For the first time in like 8 months I judged a PTQ for PT: Hollywood.  Pro Tour Qualifiers are events at which Magic players can qualify for invitation-only events. PTQs are interesting events in that there’s a confusing mix of n00bs, semi-pros and absolute pricks.  The event was held in a church basement and it was nice juxtaposition of seeing cards like Ghastly Demise and the cadaver-eating Ichorid against a background of “Opening the Door to the House of the Lord” or “Praying So God Can Hear You”.

I semi-blew a call round 1 where there was a mutual failure to communicate, but it had to involve a player that calls “Judge” if his opponent sneezes.  After the fact, I heard some creative re-tellings of what happened involving me slapping someone and flying salmon.  On the plus side, the combination of cramped space and sweaty unbathed men usually results in a stinky venue by round 2, this place didn’t smell until clear into round 4.  The church kids are probably in for an aromatic treat on Monday.  We also had to announce during the day that men should not go into the Women’s Room.  Later, the Men’s room floor was replaced by Lake Tinkle and players started bragging about how far back they could be and still hit the puck, now I know how lakes expand.

The final note of the day was my attempt at using the Broken Window Theory for trash collection.  Normally, trash is picked up when it hits a critical amount, but today I was much more aggressive thinking that the presence of trash promotes dropping shit.  I have theorized that Magic players and campers have a gland that produces trash but I’ve not confirmed this.  Anyway, this worked great until the 5th round when I took my lunch break.  When I returned, there were mounds of pack wrappers and I think I saw a tumbleweed made out of crap commons.  It worked for a while, at least.

I was picking up a piece of trash when I heard the distinctive ripping noise that all self-aware fat men fear.  It is the noise of inferior stitching, mediocre materials, and a profound embarrassment.  Oddly, this tear was at my knee, but it slowly grew up my leg as the day progressed and with four hours to go a 8″ air vent at my thigh I new action needed to be taken.  So, during my lunch break I drove around wildly in Jersey streets I’d never seen in what was going to be a vain effort to get new pants.  As I stepped into my vehicle the tear extended to a “America’s Funniest Home Videos” level and I had to go for broke.  When all hope seemed lost I saw in the distance “Nick’s Big and Tall”, a look at my watch showed 4:55 PM giving me 5 minutes to find a way to due a U-turn (stupid jug handles) and buy new pants.  At 4:59PM I bust through the door wearing my judge striped shirt, polished shoes and pants that look like they had contained a crotch-origined mortar blast and state “I need pants!”.  The help was quick and efficient and I returned to the venue and no one was the wiser… If you’re a giant man with busted slacks in Tom’s River New Jersey I highly recommend talking to a man call Lorenzo at Nick’s Big and Tall.

I was picking up a piece of trash when I heard the distinctive ripping noise that all self-aware fat men fear.  It is the noise of inferior stitching, mediocre materials, and a profound embarrassment.  Oddly, this tear was at my knee, but it slowly grew up my leg as the day progressed and with four hours to go a 8″ air vent at my thigh I new action needed to be taken.  So, during my lunch break I drove around wildly in Jersey streets I’d never seen in what was going to be a vain effort to get new pants.  As I stepped into my vehicle the tear extended to a “America’s Funniest Home Videos” level and I had to go for broke.  When all hope seemed lost I saw in the distance “Nick’s Big and Tall”, a look at my watch showed 4:55 PM giving me 5 minutes to find a way to due a U-turn (stupid jug handles) and buy new pants.  At 4:59PM I bust through the door wearing my judge striped shirt, polished shoes and pants that look like they had contained a crotch-origined mortar blast and state “I need pants!”.  The help was quick and efficient and I returned to the venue and no one was the wiser… If you’re a giant man with busted slacks in Tom’s River New Jersey I highly recommend talking to a man call Lorenzo at Nick’s Big and Tall.

The PTQ saw me as the designated driver to do the Wawa run for lunch.  I assembled the food for the five of us and as I approached the counter to pay the attendent said “hungry?” in that funny way that both recognized that I was shopping for multiple people and called me fat.  After moving the 5 sandwiches, 2 cups of soup, 3 gallons of beverage, and 3 pieces of fruit next to the register, I grabbed by gut and responsed “I am buying for five.”  I think there was about a 60% chance based on the look on her face that she thought I was pregnant.