Some people build a deck to win. Some build one because a single legendary creature said something uncomfortably true about them, and they have been chasing that feeling for years.
Commander is four players, a hundred cards each, no duplicates, and nobody in a hurry. Wednesday evening in the back of a Pico Boulevard shop, four people shuffle, and the first thing that happens is not a card. It is a conversation.
Regulars call it the Rule 0 talk. Before anyone draws, the table says out loud how mean it intends to be — whether infinite combos are welcome, whether anyone minds being knocked out in the first twenty minutes, what everybody is actually hoping tonight feels like. It is a negotiation about kindness conducted entirely in jargon, and it is the most honest five minutes in the hobby. Then somebody breaks a deal they made two turns ago and the whole table performs outrage it does not feel.
Five dollars at Next-Gen Games, 5450 W Pico Blvd. Bring the deck you are slightly embarrassed by — that is the one with something to say.
Some people build a deck to win. Some build one because a single legendary creature said something uncomfortably true about them, and they have been chasing that feeling for years.
Commander is four players, a hundred cards each, no duplicates, and nobody in a hurry. Wednesday evening in the back of a Pico Boulevard shop, four people shuffle, and the first thing that happens is not a card. It is a conversation.
Regulars call it the Rule 0 talk. Before anyone draws, the table says out loud how mean it intends to be — whether infinite combos are welcome, whether anyone minds being knocked out in the first twenty minutes, what everybody is actually hoping tonight feels like. It is a negotiation about kindness conducted entirely in jargon, and it is the most honest five minutes in the hobby. Then somebody breaks a deal they made two turns ago and the whole table performs outrage it does not feel.
Five dollars at Next-Gen Games, 5450 W Pico Blvd. Bring the deck you are slightly embarrassed by — that is the one with something to say.
Some people build a deck to win. Some build one because a single legendary creature said something uncomfortably true about them, and they have been chasing that feeling for years.
Commander is four players, a hundred cards each, no duplicates, and nobody in a hurry. Wednesday evening in the back of a Pico Boulevard shop, four people shuffle, and the first thing that happens is not a card. It is a conversation.
Regulars call it the Rule 0 talk. Before anyone draws, the table says out loud how mean it intends to be — whether infinite combos are welcome, whether anyone minds being knocked out in the first twenty minutes, what everybody is actually hoping tonight feels like. It is a negotiation about kindness conducted entirely in jargon, and it is the most honest five minutes in the hobby. Then somebody breaks a deal they made two turns ago and the whole table performs outrage it does not feel.
Five dollars at Next-Gen Games, 5450 W Pico Blvd. Bring the deck you are slightly embarrassed by — that is the one with something to say.