Pax Unplugged: 2025

“Gamers vs. Marathon Runners: The Crossover Nobody Asked For.”

Year 2. The bizarre crossover episode where gamers and marathon runners collide in a confusing shuffle of two opposite groups of people. It is a spectacle where everyone looks exhausted, but only half of us actually moved.

The Marketplace Grind PAX Unplugged is the analog holy land held in Philadelphia, PA. No video games allowed, just board games, RPGs, and card games. It features a Massive Expo Hall (where budgets go to die), Game Libraries, and the “PAX Together Intersection,” a genuinely great inclusive space for Neuro spicy folks and LGBTQIA+ friends to decompress. It’s a vibe, until you hit the Marketplace.

The marketplace is a neighborhood block where the currency is obsession. You’ve got taverns for Magic info and booths with cutesy animals begging for your soul. But here’s my rant: Stop stopping. People drone around like NPCs with bad pathfinding. It triggers my childhood trauma of my mom snail crawling through the grocery store. I have calculated my route to the Chaosium booth; do not become a traffic cone in my path.

Food, Loot & The Victory Speaking of calculated routes, I made a beeline for Nuchas. If you aren’t grabbing their empanadas, you’re doing con food wrong. I secured the 4 pack combo: Chipotle Chicken, Italian Sausage, Pinto Bean, and Argentine Beef. Vegan options available, flavor mandatory.

My wallet took a beating. RollaCrit sold me “Heroes of Barcadia,” a drinking game that makes you question if you should have just played beer pong. And Modiphius? “TAKE MY MONEY.” I bought the Fallout RPG, Starter Kit, and the Mass Effect board game. I even skipped Matt Mercer (sorry, fan girls) to meet Mark Meer. He signed my games and we geeked out about his “Maxx Rads” character. Bethesda, Amazon, if you’re listening: Put Maxx Rads in the game! I didn’t play Fallout 76 for 43 days straight during furlough for nothing!

But the real victory? Jerry Holkins. My husband has been cracking jokes all weekend that I was just pointing out every bald man in Philadelphia like some sort of confused shiny object detector. But Sunday, 3 PM, hotel skywalk… redemption. I’m mentally checked out, dreaming of my cats. Jerry walks by. I look him dead in the eye and say, “What’s up Jerry!” He hits me with a “SUPPPPP.” Husband proven wrong. I do know what he looks like, despite the slanderous accusations that I’m just profiling the follicularly challenged.

The Marathon Finally, a word on the Philadelphia Marathon. Waking up at 6 AM to cowbells outside my window is not the vibe. Watching runners cool down in foil blankets reminded me of my days hotwalking horses at Pimlico Racetrack. Same energy, just more spandex. Can we please move the dates so I don’t have to compete with runners for hotel rooms?