The End of Magic

The phrase "money doesn't grow on trees" clearly does not apply for Wizards of the Coast, and the printing presses that churn out sheets and sheets of cardboard. Slices of once oxygen giving trees are given a new form stained with ink, and are packaged into foil packets of fifteen, distributed almost globally. They represent joy, wonder, and are enjoyed by tens of thousands of people every Friday night.

^{AI image, prompt: "The End of Magic"}

For you see, with the release of the Final Fantasy Magic The Gathering set, I became one of these people - obsessed. We gathered in a local game store, discussing strategy, getting to know people, looking at tiny pieces of art, and being social. In meat space.

It started with a thread on reddit, speculating about how Wizards of the Coast would make a lot of money by releasing a Final Fantasy themed set for Magic the Gathering. I thought it was a great idea. They would probably get my money, too.

A few years ago, I played through every Final Fantasy game chronologically. I have posted that here. The legacy these games have carved on my expectations in video games will never be changed. The characters, and plots; I think of far too often.

The cards were real. They were coming, it wasn't just someone dreaming of what could be, it was going to be. I went off in search to place to pre-order almost immediately. They weren't available. I searched daily.

Pre-orders became available. I immediately exceeded my budget.

^{One of my orders}

For six weeks, I spent my Friday nights, connecting with strangers, who reconnected with the nostalgia of the Final Fantasy video games they had played over the years. We spoke about story beats, of our favourite characters, of the comedic moments, and the emotional impacts that the stories told through the Final Fantasy games.

I saw some tender moments in those six weeks. A man wanted to sell a card worth about $300. He needed to sell if to pay for bond for a new house he was moving to. Another man wanted to buy that card, but didn't want the person to lose a card that they both agreed would go up in value. He lent the other man the money, no questions asked, brought together by the trust they had developed by spending Friday evenings together, again and again.

The two men embraced, and I watched on thinking "what excellent humans".

The local store where I played acted as a social hub for these types of people. Located on the main street of town, across the road from a pub that plays roaringly loud pop music and dance parties, a defacto night-club; the contrast between the culture of people playing with their pieces of cardboard and those drinking heavily and dancing away until someone called last drinks was not not lost on me.

The store ran out of Final Fantasy product, and the "season" where it was to be the set of the day, used for drafting on Friday nights is now over, and while the music of the nightclub across the street from that place doesn't call to me, people will still go there, and others will still play with their cardboard.

After an obsession lasting about eight weeks or so, my cards are now packaged in sleeves, in binders, and sit on the top shelf of the wardrobe. They won't collect dust where the are, but they're a treasure chest of memories.

But for now, all I have are the memories, and some expensive slices of dead tree. They'll come down someday, and go into the hands of someone who will appreciate them a new with wonder, someday.