When I first began, worto zoned in on me like an eager pidgeon coming home to roost. I climbed to high ground, each step more grueling that the last, hauling three tons of spells like a pack mule, I had to climb so high I was in need of oxygen. Then from the stratosphere, looking out over the grey magic blasted fields, I could scarcely observe my distant opponents, but I was so high I could see the tips of the tangle vines behind which I some how knew my quarry lay hidden, awaiting. The weather was appalling. The rain was borne on a terrible west wind. Down below me appeared to be a shoal of silver sardines, swishing about in the gale. A thought occurred that I should have been at home in my slippers filling my pipe. But why was I there? Because this match played as pure chaos."
It was a win that was conceived in joy and performed at leisure'. Artistry, you see, not the stuff that we get today from Duels, which have hyped the game up as far as it can go.