Control: I Won!

I won!

Last place. I won last place at the tournament over the weekend. Last fucking place. I won last place, absolute last.

These people, however, are all good players of Warhammer 40k, a game I haven’t been playing for long. One of them is a dentist who used to help the military with problems with their teeth. One of them is a friend of mine who is resentful that I switch teams so damned often. (At the game. I’m straight sexually.) One of them was in the military a good amount of time ago and played tyranids for two years. I was playing tyranids and played him. Turn one, he didn’t have anything on the board on my turn one. I had to sit there doing nothing. On his turn one he dropped in two dozen guys who included four guys with cleansing flame. Cleansing flame damages everyone within nine inches of his models. Had I prepared carefully this wouldn’t be a problem. I hadn’t prepared carefully, though. Every model was hit once or twice except for reserves. I lost almost everything on the first turn and was tabled by turn four. I gave a good effort, though. That’s something. Also, I decided to play tyranids, and tyranids are a difficult and unforgiving race to play. Basically, the game is about survival, and they are very bad at it.

Picture squashing a bug and hoping it survives. That’s about what it seemed to me-trying to be a bug not getting squished by a huge human. Also, everyone but me had a big huge model. I had spent way too much on this hobby but didn’t have a super-heavy or gargantuan creature. For the amount I invest in the hobby I needed one.

Also, I had been switching races too often. I’m schizophrenic.

You know? None of that matters.

I made bad choices.

I don’t know about metaphors; I try to just tell the truth on this blog. I, Dalton Lewis, lost because I played poorly. I spent sixty dice-sixty rolls of the dice — looking for sixes trying to kill my opponent’s biggest guy. While that happened his flamethrower guys roasted all the rest of my bugs. They are there, charred, lying dead on a 4 by 6 foot mat in Buffalo Grove, Illinois. I took the models home, of course; that doesn’t matter. I haven’t written anything in a while because of the tremendous preparation required for these things.

Ultimately, it’s about fighting the voices in my head, or whatever it is. It’s about fighting the problems in my mind preventing me from thinking about the world in front of me. It’s a fight against the demons inside of me, and for one day, I lost.

I won last place in a tournament, and that’s not bad.

Thanks, and take care, friends.

Daniel Trump is the author, of course, of My Little Paradise, available now on Here’s the link.*Version*=1&*entries*=0