Old School Mtg

The other weekend I went down to Gothenburg again, this time to sling cards at the glorious TribeCon tournament. TribeCon is easily one of the most brag-worthy annual Tribelander tournaments in the world, rivaled only by the World Championship at the WSK convention in Växjö. And while those may also be the only two annual Tribelander gatherings in the world, the street cred and camaraderie is still nothing to scoff at. Before the party started, I was to pick up a bunch of cards at the Mindstage store which I had acquired during the summer. And at that point it became blatantly obvious what the pandemic had done to me as a Magic player. Because even though I was just about to enter a full-day Tribelander tournament - and my main Tribes of choice this time were Witches and BW Thrulls - I'd clearly not spent any effort on obtaining excellent yet affordable new cards like Witch of the Moors or Damn for my decks. No, current hermit Mg would rather spend like a thousand dollars on unpl

Every now and then I feel like dipping my toes a bit deeper into Premodern. In my personal - obviously very subjective - sense of what goes under the oldschool umbrella, Premodern is starting to scratch on the door. The door of the umbrella I have my toes in, that is. That was a reasonable metaphor. Two sentences in and already butchering the English language. Off to a good start. I don't know if Premodern should be an occasionally recurring topic on this blag (the format do have its own fancy webpage and blag after all), but now that the newest set in the format is closing in on its 19th birthday, Pro Tours and all other tournaments from that era has gone the way of the Dodo, and WotC is pushing "old frames" as some sort of exotic promos, maybe a small sense of nostalgia for the cards isn't unwarranted. I had that Oath deck built four years ago, which I guess translates to me being somewhat early as format adopters go. Four years after Berlin first started the forma

There is a place of romance and decadence, beyond jubilation and wistfulness, lost in the intersection between cognition and subconscious.  Those of us with bad pronunciation call this magical place "4,000". Submitted for your approval, the Magistroi of 4,000, Mr. Erwin Demmer. This is his story from the fourth time the dwarfs gathered at his home to wage war. /Mg out Class of ‘69 DWC started this year the week before the real start. On Saturday Juan and his lovely lady Helena (which he met a day after DWC last year) came with my biggest Spanish friend Purple. They blew me away with some awesome DWC merchandise. Even 36 beer glasses with on the bottom a double-sided sticker from a Dwarven Warrior. How cool is that?!? I was already in awe, but they blew me away with a playmat featuring MYSELF carrying the flag of 4000. :) :) Wow, wow, wow, this is too much, and the weekend is just beginning! CHEERS! What a dedication from my Spanish Friends! Beer coasters, stickers, beer glass