The three of us sat at the bar in the basement. We were underemployed and still fresh from high school, directionless, and full of ambition. Adam Hanson played a crumpled First-Edition Machamp. I dropped a shiny new Shaymin.

Playing that card sent us spiraling into an inescapable money hole. Buying Pokémon cards became an arms race, a Cold War between close friends. Hanson built decks around coin flips, shooting a giant half-dollar through the air with each attack. Austin chose his favorite fire-types and built from there. I put you to sleep and poisoned you. We had fun. But I had to ruin it.

I begged them both to come with me to the regional tournament in St. Louis, about a seven-hour drive away. Hanson refused. Austin caved.

He told his parents he was sleeping at my house and we drove quietly into the night. I was overconfident. Austin was cautious. The drive was long and dark, with barely a damn thing to look at. We played 2.B.A. Master on repeat.

We were dead tired when we got there. Everyone seemed to know what was going on but us. We found the registration table and started writing down our deck lists. There was just one huge problem: most of our cards had been retired for almost a decade. Austin handed me his cards.

"Make a deck," he said before disappearing into the crowd.

I did what I could, marrying his fire cards with my grass cards. I looked back to see Austin tearing through hundreds of freshly bought Pokémon cards, his arms flying like an anime character. We got stomped.

The trip back was depressing. Austin slept most of the way back. He was defeated and I was determined; I had just found out about the upcoming Nationals, also in St. Louis.

Austin and Adam Hanson refused to go, but my little sister Sofie decided to tag along. My deck was now a Psychic/Poison powerhouse. I realized that I could never be a Pokémon Champion if I didn’t learn the rap sections of 2 B A Master. “First you’ve got to know about the different types,” after all. I honed my deck and my rapping skills.

The tournament was huge. An official called it the biggest gathering of all time. Sofie and I booked a room in the dingiest motel in the area then went card shopping.

I struck up a conversation with a guy at the card shop. He looked through my deck and recommended I have his friend help me. He led me to a much nicer hotel where I met the baddest-ass Pokémon player/rapper in the world: Nicholas Shutte. Shutte wasn’t eligible to play that year because he was “too hardcore.” I didn’t ask what that meant. He tweaked my deck quite a bit, narrowing my strategy, and replacing a ton of Energy with Trainers.

I had no idea how to play this deck. I lost pretty badly at this tournament too. Sofie and I entered a side tournament where I fared a bit better, but Sofie did not. She told her 10-year-old opponent that she used to play Pokémon cards, but quit about ten years earlier. He crushed her, first in cards, then emotionally.

“I can see why you stopped playing.” We left pretty quickly after that.

I still play Pokémon cards here and there. I’ll pick up theme decks if Austin and I plan on hanging out. I keep a Reshiram and Zekrom deck I named “Best Wishes” in my car. Still, those days are mostly behind me; All of us are older and in very different places. I’ll always remember the friends I’ve made over a few games of the Pokémon Trading Card Game though though.