...About My Wake Up Call?

The seeds had been planted. If there was something to be done to prevent the growth of the doubt tree in my mind, I didn’t know about it. I shook off my loss to The Real Deal and continued to play week-in and week-out. Only, things were different now. With every match loss, with every quick exit from an event, a new branch formed. I rationalized the downward spiral I was in for as long as I could, but I think I always knew that I was just making excuses. I had been served a large plate of reality, and was giving up the grind.

It started slowly. I would miss an event here or there, telling myself it was too long of a drive, or that I wasn’t prepared enough. I decided that I wanted a new computer more than some of the cards I owned, so I sold them. And then I wanted a new television. And then I skipped another event. And another. And another. And then I sold off the last of my cards. The wand had been holstered; the robe had been put away in the closet. I wasn’t a Magic player anymore. I hadn’t been for some time.

Once I stepped away from the competitive level of the game I loved, I became aware of some alarming and despicable tendencies that I had been displaying. As I sat back and played the role of the railbird (a spectator), I witnessed unnecessary and unbecoming behaviors. People would yell and curse, fuming about their loss to “some random donkey”. People would get incredibly frustrated and sullen that they failed to achieve victory in a children’s card game. People would personally attack opponents that they felt were beneath them to mask their insecurities. I watched in awe of what was happening around me.

And then a funny thing happened. In an instant, reality seemed to snap into focus. I realized that I was that player. I would yell and curse. I would insult the very same random donkey. I would mock opponents in the sanctuary that my friends offered me. Every single behavior I was now judging these competitors for, I was guilty of not months ago. These folks were not professionals at the top of the game, and neither was I. They were merely grinders, angry over things that felt very real to them, but ultimately didn’t matter. I considered how much negative energy I had been projecting into the world and realized that I was not living up to the man I wanted to be. I wasn’t wasting my potential as a Magic player, I was wasting my potential as a human being.

It is an interesting thing, to realize just how poor you have been acting for several years. As any former addict will tell you, though, the first step on the road to recovery is admitting to yourself and others that you have a problem. It was and is hard every day to face people who knew the old me, but the pay-off is already plainly obvious to me. Simply attempting to become a better version of yourself seems like a small change, of little import to anyone else, but the effect that such a decision can have on your peers can be as profound or even more so than the changes you witness within yourself.

I struggled writing this last post for a great while. In fact, I still probably wouldn’t have it finished if it weren’t for Caleb being The Best Person and helping me out. The problem I was having was that every few sentences I’d stop, go back and read what I wrote, and delete everything, disgusted with what I had just written. It was all so very preachy. You can’t tell others how to live their lives. It is easy to look down on everyone else and hurl insults or mock their decisions. Of course there is merit in offering advice, and trying to steer people in directions you have found to be fruitful, but these lessons are infinitely more meaningful when the conclusions are reached independently. Whether it was a casual conversation before or after a local tournament, or witnessing another person not in the Inner Circle blow a gasket, I would simply make it known that this kind of toxicity isn’t helpful to a single person. Not the complainer, not the complainee, and especially not the game we all claim to love. Imagine yourself in the other’s seat; nobody wants to get screamed at because they were victorious. What would a casual muggle who just happened to walk by think? Maybe most importantly, how can you endorse a game in which the average competitor acts like an imbecile?

I don’t know how many of my friends and fellow grinders I was able to break through to. I know that, as a group, we have gotten better about being so negative towards our peers. We are humans, though, and therefore imperfect beings, and sometimes the fun of being an asshole overrides all of our good judgement. We are all slowly learning things we probably should have learned long ago; there is a decent way to act around people, even if they aren’t that good at Magic: the Gathering! Groundbreaking stuff, I know. I do believe that I am moving in the right direction, and trying to help others do the same. Maybe this community is always going to be plagued by the childish, but I have to at least try and be the change that I want to see in the world. At least I’m done with the stress and work of actually competing week to week.

They say that nobody ever really quits playing Magic, though. I have played in a handful of events since my decision to give up the ghost, to varying degrees of success. I still travel to the closer events with my friends to encourage and support them. I still read, watch, and study the game. I said in the first part of this series (...About My Magic Wand) that Magic was my passion, and that hasn’t changed. I was merely faced with a choice, in light of reality dashing my dreams of domination on the Pro Tour. I could devote more time and money practicing and grinding until I was that skilled, or I could focus on more fruitful endeavors. My conclusion was that you could either play tournament Magic: the Gathering full time or progress your life with college and a career, but not both. The amount of time required to succeed at the level I wanted to was too great to do both, and a choice had to be made. This truth is almost certainly not true for every person, but it is my reality.