"When the Sealed Pool Builds Itself: My Reality Fracture Mono-Red Dream."

"When the Sealed Pool Builds Itself: My Reality Fracture Mono-Red Dream."

by: 

Virgilio F. De Leon Jr., MD

When MTG players receive a Prerelease Kit, one of the first questions is always: What exactly am I supposed to build with this?

Sealed Deck is rarely straightforward.

It all depends on what your card pool gives you. Do you have a bomb worth building around? Do you have enough cards to support it? Do you have three or four copies of an important card to give you some consistency? Do you have removal? Ramp? Card draw?

There are a lot of questions to answer before you can even decide what colors you are going to play.

And then, every once in a while, something magical happens.

You open your pool and the cards basically tell you:

“Dude. Just play Red.”

It is a rare event indeed when the bomb you open in your Prerelease Kit—in this case, Curse-Marred Demon—is followed by five other Rares and a Mythic in the same colors.

At that point, there really isn't much of a deck-building debate anymore.

There is only acceptance.

And in this particular Reality Fracture Prerelease Kit, I would have accepted my fate.

This was going to be Mono-Red.

And not just Mono-Red.

It was going to be Mono-Red with an unhealthy amount of burn.

First, we have Samut, Hazoret's Champion, which gives all my creatures haste.

Because apparently my creatures weren't interested in waiting their turn to participate in the violence.

Then there's Master of Barbs.

Now this is where things start getting ridiculous.

Master of Barbs converts all that lovely non-combat damage into a +1/+0 boost for all my creatures. And it already has Menace, which makes it even more annoying to deal with.

So every time I start throwing burn around, my entire team gets bigger.

That means my opponent has a rather unpleasant choice:

Do you want to deal with the creatures, or do you want to deal with the burn?

The correct answer is probably:

Neither.

Unfortunately for them, they don't get to choose.

Then we have Curse-Marred Demon, the card that started this entire madness.

It can come in swinging, but it also has the ability to find the card I need from my deck.

Sure, it is a little more chaotic than its black counterpart because I have to discard a card at random. And yes, there is a certain amount of comedy in tutoring for exactly the card you want, only to have the game immediately respond:

“That's nice. Put it in the graveyard.”

But that's where Stingcaster Mage comes in.

Any instant or sorcery sitting in my graveyard suddenly becomes useful again thanks to flashback.

So that supposedly random discard isn't really much of a drawback.

If anything, my graveyard becomes another hand.

And then there's Ajani's Anguish.

Not only does it burn a target, but it also gives my creatures Trample.

Which, when combined with everything else going on in this deck, starts to look downright rude.

Because then we get to the other massive bomb:

Face Yourself.

A seven-mana sorcery.

Normally, seven mana makes me pause and ask whether something is really worth that investment.

But this?

This is the kind of card where you let your opponent do all the hard work for you.

Let them build their army.

Let them develop their board.

Let them proudly assemble this magnificent collection of creatures.

Then you cast Face Yourself and say:

“Thank you. I'll take that.”

You copy all of them.

And here's the important part:

Those tokens have haste.

So suddenly, that giant army your opponent spent several turns building is now also your army—and apparently your army has places to be.

You could simply attack for lethal.

Or your opponent could try to block.

Except, of course, if Master of Barbs is already doing its thing.

Your creatures have Menace, so suddenly your opponent can't simply throw blockers in front of everything.

And if Ajani's Anguish is already on the battlefield giving those creatures Trample?

Well...

Good luck.

Even creatures that manage to block are not necessarily going to stop the damage from getting through.

At this point, the deck has basically become a complicated mathematical equation whose answer is:

“Your opponent is probably dead.”

Well, well, well.

This sounds like a plan.

A very ridiculous plan.

A very Mono-Red Reality Fracture plan.

The kind of Sealed deck that makes you stare at your pool and think, Surely the universe intended me to play this.

The colors are there.

The bombs are there.

The synergy is there.

The burn is there.

The haste is there.

The Menace is there.

The Trample is there.

And somewhere in the middle of all this nonsense, there is a seven-mana spell waiting to steal an entire army and immediately send it into combat.

It was beautiful.

It was glorious.

It was probably completely unreasonable.

Now, if only I could have actually played this Reality Fracture Prerelease Kit.

I guess we'll never know.

But in my head?

I went undefeated.

"Haste From the Command Zone: Red Samut Wants to Throw Hands."

"Haste From the Command Zone: Red Samut Wants to Throw Hands."

by:

Virgilio F. De leon Jr. MD

Much has been said about the new Blue Samut, the Echoverse version of the original Samut from Amonkhet.

And honestly, I get it.

Split second is all the rage right now.

But then you meet a hasty beef boy who is perfectly willing to punch you in the nose.

And suddenly, you remember that haste is pretty damn good too.

Sure, there are plenty of red creatures that already have haste.

But there are also a ridiculous number of red creatures that don't.

And that is where Red Samut starts getting interesting.

There are other enchantments that can give all your creatures haste, of course.

But having that ability attached to your commander?

That's a completely different story.

You don't have to draw it.

You don't have to tutor for it.

You don't even have to wait for it to show up.

It's sitting there in the Command Zone, waiting for you to cast it and tell your creatures:

“Okay, boys. Let's go.”

Of course, there is Sneak Attack.

That card can already come down on Turn Two and do some truly ridiculous things.

Imagine:

Turn One:

Mountain.

Sol Ring.

Arcane Signet.

Turn Two:

Sneak Attack.

And suddenly, you could be dropping something like Blightsteel Colossus onto the battlefield and potentially taking somebody out before they have even had time to understand what happened.

That's hilarious.

But Sneak Attack comes with a problem.

Eventually, you need something more sustainable.

And that's where I think Samut has a very interesting role.

Imagine having a board full of mana dorks that suddenly have haste.

You don't have to wait a turn before they start producing mana.

You can play them and immediately tap them.

And that can make a huge difference in how quickly your deck gets moving.

Or imagine dropping a surprise Krenko and immediately being able to tap him.

Suddenly, you're not waiting around for your Goblin engine to start.

Samut Goblins.

I actually really like the sound of that.

And that's the thing about haste.

It has so many applications beyond simply attacking immediately.

It lets your mana creatures generate value right away.

It lets tap abilities become immediately relevant.

It lets creatures with powerful activated abilities do their thing the moment they arrive.

And, of course, sometimes you just want your giant red creature to enter the battlefield and immediately punch somebody in the face.

There is something wonderfully simple about that.

So yes, I know Blue Samut is getting a lot of attention right now.

Split second is flashy.

It is powerful.

And I understand why people are excited about it.

But I'm still looking at Red Samut and thinking that having haste from the Command Zone is nothing to sneeze at.

Especially when your deck is filled with creatures that were apparently designed with the words:

“If only this had haste…”

Now they do.

And that opens up a lot of possibilities.

Besides...

This is also my way of consoling myself because I got the Red version instead of the Blue one.

Sorry, Samut.

You're going into the deck.

Now go punch somebody.

"The Merman at the Window."

 "The Merman at the Window."

by:

Virgilio F. De leon Jr. MD

Growing up, there were things that I considered perfectly normal as a child that, now that I am an adult, I occasionally look back on and think:

What the hell was that?

This is one of those stories.

My mother was the eldest in her Pharmacy batch.

Not because she had failed at anything. In fact, she had initially taken up Nursing for three years before she suddenly shifted courses for reasons that, to this day, remain somewhat mysterious to me.

Because she was the oldest in her group, she became the unofficial “Ate” of the bunch.

And I became the group's baby.

So, yes, you could say that from a very early age I was regularly surrounded by a group of good-looking college girls.

I was a lucky kid.

Hahahaha.

One particular trip happened after what I vaguely remember being a particularly brutal final-exam week. Keep in mind that I was a small boy at the time, so I am asking everyone to forgive the gaps in my memory.

The group decided to take a trip to the beaches of Batangas.

One of the women in this group happened to be the daughter of a sitting mayor.

And this was not simply a matter of being the mayor's daughter.

Her father had political enemies who, apparently, were actively trying to kill him or kidnap his children.

So that was the environment in which we found ourselves going on a beach vacation.

We would be staying at a beach house owned by the family.

I don't remember much about the trip there.

What I remember very clearly is the beach house.

It faced the water, and the ocean was literally only a few feet away. You could hear the waves from inside the house.

We arrived at night.

As we entered the white-painted house, I immediately noticed something that, as a child, I thought was wonderful.

There was a wide square pit filled with sand in the middle of the house, with a fire roaring right in the center.

The pit was bordered by the same white wood that covered the exterior of the house.

There were two doors on either side leading to the bedrooms.

My mother and I were assigned to the room on the right.

There was a screened window in the room, and through it I could see trees and a steep sandy slope leading toward the back of the house.

I would later learn that the steep slope wasn't simply part of the landscaping.

It was designed that way for defense.

That should probably have been my first clue that this was not going to be an ordinary beach vacation.

The second clue should have been the men with guns.

I remember there being six or seven of them.

Some were sitting near the fire, keeping an eye on the screened doors that faced the ocean.

The ocean was dark, but apparently not dark enough to prevent them from watching it.

Others were standing outside, keeping guard.

As a child, I didn't think much of this.

Apparently, this was simply what a beach vacation looked like when your friend was the daughter of a mayor with political enemies.

At one point, some of the girls—my Titas, as I called them—wanted to go swimming in the ocean at night.

The tallest of the men, whose name I never really caught, immediately forbade them from doing so.

They argued a little.

He remained firm.

Looking back, I now realize that the man was probably not being overly cautious.

He was genuinely concerned.

The adults understood something that I didn't.

As a child, I simply thought:

Why can't the girls go swimming?

So everyone eventually stayed inside.

We sat around the fire and ate together.

For a little while, everything was peaceful.

Then one of the men went inside.

And suddenly, everything changed.

We were hurried into our rooms.

There was urgency in the way the adults moved.

The mayor's daughter obediently went into her room.

My mother pulled me into ours.

Then the lights went out.

I remember sitting there with my mother, staring through the screened window.

And then we heard it.

Gunfire.

There was shouting outside.

Commands.

People yelling:

“Doon! Doon!”

“Dali! Dito!”

People were running.

Then I heard something strange.

Sand was falling near our window.

And that was when I saw it.

Even after all these years, the image remains remarkably clear in my memory.

There was a green humanoid figure outside our window.

It had what looked like gills along its neck.

It had somehow made its way up the sandy slope and was standing near our room.

It looked toward us.

My mother grabbed me even tighter.

I remember being terrified.

But the creature didn't seem interested in us.

It simply looked at us for a moment and then ran past the window.

A bodyguard immediately followed.

There were several gunshots.

And then it was over.

At least, that's how I remember it.

The entire thing probably lasted only a few minutes.

When you're a child, a few minutes can feel like an entire lifetime.

Eventually, we were allowed to come out of the room.

My mother was furious.

She was particularly angry at the mayor's daughter for bringing us into what was obviously a dangerous situation.

My mother wanted to leave immediately.

She wanted to go home.

The adults eventually persuaded her to wait until the following morning.

I think we eventually left later that day.

One of the things I remember from the following day was going to a local perya, where I saw a bearded woman.

Apparently, after surviving a possible assassination attempt involving a green humanoid, my childhood brain was perfectly prepared to accept a bearded woman as normal entertainment.

As for the supposed merman—or whatever it was—we were eventually given an explanation.

The bodyguards said the people who had approached the house were actually men wearing diving equipment.

Apparently, they had been trying to get to the mayor's daughter.

And they had been dealt with accordingly.

I was never entirely sure what “dealt with accordingly” meant.

As an adult, I can make a much more reasonable interpretation of what probably happened that night.

But there is still a part of my childhood brain that remembers something very different.

A green figure.

Gills.

A dark beach.

A window.

And a man—or creature—running past us while armed bodyguards chased after him.

Maybe it really was a man wearing diving equipment.

Maybe my childhood imagination added the green skin and gills.

Maybe the darkness distorted what I saw.

I don't know.

But there is something else that makes the memory even stranger.

For some reason, my mother would bring up this story whenever we went to Batangas during my teenage years.

She would tell it as if it were just another family story.

And I would sit there thinking:

“Mom, you realize there was a gunfight at that beach house, right?”

But perhaps that is one of the strange things about childhood.

We don't always understand the danger surrounding us.

We simply remember the details that our young minds were capable of processing.

For me, it was the fire in the middle of the house.

The ocean just outside.

The armed men.

The darkened windows.

The shouting.

The sand falling beside us.

And most of all…

the merman at the window.

Whatever he really was.

And whatever happened that night, I think one thing is safe to say:

Whether he was a man in diving gear or an actual merman, he was definitely not supposed to be there.

“What I Remember About College Entrance Exams Has Almost Nothing to Do With the Exams”

“What I Remember About College Entrance Exams Has Almost Nothing to Do With the Exams”

by:

Virgilio F. De leon Jr. MD

My wife and I recently found ourselves talking about college applications.

There are parents who simply don't have the luxury of having their children apply to several schools. Applications can be expensive, entrance exams take time, and sometimes you have to be practical about where you send your child.

And then there was my Mom.

My mother encouraged me to apply to all the Tier One schools—and then some.

Looking back, I realize she wasn't really interested in limiting my choices. She wanted me to see what was possible and give myself as many opportunities as I could.

Of course, when my wife and I started talking about college applications, it brought back memories of the entrance exams I took for schools I ultimately didn't end up attending.

And apparently, those memories have survived much better than the actual examination questions.

1. The Bathroom That Didn't Seem Like a Bathroom

My Mom took her master's degree at the Philippine Women's University in Manila, so naturally she encouraged me to take the entrance examination there.

During one of our breaks, I discovered something that immediately made me aware of just how much of a women's institution it really was.

I needed to use the restroom.

I asked where the men's bathroom was.

They pointed me toward something that I can only describe as a storage closet with a urinal.

I stood there thinking:

“This is the men's bathroom?”

Meanwhile, the women's restroom seemed to be this large, spacious facility.

The disparity was so obvious that it became one of the things I remembered most about the entire entrance examination.

To be fair, this was about three and a half decades ago, so I have absolutely no idea what the facilities are like there now.

I sincerely hope the men have graduated from the storage closet.

2. The Day I Discovered I Was Not Conyo Enough

I remember taking the La Salle entrance examination and apparently making an impression on quite a few people there.

During the break, I was invited to lunch by a group of students.

A lot of them wanted to go to the newly opened Kenny Rogers Roasters near the LRT station.

I had other plans.

I told them I was going to a place called Scotts.

Someone in the group, who looked like he had absolutely no business knowing what Scotts was, suddenly said:

“Uhm, yeah. I heard they have great burgers.”

And I thought:

Oh no.

Because, yes, I loved Scotts.

But not because of some sophisticated appreciation for its burgers.

I loved Scotts because they had buy-one-take-one.

That was my level of culinary sophistication at the time.

Needless to say, I did not make any more conyo friends after lunch.

I had apparently wandered into a different socioeconomic universe and exposed myself entirely by explaining that my restaurant preference was based on mathematics.

Two burgers for the price of one.

That was the deal.

3. The UPCAT and the Great Chips Ahoy Incident

Then there was the UPCAT.

That was probably the most important entrance examination I took.

And I came prepared.

My baon consisted of Striped Chips Ahoy and Coke in cans.

I have always been a fast test taker.

I answer everything I know first, go back to the questions I couldn't answer immediately, check everything one final time, and then pass my paper.

This usually resulted in me finishing about thirty minutes ahead of time.

During the UPCAT, we weren't allowed to leave the classroom during the break, so I was allowed to take my break at the back of the room.

All I wanted was to eat in peace.

That was apparently too much to ask.

My Coke had been shaken a little during the ride to UP.

I opened the can.

PSSSSSSSSSSSSS!

The Coke fizzed.

And suddenly, I could feel every pair of eyes in the classroom looking directly at me.

Not curiosity.

Not amusement.

Hatred.

Pure, concentrated hatred.

I mouthed:

“Sorry.”

Then came the Chips Ahoy.

I started peeling the plastic wrapping as quietly as I could.

Unfortunately, the plastic apparently had other plans.

CRINKLE. CRINKLE. CRINKLE.

More heads turned.

More eyes.

More judgment.

I mouthed another:

“Sorry.”

Then I tried to get another cookie.

Naturally, I attempted to do it more slowly and carefully.

This somehow made the plastic produce even more noise.

At that point, I was no longer eating cookies.

I was conducting a percussion performance.

I'm still not sure whether I caused anyone to fail the UPCAT that day.

I'm sure everyone was nervous enough already.

So, to everyone who was in that room with me:

I'm sorry.

But I did enjoy my break.

Daddy Lore

What's funny is that I don't remember most of the questions from those entrance examinations.

I don't remember what exact subjects came out.

I don't remember which questions were particularly difficult.

I don't even remember most of the rooms.

But I remember the bathroom.

I remember the burgers.

And I definitely remember the Coke and Chips Ahoy.

These are the things that somehow survived all these years.

And now I get to tell these stories to my wife and daughter.

They call them Daddy Lore.

I suppose that's what happens to memories as you get older.

The things that seemed important at the time slowly disappear.

The things that were completely insignificant somehow become family history.

I was trying to get into college.

My mother was trying to make sure I had every opportunity.

And somewhere along the way, I apparently became the guy who almost weaponized a can of Coke and a package of Chips Ahoy against an entire UPCAT classroom.

Honestly?

That's probably a much better story.

"Bloodline Recollector: Apparently I’m Reading a Different Card."

 "Bloodline Recollector: Apparently I’m Reading a Different Card."

by:

Virgilio F. De leon Jr. MD

Most of the time, I just listen to MTG influencers.

I find many of them amusing, and I don't really get into arguments with them on X or Twitter, or jump into comment wars, because they each have their own way of presenting cards and their own particular takes on the game.

That's part of what makes Magic content fun.

But every once in a while, I'll hear something that makes me stop and think:

“Wait… what?”

It baffles me when an influencer calls a card “mediocre” and then compares it to another card as if the comparison completely settles the argument.

I'm never quite sure whether they're deliberately rage-baiting players into reacting or whether they genuinely believe that the card is mediocre.

Case in point:

Bloodline Recollector.

Apparently, some people are disappointed that this is one of the headliners of Reality Fracture.

Some have even compared it to what people are calling its Multiverse counterpart, Emeritus of Ideation.

And apparently, some influencers believe the five-mana Emeritus of Ideation is simply the better card.

I'm sorry.

Did we read the same Bloodline Recollector?

Because if you haven't looked closely at what this card actually does, let me walk through one particularly ridiculous possibility.

You can literally cast Dark Ritual, use the mana to cast Bloodline Recollector, and because it is already prepared, you can immediately use the Ancestral Cravings attached to it.

On Turn One.

You draw three cards.

You lose three life.

And you can do it to a target player.

At instant speed.

So I'm sitting here wondering:

How exactly is Emeritus of Ideation better?

For one thing, Bloodline Recollector can fit into a whole range of Vampire decks.

And in colors that have some of the best ways of killing creatures in the game, getting three creatures to die in a turn doesn't exactly sound impossible.

Once that happens, Bloodline Recollector can be prepared again.

And then you get to do it again.

And again.

And again.

Sure, Emeritus of Ideation doesn't make you lose life.

I'll give you that.

But I don't think the life loss is necessarily a drawback when we're talking about Ancestral Cravings.

Because Bloodline Recollector doesn't just let you draw three cards.

You can also make an opponent draw three cards and lose three life at instant speed.

And suddenly, the life loss becomes part of the weapon.

Especially in a deck that is already good at whittling down an opponent's life total, three cards and three life could potentially be the last nail in the coffin.

It also reminds me of an older era of Magic, when cards like Ancient Craving and Sign in Blood could actually become lethal because drawing those cards wasn't necessarily a gift.

Sometimes the last three cards you draw are the last three points of life you're going to lose.

And that is what I think people are overlooking with Bloodline Recollector.

They're looking at it as another card-drawing creature.

I'm looking at it and thinking:

“How many ways can I abuse this?”

That's a very different question.

So, yes, I honestly don't know what that particular influencer was thinking that day.

Maybe it was rage bait.

Maybe they weren't in the mood to make content.

Maybe they simply evaluated the card differently.

And that's perfectly fine.

Magic is a game where reasonable people can look at the same card and reach completely different conclusions.

But on this one, I have to politely disagree.

Bloodline Recollector deserves to be a headliner.

Even if Reality Fracture has a whole lot more going on.

And if someone wants to call this card mediocre, that's fine.

I'll just be over here casting Dark Ritual on Turn One.

Draw three.

"Avacyn, Angel of Horror: Undying Was Apparently Too Fair."

"Avacyn, Angel of Horror: Undying Was Apparently Too Fair."

by:

Virgilio F. De leon Jr. MD

I have to admit that I am an old soul.

I was around when Magic: The Gathering first came to the Philippines in 1995. I wouldn't actually get into the game until much later—around the time of 8th Edition—but I was already watching what was happening in the game.

And some of the things I saw happening in Legacy were absolutely brutal.

One of the plays that stuck with me was the classic:

Dark Ritual → Entomb → Exhume.

And suddenly, on Turn One, there was an Akroma staring you down.

At the time, that was one of the nastiest things you could do.

The plan didn't stop there.

You could keep reanimating creatures like Iona to completely shut down a particular color, and eventually bring back Avacyn to make your permanents indestructible.

All of this could happen for a surprisingly small amount of mana.

That was perfectly fine in 60-card formats where you could build your deck specifically around making those plays happen.

But once Commander entered the picture, things became a little different.

If you wanted to reanimate some of those legendary creatures, you also had to deal with your commander's color identity.

Which brings me to Avacyn, Angel of Horror.

This might just be one of those creatures that is absolutely begging to be reanimated.

Sure, she costs eight mana.

But black reanimator decks don't necessarily care about that.

They simply look at an eight-mana creature and say:

“Oh, that's going into the graveyard eventually.”

And if you happen to have your reanimation spell ready?

Well…

Why wait?

An 8/8 flying creature with deathtouch is already pretty nasty.

But it is Avacyn's ability that really gets me excited.

If Avacyn or another nontoken creature you control dies, you get to return that card to the battlefield at the beginning of the next end step.

Just picture this.

You sacrifice something like Blood Pet for mana.

Then you sacrifice Fleshbag Marauder, which probably takes one of your opponent's creatures along with it.

Now those creatures aren't simply sitting in your graveyard.

At the beginning of the next end step, they come right back.

And suddenly you get to use them again.

Well damn.

In a Meren of Clan Nel Toth deck, this gets even more ridiculous.

Think about all those experience counters you're generating while sacrificing creatures.

Now imagine having creatures that can repeatedly sacrifice themselves, return to the battlefield, trigger their enters-the-battlefield abilities, and then get sacrificed again.

Over.

And over.

And over.

You just need to protect Avacyn.

Because as long as Avacyn stays on the battlefield, your graveyard has effectively become a revolving door.

In some ways, this feels like an upgraded version of Undying, a mechanic from the original Innistrad era.

Undying lets a creature come back once after it dies.

Avacyn doesn't seem particularly interested in limiting herself to one trip.

As long as she remains alive, your creatures can keep coming back.

And the really interesting part is that they don't necessarily have to return on your turn.

They can come back at the beginning of the next end step.

Which means you can sacrifice a creature during your turn, get it back at your end step, and then have it available again for the next round of nonsense.

Imagine doing this for three turns.

Your opponents aren't simply dealing with the same creatures over and over.

They're dealing with their enters-the-battlefield abilities over and over.

Spirited Companion can keep drawing you cards.

Solemn Simulacrum can keep finding you lands.

Fleshbag Marauder can keep forcing sacrifices.

And creatures that generate value when they enter the battlefield suddenly become repeatable engines instead of one-shot effects.

That is where Avacyn starts becoming really scary.

You're not simply reanimating creatures.

You're repeatedly reusing the best parts of your creatures.

And that's exactly the kind of thing a graveyard-loving Commander player wants to hear.

So yes, I think Avacyn, Angel of Horror is going into one of my Orzhov Reanimator decks.

Because apparently, in my version of Magic, death is no longer a permanent condition.

It is merely a scheduling issue.

And if Avacyn is around, apparently the graveyard has office hours.

(Insert maniacal laughter here.)

“I Admit It: I Love Watching MMDA Clearing Operations”

 “I Admit It: I Love Watching MMDA Clearing Operations”

by:

Virgilio F. De leon Jr. MD

There are probably many things a normal, well-adjusted adult should enjoy watching.

A good movie.

A beautiful sunset.

A sporting event.

Perhaps even a documentary about something educational.

Me?

I enjoy watching MMDA clearing operations.

I admit it.

There is something deeply satisfying about watching a tow truck arrive for a vehicle that has been illegally parked.

I know that sounds terrible.

But hear me out.

There is a particular kind of satisfaction that comes from seeing a rule actually being enforced in real time.

You see a car parked where it should not be. Traffic is already suffering because of it. Then, eventually, the MMDA arrives.

The tow truck appears.

And suddenly, the owner comes running.

That is when the entertainment begins.

Suddenly, the person who was perfectly comfortable leaving the vehicle wherever they wanted becomes very interested in explaining why the rules should not apply to them.

“I'll only be here for a few minutes.”

“I was just buying something.”

“May I explain?”

And, my personal favorite:

“Kilala ko si Mayor.”

Sometimes it is not the mayor.

Sometimes it is somebody from the barangay.

Sometimes it is somebody who supposedly knows somebody who knows somebody.

There always seems to be a mysterious connection somewhere.

And yet the tow truck remains.

That, for me, is the beautiful part.

Because the tow truck does not care who you know.

It does not care about your position.

It does not care about your explanation.

It is simply there to do its job.

And when the vehicle finally gets hooked up, there is this strange moment when the entire argument suddenly becomes much less philosophical.

The car is moving.

The law has been applied.

And everybody watching understands exactly what happened.

I think that is what I actually enjoy about these clearing operations.

It is not really about seeing someone suffer a consequence.

It is about seeing something that often feels absent from everyday life:

Accountability.

We encounter small violations everywhere. People park on sidewalks. They block intersections. They occupy spaces meant for pedestrians. They stop wherever it is convenient for them and expect everyone else to adjust.

And most of the time, nothing happens.

So when something finally does happen, it feels almost cathartic.

Of course, watching these operations also reminds me that there is another side to it.

These confrontations can become ugly very quickly.

People get angry.

Enforcers get shouted at.

Drivers become defensive.

Somebody inevitably starts recording.

Someone else starts invoking connections.

And before long, what began as a simple traffic violation becomes a full-blown argument about authority, privilege, respect, and who supposedly has the right to tell whom what to do.

That part is not particularly entertaining.

It is exhausting.

Which is probably why I have learned that this particular guilty pleasure is best consumed in moderation.

Still, I cannot deny it.

There is something satisfying about watching a tow truck arrive at exactly the right moment.

Especially when the person who parked illegally suddenly discovers that they have a very important phone call to make.

Maybe that makes me petty.

Maybe it makes me a terrible person.

Or maybe, after spending years watching people bend rules because they assume there will never be consequences, there is simply something reassuring about seeing a system occasionally work exactly as it is supposed to.

No shouting.

No connections.

No special treatment.

Just a tow truck.

And a very expensive lesson in parking properly.

I admit it.

I love watching MMDA clearing operations.

Just don't ask me to explain why.

I might have to call someone.

Preferably someone who knows the tow truck driver.