don’t know I’m nervous. They are too busy debating the merits of seeing a Star Wars set early. Cold sweat forms, and I realize that I’m terrified. I briefly consider remaining in my seat, but Bryan is waiting at the back of the room and shuffling his feet impatiently. I walk slowly out of the room and try to control my breathing, but the ensuing moment of embarrassment is dominating my thoughts.
Building contests are featured at most LEGO conventions. When you get a few hundred men in a room for a few days, competition is inevitable. The two most popular types are alternate building and speed building. In the alternate build, everyone is given the same bag of parts or pieces and told to work in a particular motif or vignette. In the speed build, each of the competitors is trying to build the same set and whoever finishes first is the victor.
Earlier in the day, I dropped my name on a small slip of paper into two of the six challenges being offered at the convention. The first was a LEGO Chess tournament, and I believed that even if I had been picked, it would have been mercifully short. I am not a crack chess player. It also had the advantage of being the only challenge to not feature competitive building of any kind. The chess pieces were already laid out and constructed. That seemed right up my alley.
The Belville challenge sounded interesting to me. I doubted there would be many entrants, and ideally the other competitors would be as clueless as I am, because Belville is the line of LEGO products specifically aimed at little girls. It features predominantly pink and purple sets with fairy princess and horse riding themes.
Belville has “sunshine homes” and the “Blossom Fairy”—the antithesis of what interests the average thirty-year-old male. So when I dropped my name in the bucket, I was figuring that guys who love Star Wars and architectural structures would be just as mystified as I by a LEGO kitten or a pink tower piece. I severely underestimated the creativity of my fellow convention attendees.
The five competitors are brought to two folding tables in the hallway adjacent to the lobby. My anxiety level rises as I realize that we will be building in front of not only other AFOLs, but also any member of the public who happens to walk by. One of my fellow competitors is a dad, Chris McDonnell, a Kentucky native who has accompanied his son Noah to the convention. I feel slightly better about my chances to finish fourth until I learn that he and his son often build together.
The organizer, Esther Walner, lays out the rules of the challenge simply. We have three small sets to use for parts: a Belville Blossom Fairy set, an Aqua Raiders set (think underwater James Bond), and a Castle set. Since this is the Belville challenge, we must use a majority of Belville parts to build a vignette—a scene with a backstory that we will explain after we’re done building. Although it’s not a timed build, we still have to be finished by 3:45 p.m. I put my cell phone down on the table and see that I have fifty-seven minutes. I wipe my hand on my jeans. I haven’t sweated this much since the moments before slow dances at Fairfield Woods Middle School.
“Go ahead,” Esther encourages us as two men in dark gray suits pass behind her. I catch the eye of the older man and he cocks his head slightly—a dog hearing a sound he can’t quite place. I wish I could keep walking.
“Do you have any idea what you’re going to build?” I ask Abner Finley at the end of the table. We had lunch together the previous day, and it’s nice to see a friendly face. I immediately wonder if I’ve just violated the cardinal rule of an alternate build: don’t ask your fellow builders what they’re going to construct.
“No idea. I guess I’ll figure something out,” says Abner, turning his attention to the three clear plastic bags from the sets he has just opened.
Linda, the only female contestant, is having trouble opening her
Building contests are featured at most LEGO conventions. When you get a few hundred men in a room for a few days, competition is inevitable. The two most popular types are alternate building and speed building. In the alternate build, everyone is given the same bag of parts or pieces and told to work in a particular motif or vignette. In the speed build, each of the competitors is trying to build the same set and whoever finishes first is the victor.
Earlier in the day, I dropped my name on a small slip of paper into two of the six challenges being offered at the convention. The first was a LEGO Chess tournament, and I believed that even if I had been picked, it would have been mercifully short. I am not a crack chess player. It also had the advantage of being the only challenge to not feature competitive building of any kind. The chess pieces were already laid out and constructed. That seemed right up my alley.
The Belville challenge sounded interesting to me. I doubted there would be many entrants, and ideally the other competitors would be as clueless as I am, because Belville is the line of LEGO products specifically aimed at little girls. It features predominantly pink and purple sets with fairy princess and horse riding themes.
Belville has “sunshine homes” and the “Blossom Fairy”—the antithesis of what interests the average thirty-year-old male. So when I dropped my name in the bucket, I was figuring that guys who love Star Wars and architectural structures would be just as mystified as I by a LEGO kitten or a pink tower piece. I severely underestimated the creativity of my fellow convention attendees.
The five competitors are brought to two folding tables in the hallway adjacent to the lobby. My anxiety level rises as I realize that we will be building in front of not only other AFOLs, but also any member of the public who happens to walk by. One of my fellow competitors is a dad, Chris McDonnell, a Kentucky native who has accompanied his son Noah to the convention. I feel slightly better about my chances to finish fourth until I learn that he and his son often build together.
The organizer, Esther Walner, lays out the rules of the challenge simply. We have three small sets to use for parts: a Belville Blossom Fairy set, an Aqua Raiders set (think underwater James Bond), and a Castle set. Since this is the Belville challenge, we must use a majority of Belville parts to build a vignette—a scene with a backstory that we will explain after we’re done building. Although it’s not a timed build, we still have to be finished by 3:45 p.m. I put my cell phone down on the table and see that I have fifty-seven minutes. I wipe my hand on my jeans. I haven’t sweated this much since the moments before slow dances at Fairfield Woods Middle School.
“Go ahead,” Esther encourages us as two men in dark gray suits pass behind her. I catch the eye of the older man and he cocks his head slightly—a dog hearing a sound he can’t quite place. I wish I could keep walking.
“Do you have any idea what you’re going to build?” I ask Abner Finley at the end of the table. We had lunch together the previous day, and it’s nice to see a friendly face. I immediately wonder if I’ve just violated the cardinal rule of an alternate build: don’t ask your fellow builders what they’re going to construct.
“No idea. I guess I’ll figure something out,” says Abner, turning his attention to the three clear plastic bags from the sets he has just opened.
Linda, the only female contestant, is having trouble opening her
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