The cold, dead hand of WoW

It just won't let go.

I cancelled my subscription.

But it won't let go.

Between winter and spring quarter I realized that I wasn't playing World of Warcraft much anymore.  I have had this account for roughly four years, (Oh my god, was it four years?) but was only super into it for about six months.  Those were a rough six months, filled with crashing grades, a rocky relationship, and nothingness - I wouldn't recommend it.  I'm normally a procrastinator, so playing a game instead of doing homework was normal.  (In fact, I have a 5-7 page paper due tomorrow, and I haven't even started it yet.  But whatever, what I'm doing now counts as homework, too.)  It was never a big problem, until I started procrastinating to the point of just not doing it at all.  There was a summer, however, where WoW was the best thing ever.  I had no obligations, was trapped in faraway Montana, and had a great summer hanging out with my friends online.

Speaking of friends, it didn't take me long to realize that the only time I was having fun in WoW was when I was hanging out with friends.  I would log on, see none of my friends were on, and log off.  I never really made relationships with people online, so if none of my IRL ("in real life") friends were on, I just didn't play.

Once I learned to play in moderation my life improved, but WoW was never really the same.  My friends were still playing, a lot, so when I would log on it was hard to play with them because they were so much more advanced in "level" than I was.  We were still technically the same level, but they were doing instances (dungeons) that I didn't have the gear for.  This decreased the amount of time I was willing to put into WoW even more.

Something I've realized over my time playing WoW, Magic, and other games, is that they are all about promises of awesome things to come.  At least, for me they are.  Unfortunately, these things usually never come, and require a lot of time and hard work to aquire.  For Magic, that awesome thing is winning a Pro Tour, or even becoming World Champion.  I just made it into my first Pro Tour, and that was 7 years in the making.  For World of Warcraft, it was beating the top raid with your friends, or (more my style) being the top arena team.  (Arena is the player-vs-player competition part of WoW.)  Early on in WoW, the promises were even as small as "doing instances with yoru friend at 70."  My friend Kevin always wanted this, but it never really happened.

My point is that I still put countless hours (days, weeks...maybe months) into WoW.  So did Kevin.  So did the rest of my friends.  I never came close to being the top 2v2 arena team, my ultimate goal.  I never even got close to having the proper pvp gear, something that's necessary to compete at all.  Yet, I still gave Blizzard hundreds of dollars in the hopes that one day I'll do what I want to do - nevermind all the grinding along the way that I actually am doing.  Luckily, I enjoy the day-to-day Magic, so the hours I put in are fun.  With WoW, however, once I realized I wasn't enjoying a large part of my experience, I stopped.

It felt good to be out.  I didn't need to log on, I didn't have this nagging voice in the back of my head saying "you should level your one-handed sword skill" or "you really need to be farming honor right now."  A lot of the guilt of not playing disappeard.  (Believe me, there was guilt.)  It was wonderful.

Then came Wanda.

I'm sitting in Wanda's class on the first day, and she said it.  "I want you all to be in virtual worlds, so get an Eve Online account, Second Life, and World of Warcraft at least."  Uhhg.  Now you're telling me I have to reactivate my World of Warcraft acconut for homework?  Seriously?

Damn you Blizzard, daaaaamn yoooouuu!!!!

Community Magic

I wrote this paper for my first English assignment this quarter. It's about the card game Magic: The Gathering, community (what the paper was supposed to be about), and how it affects my life. It's also a lot of me bragging about how awesome I am. It's a rough draft, so no guarantee on quality.

Jonathon Loucks
April 2 2009

Community Magic

I was fifteen when I bought my first Magic card. If you made a list of the geekiest things you could be doing in the late 90’s, Magic: The Gathering (Magic) was right next to Starcraft and Dungeons and Dragons at the top of the list. Created by Wizards of the Coast, Magic was the first trading card game, paving the way for a billion dollar industry with hits like the Pokemon TCG and Yu-Gi-Oh!. I heard about Magic from a friend of mine and bought a pack of cards, significantly changing the rest of my life. I was now part of the Magic community – there was no going back.

Flash forward – I just finished playing a game using Magic Online, a program that lets you play Magic with people from all over the world. Even though the cards are digital, you have to buy them with the same amount of real money as you would spend on their cardboard counterparts. I paid $15, played three matches, and came out with roughly $13 for getting second out of eight people, just about paying for the next tournament I enter. My friend Kellen was perched over my shoulder the whole three hours, providing advice, feedback, and idle chat. This has been the normal routine for the last week. I had played online before, but only recently did I start playing daily.

The reason for my increased online activity was to practice for my recent qualification to the Pro Tour of Magic. A Pro Tour is the highest level of competition a Magic player can participate in. There are four Pro Tours a year, culminating in the World Championships, each giving out as much as $40,000 to first place. I’ve been playing magic for nearly seven years, and only in this last month did I finally qualify for the Pro Tour. The best part: this Pro Tour is in Hawaii, and I’ve got a plane ticket courtesy of Wizards of the Coast. I couldn’t have made it this far without the support of the Magic community from the very beginning.

I first brushed against this community early in my Magic career. Competition has been a major driving force in my life, so once I learned how to play the game I was immediately looking for tournaments to play in. Through a local card shop I met dozens of people much better than myself. Some of those people became my best friends through high school, a few of which I’m still in contact with to this day. A few months later I could hold my own in the local tournaments I entered, and I year later I was winning most of them. There is camaraderie amongst the group, but also a strong rivalry that pushes everybody to get better. Together we would travel the eight hours from our small Montana town to Seattle for bigger tournaments, usually returning empty handed.

Attending the University of Washington was mostly an academic choice, but I’d be lying if I said Magic didn’t play a role in my college selection. I knew Seattle had a thriving Magic community, especially with Wizards of the Coast based in Redmond, Washington. I was worried it would be hard to find new people to play Magic with. I had spent the last four years of my life practicing, traveling, winning, and losing with the same close group of friends. My worry quickly faded as I immediately found Magic-playing friends within the first week. Skirting all the orientation activities my first month of school, I was already absorbed into the new community.

Now not only am I an important member of the local community, but I’m beginning to become nationally (and even internationally) known. With my recent Pro Tour qualification, a few interviews for the official Magic: The Gathering website, and a job writing a weekly strategy column for www.channelfireball.com (a job I’ve been doing at various sites for the past three years, recently settling at this one) my name has gained recognition. Only with my recent success have I fully understood the extent of this community and the bonds it creates.

Each day since my qualification I’ve received congratulatory messages, many from friends I haven’t seen for years – though none as surprising the message I received from Jason.

The Magic community is very trusting. Because you play Magic in the same area, and people rarely stop playing once they start, if you mess with one of us you risk being shunned by the rest. This is why I felt completely comfortable lending $25 to an old Magic playing friend I hadn’t seen for four years. That’s also why I had no problem selling my card to Jason, a friend who needed transportation and was having some cash difficulties. My roommate, also a Magic player, and I were letting Jason sleep on our floor until he found a new place, and I agreed to let the payments slide as Jason got back on his feet, because that’s what the community does for other members. This isn’t the first time a friend has slept on our floor in lieu of being homeless for a week. That’s why when Jason disappeared, leaving my car abandoned and with a $300 towing fee I had to pay, I was shocked. The community was shocked. Rumor had it he had skipped town and was living with his family in California. This didn’t happen.

I thought I was out $300, having not heard from Jason for a few months, when I qualified for the Pro Tour. Amongst the congratulatory e-mails, text messages, and high fives, a message appeared in my inbox from Jason, titled “Congrats.” In the message Jason wished me luck, and even apologized for the way he cheated me. “I am sorry I dicked you, and once I am out of the woods, will make the financial aspect of things right. Anyhow, congrats on the Q[ualification]!.”

This is when I knew what community meant. The man that had been dodging me for months found congratulating me for seven years of hard work - work he helped me with, work he himself had been through – more important than the feud we had. That’s what is so great about the Magic community. While constantly competing against each other, we can put aside our differences and are always there with a helping hand or a pat on the back. That’s the Magic of community.