Back the Nebraska run

Nvar J.M. Sinclair
The rookie in question · 2:21:57

Here's how this actually started: I entered my first sanctioned slow-smoking competition having practiced exactly once. That one practice run went an hour and seven minutes — and I was only a quarter of the way into the cigar. That's the moment I knew I could win this thing, and I didn't keep it quiet either. I literally started telling people I was going to win it. And I was damn right. The CSWC by Oliva qualifiers came through Nebraska, and I came up through the Capital Cigar Lounge camp — the same Lincoln room I film every month as a photographer. If you don't know the sport: everyone lights an identical competition cigar at the same moment, longest burn wins. No relights, penalties for dropped ash or a burned band. My time: 2 hours, 21 minutes, 57 seconds. First place in Nebraska — and the top of the official CSWC leaderboard for the entire United States. The league's own write-up called it the best time in the country. First year in the sport. The receipts are right below.

It held all summer. Now the part that still stings. The US format has no national final — the crown just goes to the best single time across all ten qualifiers, so the calendar itself is part of the game, and the season happened to close in Florida. Drew Emch — the four-time reigning national champion, out of Nashville — waited and walked into the very last qualifier in the country with a full summer of my number to aim at, and only one time to beat: mine. Friends at the lounge FaceTimed me in while it happened, so I got to watch my title leave in real time. Broke my heart, haha. Within the rules? Completely — he's a great champion and he did what champions do. But a rookie leads the country wire to wire and the title comes down to a night he can't even enter — by the time Naples was done there was no event left anywhere in America for me to answer. No qualifier, no sanctioned Time Chase, nothing. I asked.

Here's what I know about my ceiling, and you can take it however you want: in training I've kept a cigar alive for 3 hours and 14 minutes. I know exactly how that sounds — the world record is 3:53, last year's world title was won at 2:46 — and that's exactly why I'm not asking anyone to take my word for it. Training times count for nothing, and they should count for nothing. Official times are the only truth this sport recognizes. So put me in the room where official times happen.

So that's the play: Dubrovnik, August 28–30, Grand Final week — national champions, the world Top 20, wild cards, all smoking for the world title. I'm pursuing a competitor's slot right now and the moment it's locked, the confirmation gets posted right here on this page. And I'm funding it the way I run my studio: no charity, no middleman, real value back on every single tier. Back the Lincoln rookie who out-sat the whole country all summer — I'll bring the story home.