The mammoth trophy sits on my cluttered workbench after its recent repair work. Take a look at the paint bottles in the background for a sense of the thing's gargantuan scale.

Dictionary.com offers two definitions for the word “memento.” First, there’s “an object or item that serves to remind one of a person, past event, etc.; keepsake; souvenir.” The second is “anything serving as a reminder or warning.” I recently came across an item from my past that embodies both definitions perfectly.

It’s a massive trophy, the most impressive I’ve ever won, that was award to me as the champion of the 2002 LWGA (our local GW group at the time) 4Warhammer 0k season tournament. This event ran for several months, and consisted of a long series of battles between various players with various armies using different scenarios and it culminated with single elimination bracket-style play among the season’s top players to determine the overall champion.

At the time I was extremely passionate about 40k, one might even say I was obsessed in the classical Ahab/White Whale sense. I obsessively studied the rules (which were the unbelievably shoddy and contradictory 3^rd ed) and vehemently argued about them on the local mailing list. I spent a mountain of money on two (almost three) massive 40k armies, rulebooks, and ancillary gear like paint, brushes, and glue.

The LWGA was an extremely cliquish group, much moreso than I recognized when I first joined up, and I quickly ended up on the outs with the main organizer and his group of toadies. At this distance in time I can’t quite remember the cause of our feud, but I’ll wager it was something trivial and stupid. Suffice it to say that at the time I hated “Mr. C” and his minions with the white-hot fire of a thousand blazing suns. What can I say, I was a lot younger then…

Anyway, I suspect that one of my unforgivable sins was being extremely good at 40k, much better than Mr.C and all but a couple of his cronies. In those days a game of 40k was usually won or lost during the army selection phase. If you constructed a list that applied your army’s strengths against your opponent’s weaknesses better than he did the reverse to you, you would win just about every time barring the occasional intervention of the Gods of Dice.

I spent an absurd amount of time between games meticulously analyzing my upcoming opponent’s army list and constructing the perfect counter-list. I don’t know if I was the only one who bothered to do this or if I was just the best at it for whatever reason, but just about every time I headed down to the local game shop for a league match I was flabbergasted by the foolish choices and terrible tactical play of my opponents. Some of these guys had been playing for years, far longer than I had, and I often mopped the floor with them. I tried not to be a jerk about it, but I’m sure my win-loss record bred resentment.

The disgruntled naturally took to the local mailing list to grouse about how unbalanced and “cheesy” my army list was, this being the style at the time. I engaged in many virulent and utterly pointless flamewars over the relative “beardiness” of the Eldar vis a vie various other 40k factions. I did find it illustrative that in all my time with the LWGA I saw only two or three other players use the Eldar, with uniformly disastrous results.

My point is that when I look at the trophy today I remember with relish my utter dominance of the 40k battlefield that year. I recall with a special glow the moment that Mr.C had to present the championship trophy to me and shake my hand in front of everybody. I may never experience such a pure moment of triumph over a rival again. I will always treasure that moment, and don’t regret all the time and effort I expended to make it possible.

At the same time, though, I look back on the obsession and hatred that were so much a part of my relationship with 40k in general and the LWGA in particular and I feel a bit ashamed that I let myself become so emotionally invested in petty squabbles over a tabletop game. I think about the level of fanaticism I was willing to commit to the game and I’m utterly baffled by it. It’s like a chapter of somebody else’s life that I watched or read about.

I’m grateful that I have the trophy as a reminder of a colorful, intense time in my life. But just as it commemorates my successes on the battlefield, it also serves as both reminder and warning to beware of my darker side. I’m a much more relaxed competitor these days, and I’m a better man for it. But should I be tempted down the dark path again I hope the shining gold griffon of my 40k trophy will help me stay my new, far healthier course.

In taking the photo for this post I just noticed that Mr.C did a terrible slapdash job attaching the nameplate to the statue. Since he and his cronies were well out of the running, I guess he just didn’t feel like putting much effort into finishing the trophy properly. Thanks a lot, jerk.

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