C
“Go!” Curtis Swick shouts at his opponent, Haley Bowman, who he thinks is taking too long to make her move. He stares at her as she lays one of her best Pokemon cards on the table.
“Dang it!” He yells.
Swick bangs his fists on the table, rattling the game-piece containers.
Swick and Bowman are playing Pokemon TCG. Swick attends league nights like this at least four times a week.
Saturday nights are spent at Hero Comics, a small rectangular building nestled into a west Phoenix strip mall that is crammed with rows of comic books. On this night, the smell of sweat mixes with the aroma of ink and paper.
It is Swick’s turn again. He picks up a card from his deck.
Swick has played Pokemon TCG for seven years — half his life. Earlier this year, Swick competed at the World Tournament in Vancouver, British Columbia, Canada. He placed 86th out of 146 players.
He’s determined to do better this season.
He spends all of his free time at league nights battling other championship hopefuls to gear up for the 2014 season. The regional tournament at the Phoenix Convention Center is just around the corner.
His opponent tonight, 22-year-old Bowman, is wearing oval eyeglasses and an oversize jacket. She watches as Swick purses his lips over his braces while he decides which card to play.
Occasionally, the “pssss, click” of soda cans opening can be heard at tables throughout the room. A small gray Samsung television is mounted on a wall behind the cash register. On it, the movie “Thor” can barely be heard over the commotion at the tables.
Swick can’t seem to keep still. He fiddles with his cards, gathering them into a stack and then fanning them out in his hands. He glances up at the TV every now and then during his games to catch a glimpse of the movie.
“I’ll be right back,” Swick tells Bowman. “I need a cookie.” He bolts out of his seat and winds his gangly body through the maze of chairs.
“Aw, man,” he says, after returning, looking into the package of peanut butter cookies. “My cookies are all messed up.” His friends laugh as he shows them the bag full of crumbled cookies. He cups the bag in one hand, forms a makeshift claw with his index finger and thumb, and carefully grabs the cookie fragments.
“Do you want to play another game?” Bowman asks.
“Sure, but I’m going first this time,” Swick responds. He sets down his cookies and reaches for his deck. The “braaaaap” of his shuffling is louder than normal because of the plastic sleeves Swick puts on his Pokemon cards to keep them in mint condition.
Typical teenage acne peeks out from under his hair. Habitually, he jerks his head to the right, perfectly positioning his long brown hair over his forehead. Swick’s friends call it “Justin Bieber hair.”
He glances up to watch “Thor” again. A movie character takes off his shirt, revealing large muscles and defined abs. Swick points to his own stomach and shouts, “Hey, that’s what my body looks like!”
Three more turns go by.
The game is getting serious now; he cracks his knuckles.
Bowman winces at the sound.
Swick reaches for his cookies and uncovers a piece that hasn’t been crushed like the others. Instead of savoring the last of his peanut butter snack, he opens his mouth as wide as it will go and shoves the cookie in.
And just like that, Swick lays down his last card. With a mouthful of cookie, he defeats his opponent.
*****
Pokemon, short for Pocket Monsters, first emerged in Japan in 1996 as a video game. With increasing popularity, Pokemon surfaced in the United States two years later and eventually captured the hearts — and wallets — of families across the world.
It took Satoshi Tajiri six years to create Pokemon. The game transformed from a fad into a pop culture phenomenon.
Beyond the video game, Pokemon has been made into comic books, websites, magazines, clubs, leagues, CDs, books, feature-length movies, an animated television series and the trading cards that Swick can’t get enough of.
The Pokemon characters themselves have become childhood icons, perhaps the most recognizable being Pikachu. Time magazine named the adorable yellow mouselike creature with a lightning-bolt tail the most influential animated character since Hello Kitty in 1999, when they featured Pikachu on the cover.
Now, more than 15 years later, Pokemon has become a multimedia empire at the forefront of the trading card game industry. Rob Novickas, the public relations and consumer marketing manager for Pokemon Company International, said that in 2012 the brand sold $1.6 billion in retail.
The trading card game flourishes in a hidden world. Every year, there are 29 national tournaments in addition to city, state and regional tournaments. One annual world tournament matches players in either the video or trading card game.
Pokemon TCG, which Swick plays, is based on the popular Pokemon video game series. The TCG combines collectible trading cards with luck and strategy.
Since the game’s inception, more than 20 billion Pokemon TCG cards have been shipped to 74 countries, Novickas said. To keep up with the always-evolving entertainment business, Pokemon Company International, which manages the production and sales of the TCG outside of Asia, created an online version of the game in which players can perfect their skills against a computer or another player. To keep its status as a worldwide leader in the trading card game industry, Pokemon Company International continues to entice the game’s many devoted fans with new card expansions four times a year. Today, there are more than 600 Pokemon characters.
Pokemon expert Joseph Lugo, a tournament judge, league organizer and Pokemon professor who lives in Phoenix, has been to every world tournament since 2004. To him, the TCG is much more difficult than people think. The game can unfold many different ways but follows some basic rules.
The TCG is a two-player game in which each player has a deck of 60 cards. Many players use play mats, made of the same material as mouse pads, to set their cards on during game play. The players, referred to as trainers, take turns attacking each other’s Pokemon using various specialty cards — items, energies, supporters, stadiums, tools and technical machines.
There are three ways to win: collect all of the prize cards, knock out all of the opponent’s in-play Pokemon or force the opponent into a place where he or she can’t draw a card at the start of a turn.
A Pokemon addict since the game originated, Lugo can recite every card and its accompanying stats from memory.
In order to achieve the title of professor, one must pass an exam administered by Pokemon Company International that tests knowledge of game mechanics, card rulings and the organized-play procedures. Along with judging at tournaments, many Pokemon professors also organize tournaments, lead leagues and contribute to the organization, execution and marketing of Pokemon TCG events.
According to Lugo, Arizona has a thriving TCG community. Every week, dozens of comic book shops across the Valley host Pokemon leagues, where veterans and newcomers alike gather and battle fellow players.
In these small rooms packed with folding chairs and plastic tables, players enter for free in order to sharpen their craft. On league nights, trainers perfect their decks, receive advice from other trainers, trade or buy new cards and practice for upcoming qualifiers.
Players say what sets Pokemon apart from its counterparts, such as Yu-Gi-Oh! and Magic: The Gathering, is the community. Members welcome anybody who wants to delve into the Pokemon world. Lugo says the game isn’t about winning; it’s about having fun and making lifelong friends.
*****
Swick grips the handle of the refrigerator in his parents’ kitchen in west Phoenix. His eyes light up as he pulls open the door.
It is time for Swick to make his “favorite thing in the whole wide world”: a tall, ice-cold glass of chocolate milk. Two boisterous pugs, Belle and Taffy, race past Swick’s feet as he makes his way to the living room couch.
He has lived all his life in this quiet house in this quiet suburb. He has always slept in the same room. He chugs his chocolate milk where he’s always opened Christmas presents. Now, he’s texting girls in the same place he took his first steps.
Down the street is North Pointe Preparatory, which Swick, now a ninth-grader, has attended since seventh grade. He’s learned to juggle advanced placement courses, band practice, studying and household chores while trying to become the Pokemon World Champion.
Swick recalls his first memory of Pokemon like it was yesterday.
“In 2005, my grandparents took me to Pokemon Rocks America,” he says. Pokemon Rocks America was a mid-2000s tour that featured Pokemon-related games, activities and merchandise. Since then, Swick has been hooked on Pokemon.
His mother, Valerie Swick, remembers him coming home from the Pokemon tour and begging her to let him start playing the game.
“I found a league near the house at Metrocenter mall, and I would drop him off and walk around the stores with my daughter until he was done,” Valerie Swick says.
Swick’s father, Rich, a maintenance worker for the Deer Valley Unified School District, and older sister, August, 16, have always been supportive of his Pokemon obsession, often traveling to out-of-state tournaments with him on improvised family vacations.
Although Swick loves the game, he is a little leery when it comes to telling people about his hobby.
“I love Pokemon, everything from the atmosphere to the friends I’ve made over the past seven years,” Swick says. But he worries about fitting in. “Pokemon is kind of weird. A lot of people assume it’s just for little kids.” He doesn’t let his mom tag him on Facebook when they go to Pokemon tournaments because he doesn’t want his friends to know where he is.
“I’m not ashamed; I just keep it on the down-low. I don’t tell that many people that I play Pokemon,” he says.
Swick says his classmates describe him as a class clown who isn’t afraid to speak his mind. In fact, he takes pride in being “weird” and labels himself a “cool nerd.” Constantly flipping his long brown hair across his forehead, the self-proclaimed “chick magnet” says he is most proud of his hair.
Swick’s room is painted a bright canary yellow, but he tacks a dark blanket over the window so no light can get in. On top of the entertainment center that houses his beloved Xbox game console, which he plays every day, sit the dozens of trophies, plaques and medals Swick has won during his Pokemon career. Since 2006, when he won his first regional championship in New Mexico, Swick has been to dozens of tournaments and regionals.
When he’s not battling other players at league nights or out-of-state tournaments, he’s a normal high school freshman. He sleeps in late, plays video games until the early hours of the morning with his friends and hides in his room when it’s time to do the dishes.
Swick isn’t the only family member who caught the Pokemon “bug.” His mother, Valerie, is involved in the Pokemon community and is as obsessed with the game as her son.
Along with being a college professor at Gateway Community College, Valerie Swick is also a Pokemon professor, like Lugo.
She is the coordinator of several Pokemon leagues in west Phoenix, and her son plays at all of them. Located in the front room of the Swick house is a “Pokemon room,” where several overstuffed bookshelves and boxes hold Valerie Swick’s collection of almost every Pokemon card ever made, many of them extremely rare. In every nook and cranny is some sort of Pokemon artifact — deck boxes, Pikachu and other character figurines, starter packs. Even the fridge is adorned with Pokemon magnets that are so old that Curtis Swick doesn’t even remember how long they’ve been there.
While Swick is in the middle of the action at league nights, battling other trainers and gearing up for tournaments, his mother is often behind the scenes, talking to the parents of league members or helping newcomers get started in the Pokemon TCG community. The Swicks have given away countless cards and game accessories to players, and they regularly give rides to those in need to and from leagues and competitions.
Swick met his best friend, Kyle Krueger, 23, three years ago at a league night. Swick says Krueger is the person who knows him best.
“Even though he is older than me, he took me under his wing. I really look up to him, and I go to him for advice about Pokemon and girls,” Swick says.
He also met his first girlfriend through Pokemon. But they broke up after she beat him twice at a tournament. “Yeah, let’s not talk about her,” Swick says.
*****
The big day has arrived. It is Swick’s chance to win the regional tournament, which will bring him one step closer to the world championship.
From across the U.S., 285 players have gathered at the Phoenix Convention Center to compete, gain player points and hang out with friends.
Swick has been up since 4:30. His mom has to teach a class, so he hitches a ride with his Krueger and Bowman, who is Krueger’s fiancee. Krueger and Bowman will judge the tournament rather than compete, so the three arrive early. To add to the stress, Swick is now old enough to compete in the master’s division, the highest bracket of play in the tournament system.
Swick doesn’t know what to expect.
The atmosphere at the convention center is much different from that of the league nights. The competition room is many times bigger than entire comic book shops that Swick is accustomed to. Against the dark carpeting, rows of white tables stretch across the room like the lines of a cotton field.
Swick sits at table 57. Despite the unfamiliar and tense surroundings, his actions are no different than usual. He sits on the edge of his seat; his foot taps on the ground as he fiddles with his cards. Bowman oversees a match a few tables down, luckily out of earshot when Swick cracks his knuckles in between plays.
Lugo and his bright blue hair can be spotted near the judge’s table. Krueger looks on from a distance, glancing over to Swick’s match when he has a free moment. Even though Swick is playing with a deck specially designed by Krueger, he falters.
He isn’t in his “Pokemon zone.” Instead of showing off his cherished hairdo, he conceals it with a Chicago Bulls hat. He hasn’t even eaten a proper breakfast. After arriving at the convention center, he resorted to purchasing his “meal” out of a vending machine.
Swick has already tallied two losses.
“Will Curtis Swick please come up to the judges’ table? I repeat, Curtis Swick, please come up to the judges’ table,” a voice booms.
“Oooh, someone’s in trouble!” someone says.
Swick’s eyes go wide. He clenches the straps of his backpack as he makes his way to the front of the vast room.
Swick reaches the front desk. A judge, wearing a royal purple shirt adorned with a tournament logo, informs him that he walked away from the table prematurely after getting defeated.
“I know you were mad from losing, but you need to stay there so a judge can come verify the results, OK?” she says.
“Yes, I lost. I’m sorry,” Swick blurts out.
He turns to his group of buddies, lamenting: “I thought I had that round! There was nothing else really that the guy could do. My cards were good, and I had everything that I needed to win. And then he got lucky and pulled the one card he needed to beat me.”
Swick goes on to lose three more rounds, making his record at regionals three wins and five losses — not nearly as well as he wanted to perform. His dream of the world championship is still in reach, but he now has to work harder to obtain enough championship points.
“I was very tired and not prepared. I was hungry and wasn’t in the right mindset to win,” he said.
Although he did not perform as expected, Swick is driven and said he isn’t going to let regionals affect the rest of the season.
His mother said he has to practice more, and with the same deck, instead of taking a new deck the morning of the competition and just going with it.
Krueger told Swick he couldn’t agree more, noting that the person who won the world championship has been using the same deck for two years without changing it.
“To do well, you have to be comfortable with your deck,” Krueger said.
Swick won’t give up. “For the next tournament, I just need to practice more. There’s so much schoolwork, and a lot of my time is dedicated to percussion now. I don’t have as much time,” he said. “But I’ll try to make time for Pokemon as much as I can.”
*****
It’s the Friday after regionals and the humiliating defeat.
Swick pulls his play mat out of the bottom of his bag and plops it on the table at Jesse James Comics in Glendale. Swick digs through his belongings and sets his deck box next to him. Krueger, who sits next to Swick, has the same one. They bought it together at the World Tournament in Vancouver, except Krueger’s still looks brand new, while Swick’s is faded and scratched.
Valerie Swick is in the corner, helping a league newcomer get started. She explains the rules of the game and how a deck is formed and even supplies her with some cards to get her going.
The room is much smaller than other league rooms. It’s in a separate room, off from the main building of the comic shop. The door is propped open to circulate the stuffy air.
“Guys! Quiet down, you’re getting way too loud,” Valerie Swick says.
After two hours of play and two more noise-level warnings, parents arrive to pick up their kids. Those old enough to drive pack up their stuff and head home. Before leaving, the trainers be sure to tell Valerie Swick how many games they played that night so she can log them in her league leader book.
Swick, Bowman and Krueger help pack up the room. When Swick’s mom asks him to carry the biggest bag out to the car, Swick jokes it’s because he’s the strongest person there. The rest of the season is a big unknown for Swick. He still wants to be a champion, but as he grows up, other interests pull him away from practice. He’s just been accepted into his school’s performance percussion team.
Before leaving the shop, Swick asks his mom for money so he can go to the movies with his friends; they want to see “Bad Grandpa.” She hands him a wad of cash. He jumps into the backseat of Krueger’s car, and they drive off.
Contact the reporter at afooter@asu.edu
