Help a Bruthah Out

Players Needed

Breaking Away

This is an excellent cycling game similar to racing games like Golden Strider, but with some new twists. It was designed by John Harrington (Fiendish Games)

1. There are six players, and each player has a team of four cyclists. The cyclists are graded A. B. C and D.

2. At the beginning of the game. players choose cards numbered between 1 and 15 inclusive for each of their cyclists. Cyclist A may have 3 or 4 cards. The other cyclists must have 3 cards each.

3. Cyclist A's cards must add up to 30, cyclist B 25, cyclist C 20 and cyclist D 16.

4. A cyclist may start with more than one of the same number card. e.g. cyclist A could start with 4-6-9-11 or 10-10-10 or 1-1-13-15 or 5-5-5-15.

5. The race track is 120 squares long. (see Spreadsheet picture below -- Nizz) The finish line is situated between squares 120 and 121. There are no lanes. All cyclists start on square 0.

6. There are two sprint finish lines. The first is situated between squares 40 and 41. The second between squares 90 and 91.

7. The first 8 cyclists past a sprint finish. line score points as follows:

1st: 10 points. 2nd: 8 .3rd: 6. 4th: 5. 5th: 4. 6th: 3. 7th: 2. 8th: 1.

8. The first 9 cyclists past the finish line score points as follows: 1st: 20 points. 2nd: 16. 3rd: 12, 4th: 10. 5th: 8, 6th: 6. 7th: 4. 8th: 2.

9. Places in the sprints and at the finish are decided on a first past the post basis (see 14-15). not furthest past the post.

10. Each turn, every cyclist plays one card from their hand. The cyclist moves forward the same number of squares as the value of the card. Once played. the card is not returned. but is replaced with a new card.

11. The new card is determined by counting the number of cyclists in an 'unbroken string' in front of the cyclist (not counting those on the same square) and adding 3 to that number.

12. An 'unbroken string' is a group of cyclists occupying every square of a section of track. The string is broken by an empty square.

13. If. however, a cyclist is leading the field on his own (even by one square). he is said to have broken away. His new card is equal to the number of squares he is in front of the second place cyclist(s). If still in the lead on the next turn, he gets a 3.

14. Movement is processed from the front of the field to the back. In the event of two or more cyclists occupying the same square, their order of movement is determined by the order in which they arrived at the square. For the very first turn, Grade A cyclists move first, followed by B then C then D cyclists.

15. Thus early on in the game, some cyclists will arrive at squares simultaneously. Where this happens the cyclists move simultaneously and share any points gained that turn equally.

16. It is possible for a cyclist to get dropped by the pack. It is usually obvious when this happens and the controlling player need not continue to order for that cyclist.

17. At the end of the race. the team with the most points is the winner. In the case of a tie. the team involved in the tie with the highest finishing cyclist wins.

18. If a player NMRs (doesn't send orders) his cyclists all play their highest available card that turn.

19. Players should supply a name for their team and each of their cyclists. And, hopefully, a graphic. - Nizz

20. Optional rules:

On turn 1 only. if there are four or more cyclists on the same square then the square in front of them is treated as an empty square for the purposes of replacement card values.

No rider may receive a replacement card higher than 15.
Instead of using the order that riders arrive at a square to determine order of movement, the rider's rank (A, B, C or D) is always used.

Notion I had to make the "Track" for Breaking Away using a Microsoft Excel Spreadsheet and drawn objects as the racing team markers

DIPLO: Ministry Sets Up

Setting up our Second Diplomacy Game here, I am naming this game "The Ministry of Silly Walks" or "Ministry" for short.

Rather than try a cobbled together PBM dice server approach to selecting countries, or that "Diplo Country Chooser" thing I did in Cyberboard, I decided to take the absurdly simple approach.

Here are the players, all of whom have confirmed there interest in playing. Emails obscured.

JAMES SPURNY US/TX jspurny@xxx

KLAUS KNECHTSKERN GE klaus@xxx

MIKE REED US/IL reedmt5@xxx

ANDY TURLINGTON US/MD andrewturlington@xxx

RICH LOW US/VA rjlow11@xxx

IAN SCHOFIELD CA/SK exrex@xxx

DENNIS LARGESSE US/MD besilarius@xxx

Filling Classic Diplomacy positions:

ENGLAND
RUSSIA
FRANCE
GERMANY
ITALY
AUSTRIA/HUNGARY
TURKEY

Method:
I simply wrote down E,R,F,G,I,A/H, and T on a piece of paper, and chits with player's initials, and randomly drew them out of a cup in the order presented above. This process yielded THIS

RESULT:
ENGLAND - Andy Turlington
RUSSIA - Dennis Largesse
FRANCE - Ian Schofield
GERMANY - Mike Reed (not a repeat position)
ITALY - James Spurny (not a repeat position)
AUSTRIA/HUNGARY - Rich Low
TURKEY - Klaus Knechtskern

Now, if everyone trusts that this was done in a relatively random and honest manner, THESE ARE OUR COUNTRY ASSIGNMENTS.

You may attempt to broker a swap if you like, before the first turn. But only if both parties agree via email and I am CC'd to the transaction at hotspur@xxx. (you know how to reach me, players)

If you don't like my random method, please say so now, and I'll try to cobble something together using a PBM dice server or cyberboard. Thanks!

We will aim for a turn a week. I will be flexible on Real Life issues, including my own, up to a point. Diplomacy will transpire during that week. Diplomacy must transpire over email. I will promulgate an address for Diplomacy emails to be CC'd to-- I don't want the hotspur mailbox to fill up. Once the moves have been made and ajudicated, I will post results and news on this blog, so that the map image can be viewed by all. I will copy to Consimworld as well, as many players have accounts there, in the "So a guy walks into a bar, see" blog.

Thanks for your interest, and let's have a good game.

Future Graphics will be generated by RealPolitik

Battle of Honey Springs

Atari!

The Unofficial Story of TriaDCon, part 4 of 4 and Finale

IV. THIRD TIME’S A REAL CHARMER

BY Ben Trovaro

(Continued from Part III)

Once again I awoke in my living room!

Again in my old familiar couch, with the old familiar crumbs in it. But now not even the test pattern was gone and it was pitch black, and there was no shimmering light streaming up from the basement!. I looked, and then I saw it! I looked again and in the strange nether-world of the night- in the dark black on black of deepest witching hour I saw SOMETHING oozing out through the crack on the basement door– but this time, instead of light it was DARK! Great eddies of fearsome blackness billowed out in great oily curls and sunuous eddies– ugly, sooty, oily waves of a malevolent presence overflowed from around the edge of thedoor.

With deep foreboding I went over to the door and opened it. But I knew what to do! I knew how to play this game, having watched all those horror movies entitled “The terror from the Water Tank!” “Or the Furnace Room Horror!” I tried the light switch and it didn’t work – where it had worked a mere hour before with the Spirit of Conventions Present! But I knew what to do from those movies where the owner of the house is enjoined “Don’t go down into the basement!” The light wouldn’t work, the stairs were dark and treacherous and I had the words of the terrified neighbors ringing in my ear, as I went downslowly, step by step- chanting the magical mystery mantra of great power– “Hello? – Hello?– is anyone there?”

No gun, no knife, no plasma generator, no force field, not even a suit of armor! This is the way it’s done, right!? I was soon at the foot of the stairs and I saw across the room a huge black abyss yawning in front of me! It seemed that the dark was deepening, moving, mutating. I suddenlyremembered where I was and what was happening. It was the time of the third spirit, that the spirit of conventions future. It was fast was fast rushing upon me even as the future rushes upon us all in its remorseless, immutable, ineffable strength and fury! I began to fear. I sensed a presence far off coming towards me and I resolved to put mybest face forward and hurl resolution in the face of adversity.

"Spirit," I said, "I fear you more than all the other shades I have met this night,but I am willing to learn and be instructed by you.”

Nothing happened. I felt a distant rumble -- a tremor – great disturbance in the force–the future was rushing down upon me - the advance of that momentous unknown that is descending upon us all was racing to this spot. It was cascading down like a runaway avalanche- and I had the urge to turn and flee, but I stood. My heart and stomach though did not see things that way and they made arace for my tonsils. It came with the roaring of a thousand angry beasts! It came as the beating of the waves of the ages upon the beach of eternity. It came as the thundering of the mother of all thunderstorms upon therocks of ages. It screamed and clattered and set my teeth ajar, and suddenly from the right of my room, out of the great gaping abyss of darkness it thundered across the floor- smashing away as the insignificant impedimentia of themoment, all the things that lay before it. It blasted apart half of theroom and my far wall and my wargame table as so much trivial kindling wood. It threw the old love seat who knows where, and my wifes’ record collection was shattered to smithereens, and my collection ofblack-velvet string art went up in smoke and a blaze of yearning eyes that would no longer follow you around the room. Even my efflatulent dog vaporiszed in one last odiferous eternal fart. I wondered if this was the moment! I wondered if this was the end of it all! I wondered if my life would pass in front of my eyes! I wondered if I could meet my deductable! The creature had a single great glowing eye in the top of its forhead andI saw the number of the beast and it was “666” And upon its brow waswritten blazing fly-specked letters – “Kinarsie- Perdition, FUTURECONS and Kukkamonga!” The train screeched to a stop with the the mournful shriek that betokeneda thousand dammed banshees and a non-existent routine maintenance program. The portal opened.

A voice , dull, low, metallic, monotone,with no inflection or emotion beckoned my hypnotically to enter the door of doom- to enter the belly of the beast:

“Pleas - step -to - the - cen-ter - of -the car- and - hold- on- firm-lyCar - makes sud-den starts - and stops- keep - yur - eyes- open- and -yur- hands - to - yur-self - or - I - will -smash -you-with- my-inter-planetary - dis- rup-tor ray-"

I entered the car. It was empty except for a lone figure sitting on oneof the seats, slouched down a little, his one leg crossed over the other, reading the New York Times Book Review. He crossed and uncrossed hislegs, and I saw a small movement by his side that I took to be his familiar. A dog! – A great shaggy dog! the spirit looked up at me over his gold rimmed glasses and said, in a smart-ass tone-- “What! You were expecting the polar express maybe--?”

The shaggy dog looked up at me with its soulful eyes and said “So this priest, a minister, and a rabbi walk into a bar...”

His demeanor was startling and I stammered out:

“Well I was, er ah– thatis– I you see– well I thought– ”

“Hoo boy ! I got me an intellectual this time!– Come on Sonny– , spit itout – What – ya got freakin’ Old Timers disease?" He said.

I screwed up my courage and said: “Well I expected you to be tall, at least 7 feet – with a large voluminous black robe that covered all yourform except a boney hand, and your face hidden, and that you wouldn’t speak, and that you would just gesture with a skeletal hand...”

He made a face like someone had just laid a turd in the potato salad a tthe church picnic and said - ‘Harumph!!!!– Too many Ingmar Berman moviesyou been watching.”

The spirit was of medium height, wearing a pair of dress slacks, and shirt, – a most un-wargamer like shirt- oxford button down, and a TIE! He was of medium build, quite unremarkable, with the steel-rimmed glassesmost beloved of gamers and a normal, somewhat tired face with close cropped hair and narrow blue eyes, and a prominent nose, but his mouth seemed in a perpetual frown, and the corners of the mouth seemed downturned and disparaging even when he smiled, which I would see on occasion but for the most he had the look of something one would expect on Mr. Miserebee the school guidance counsellor. I soon realized that even when he was happy he looked like he was pissed off, and that when he was unhappy he looked like a malevolent toad.

After a pause he folded up his book review and said: “So– kiddo– what’s the deal! You want in or not?”

“Ummm– In?” I asked.

“The whole convention thing- what you fall asleep again! Jeez Louise!–You damn gamers have the attention span of a hamster.”

“Well um!! Yes, I guess so!”

The spirit made that face again lounged against the seat.

“That’s the spirit that got Mike Dukakis Elected! That’s – that’s the spirt that carried the French Army through 1940! I can see you with Dewey at Manilla Bay! “Torpedoes!– Torpedoes!! What Torpedoes!!! Send mean e-mail!!!! It’s not my fault!!!!- Ok, it’s your funeral but don’t sayI didn’t warn you.”

“Umm– what do you mean?” I asked.

Seeming to ignore me, the figure proceeded right on, just as the powerful engine that he rode seemed to ignore all that was around it and move on, and I saw that the train was even now leaving the station.

“Well, “ I began, “I want to create an old-time war game convention.”

The figure rolled his eyes and let out a large “Psheewwwww...” in obvious annoyance: ”Like you don’t have enough to do with your kid needing praces, your wife turning into a wargame widow and making moo-cow eyes at herpottery class instructor, and you ignoring that pain you just got in a place you didn’t even know you had places! You need a wargame convention like you need the cancer and a DWI conviction! You need a wargame convention like ...Well-“ he said -“ go on.”

“Well I’d like to have boardgames– “

”Shake and bake crowd!”

“And I’d like to have games like Euro-games.”

“Eurotrashers! “

“And role playing games.”

“Elf weenie whackers!”

”And of course good old Miniature war gaming as well.”

“Look, lemme tell you ‘bout that lot–” he said, and launched into a long monologue which began “Ya got three types of gamers-- Ya got Vamps,Tramps, and Mules–“ and he proceeded to lay out all the ills and pitfallsin clubs, groups, and persons in general. With each new point I felt as if a great hammer was whacking me in the head and my heart sank ever downward with each blow. His advice was insightful but depressing, and Ibegan to lose hope. Each comment made the job ahead of me seem harder and harder and even more impossible of attainment. Again and again. wheneverI brought up some point the spirit, a veritable conjurer of contradiction, shot holes in it.. Each fond childish hope was shredded like Mr. Quaker does to his wheat. I started to regret the whole thing. At long last I sat there silent and at rock bottom and asked the fearsome question:

“Is there no hope Spirit? Have I journeyed so far to find only failure–that it cannot be done?”

“Naah– piece-a-cake” he said.

“Really?” I was surprised at such an off-hand bit of optimism from this nattering nabob of negativism.–

“Surely It will take a lot of money!" I added,.

The figure once again made a face and said:

“Phewwww– Money- shmoney–money you can get– it’s the work that’s the hard part, and gettingpeople to do the work!”

“Really!??” I said– “I had no idea?"

“Obviously!” The conductor of condescenion commented. “Yeah– oh yeah – you can do it all yourself but then you don’t get to have the fun in your own convention. The key is to get a lot of people involved all doing a few things so they can enjoy the whole convention experience, and that comes from three things, going and playing games at a con– putting on games for other people to play at a con, and working onthe con itself.”

“Hmmm..– what you say makes sense Spirit..”

“Of course it makes sense!” he said angrily “I thought of it!– Call mePete- Pete Zaria.” he said, holding out his hand to shake mine.

“Gee, Pete, I had never thought of it that way -- I guess – now that I think about it– that’s going to be the hardest of all- How do I find them?”

“You ask.” Was his reply.

“Gee – but I don’t even know who to ask.”

”Oh don’t worry-“ the spirit said– - “There’s lots of people who will help.”

“You don’t say!” I marvelled.”That’s certainly not something I would have thought.”

The spirit looked at me with an incredulous look like he was eying a rather dim college student who could not figure out the sum of 1 plus 1.

“What – you been asleep the past few hours? Didn’t you see all those disgruntled people when the Con spooks before me dragged you around? Who do you think will help you?”

“Hmmm, I see your point.”

“By the way, the answer is 10.” He said.

“What? The answer to what?“ I asked

“You were making that metaphor about 1+1- any fool knows it’s 10.”

“It is?” I wondered. “That’s certainly an unusual arithmetic, spirit.”

‘Depends on your frame of reference, just like the people who will help you and by the way, call me Warren Peace.”

“Hmmm -- OK Warren– I see -- so the first thing is to talk up theconvention....”

“Right, but talk is cheap that’s why gamers spread it around so thickly-for most of em- that’s all they got.”

“Hmmm– I guess I’ll have to figure out some by-laws and get a constitution and figure out how the plan of the organization will work,and get rules of order.” I mused.

The spirit evinced a look of pure disgust and said:

“Hey – Ben, – c'mere,you got some schmutz on your head.”

I came close and bent over and hisarm flew up and whacked me on the back of the head. “OW! – That hurt!” I yelled, more in surprise than pain.

“You stupid schmuck! Ain’t you learned nothing tonight! Don’t worry about that crap — get something going first then figure out how to run it later. That’s what the Walwrus basement crowd did! Besides, by thetime you figure out you need to figure out how to run it you will have figured it out already and it’ll run by itself.”

“Ummm.. yeah that may be true– Thanks Spirit.”

“No problem,” he said, adjusting a large name badge on his chest that said “Jackson Jills.”

“Now let’s move on. You got a plan?”

“ Well er no.. I...”

“Yeah thought so, you gamers are all alike, don’t know how to make a plan if it ain’t painting troops, building terrain, or reading rules. Cripes, that’s your plan for games, conventions and getting laid! I tell you,you’re all alike- can’t pour piss from a boot even if the instructions were on the heel– can’t tell his ass from his elbow--- "

“Umm spirit I don’t think that’s fair.”

“Fair-Shmare!” he shot back, “ya wanna make this thing work?”

He dropped something on the floor, I saw it was a business card. As he picked it up I saw the name “Jim Borrazo” on it. I thought for a moment and said:

“This is a tall order spirit, it looks like I have a lot of work to do and will have to spend a lot of tim efinding people to work with me– that’s daunting–“

”Naah, remember piece of cake– and I’ll help.”

“You will?!” I was shocked.

“Yeah sure, by the way, call me Holden, Holden McGroyne.”

“Wow that’s very good of you– ummm— Holden.”

“Don’t mention it. Least I can do, Always happy to help. “

He pulled outsome things from a rumpled old bag.

“Let’s go down to the next car to meet some of your staff.”

“Staff!??” I said, astonished.

“Oh yeah, I started working on some stuff when I first got the word you were coming?”

“Really! – my goodness– why– why– I’m honored but how did you know I was going to accept.”

The spirit shrugged and made gave me yet another sour look and said-

“If it wasn’t you it was only a matter of time before some other dumb schmuck came up with the idea.”

We entered the next car and it was a veritable bee-hive of hubbub and hullabaloo as strange creatures and people flitted here and about. “OK Gang– here’s the guy!" the spirit commanded with obvious and over blown imperiousness which was absolutely ignored by everyone.

“Hi– “ I piped up- “My name is Ben and I’m a wargamer.”

Not the slightest reaction was seen from anyone. “My goodness spirit– they don’t seem to pay you the proper respect due their boss.”

“I ain’t their boss, they don’t work FOR me, they work WITH me!”

“Oh do you mean they are--???”

“Exactly– Volunteers.”

I mouthed a silent OH!! He went to one guy sitting in the corner, a large heavy-set man with a neatly tripped head of black hair who was working on some tables of registration and slamming at the keys of a keyboard working on some websites. He wore the standard wargaming garb of jeans and T-shirt but on his head he had a large Japanese Samurai Helmet. I was intrigued by the figure.

“That’s the first lesson, the spirit said “whenyou get volunteers you gotta do one thing.”

“Supervise them carefully?” I asked?

“No– let em do what they want to do otherwise they won’t do anything.”

“But what if they don’t do what you need them to do!?” I asked.

“Find someone else who will, do it yourself or figure out how you can do without! The key to handling volunteers is this- thank them often and repeatedly and kiss their ass. You need them, so welcome them, and remember you can’t fire them, and if you do you fire them you retire them with full pay and benefits and the work doesn’t get done.”

“That’s very wise of you spirit!” I said.

I stole a glance at the figureover whose shoulder we were looking and I noticed the Samurai Helmet wasnow replaced with a tricorne.

“No problem- call me Myasis Draggin” he said.

I greeted the person the spirit had directed me to and he sat there busily working away. I asked him a few questions, but he seemed to have his tasks well in hand. He spoke about them briefly, but as the Spirit seemed satisfied, I determined I was too.

The guy then said to me: “I should let my wife handle this, she’s Japanese you know and squeezes a nickel so hard the Indian comes out the other side riding the buffalo.”

He then started getting into other areas which I really thought I should not hear. I thought I should go and noticed that the tricorne was now replaced by a Roman Centurion's helmet.

“Excuse me Mr.... Mr...” I stammered out..

”Waldberg” he said– “Jake Waldburg. Pleased to meet ya- now take my wife– please—want some octopus? Live?– she eats it all the time– puts me and the kids off myfeed!”

I didn’t quite know how to respond to this and resolved that discretion was best.

“Please tell me why do you have so many umm- hats..”

“Why not? part of the fun of games is being a general and you’ve got to have the right hat!”

“Ummm that seems rather silly doesn’t it?” I asked.

“Any sillier than grown men playing with toy soldiers?”

“I see your point ..”

I turned to look for the Spirit, and Iimmediately bumped into a large rotund oriental gentleman with a tape measure spread across my back.

“Oh sorry, measuring you for your T-shirt?”

“My T-shirt?!!”.

“Yeah, your convention T-shirt– every convention has to have a T-shirt!.”

He wrote down a size and I was a bit taken aback and said “I don’t think this is right, I’ve lost a lot of weight lately.”

“Yeah and I’m Brittany Spears.” he said.

I had just turned around and untangled myself from the flying tape measures and the color swatches the T-shirt guy had buried me with and was faced with a tall solid figure who shoved a check into my hands.

”Here’s the seed money- I started ordering tables and they’ll be delivered Friday- we have to set them up- that would have cost $300 more- and I also started lining up vendors for our dealer area.”

“Tables?” I gasped “Vendors–-“ I wondered– “ but who are you?”

“Your treasurer- I’ll also handle the IRS papers and tax forms.”

“But I don’t even know your name” I said but the figure walked off andignored me, intent on his job. “But I don’t even know the where or the when? “ I pleaded.

There was a tap on my shoulder and a young thirty-something guy said “Here’s the where and when., We took care of that while you were getting un-drunk at the merry unbirthday party with the white rabbit.”

I stared in wonder at the paper and the new person, who introduced himself as my facilities coordinator said “Oh yeah you need someone to run the flea-market also.”

“There’s a flea-market?”

But it was too late for him to answer- he was off working again. The spirit of Conventions Future came over and shoved a bunch of papers under my nose.

“Here’s the various agreements you need for us to startyou off! Just sign.”

“What’s this spirit?”

“Oh, facility contracts, advertising agreements, proofs of Pels, advertisements, stories, blurbs to go on e-lists- notices registrations,and of course our own private agreement .”

My goodness there is a lot of work you’ve done already.

“Someone’s got to do it! We all can’t go around chasing tarts in bottles and mooning around memory lane.”

I took the pen and went to sign it and it wouldn’t write. It was out of ink. I turned to the spirit and said “Umm spirit – the pen seems dry.”

The spirit took it, looked at it and said “Hmmm so it seems – I’ll fix it– ”

At that moment another person came over and said “I got this great idea for an event–Meet the designers.” and he proceeded to tell me. “Yeah you can have red, you can have blue, you can have green–“ T-shirtman said... Suddenly I felt a sharp pain in my right arm– I looked and I saw the pensticking out of my arm and its ink resevoir filling with blood..

“There –– now it’l work just fine ...” the spirit said.

I asked , a bit dazed and absent-mindedly "What did you say your name was again.”

“Oh, I have so many names” came his sly reply as I signed – and for the only time ever I saw the spirit break into a genuine grin. I turned to look at my arm and saw that I had almost no scar at all- noblood, no mark, no nothing.

“Magic!” I a gasped.

“Elmers” the spirit said, “Every gamer uses it so much it works itself into his skin and veins– you could shoot an arm off and it would seal upin half a minute. “

The train gathered speed and at various stations I would see glimpses of conventions to come. All of them bright, shining and inviting. Soon my mind whirred and reeled with the surfeit of them., the possibilities of them- only occasionally did the scene slip off its rollers and reveal itself as an endless tape rotating on a frame outside the window. As I turned back from the viewing of the passage of the train through thevarious stations that were future conventions. I saw more and more people appearing in the car, which grew and lengthened to accomodate them.

“Spirit- who are all these people?” I asked.

“Some of them you know and some of them you will know.” he said, “Those are all the people who will be working on the convention you have started, and who will come to the convention- and they are people whowill form their own conventions and do new things on their own. "

“Is it to be a success then?” I asked

“Got me champ! As I said – it all depends on the work you do, and if you keep your head clear and on straight and don’t get sidetracked.”

“But Spirit– I don’t know what you mean–“

”Neither to I, but it seems to work.”

I was amazed wandered through the car. I saw old friends working and planning, I saw people who I felt a strong attachment to but did not know, and I realized they would BE friends in the future. I was in adaze.

“Spirit, this is all happening so fast. I can barely take it in! My mindreels!?

The spirit looked at me with his usual look most people reserve for idiot relatives who have just piddled on the floor in front of company on holidays and said

“Low sugar- here- have a milk shake..“and the trainhurtled on.

I wandered into another car and found the First two spirits sharing a sixpack and having a rousing game of Kingmaker, along with the Rabbit, the ToothFairy, the Shaggy Dog, and the Fairy God-Mother who with her come-hither stare and low cleavage promised an officer no one could refuse! I noticed that both spirits had several cards stuck up their sleeves and in their back pockets. The Spirit of Conventions Present rolled the dice and moved a large stack of cardboard counters on the board and said “The Electric Company!– I’ll buy it!” The Spirit of Conventions Past rolled the die and shuffled some papers and laid down a few cards and said “Fleet Heligoland suports Army Kiel to Holland!”

The White Rabbit turned to the Fairy Godmother and said “Base for a Base?” and the Fairy Godmother said“ Dunno– I’ll roll on my strength and use my +2 magic pasites!” As I watched this bizarre game of all games I turned and saw a horrifying sight! There at the far end of the car were the Ratsass and the Bad Hatter! The Hatter no longer had all his hats, and the Ratsass not his blades but it was them- unmistakably!

I raced up to the front car to find the spirit, sure that the minions of the Dark Lord were even now seeking to overturn the convention to come. I babbled out the warning to him, but the corners of his mouth just wentsouth even more.

“The Ratsass!! The Ratsass!! I said!

The spirt looked at me blankly and said “Yeah so?!”

“But they’re HERE!”

“So tell me champ– what part of playing games don’t you get?”

“Ummm– I don’t follow you.”

“Let me ask you this– if you lose a game do they take you out and shootyou?”- NO! “ he replied, answering his own question emphatically.

“Because they do some dumb things – does it make them evil people?--NO!” “Do you think that it means anything if you’re the big cheese of somebig-time show?- NO! And even if you are– do you think anyone out there gives a damn!– NO! All you do is run a convention where people play toy soldiers and othergames that mean nothing.”

“But– But–“ I tried to protest “The Ratsass– The Ratsass”

“But- But– Ifs and buts, – If Ifs and Buts were candied nuts it’d be Christmas all year long --. If we had ham we could have ham with our eggs if we had eggs. Look Young Hero! The first thing you have to learn is that these people are your friends. You can fight them in a game, argue with them in a club, debate them on the net, but you all play dumb stupid games about war and being generals and push toy soldiers around on the map in your mind. It don’t get much better than that. Lose that and ya got nothing! That’s what I meant about keep your mind focused on what’s important!”

The spirits words did not soothe and I came back at him -- “But the Hatter– the Hatter—“

“Remember the part the second spirit told you about losing their way? They’ll be just fine in a few years when they get the whole power tripthing out of their system! They’ll be back to being just good ole gamers and that will be that. This IS the Futurecon train and you ARE looking at the images of what MIGHT be, not the images of what MUST be. It’s all up to you buckie– if you want to make it better, it will be better. So cut them some slack! They’re not really a bad bunch of guys - they can be a lot of fun– when you get them in a game. Don’t forget that – it’s about games– and fun!”

The spirits words of hope and the future were so unlike his demeanor and character I was silenced. “Ummm– I think I see your point..”

The spirit began again– “Look your stop is coming up! We don’t have much time left. Just remember, it’s a game, its a hobby, you’re here to have fun, get some yuks, and toss down a few Buds with your buds. You’re not here to prove you’re a great general or come up with some grand vision. So work hard, have fun, give games, play games, buy stuff, eat, and remember that these guys are your friends.

As the train slowed down and I saw the dawn breaking over my neighborhood and I began to enter the long tunnel into my living room, I thought.

“Ummm, that’s a tall order But Gee spirit– it’s so SIMPLE! Why didn’t you say that way back at the start?”

“You’re the guy who liked complicated rules!– So! – You want success?”

“Yeah sure!”

“Well you know how you are?”

“Yes spirit?”

“Don’t be like that!”

These words of the spirit sank in as the train slowly pulled to a stopand the door opened to allow me to unload my stuff.”

“Come on– Come on– make it snappy.” the spirit said “I got a lot of appointments to keep?”

“Really!– Are there so many others hankering to make new conventions>?”

The spirit again rolled his eyes and gave a hearty “Pishh.. The stories I could tell–“ I felt good a and uplifted, even through the spirit just told me to get off.

“Oh yeah–“ the Sprit said–“Speaking of getting off- - The Lamp--.”

“What” I asked, “what do you mean.”

“You got yer three wishes!” he said, “fork over the bottle with the babe in it.”

"But -- But” I stammered...

”What are you– an outboard motor?” the spirit asked tartly...

“No– but what do you mean!” I only got my first wish!”

“Naah you used em all up! Says so right here in my “wishes used spread-sheet program.”

“But But!”

“Hey yer second wish was to be 18 again!– right?!”

“Well er– yeah—“

”Well you got that with the spirit of Conventions past!”

I had to admit the spirit had me there, for a short time I was 18 and felt very, very young again.

“So it’s yer own damn fault for farting around at game convention sinstead of getting laid.”

“Hmmm a bit of sharp practice- I’ll admit but now that I know who you REALLY are I guess I can’t expect much more from the likes of you– But what ABOUT that Jeannie! I protested- what about my third wish!”

The figure smiled one of those small smiles that still left the corner of his mouth turned down, as if he was smiling but frowning at the same time:

”Well let’s see you asked the Genie of the Lamp for an old time war-game convention, like you used to have-! Like when you were young!”

“Yes that’s right! But...”

“You said that you’d really love to attend one and have it like you did in the old days?”

“Yes that’s true spirit but..”

“And you got that wish only you’ve wound up having to work on one like a demon– I mean– uer–ah dog? So instead of just going to one like some lord you now have to do all the work to bring one about and get it together.”

“Well um– yes but...”

With a sly smile again the Spirit spoke

“Sounds to me like you’ve already got your screwing from the Jeannie of the Lamp.”

And the little voice from the martian on the Bugs Bunny cartoon came onand warned me off- the door closed and the train roared out of the station and as it disappeared down the long tunnel of time I saw the lamp swinging on the back platform of the train, with several small candles burning inside and from the dim airwaves of the ether I heard the strains of a long forgotten sitcom. I stood there watching it for a long time and resolved that I would do what I had begun– finish what I started -- fight the good fight – stay the course – hold the line– , suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune-- I felt a tap on my shoulder and I turned to see a tall luscious blonde standing behind me with long wavy hair, big green eyes, in a provocative witch outfit with the skirt slit up to the thigh and a neckline plunging to her navel complete with a witches hat.

“Howdy Sailor!” she said “My name’s Samantha– Wanna see what I can do whenI wiggle my– um– nose?”

I ran like hell.

Mr. Otto Schmidt responds

To a recent post I made relaying a piece in an Ohio newspaper about the "greying of the hobby" and other such nonense (oh, dear, there I am again, editorializing). Thanks for this, Otto!

For the record

The Secret Origins of TriaDCon,

part II

By Ben Trovaro

II. THE FIRST SPIRIT.

(continued from Part 1: Ben Finds a Bottle)

The night was dark– it usually is.

I had gone home, put the lamp in the cupboard and sat down to watch some TV and await the coming of the first of my unbidden guests who the Jeanie of the Lamp promised to send a-calling. Well it was just getting on to 12 and I had dozed off during Wheel of Torture just as before Vampa flipped the letter on Supercalifragalisticexpialadocious, and I woke up as the show was going off. I I rubbed my sleepy eyes to clear them and I noticed next to the host was this figure – not Vampa, but someone else.

She was of moderate height and somewhat elfin appearance, with a neat brunette bob in her hair, a pair of demure glasses, and she fluttered in mid-air with two pairs of filmy gossamer wings– like a large Dragon Lady fly. She wore only a short shift of shimmering white, which looked nothing so much as a large XXXL T-shirt with the awesome runes of great magical power inscribed upon it. They read WBC, PREZCON, HISTORICON, COLDWARS, FALL-IN, GENCON, ATLANTICON, ORIGINS, and so forth. There was a silk flower in her hair, and on her feet, a pair of bunny slippers. In her one hand she carried a wand of arcane power and mickle might --- and in the other- a super-sized refillable Coke container. I struggled to extract myself from the clutches of morpheus and it was only after almost a minute of struggle that I realized that she was not on the screen, but hovering in front of my face, a diminutive figure actually only a few inches high.

”Tinkerbell!!!!” I gasped, my jaw dropping to my chest!

“In your dreams Lead-Head!” she said, and though her words were tart and terse, she had a lilt, a quality to her voice, a way of saying things that was beautiful and mellifluous, like billows of blue velvet rippling in the dark at midnight, like the gentle lapping on the shore at eventide, like sweet maple syrup flowing over warm, lusciously aromatic pancakes, like the special sauce oozing out of between the two all beef patties, pickles lettuce chese onions on the sesame seed bun and onto your best tie.

“Are you the first of the spirits the Genie had foretold I would meet on this night?”

The diminutive waif’s sparkling complexion darkened a bit and her eyes darted to the side and I thought I heard her mutter under he breath “that tart!” but she shook her head and wrinkled her nose and smacked me on the forehead with her wand, and immediately the world turned rosy and bright, shower of lucky stars fell over my eyes and from my breast pocket overflowed with the Coco-Puffs I had been munching as a snack.

“Yes– Mini Maven, I am the ghost of Conventions Past. I will take
you on a magical mystery tour -- You are going to be entering another
dimension, a dimension not only of sight and sound, but of mind...”

She paused for a moment and thought “Hmmm – no– that’s not right. “ Then her face brightened and she smiled and waved her wand, and the wilted flowers in the vase sprang into bloom again.

“Let me take you down cause I’m goin’ to Strawberry
Fields....”

She stopped abruptly and a look of concerted consternation beclouded her sunny complexion. She muttered “Wait a minute – that’s not right– either “

Then from one of the secret pockets of holding in her gown she pulled out a small deck of index cards and read...

“A long time ago – in a universe far far away...”

She shook her head and threw the card over her shoulder and went on to the next one.

“When in the course of human events...”

Again the card fluttered to earth.

“It was a Dark and Stormy Night...” It suffered the same fate as its brothers.

“When you wish upon a star...”

“All Gaul is divided into three parts...”

“It is a far far better thing...”

“A bunch of the boys were whooping it up at the Malemute Saloon...”

“Call me Ishmael...”

Finally in exasperation she tossed all the remaining cards over her shoulder to fall like a shower of confetti over the couch and floor and I couldn’t help but thinking at this magical moment of the grand verities of the universe, the vicissitued of fate, and eternal imponderables, and that the housekeeper was going to be pissed.

“Come on Toy Boy, you’ve seen the story– you know the drill– I haven’t got all night!.” She muttered.

“Do I have to take your hand? Or mutter some incantation? Or be enchanted to fly with you through time and space, to see things long past, people long gone?”

She gave me a look people usually reserve for impromptu encounters with the village idiot and a whack on the noggin with the wand again. She intoned the magic formula “Whatever blows yer hair back!” and intoned the secret words of ensorcelment “Just a spoonfull of sugar
helps the medicine go down.” And held out in her hand a large pile of what I took to be magic beans.. Each of them in bright colors of red, green, blue, yellow and brown. Each had a small mystik rune on them of obvious great power that looked like the letter “m” in white,
times roman bold 12 pt, . I swallowed them speedily, barely pausing to munch
them- they had a distinctly chocolate like taste.

“Are these magical?” I asked. “Will they allow me to fly?”

“No not really” she said, "but they’ll tighten you up like a large wheel of Wisconsin cheddar so that I don’t have to stop the tour every 10 minutes so you have to go to the
bathroom."

Almost immediately I felt a strange feeling of well being course through me– a distinct tingling in every extremity of my being, and in my mind, new vistas being open- the bonds of the physical universe were being undone- the blending of the real with the imaginary– I could think outside the box!

I realized what was happening– my lips formed the word which came out as a large comic balloon to float over my head...

“Magic!” Said I

“Prozac” Said She.

I was transported in an instant to a large gymnasium-like room in what appeared to be a college campus, with several small meeting rooms beside it. In the large room I was in there were many stands of dealers and vendors selling games and a great crowd of people coursing through it. In the small side rooms there were almost as many people, sitting, hunched over tables, their faces betraying the intense concentration of their minds, and in front of them large paper and cardboard boards with piles of counters over them. In other rooms people were standing or sitting around tables of toy soldiers and terrain, and yet in others people were again sitting, but all focused on one leader half-sequestered behind his game-master screen, rolling dice and hacking out a narrative about mugging monsters for their loose change.

“I recognize this– Spirit!! This is the old PEACHYKEENCON - the first one I ever went to as a young boy! “

“Yes” she said “happier times indeed—“ and I noticed that my once diminutive guide had now become perfectly human sized, of regular stature, and I also noticed that except for the bunny shippers she had a nice pair of legs! And looked somewhat hot. I wondered what she was wearing under the now quite skimpy extra large T-shrt!

This brought a whack on the noggin and a tart ‘I can read thoughts too drain brain!”

“Ummm... OK...my bad.– But tell me spirit are these things real?” I asked.

They are as real as they exist in our memories, as we have experienced them- they are but shadows of the past, but the past that lives in vivid colors and tones in our memories. They are gone but linger on in that strange afterglow of reality that is present with us always.”

I broke in with a shocked “You don’t mean to say...”

“Yes" she said

I shook my head ”Where are they now shows...”

“But look Spirit there am I” and I pointed to a small plump boy with coke-bottle glasses pushing some counters across the board and beaming in all the innocent joy of youth, the delight of existence for existence sake, the sweet, endearing, charm of adolescent goodness and candor permeating the words of this the apparition of my former days

“12 to 1 – automatic victory! --You Lose!”

I triumphed in my joy, even more so as I saw my crestfallen oponent slink away from the table, fated to die in misery and bleak hopelessness in a Bowery doorway. As I watched this there was a slight pang in my eye as I felt a welling up of emotion and slight liquification forming at the corner of my eye-lids.

“Ah those were simpler times, happier times– before the dark time– before the....”

She whacked my head with her wand again. “Do not speak that name, even here– the name of the Dark Lord himself is not to be bandied about lightly– nor the name of the Evil Empire itself to be casually thrown about. The spies of the Dark Coterie are everywhere and even the walls have ears, the bathrooms listening devices and my dog has fleas.”

I turned to see the people bustling around in the dealer hall, laughing, joking -- their eyes eagerly fastened on the wares and merchandise being offered. I suddenly espied an old familiar face, small, a child really, of years not much younger than my own, watching me from a table nearby. Intent, silent, worshipful. She had a loving look, a longing look a look of sweet tenderness and love, not unlike that on a cat about to pounce on a mouse.

”Why bless me– if it isn’t Ginger!” I gasped, recalling an old gaming buddy from those days. “Why it IS Ginger! Yes.”

The spirit nodded. “Yes it is– “the spirit agreed “ Miss Vitus loved you even then.”

“REALLY!” I gasped. “I had no idea, I did not know she was even at this convention! I had not known until I saw her just now.” I said this wistfully– regretfully, pondering for a moment the possibilites that might have been– Ginger was a top notch miniature painter and worked fast too!"

“Yes," the spirit said, with no little ruefulness, tempered with an undertone of caustic understatement that would have lifted grease stains from the driveway.

”But in those days you were only interested in sequences of action, phased movement, zones of control, paradigmatic representations of combat, theories of game simulation, averaged dice, random modifiers and character alignments, stats and bound-phased movements- never giving a thought to the feelings of a poor young girl who had fears and hopes and dreams of her own, who struggled with the emptyness of her heart, with the aching lonliness that comes with unselfishly making someone else the center of her life, of sacrificing everything for him, just to be near him, to see him, to hear him, to perhaps touch – - his counters– to fondle his miniatures. But what was a young girl to you just entering the first trials of womanhood? Did you care for a bright young girl giving you her heart and soul and never being appreciated, or cared for or noticed, of being spurned ignored, forgotten, of having her needs unfulfilled, her heart broken, her self-respect spurned and trodden upon as if she meant nothing at all and was simply something to be used for a game and tossed away like a used kleenex, a toy, a plaything, like one of your “f*****g toy soldiers who had no feelings – to be ignored at the very moment of her budding womanhood when she was most alone, bewildered, afraid, and vulnerable...”

The spirits tone had become demanding, harsh, and accusatory, even
vehement and histerical.

I looked at the spirit with astonishment and shock. She shook her head as if to clear it and then whacked herself on the crown and a shower of glittering pearl drops drifted down and suffused everything with with a warm cozy glow and made her look as clean scrubbed as the Orbitz girl.

“Ummm-- never mind” she said.

Again the spirit waved here wand again, but this time not onto my bean.

Nothing happened.

She did it again and again nothing happened.

With her jaw hard set and her teeth clenched and drew up the curtain of reality to touch the REBOOT buitton on the Windows of Life – Godmaster’s Deluxe Edition that she had opened and we were transported again.

I saw myself now as a bit older, in my late teens, cavorting around a whole room of tables filled with all sorts of wonderful things, and around the tables people laughed and shouted and cursed and joked. They capered and stood and postured and gestured.. There were smiles on every face and a song in every heart and in the center of it sat this large jovial fellow posessed in great abundance of the milk of human kindness, but not, as some said, a lot of smarts, and he seemed to rule it all as a king on a throne. My mouth dropped and said:

“Why it’s Dennis, Dennis Largesse! Why Bless me spirit, nomen est omen- a man more aptly named could not be found in all of creation. A man of infinite Jests. Often he would carry me on his back... He ran the game store nearby, now long gone, and I spent many happy hours here as a boy. But tell me spirit this does not seem to be his store? It’s much bigger and larger than I remember it, and he did not have so many grand tables or so many things.”

“We see things as our mind sees them. Dennis’ store may have been small and ordinary, but when you were in it and gaming the walls flew out and it expanded to whatever size you needed, and the few companions you had into a vast multitude, as some large game convention, the mother of all game conventions at which you always had fun.”

“Ah, spirit,--I understand-- we are seeing things as our mind sees them, we see them through the filter of our joys and high spirits. It is the imagination working"

“And the Prozac”

I watched myself playing grand games, At one table advanced Squad Leader, at another some large ungainly Napoleonic action, again I saw me role-playing as Exxon the wizard and others too, laughing and enjoying the pure joy of existence, and all of us shoveling down McBurgers and KFC, Chinese food and Pizza quaffed down with foaming tankards (well cans) of beer and coke and all with a gusto and speed that exceeded by far the ability of the most hunger starved hobbits running feeding frenzy race with the starving natives of Ethiopia Win- Lose- we were all having a good time.

“I see you had great fun those days my friend.”

“Yes, I did” and my feet felt light, so light I shifted back and forth as if I were to break into a little jig, my eyes were a glitter and there was a rosy glow in my cheeks. “Oh– can we join them spirit, - can we be part of them?”

“Nay” she said “Remember these are but shadows of the past – mere specters of things that once were.”

“Look there’s Solly Wymon and Ron Craptray- the old crank- look at him enjoying himself– and look Hal Jadely and Gig Boblio and Bif Donk and old “Cob Noggins” all having a great time together– all my friends having a good time- Oh it was a wonderful time- one would not imagine they all turned into deadly enemies later on– in the dark time."

I looked around and saw such merriment and fun and all of it presided over by Dennis .

“Ah there weren’t many who could give a game like good old Largesse!”

Off in the corner I saw a familiar face. She had lost a much of the baby-fat from the previous vision, and she was indeed turning into a charming and precocius woman, I remember that I had had a feeling for her now and then back then, and I meditated upon memories of things not seen, of paths not taken The spirit, reading my mind asked.

“Whatever happened, between thee and she?” the spirit inquired.

A dark cloud passed over my eyes and my heart as memories of decisions taken in earnest then but regretted forever came back to nag at me.

“It was hard – Spirit- back then, I was so young, and foolish.”

“Speak–“ She demanded.

“Well you see– she did DBA and I was a confirmed WRG – and it
just couldn’t have ever worked.”

“Izzat’ So tin twister? Or was there more?”

Again the dark regrets welled up in my soul, but I fought them back. I replied with a half truth that even I knew was stretching it by far.

“She did 30mm and I liked 25's”

She whacked me on the noggin with her wand again and I was covered in a pale pink mist of glittering droplets of dandruff and Vitalis.

“Fess up, Shake-n-Bake Gamer!”

I could fight it no more, I felt the truth being wrenched from my very soul. I felt my mouth forming the words I dreaded to say.

“She was...”

I gasped, tyring to force the wrods back down. Again a whack on the head.

“She was so... sooo...”

I struggled not to say it with all the frantic desperation that a person would use in trying not to fart at high mass. Again a whack on the head.

“Bad Gamer, Bad Gamer- Very Bad gamer!” the spirit intoned.

At last I could take it no more and with a last shriek of my soul the words were torn from the inner reces of my heart where I had buried them for so long...

“She was so – ..so – SO BEER AND PRETZELS!”

Tears welled up in my eyes and the spirit offered a delicate lacy embroidered pink handkerchief with little pink bunnies embroidered on them for me to dry my tears, and she also offered me a nice long nip from her pocket flask. I dried my tears and blew an enormous honk into the handkerchief and handed it back to her. She dropped it like it was a hot turd. I took rather a long swig but the spirit did not mind. My eyes bulged form my head as the potent stuff flowed down my gullet, felling all the time like a sublte mixture of Muriatic acid and Drano, and it set my stomach afire and could have cauterized gangrenous wounds. I opened my mouth to speak.

“Smooth!” I gasped.

The spirit was silent and I watched the scene for a while as I daubed my eyes and thought.

The spirit at last spoke “What ever happened to her ?”

I thought for a moment and when I felt able, I told her.

“She moved on to LARP and later changed her name to Zima or Zivo or Zena or Zerutan or something and became a Morticia (from the Adams family) Impersonator. She married a bruite of a man Derek Draino, a lawn maintenance guy who didn’t care for gaming at all but was into Nascar, Railgate Parties and the Spike channel and who wasted his money on lottery tickets. She made appearences at small time fan conventions and birthday parties."

I sighed. Thinking what might of been. I imagined her in long leather boots with latex bustier and black shoulder-length gloves, a shade of bright red lipstick on her pouting lustrous lps.

No the memories were too painful. I shook them free.

“But she died spirit, she was never a strong person and with the passing of SPI, Avalon Hill and Ral Partha the light seemed to go out of the world for her... and she shuffled off this mortal coil– and joined the legions of the undead.”

“Do you mean?” the Spirit asked in shock”

“Yes, she became a soccer mom and ran a catering business specializing in nouvelle cuisine!”

Again I felt the tears welling up.

Again the spirit spoke “There was a child ...”

“Yes, a small boy, his name was Dondi – Dondi Draino.”

“Nay– but if we tarry at this convention any longer we shall have
to pay for a second day.”

Continues in part III of IV: The Spirit of Conventions Present