Every Sunday in Eugene, a league of warriors assembles.
Huddling around brown wooden tables like poker players (minus the booze, cigarettes and terrible sunglasses), three young men sort through their Tupperware boxes of Pokemon cards in preparation for four hours of intense mental warfare.
They are the gladiators of the Eugene Pokemon League, and a well-lit conference room within the Re/Max Integrity building is their Colosseum.
Apparently the world of Pokemon lives on — in the hearts of a few, ultra-dedicated fans.
“I’m very serious about this,” Springfield Middle School student Isaac McClintock said while confidently shuffling his deck.
McClintock was introduced to the world of Pokemon at the age of four by his older brothers, and has been collecting and battling the cards ever since.
“It was the first thing they ever really taught me,” McClintock said. The eighth grade card sensei regularly participates in tournaments and competitions, often investing a great deal of money into his hobby.
He has dropped 30 dollars on one single card — and he can’t even remember which one it was.
Listening to him chatter about his favorite Pokemon (a green, rock-dragon-looking thing named Tyranitar), and watching him showcase a shiny holographic card gently nestled into a protective sleeve was a wave of nostalgia.
I was so obsessed with Pokemon when I was eight, that I not only knew all 150 of the original Pokemon by heart, but I memorized all the Pokeraps, bought the toys and went on about them so much, that my mom had to literally ground me from talking about them just to manage my addiction.
I eventually overcame the phase, and like Razor scooters, two-way pagers and Fubu, I left Pokemon behind in the year 2000.
But Drew Simrin, a Lane Community College student and leader of the Eugene Pokemon League, didn’t abandon it then; in fact, he only grew closer to it.
While Simrin was a fan of Pokemon long before, he wasn’t introduced to the world of the card game until about five or six years ago by a good friend who he described as “the coolest kid ever.”
Simrin’s friend and his friend’s father, Don McIntyre, had both been pretty deep into the card gaming world and ran a league of their own, so they invited Simrin to check out a tournament, where he pretty much tripped and fell in love. He began showing up to Sunday league events and aspired to one day run the league himself.
He got his opportunity, but in the worst way possible: Don McIntyre, the league leader and father of his good friend, tragically passed away.
Don’s son hasn’t played the game as much since his father’s death, only showing up to Sunday league, rather than tournaments or promotions.
So it was up to Simrin, the computer networking major, to keep the torch burning.
Because his father owns Re/Max Integrity, Simrin is allowed to use space within their Village Plaza building every Sunday morning from 10 a.m.-2 p.m. There he sets up camp and does what he can to provide a fun and welcoming environment for all participants.
“I actually put in some of my own money to give out to the kids,” he said.
The Pokemon League sends him match cards to give out to members, and whenever they complete a row of the card (by showing up and competing in matches), Simrin gives members a prize which can be as rewarding as a poster, or a new pack of cards.
Whenever a movie comes out, Simrin and the gang have popcorn and watch it during their Sunday get-togethers, and he walks around serving as a judge/advisor in the midst of gameplay.
He’s like a Pokemon tutor. In fact, to display his knowledge for the card game, Simrin has even passed a test to be granted the status of “Professor of Pokemon.”
One of his prizes for acquiring that stature was a full-on lab jacket — just like Professor Oak.
Geeky? Oh, without question! But there is something touching about a young man who is unifying a bunch of non-conventionalists to celebrate their love for their hobby; get-togethers such as these mean the world to them.
The world of Pokemon is a dysfunctional realm where a miming clown with a speech impediment can perform a mind-crushing psychic attack, a red lizard can have an eternal flame burning on its tail, and a 1,000-pound, morbidly obese bear named Snorlax can be carried in a ball the size of a large apple.
It is a land where sleep is a status ailment, and all of your equipment has the word “Poke” in front of it.
But above all of this, the world of Pokemon brings a small group of determined fans together. Their regional and state championship tournaments still pack the house with about 60 competitors, and the Oregon Pokemon culture is equipped with its own masters and legends, like the man they call Mr. Raichu, or the 8- to 10-year-old prodigy child who just may be the top player in the world.
A Pokemon League emblem shined from the glowing lens of a silver projector onto the wall, giving the once-stale room an aura that would make any Pikachu-lover proud. McClintock, with his eyes glowing like two charged Voltorbs, sharply directed his thick pointer finger toward Winston Churchill High School graduate Alex Mayer and wailed, “I challenge you with your electric deck!” Slightly squeaky voice and all.
“I think I’m gonna be playing it for a really long time,” Simrin said with an air of diffidence in his voice. “Probably for the rest of my life.”
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