“Hey, can you talk?”

“I’m at the card store, what’s up?”

“Just call me back later, I wanted to talk to you about something.”

“What is it? Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, just call me later.”

I should’ve hung up the phone and called back later, but something didn’t sit right. I pressed the issue. The first time I ever really cared about someone I didn’t do a very good job. Her voice was different and I knew it was over. I thought the world was ending. When you’re dramatic and twenty years old your first love feels like the only thing that matters. I would hope most of us didn’t see our first real relationship end while panicking and grasping at straws during a late night phone call in a game store parking lot. For months, maybe even years, I wondered if Magic was what caused things to fall apart. It wasn’t. At least it wasn’t really what caused it. I can become too obsessed with things; especially things I love. I think my ex-girlfriend resented how I felt about Magic to some extent and I always wondered if a different pursuit would’ve been more acceptable to her. It wasn’t until years later that I realized it wasn’t what I cared about, but how I cared.

Consider a failed relationship of your own, most of us have at least one. Try to recall the moment you knew it was over. That moment I picked up the phone and heard the difference in her voice was the moment I knew. Truth be told, when I opened this document to write this article I was ready to discuss something I’ve fantasized about for 10 years – quitting Magic. I was ready to explain how a person’s voice sounding empty on the phone ten years ago reminded me of how I felt about this game I’ve loved for over half my life. It took 300 words to realize that’s not what I want. I’m not quitting Magic anytime soon, but I’m starting to think a lot more about what Magic has cost me instead of what Magic has afforded me. I thought when I started putting words down I would experience that hollow feeling I did on the other end of the phone. An essence of finality that provided clarity amidst all the frustration and sadness it also entailed, but my mind wandered. I started thinking about what I was going to play at GP Providence in a few weeks. I walked headfirst into the old adage, “it’s not you, it’s me.” Magic didn’t hurt me or turn me away. I didn’t do this right. Maybe I’m not good enough to be a Platinum or even Gold pro player. Maybe I didn’t work hard enough or try to do the right things. Magic didn’t cause me to be a professional gamer in my 30s, it just enabled the lack of discipline that’s always been a part of me to flourish. I’d be a middling poker player if I never stuck with Magic, or I would be convinced I could play daily fantasy sports. I would’ve always looked for the option that circumvented actual hard work. Maybe I undersell it and don’t consider the preparation and analysis that precedes events as work because I enjoy it so much. Either way, it’s not as lucrative as it could be. My friends from my softball leagues show up to our evening games exhausted and dirty from a hard day’s work. I wake up at 1:00 PM and play MTGO Standard Leagues until softball starts. I shouldn’t subscribe to antiquated notions of gender roles. I try not to. But, I don’t feel like a man. I don’t feel proud of myself anymore. I want to get my hands dirty. I want to feel like a provider for my fiancé. Magic is a great game, probably the best game ever made, but I’ve never been so acutely aware of what it’s cost me to play. I’m definitely not quitting like the young kids on Facebook do after they scrubbed out of an open. But I want my relationship with Magic to be healthier.

I think the fire that I’ve previously had for Magic is starting to burn out. It doesn’t feel exactly like a relationship that has lost its spark, but I’m more cognizant of the costs than I have ever been before. A tournament no longer feels like the best thing I could do with my weekend. I love testing online and playing Magic online still feels fun and doesn’t feel like a grind. Tournaments are fun when I attend them but I think about what else I could be doing and I was never doing that in the past. I think I just want to enjoy my free time more. I’m sure that some of this is because I’m not doing Magic: the Lifestyle correctly. I don’t stream, I don’t prepare with a team, and, save one article a week, I don’t make much content. Magic doesn’t make me enough money to justify the time I spend on it. I think that’s my fault, not a fault of the game.

I think the ways to make your relationship with Magic healthier all revolve around avoiding situations where your happiness is centered around Magic. This includes playing as your main source of income, attaching results to your self worth, and just plain playing too much. I’ve been guilty of all three of these things in the past. Now I have a job so I have income even when I don’t win. I also have some validation from finishes that makes me feel like I don’t need to win anymore to prove to myself that I’m valuable. My worst years playing Magic were the years when I needed to do well in an event to afford the weekend or even make it home, but now I’ve realized how important other things are. I’m engaged and I only see my fiancé for a few hours a week. I haven’t been able to play in a weekend softball tournament yet this year. I find myself envious of people with 9-5 jobs. I’m envious of my friends who have kids and are tossing them around a swimming pool on a Saturday afternoon. I feel like I blinked and I was a 30 year old grinder with minimal results and a maximized disconnect from reality. The best way to make a living in Magic is to not play. Buying and selling can be very lucrative, commentary gigs can be very lucrative as well. I’m not very interested in Magic finance but I would love to do coverage. The few events I’ve covered were awesome experiences. I think a string of heartbreaking near misses has amplified these feelings with in me. It would be harder to care if I was Platinum, but I think if I was platinum I would be good and not just mediocre. Also, being Platinum would actually be the biggest possible band-aid. I think that applies to more people than just myself. For some, I think achievement of a status in Magic is actually likely to stagnate their life. Magic is so difficult and requires a ton of time spent to succeed. Players work incredibly hard to achieve the success they’ve seen from their idols and peers, but most smart people who are doing that could make much more money if they just poured that energy into school. Even poker, which has a ton of problems as well, is more lucrative. Most of the best players have other things going on. This should be indicative of their realization that going all in on Magic is precarious at best. It breaks my heart when friends come so close to their goals and fail. When the same things happen to me I immediately attribute it to a lack of skill, or planning, or overall intelligence. I bemoan their bad luck but always blame myself for the same things. I think, if cognitive dissonance is to rear its head, that it’s better this way than the alternative. Blaming others/variance is the worst way to treat losses because it presents the opportunity for the least growth.



I think losing is essential for every Magic player to experience in order to develop. A lot of players who have unhealthy relationships with Magic don’t appreciate the value of losses. This used to be the case for me as well. I would avoid losses at all costs. Playing in the easiest events possible to make money and building my deck in such a way that I can maximize my ability to exploit the holes in my opponents’ play and their decks. My losses in larger events were always crushing because I was getting outplayed so infrequently at these small events and so often at the larger ones. I hated the Pro Tour for showing me I wasn’t half the player these competitors were. I should’ve hated my stubbornness and my process that was so deeply flawed. But instead I projected, I blamed everything but myself. I played in IQs for four years and called myself a successful Magic player. It wasn’t until I started playing Magic Online that I realized how much I had to learn. I think the younger generation is doing it right in that they’re going for GPs and Opens right away. The downside is they need to be able to understand that success isn’t going to come right away. And even if it does, be ready for the downswings and the humbling nature of the game. I notice a lot of young players who show some promise, grind events, come close to qualifying for the Pro Tour, and quit after burning out on a bunch of near misses. Trust your own process if you’re trying to make a name for yourself in Magic. It’s important to know your own goals too. Getting a player slide or a sponsorship on the SCG Tour requires a very different set of directives than qualifying for the PT as soon as possible. Focusing on your game and your brand aren’t the same thing. Sometimes they tie in but I tell players who want a sponsorship at The Bearded Dragon that the most important thing for sponsored players and those who aspire to be sponsored is branding. That means being active on social media, creating content of some sort, drawing attention to the decks you’re good with and your best qualities as a player. These things will help people notice you and identify with you. Playing SCG Opens will help you get noticed if you start doing well. The coverage at Opens is conducive to drawing attention to the best qualities in their players. The exposure will help you become noticed by people that enjoy the aspects of Magic you embody. These things lead to others becoming invested in your success. If you’re trying to qualify for the PT it should be Grand Prix and pptqs/rptqs no matter how much they suck. The PT is a fantastic experience, one that every competitive Magic player should try to achieve. Don’t be discouraged if your first time goes poorly, it’s the hardest Magic tournament possible outside of Worlds.

I’m not sure exactly what I want people to takeaway from this article. It’s a lot of information and a lot of expression on my part. I’m not quitting Magic but I’m not sure that I’m too optimistic about the future of the game. The community is often embroiled in conflict and Magic is going in an interesting direction. It’s odd to make a game as good as the one Wizards makes when your customer base is constantly bashing you on all forms of social media. I’m going to enjoy my free time doing the things I love with the people I care about. Sometimes I’ll be playing Magic but the feeling of being compelled to play every weekend is gone. Thanks for taking the time to read some of the thoughts I had today, I really appreciate the support always.