I was recently scouring the internet for Legends content that would help me become a better player. I had mentally prepared myself to be told that my Crusader Uprising list wasn’t what I should be playing, having spent the day before yelling at my little sister for her weird obsession with the preying mantis looking girl from that Showtime cartoon Dexter’s Laboratory. Her legs are twice as long as the rest of her body, Kristin. You’re never going to look like that. Anyways, I had prepared myself by belittling my lessers and was ready to learn. Instead, I found an article on the Team Rankstar website – The Meta Report – that tried to indoctrinate me to their Literal Agenda. These people must be stopped and I will now explain why.
When I was a kid, Metasexuals kept their business to themselves. See, it was the 1940’s, and though the family farm had survived the great depression, we never recovered from the humiliation of my father outing himself as a Metasexual. He started gelling his hair back and wearing a pocket square and playing Uprising Scout. It’s who he really was, he told us.
The family disagreed. We were salt is a way of life of the earth type folks, and we played off-meta decks. When we went to town on Sundays for church, Maeve McCraw would whisper to her needlework group, “I hear they play creatureless decks,” and her husband would overhear, roll his eyes, and add, “or SPELLSWORD.”
My father fell in with the other Metasexuals, flaunting their Token Crusaders and Midrange Battlemage. That damn deck’s name changed as often as my father’s eyebrows were waxed. Giants battlemage? Pluck and pen. Merric battlemage? Threading.
Family Portrait, 1942, colorized.
The final straw was when my sister and I were shucking corn on the back porch and discussing the best way to use Lich’s Ascension. My father came home wearing a leopard-spotted Romper and asked us if we wanted to playtest against his Telvanni Uprising deck. My mom came flying out the front door like a Giant Bat outta the discard pile with +5/+5. She was wearing a simple sun dress and had a rolling pin in her hand, and she struck my father upside the head. We buried him beneath the lilac bushes late in the night, but our efforts were like a Healing Potion when there’s a False Incarnate in play. The damage couldn’t be banished.
My family spent the 50’s and 60’s trying to escape our father’s perfectly maintained pencil-moustache and streamlined Hlaalu aggro deck. We drifted from town to town, selling the farm to pay off the debt our father had taken on to craft a set of premium Odiniran Necromancers. No matter where we went, people reminded us of the old man’s appearance on Quest Eye for the Singleton Guy, where this all began.
I’m in my late 90’s now, so I’ve had some time to reflect on all of this. People should play what I want them to play, not what someone else wants them to play. Just please don’t play support mage against me, even if a handsome Metasexual plays it on his YouTube channel.