When I was in college I played board games with a group of fellow nerd ranging in ages from 8 to 50. All of them had their ups and downs as people. Scott was a gentle giant of a man, but I worry about his health, James Ernst was a mathematical genius but took to playing the Meta- game to seriously. And Pete was way to hard on himself, to the point where if something went the wrong way he got distracted and his composure collapsed.
One man stood above all of these though as someone I remember. His name was George but everyone including himself called him Suavo. The first reason was that his actual polish last name was difficult to pronounce. The second reason was that he was a suave mother fucker.
When he played MechWarrior in the group he gravitated towards a faction that was known for the ability to take hits repeatedly, but not have much offensive might. Everyone questioned his choice, as it seemed that when rolling dice, he had no luck at all. He would often just miss the required rolls needed, or when he did hit it was of little consequence at the time.
He had this inane ability though, to share his luck, or lack thereof. Like a Jedi convincing a drug dealer to rethink his life, he merely waved his hands, and his opponents dice would turn to piles of cubic mush. I dunno how he did it, but at some point the rest of the play group would start praying and paying tribute to Suavo, hoping to appease him so our rolls would not go south.
To this day I still spread the word of Suavo, calling upon him for timely bad rolls and waving my hand like a jedi over my foes dice. Sometimes it works, sometimes it does not. Suavo is a fickle god, and he does not dole out his power whimsically
Wednesday, March 9, 2011
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