The reasons for having a PT in Amsterdam are along the same lines as holding a PT in some third world country where child prostitutes run rampant out in the open. The players will come not only for the game and the money, but also for the extracurricular activities. And perhaps it is a natural European immunity and an American weakness to pot, developed through overexposure, which allowed so many Europeans to dominate the magic scene in Amsterdam, despite, as we all know, the Americans being the far superior players.

The reason there are so few Amsterdam articles in general is because very few people can even remember what happened. I for one spent 90% of my stay there either tripping or blazed off of my ass. My sincerest apologies extend to De Rosa for despite being his favorite to win the LCQ, last chance qualifier, I went 0-1 drop. I do believe had I been sober I could have won it.

Instead I took a serving and a half of shrooms and tripped my ass off before and during my LCQ match against some former Dutch PT player, Arjan van Leeuwen, who looked like he was either constipated or that bout of all night gay sex raving with his lover got a little too rough and that little fuzzy hamster got permanently lodged up there. He had this awful scowl the whole time like his whole body was tensed and concentrated and every once in awhile he would twitch or flinch, like the hamster suddenly bit him or started clawing frantically for its life in the gaseous chambers of his bowels, wreaking havoc on his large intestine. Now I know like I sound like I’m harping on this, but I was tripping at the time, and his face scared the shit out of me. It didn’t help that his face was framed by back length ratty brown hair. He looked like some angry scarecrow of death, coming to get me.

Since we all know my schtick is clothing I’ll tell you what he was wearing. I remember it quite clearly, mainly because in my delirious state the color overwhelmed me. As far as I could tell it was vibrating the whole time, like a television set on the fritz. It was a bright and shiny maroon dress shirt. This in and of itself wasn’t so amazing. But its ability to capture my attention during the match was. There were also these amazing giant sized posters of different magic cards. I think the Viridian Shaman could see into my soul, or was undressing me with her eyes, or something. I spent more time looking at her and some giant purple haired angel than I did on the game. Either there was a giant Akroma poster above my head, or one of the Japanese PT players went super saijen on me. I would tell you what I opened in my sealed deck but I really don’t remember. I just know that the Norwegians (weegies) were cranky I didn’t play blue.

As for actually constructing my deck, I did it with some less than subtle hinting from a Dutchie who paid for the sealed deck and was paranoid I was going to waste his money. Loads of good it did him. I did have to count my cards at least 30 times over before I was satisfied with the final count of 40 cards total. When I finally got around to playing, I’d lay a land down after about 5 minutes of thought, stare around a bit, meet eyes with Arjan, get scared, look back at my hand, count my one land and pass the turn. This sad cycle of events took place every turn. This included the rhythmic counting of the land by jabbing my finger forcefully into each individual land and mouthing the number and looking pissed when I didn’t have enough to cast the desired spell. My turns averaged about 8-10 minutes while Arjan only took maybe 1 minute, tops. I really couldn’t tell, I didn’t pay much attention to his turn; I stared at the ceiling, which held giant posters of magic cards. They were entrancing; the colors and pictures and it amazed me they were so huge and so far up. I wonder how they got there. Arjan also at one point played a foil card. It took me about 7 minutes to read the card. Why? Because I was on shrooms and it was a foily.

After I dropped the sealed deck and greeted the remaining friends that I hadn’t seen yet, I wandered around site giggling insanely to myself.

Day 2 (Day 1 of the PT rounds)

The next day was the PT and after arriving at the site EDT and I went across the street to grab some breakfast. I ordered a roast beef on a roll and a Fanta. I want to know, WHERE DID MY GLASS GO! Like, this was a shot glass of Fanta with ice. For 4 EURO! I had the constant munches and was constantly thirsty because of it, BUT I COULDN’T AFFORD TO QUENCH MY THIRST. They also put butter on the roll, which contained my roast beef. As if meat wasn’t fattening enough. It was quite possibly the most disgusting thing I have ever forced myself to eat other than MAYO SMEARED FRENCH FRIES. I almost vomited. I hate mayo. Damn the man who got me to eat them. At the restaurant I asked the lady for an alcoholic drink, some orange alcohol thing, but the lady didn’t speak any English. And apparently many people don’t drink alcohol at 10 in the morning so she brought me a glass of orange juice instead. It was sour. It sucked. I made EDT pay for it.

That day I also saw Arjan again. He ground into the PT through the LCQ. He was wearing the same outfit. WHO DOES THAT! Honestly, everyone saw you wearing that outfit the day before, and now, everyone is going to see you wearing it again. NOT IN MY UNIVERSE ASSHOLE. Like, don’t you have any self-respect? Are you TRYING to be like Zvi? I was, needless to say, blown away.

Later that day EDT tried to take a rather blurry picture of my new tattoo. In doing so, we attracted the attention of a very friendly European who spoke excellent broken English. Because I was standing awkwardly, with the back of the neck of my shirt pulled down to show the tattoo, he felt compelled to inspect mine and show off his. It was cute, with nice placement I must admit. But I couldn’t understand a bloody word he was saying and I don’t think he understood me either. His tattoo was a simple green mana symbol, in color, on his inner shoulder. Eventually we both gave up our attempts of trying to communicate and quietly wandered away from each other. I think he was Italian or something. Honestly, doesn’t anyone in Europe take the time to actually learn the language of the United States of America?

After the PT I eat out with the Dutchies at a Pizza parlor which is chock full of Magic players in all stages of geekiness. In the middle of dinner Zajdner bursts in and starts screaming about how the climate in Amsterdam is making his lips chap and he can’t find any chapstick. He’s yelling at the top of his lungs, cursing up a storm and asking everyone for chapstick. After this he asks the owner of the pizzeria if he and his friends can eat there and even though there is an open table the owner says no, the place is full. We got so lucky.

Day 3 (Day 2 of the PT)

I got up early, about when my roommates who were playing woke up, or soon after. I let them have the bathroom first.

When I got to the tournament site, I wandered around again. EDT played in the PTQ and I had the unfortunate pleasure of being forcibly introduced to Jeroen Remie’s entire family. At one point a rather happy EDT comes in because he had been out gambling and had won several hundred Euro. He holds up one for me to see. I snatch it out of his hand and run away. He was too old to give chase and eventually forgot about it. I was then up 100 Euro.

I also found out this day that our good friend Antonio De Rosa had been kicked out of the tournament site and was not welcome to return. Why was this? Because Antonio assaulted a chair. He kicked it after losing a match. Earlier in the day De Rosa had entertained a crowd of us by showing how easily he could bend the bars of the chairs by stepping on them. Some ugly woman yelled him at for doing so and he then stopped.

But did this keep Antonio out of the site? No sir, this Italian put up the hood of his hoodie and snuck on back in. Although it is rather hard to miss someone of De Rosa’s magnitude, he somehow escaped persecution.

I don’t remember much else. I went out with Jeroen later that night after he lost and got so stoned I couldn’t move at the wonderful Bulldog Café. At which I smoked 2 spliffs and one ate space cake, the European version of a pot brownie.

Day 4

We gave on magic and retired to enjoy what Amsterdam really had to offer, what I really went there for. Drugs, alcohol and the live donkey sex shows. Thanks Amsterdam, for one hell of a bender and a forgettable PT. I want to say thanks to my roommates at the PT, they are general good times and they tolerated me very well since they were European and I was American.

Discuss this article in the Magic: the Gathering Forums!

Related Stories

• Pro Tour Amsterdam Report
• Putting the 'D' in Reality TV: A Tournament Report
• PT Boston: The Platy Perspective

The reasons for having a PT in Amsterdam are along the same lines as holding a PT in some third world country where child prostitutes run rampant out in the open. The players will come not only for the game and the money, but also for the extracurricular activities. And perhaps it is a natural European immunity and an American weakness to pot, developed through overexposure, which allowed so many Europeans to dominate the magic scene in Amsterdam, despite, as we all know, the Americans being the far superior players.

The reason there are so few Amsterdam articles in general is because very few people can even remember what happened. I for one spent 90% of my stay there either tripping or blazed off of my ass. My sincerest apologies extend to De Rosa for despite being his favorite to win the LCQ, last chance qualifier, I went 0-1 drop. I do believe had I been sober I could have won it.

Instead I took a serving and a half of shrooms and tripped my ass off before and during my LCQ match against some former Dutch PT player, Arjan van Leeuwen, who looked like he was either constipated or that bout of all night gay sex raving with his lover got a little too rough and that little fuzzy hamster got permanently lodged up there. He had this awful scowl the whole time like his whole body was tensed and concentrated and every once in awhile he would twitch or flinch, like the hamster suddenly bit him or started clawing frantically for its life in the gaseous chambers of his bowels, wreaking havoc on his large intestine. Now I know like I sound like I’m harping on this, but I was tripping at the time, and his face scared the shit out of me. It didn’t help that his face was framed by back length ratty brown hair. He looked like some angry scarecrow of death, coming to get me.

Since we all know my schtick is clothing I’ll tell you what he was wearing. I remember it quite clearly, mainly because in my delirious state the color overwhelmed me. As far as I could tell it was vibrating the whole time, like a television set on the fritz. It was a bright and shiny maroon dress shirt. This in and of itself wasn’t so amazing. But its ability to capture my attention during the match was. There were also these amazing giant sized posters of different magic cards. I think the Viridian Shaman could see into my soul, or was undressing me with her eyes, or something. I spent more time looking at her and some giant purple haired angel than I did on the game. Either there was a giant Akroma poster above my head, or one of the Japanese PT players went super saijen on me. I would tell you what I opened in my sealed deck but I really don’t remember. I just know that the Norwegians (weegies) were cranky I didn’t play blue.

As for actually constructing my deck, I did it with some less than subtle hinting from a Dutchie who paid for the sealed deck and was paranoid I was going to waste his money. Loads of good it did him. I did have to count my cards at least 30 times over before I was satisfied with the final count of 40 cards total. When I finally got around to playing, I’d lay a land down after about 5 minutes of thought, stare around a bit, meet eyes with Arjan, get scared, look back at my hand, count my one land and pass the turn. This sad cycle of events took place every turn. This included the rhythmic counting of the land by jabbing my finger forcefully into each individual land and mouthing the number and looking pissed when I didn’t have enough to cast the desired spell. My turns averaged about 8-10 minutes while Arjan only took maybe 1 minute, tops. I really couldn’t tell, I didn’t pay much attention to his turn; I stared at the ceiling, which held giant posters of magic cards. They were entrancing; the colors and pictures and it amazed me they were so huge and so far up. I wonder how they got there. Arjan also at one point played a foil card. It took me about 7 minutes to read the card. Why? Because I was on shrooms and it was a foily.

After I dropped the sealed deck and greeted the remaining friends that I hadn’t seen yet, I wandered around site giggling insanely to myself.

Day 2 (Day 1 of the PT rounds)

The next day was the PT and after arriving at the site EDT and I went across the street to grab some breakfast. I ordered a roast beef on a roll and a Fanta. I want to know, WHERE DID MY GLASS GO! Like, this was a shot glass of Fanta with ice. For 4 EURO! I had the constant munches and was constantly thirsty because of it, BUT I COULDN’T AFFORD TO QUENCH MY THIRST. They also put butter on the roll, which contained my roast beef. As if meat wasn’t fattening enough. It was quite possibly the most disgusting thing I have ever forced myself to eat other than MAYO SMEARED FRENCH FRIES. I almost vomited. I hate mayo. Damn the man who got me to eat them. At the restaurant I asked the lady for an alcoholic drink, some orange alcohol thing, but the lady didn’t speak any English. And apparently many people don’t drink alcohol at 10 in the morning so she brought me a glass of orange juice instead. It was sour. It sucked. I made EDT pay for it.

That day I also saw Arjan again. He ground into the PT through the LCQ. He was wearing the same outfit. WHO DOES THAT! Honestly, everyone saw you wearing that outfit the day before, and now, everyone is going to see you wearing it again. NOT IN MY UNIVERSE ASSHOLE. Like, don’t you have any self-respect? Are you TRYING to be like Zvi? I was, needless to say, blown away.

Later that day EDT tried to take a rather blurry picture of my new tattoo. In doing so, we attracted the attention of a very friendly European who spoke excellent broken English. Because I was standing awkwardly, with the back of the neck of my shirt pulled down to show the tattoo, he felt compelled to inspect mine and show off his. It was cute, with nice placement I must admit. But I couldn’t understand a bloody word he was saying and I don’t think he understood me either. His tattoo was a simple green mana symbol, in color, on his inner shoulder. Eventually we both gave up our attempts of trying to communicate and quietly wandered away from each other. I think he was Italian or something. Honestly, doesn’t anyone in Europe take the time to actually learn the language of the United States of America?

After the PT I eat out with the Dutchies at a Pizza parlor which is chock full of Magic players in all stages of geekiness. In the middle of dinner Zajdner bursts in and starts screaming about how the climate in Amsterdam is making his lips chap and he can’t find any chapstick. He’s yelling at the top of his lungs, cursing up a storm and asking everyone for chapstick. After this he asks the owner of the pizzeria if he and his friends can eat there and even though there is an open table the owner says no, the place is full. We got so lucky.

Day 3 (Day 2 of the PT)

I got up early, about when my roommates who were playing woke up, or soon after. I let them have the bathroom first.

When I got to the tournament site, I wandered around again. EDT played in the PTQ and I had the unfortunate pleasure of being forcibly introduced to Jeroen Remie’s entire family. At one point a rather happy EDT comes in because he had been out gambling and had won several hundred Euro. He holds up one for me to see. I snatch it out of his hand and run away. He was too old to give chase and eventually forgot about it. I was then up 100 Euro.

I also found out this day that our good friend Antonio De Rosa had been kicked out of the tournament site and was not welcome to return. Why was this? Because Antonio assaulted a chair. He kicked it after losing a match. Earlier in the day De Rosa had entertained a crowd of us by showing how easily he could bend the bars of the chairs by stepping on them. Some ugly woman yelled him at for doing so and he then stopped.

But did this keep Antonio out of the site? No sir, this Italian put up the hood of his hoodie and snuck on back in. Although it is rather hard to miss someone of De Rosa’s magnitude, he somehow escaped persecution.

I don’t remember much else. I went out with Jeroen later that night after he lost and got so stoned I couldn’t move at the wonderful Bulldog Café. At which I smoked 2 spliffs and one ate space cake, the European version of a pot brownie.

Day 4

We gave on magic and retired to enjoy what Amsterdam really had to offer, what I really went there for. Drugs, alcohol and the live donkey sex shows. Thanks Amsterdam, for one hell of a bender and a forgettable PT. I want to say thanks to my roommates at the PT, they are general good times and they tolerated me very well since they were European and I was American.

Discuss this article in the Magic: the Gathering Forums!

Related Stories

• Pro Tour Amsterdam Report
• Putting the 'D' in Reality TV: A Tournament Report
• PT Boston: The Platy Perspective