0-1, then 0-2. I lost the first game of my third match to Gerry, and after he Arc Trailed my first two guys in game two, I had to ask "Dealer? Please?" Some good positioning and a little luck later I won to avoid gimping, while Ceilyn went 2-1 for the other team, losing to Ochoa but beating Osyp(I think). We swept the last round to tie at 6-6, and instead of a tiebreaker, we just Italian gamed all the rares. I was fine with that; I had learned enough from the draft, and I Was just glad to not gimp after inviting myself to the draft.
We left at about 9PM for our hostel, and discovered it was right downtown, while the site wasn't. It was about a 10-15 minute drive on the expressway to the entertainment district, where we circled the place twice before finally pulling into what looked like an alley. Parking in a spot that didn't really look legal but had someone else there moments ago, we checked in and walked around looking for a bar.
Toronto, as it turns out, has alot of clubs. If you've ever been to downtown Windsor, imagine that except minus all the annoying underage Americans and plus a million Asian people. After almost an hour of walking among throngs of people dressed like they owned the club they were in line for, deliriously desperate for beer and food, we finally found a place without booming music called the Fox and Fiddle.
I marked myself as a tourist right away by ordering a "Molson," not realizing that I more or less said "Beer," without specifying. I hadn't eaten anything but one sickening helping of McDonalds all day, so one Molson and one Moosehead(great beer btw) later I decided I should stop; Canadian beer IN Canada hits hard when you're not used to it. I settled my stomach with an order of somewhat spicy chicken curry(and yes it was fucking excellent not just for a bar, but for anywhere). My exhaustion here sorta blurs things, but I know we befriended some Scottish dudes named Adam, John, and Daniel, and played some pool. I distinctly recall shooting first and after stating I hadn't played in like two years I sank six balls straight away. Ceilyn couldn't clean it up though and we lost. I also recall our hostel room being in an attic with a door that led out to an awesome balcony, but it was miserably cold in the room and I wasn't used to the bed I was in so I slept awfully. At least it was just Grimmace and I in there.
BTW, Grimmace sings with his headphones on. Yes, it's annoying. Finally fell asleep at about 2:30 to the sound of revelry in the city below that never seemed to end. I thought of my chances tomorrow.
"Dealer? Once more please?"