More Than a Tournament: Inside Disney Lorcana Challenge Season 2

Walking into the Disney Lorcana Challenge Season 2, I had that brief pause where you take everything in at once… and it was empty. Genuinely empty. Rows of tables sit quietly, lights humming, no decks cracked open yet. For a split second, I wondered if I’d messed up the day entirely. Then I checked my phone. 8:20 am. Doors at 9. Right. That explained it.

Honestly, I was glad I’d arrived early. There’s something I enjoy about seeing a venue before it wakes up. Before the noise, before the tension, before every table has a story attached to it. It feels like standing backstage before a show starts. Calm, but with that low-level anticipation buzzing underneath.

Not long after walking in, I was met by the amazing Will from Ravensburger. We’ve known each other for years now, so the greeting felt easy and familiar, the kind where you skip the small talk entirely. He immediately took me for a tour of their space, and it really was impressive. Clean, confident, and clearly thought through. You could tell a lot of care had gone into how it would feel once the room filled up.

Eventually, he left me at the coffee shop. A good man. He remembers my addiction.

Coffee in hand, I wandered through the vendor area while everything was still being set up. It felt a bit like sneaking through a treasure room before anyone else was allowed in. I saw more Enchanted cards than I even knew existed, all laid out in that shiny cardboard beauty that somehow still catches you off guard, no matter how many times you’ve seen it. I lingered longer than I meant to, pretending I was just browsing when really I was quietly admiring the spectacle of it all.

And then, almost without ceremony, the clock struck 9.

A Different Kind of Crowd

Marvel Stadium suddenly got busy, but not in an overwhelming or chaotic way. It was more of a steady hum. Constant movement, people flowing past each other with purpose, pockets of laughter breaking out, that unmistakable sense of excitement in the air. There was a bit of Disney wonder hanging over everything, too, which sounds hard to quantify, but you could feel it. Smiles came easily. People looked genuinely happy to be there.

That was the thing that caught me off guard. I’ve been to so many events like this over the years for other TCGs, and usually there’s a moment where it tips into something unruly. Crowded walkways, people pushing to get where they need to be or to get into line early, that low-level tension you just accept as part of the experience. But the Disney Lorcana Challenge Season 2 felt different. More sophisticated. More relaxed. It never felt like it was teetering on the edge of chaos.

One of the first things you noticed, almost immediately, was the crowd itself. This wasn’t an almost completely male audience, which is still far too common at events like these. Instead, there was this genuinely amazing blend of people. Different ages, different backgrounds, different energy levels. It felt balanced, and that balance changed the whole atmosphere of the room.

What stood out most to me were the groups of women throughout the space. Some were clearly meeting up with friends they already knew, and others were making new connections on the spot. You could see conversations spark, laughs shared, people swapping stories and cards with the same ease you’d expect at a long-established community gathering. It felt welcoming in a way that’s hard to fake.

I can’t really overstate how nice that was to see. Not in a forced, token way, but naturally, comfortably, like this was simply how the event was meant to be. It made the whole experience feel warmer, more open, and honestly, more enjoyable to be part of. It didn’t just look inclusive. It felt it.

An Unlikely Friend.

As the side events suddenly kicked off, I found myself sitting down to watch the big screen. I ended up next to a guy in a Warhammer shirt, which immediately felt familiar territory. And because I’m apparently incapable of sitting quietly next to someone for more than five minutes, I started chatting to him.

It didn’t take long to learn that he and eleven friends had flown over from Perth just for the Disney Lorcana Challenge Season 2. That alone impressed me. Even more so when he mentioned that one of those friends was the player currently on stream. Final 32. Out of more than 400 entries. Suddenly, the match on the screen felt a lot more personal, which is weird, as I don’t know him… but I felt like I did.

We spent the next hour or so talking. About Lorcana, obviously, but also about travel, other events we’d been to, his Warhammer addiction…. and mine, and the strange joy of watching someone you care about play under that kind of pressure. His friend, Crosbie, eventually lost the match, which was disappointing, but the mood never dipped for long. He still walked away with some genuinely amazing prizes, and that helped soften the blow. Luke, my new friend, and I were genuinely happy for him. You could feel that mix of pride and “what if” hanging in the air.

Eventually, I had to say goodbye to Luke and co to head off to do my interview with Naomi Kim, the International Product and Brand Manager at Ravensburger. That conversation deserves its own space, and you can find that interview here. At the time, though, it felt like pressing pause on a story rather than ending it.

After the interview, I did what any sensible person would do. I went shopping. Picked up a few things I definitely didn’t need, got some cards signed by Matt Chapman, and wandered back through the crowd, still riding that post-interview buzz. And then, almost inevitably, I bumped into Luke again. This time with more of the Perth crew in tow.

That’s when I found out they were still in the running.

Perth’s Last Hope

Ryan was their last hope. His name went up on the big screen, and almost immediately, the energy in the room shifted, or maybe it was just because I was sitting with the Perth Crew. Conversations died mid-sentence. Chairs scraped closer together. People leaned forward without realising it, as if proximity alone could somehow influence the outcome. This wasn’t just another match, it was the gatekeeper to the Top 8, to legitimacy, to the kind of run people would still be talking about after the event wrapped. And hovering just beyond the top 7, was a spot in the top 4 and a Golden Mickey card, the kind of prize that turns a good weekend into a permanent memory. Ryan’s girlfriend even joked that if he wins that card, she’d be sleeping on the couch and he in the bed with it.

Every play drew a reaction. A sharp inhale here. A nervous laugh there. Bella barely blinked, tracking each card as it hit the table like it might explode if she looked away. Game one finally broke in Ryan’s favour, and the release was immediate. Quite excitement erupted, half disbelief, half triumph. Arms went up. Someone shouted his name. Even people who had no idea who Ryan was ten minutes earlier found themselves caught up in it, clapping and smiling just because the moment demanded it.

Then came game two, and with it, the slow burn of stress. The plays tightened. The momentum shifted back and forth, cruelly even. Bella looked like she was aging in real time, hands clenched, shoulders tense, every draw seeming to add another year. Each card Ryan played brought hope; each answer from his opponent chipped away at it. When the round slipped out of his grasp, the collective groan wasn’t disappointment so much as empathy. Everyone felt it. This was the price of caring.

By the time it came down to the deciding moments, nobody was sitting comfortably anymore. Win or lose, Ryan had carried far more than his own expectations onto that stage. He carried the hopes of a group that, just hours earlier, had been a complete strangers. And that’s the magic of events like this. You show up for a game, but you stay for the shared tension, the spontaneous alliances, the way a single match can bind people together for an afternoon.

Top 4 and the Golden Mickey

His Top 8 win had already cemented something special. One of the group straight‑up missed their side event because they couldn’t tear themselves away. Ticket unused, they stood there instead, watching every moment unfold, completely unbothered by what they were giving up. No one gave them grief for it. If anything, it earned respect. Some things are just more important in the moment, and this was one of them.

He placed 4th overall, and we couldn’t be prouder.

PS- I’m now officially part of the Perth Crew!

Vendor Hall

The vendor section helped, too. While there weren’t heaps of booths, the quality was downright dangerous. The kind of dangerous where you tell yourself, I’m just looking, and immediately stop believing that lie. Every table had something that pulled you in and slowed your pace just enough to get you in trouble.

There were sleeves you absolutely didn’t need… yet somehow I walked away with three sets. In my defence, they were very nice Dsiney Lorcana sleeves. Playmats that made you stop and stare, especially the event exclusives. The kind you tell yourself you’ll circle back to, only to realise later that you should’ve trusted your instincts and grabbed one when you had the chance. I’m still thinking about those.

Then there were the singles. Perfectly displayed. Beautifully lit. Quietly whispering terrible financial advice straight into your soul. And honestly, they weren’t wrong. I tried to resist. I really did. But when a card looks that good in person, logic tends to step aside. I couldn’t not get two. That felt reasonable at the time, and I stand by that decision.

My wallet knew what was coming long before I did. It protested briefly, then accepted its fate. And you know what? No regrets. The vendor section wasn’t just a place to buy things. It was part of the experience. A reminder that sometimes the joy of these events isn’t just in playing the game, but in taking a small piece of it home with you.

Matt Chapman

And then there was Matt Chapman, who somehow became the emotional centre of the vendor room/ entrance without ever trying to. Watching him interact with fans was a genuine joy. He greeted everyone with the same wide-eyed enthusiasm, like each interaction was the first one of the day, not the hundredth. He listened properly too. Not the polite nod-and-smile version of listening, but the kind where you can tell he’s actually present, actually taking in what people are saying to him.

There was no sense of being rushed along, no invisible clock ticking behind the table. People shared stories about what Lorcana meant to them, about favourite cards, about moments they’d had playing with friends or family, and Matt met every one of them at the same level. He laughed easily. He asked questions. He reacted with a kind of open, unfiltered delight that felt completely sincere. It didn’t feel like a signing line. It felt like a conversation that just happened to include artwork.

What struck me most was the gratitude. Not the performative kind, but the quiet, visible appreciation of being there and being welcomed so warmly. You could see it in his body language, in the way he held each card, in the way he made eye contact before handing it back. Seeing an artist that engaged, that grounded, and that visibly thankful added a warmth to the room, let alone the entrance, that you simply can’t manufacture. It reminded everyone there that behind the cards and the competition are real people, creating and connecting in real time.

Moments like that don’t show up on stream. They don’t affect standings or prizes. But they linger. And honestly, they’re often what you remember most when the day is done.

Huge Success of an Event

The event felt special from the moment you walked in. Not in a loud, fireworks way, but in that quieter, more confident sense that this was more than just another tournament. It felt like a celebration that knew exactly what it was doing.

The big screen dominated the side event space, impossible to ignore and honestly hard not to gravitate toward. It gave you something to latch onto between rounds, somewhere to hover without feeling disconnected. Even when you weren’t playing, you still felt involved, like you were part of the wider story unfolding across the room.

Matches were broadcast live on Twitch, hosted by American Lorcana legend JDZ, and he made it look easy. His commentary had a natural rhythm to it, equal parts insight and enthusiasm. Even if you weren’t deeply invested in a particular match, you found yourself watching anyway. Knowing it was live gave everything an extra edge. Big plays landed harder. Close calls drew real reactions. You could feel the stakes rise, even from the sidelines.

A huge amount of credit has to go to Tak Games, Modern Brands and Ravensburger. They could have run a clean, functional event and called it a success. Instead, they aimed higher. What they delivered felt thoughtful and intentional, like they actually cared about how it would feel to be there, not just how smoothly it would run. The pacing made sense. The presentation felt confident. There was a clear message underneath it all: this game, and this community, matter.

That meant a lot.

I’ve spent years looking at overseas TCG events with a kind of quiet envy. The scale. The confidence. The sense that everything is exactly where it’s meant to be. Too often, local events feel like obligations, like they exist because they have to rather than because someone truly wanted to build something special.

This wasn’t that.

The Disney Lorcana Challenge Season 2 felt like it belonged on the world stage. Not borrowed. Not scaled down. Just… right. Walking away, there was a genuine sense that we weren’t being treated as an afterthought, and that feeling stuck with me long after the day ended.

Final Thoughts

When you put it all together, the stream, the organisers, the vendors, the artist. It created something that felt alive. Not just competitive. Not just social. But communal. This wasn’t a room full of people chasing wins. It was a space filled with shared excitement, small victories, mutual respect, and a genuine love for the game.

And when an event leaves you feeling that way, long after the screens go dark, you know it’s done something right.