14 votes, rating 6
The box is a quiet place during American hours. While I was in Asia I could easily keep up with playing enough matches to complete the Box Trophy, but since I moved to the West Coast I managed only two games, when jet lag woke me early enough to catch the Europeans. I was falling further and further behind, and my resolution of completing 150 BB games before October looked to be doomed to failure.
So I went looking, and recruited coaches.
That's a grandiose statement. I found the FLCA Discord channel and made noises all week, asking if anyone wanted to come and play in the Box, and I guess eventually people tired of the pings and agreed to come play. Perhaps they hoped that would make me stop.
"We'll all play Stunties!" I said. "It'll be fun! Mid afternoon Pacific Time is midnight Fumbbl time! The Italians will all be asleep! The French will be asleep! It's only 11pm in the UK, but they'll be too drunk to play by then! Come one, come all, bring your stunty teams to the Box! It'll be hilarious!" I kept on and on at them. I had dreams of singlehandedly revitalising the American Black Box scene, so that I could then get some more games in.
Like a charismatic prophet, I gathered the hopeful, the easily persuaded, the desperate to make me shut up and led them forth into the elysian fields of midnight in the Box, a time untroubled by any min-maxers, a place where there aren't hordes of chaos dwarfs running amok, where no bloated teams full of tackle await an unwary halfling. The Europeans would all be in bed. My new chosen tribe of Americans, Canadians, Mexicans, Brazilians, Chileans, whoever else (I wasn't taking a census so who knows who was in from this side of the Atlantic?) were ready. And so we all activated.
The Italians had not gone to bed.
The French had not gone to bed.
The British were not all so drunk they couldn't activate.
And they were all playing Undead horrors of one description or another.
I wasn't. Somehow I'd lucked out, and while my companions had followed me into a viper's nest of tackle and mighty blow, I'd ended up matched with an Ogre coach from Indiana. Who hadn't noticed any of my wild proclamations on Discord, and had the world-weary air of a man who'd lost the previous 12 matches with his team. Ogres will do that to you.
I had a lovely match with my Goblins leaping, bombing, chainsawing and making a general mess, and even though I lost 1-0, it was a 16th turn ogre-to-snotling throw that was a wonderful thing to behold, rather than my usual "oh, you pitch cleared me in turn 5, enjoy yourself" exercise in masochism.
As for everyone else?
Well, nobody has played a game in Box for the past seven hours.