It’s A Wonderful Game

It’s almost the holidays, so besides all the obvious trimmings, hubbub, and indulgences, that means it’s time for my family’s viewing of It’s a Wonderful Life. If you’re not familiar, this story is about a pretty ordinary guy, George Bailey, facing financial ruin and on the brink of suicide. When he wishes that he had never been born, an angel comes to him and shows him what the world would be like without him, causing him to realize the true consequences of his actions.

This movie always makes me wonder what impact I have on the world and the people in my life, even in small, day-to-day ways that I may not realize. Well, it may take a visit from an angel to really answer that question, but I got a little piece of it recently.

I just returned home from a six-month stint abroad. Now that I’m back, it’s game-on, and the same goes for my friends. They’ve told me that they played some while I was gone, but not as much. My MTG friends didn’t draft or go to FNM as often, my poker buddies didn’t play as much poker, and I was even told that a board game night didn’t feel quite right without me.

I don’t mean to say that my friends aren’t having fun or gaming without me, as they surely are, but hearing these things and feeling their appreciation for having me back and bringing that push to game has been a heartwarming experience. It shows me that, even in this small way of bringing a passion for gaming, I help to bring joy and this thing that I love into the lives of the people I love. And that’s a great feeling.

In life, it can be hard to step back and take a look at how we affect the people around us. I think we can often feel like we don’t actually make a difference in this world, like we are insignificant and minuscule, but getting a chance to leave and come back has been an eye-opening experience. I find meaning in the fact that I facilitate and share something that I love in my community.

Win or lose, it’s a wonderful game after all.

Playing Magic in Italy

Partly to test my ideas from my previous article about the language of magic and also from a burning desire for an overdue MTG fix, I decided to hit up the LGS for a draft in Rome. The challenge? I had never drafted M19 and I don’t speak Italian.

I pulled up the Italian M19 visual spoiler to take a look at the cards, and found that, despite my Italian deficit, I could figure out most of a card’s effects based on pattern association after learning a few key words like bersaglio (target) and neutralizza (counter). I considered this a pretty good score for Magic as language—I don’t speak Italian, but speaking Magic in Italian is a lot more like speaking Magic in English than talking about anything else that I tried to talk about. I still don’t know how to say “opponent loses 3 life and you gain 3 life” in Italian, but I can recognize it if I see it.

Either way, I decided that I probably wouldn’t have time in-draft to take the time to decipher cards in this way, as it was undeniably slower than reading English Magic cards, so I took the time to listen to the Limited Resources set review and watch a couple of MTGO drafts on ChannelFireball.com. I got a good grasp of the commons and uncommons and figured that I’d figure out the rares as I went.

It felt great going to the LGS and drafting some cards. After so many months, just being around my people and cracking packs was enough to call the day a success. On top of that, I drafted a sweet Grixis control deck (whose surprised? Not me) that splashed red for Balefire and Electrify and drew a bunch of cards. I ended up with a record of 3-1 (crazy Italian 4 round drafts anybody???). Other than the fact that I was having a blast, this is somewhat beside the point.

I played some games of Magic with people who spoke almost no English using cards that were in a language that I don’t know, and I felt like I knew exactly what was going on basically the whole time. It involved a lot of pointing, but the fundamentals are the same. I even got to make a joke about Rhox Oracle holding a pizza because hey, pizza is the same in English and Italian.

In the later rounds, I ended up playing against some guys who were from southern Italy and just in Rome for the weekend to play an RPTQ. Obviously, these guys were some of the better players in the room and the ones who ended with a winning record, and I ended up hanging out with them quite a bit, going out for drinks later and even hanging the next day at the LGS with them. So yeah, it was a great opportunity to meet some locals, a traveler’s delight, but one thing struck me that I need to mention here.

These guys spoke pretty English pretty well overall, but when it came to talking about Magic in English they were basically fluent. Turns out that, since all of the Pro Tour and GP coverage is in English, they had to learn “Magic English” in order to follow along. This facilitated lengthy, normal conversations that you may have with one of your Magic playing buddies or at any game store in America or other English-speaking country: sharing stories, talking about decks, all of it. Because these guys were just as into the game as I am, they spoke the same Magic language.

So where does this leave Magic as language? On one hand, it’s the case that Italian Magic and English Magic are two different things because many of the words are different and I still couldn’t listen to two people talk about Magic in Italian and follow the conversation. Yet, on the other side, the game, which is inherently text based, was still playable without relying on Italian or English, and competitive players all share the same English Magic language. There’s still a lot of grey area here, but this experience did not disprove, to my mind, the hypothesis that Magic has created its own language.

Is it possible for a single jargon to span across languages? What is the status of English Magic as the “universal” way for competitive play? Would something like this be possible in a language that doesn’t have so many cognates, like Chinese? These are some of the lingering questions that I hope to address in due time.

 

An Arcane Tongue: Talking Magic

Magic players are undoubtedly familiar with this experience. When you meet someone who follows the game, you can talk Magic in a way that is utterly incomprehensible to a muggle. It’s like being in a foreign land where the people occasionally use cognates to your language, but the meaning itself if obscured from view. But does this mean that, when somebody asks me, “Do you speak any other languages?” that I should reply, “Yes, I speak Magic: The Gathering!” Well—probably not—but it’s still got me thinking: is there any sense in which Magic is a language? Otherwise put, what is the boundary between jargon and language, and where does talking Magic fall on that spectrum?

Let’s start with some definitions. Merriam-Webster’s first definition of language:
a: the words, their pronunciation, and the methods of combining them used and understood by a community
• studied the French language
b (1) : audible, articulate, meaningful sound as produced by the action of the vocal organs
(2) : a systematic means of communicating ideas or feelings by the use of conventionalized signs, sounds, gestures, or marks having understood meanings
• the language of mathematics(3) : the suggestion by objects, actions, or conditions of associated ideas or feelings
• language in their very gesture
• —William Shakespeare
(4) : the means by which animals communicate
• the language of birds
(5) : a formal system of signs and symbols (such as FORTRAN or a calculus in logic) including rules for the formation and transformation of admissible expressions

Then, there’s Merriam-Webster’s definition of jargon: the technical terminology or characteristic idiom of a special activity or group.

Looking at this superficially, talking Magic certainly seems like a jargon because the game is a special activity. Just like sports fans use words that would seem foreign to the non-initiated, one may argue that Magic’s lexicon is simply the application of those technical terminologies. Magic is not a language, but, just like the utterances “first base” and “home-run,” its words are parts of another language.

Diving a bit deeper though, I’m compelled by this part of the first definition of language: “methods of combining them used and understood by a community.” Let’s accept that Magic is a community as a first principle, a self-evident truth. According to Wizard’s of the Coast, 20 million people worldwide play this game. If this is the case, then there are about 170 countries, about ¾ of all countries, many of which have unique languages, that are smaller than the total number of players. Even if we cut this number down drastically to one million players who consistently follow the game, that’s roughly the same amount of people in Estonia, a country with a native tongue of Estonian. There are many other recognized languages with significantly less speakers. Surely, we cannot discount Magic as language based on number of speakers alone.

Speaking of scope, it’s similarly difficult to negate the case for Magic as language by looking at sheer numbers of vocabulary alone. As for the writing of this article in August 2018, there are over 20,000 unique cards, and that’s not even considering the various other terms that Magic players use when talking about the game. Compare this to a language like French, which contains 100,000 words. Sure, Magic may have about 1/5 of the total utterances of French, but French needs to be able to describe almost anything. Even law, which is similarly incomprehensible to the untrained, doesn’t have close to 20,000 terms—and how many words do you need to talk baseball? In this argument of scope, talking Magic again seems to push away towards language.

Then there’s the part about methods of combining them. Perhaps it will help if we can show that talking Magic has its own grammar, complete with subjects and predications.

The Grammar of Talking Magic

To illustrate this point, let’s try breaking down a couple Magic sentences. First, take the statement, “I cracked my fetch to trigger revolt and Fatal Push the Thought-Knot Seer during my opponent’s declare attacker’s phase.”
The first observation that we can make is that every word, besides Thought-Knot, is a definable, English word. And yet, even if we combined the powers of every English dictionary on your English teacher’s bookshelf, we couldn’t come close to accurately finding the meaning of this sentence. A lot of the periphery grammar, the conjunctions, articles, and prepositions, retain their English meaning, but we’re still left confounded by words like cracked, fetch, revolt, fatal, push, and Thought-Knot Seer, not to mention the temporal aspects of “declare attacker’s phase.”

Let’s try to “translate” our Magic speak into normal English now. “I paid one life, sacrificed my fetch-land and searched my deck of cards for an appropriate land then put it into play to fulfil the requirement of one of my cards going from the board to the graveyard, and this let me use a card and one black mana to destroy a colorless Eldrazi creature that has four power, four toughness, exiles a card from an opponent’s hand when it enters the battlefield, and causes them to draw a card when it leaves, and costs four mana, one of which must be colorless. All of this happened on the other person’s turn, after they had decided which creatures were attacking and before any damage was dealt.”

Wow, that’s a mouthful. And still, how much closer are we to actually understanding what’s going on here without having to explicate things even further? Does this sentence make sentence if we don’t have a grasp on fetch-lands, graveyards, mana, destroy, Eldrazi, power, toughness, exile, colorless, etc.?
This reveals the content-richness in talking Magic. Within this small, simple sentence, we signify a lot of information. Still, it’s not just a shorthand—our original “magic” sentence and our “English” translation are far from equivalent. All of the information that is included and assumed in the second sentence, in addition to other information such as specifications about the cards Fatal Push and Though-Knot Seer like their associated decks, their art, their sets, etc. are all contained in the first sentence.

But what about the combinations of the words themselves? We’re looking for grammar, remember, so what of it? Well, we’ve certainly got some unique nouns like Thought-Knot Seer and fetch, but we should always expect to see jargon nouns for things of specialized interest.
The interesting part is the verbs: crack and Fatal Push. First, we have a word that cannot be defined in any of the seven ordinary senses of the word, is not the name of a card itself, and nonetheless describes an action. We paid one life, sacrificed a land, and searched up a land. Any magic player will know exactly what we mean, and even add the important caveat that we shuffled afterwards! Where does this word, crack, come from, and how did it come to signify this particular action?
The second verb is the actual name of a card, one of our 20,000. This word can act as both noun and verb; compare “I held two Fatal Pushes in my hand” to “I Fatal Pushed the Thought-Knot Seer.” We see the word conjugating according to number when it’s a noun and tense when it’s a verb.

All of this is to say that talking Magic contains unique symbols for both subjects and predications, the two foundational components of a sentence, a complete thought. Even if you want to object to the previous sentence and say that the word “I” is the subject, we could still form an entirely Magic talk sentence based on these same principles. Take, for instance, “Jace unsummoned the Thought-Knot Seer.” This sentence completely describes at least four unique in-game actions without making any reference outside of Magic talk.

Now let’s look at a second example sentence that doesn’t make any reference to the cards themselves: “Spike went off on turn one through two pieces of disruption.”

We have the same phenomenon as last time, a series of English words that make little sense when viewed through English definitions. Let’s dig into these words to see how to parse this sentence, which, again, is not composed of any of those 20,000 unique cards.

First, we’ve got our subject: Spike. In Magic talk, a Spike is a competitive tournament player with a drive to win above basically anything else. They don’t choose their cards because they like the art or because they find them compelling to their imagination, or in some cases even fun to play with, but because they want to win. Spike is an entirely reasonable Magic talk subject, and, complicating things further, can also predicate when we say something like “She spiked that tournament.”

Then we’ve got our predication, after which we very well could stop the sentence. “Spike went off.” That’s really all we need—we know who they are and what they did? Yet, even the idiom of “go off” doesn’t really apply to this scenario—they didn’t yell at anyone, lose their temper, or go somewhere else. Spike is playing a combo deck and they executed the combo’s critical turn, winning the game. It doesn’t matter whether they Reanimated a Griselbrand, cast Paradoxical Outcome on a bunch of Cheerios, or fired off a massive Grapeshot; Spike went off. Game over.

The rest of this sentence really is just meant to impress the significance of Spike’s achievement. Sure, spike can go off—but the fact that they went off on turn one and through two pieces of disruption makes us say ‘wow, how did that happen?” Maybe they had a nut draw that included both a Duress and some redundancy for both of those Force of Wills, but either way, this language retains the characteristic of being entirely encompassed in the game.

All of this goes to show that Magic talk has its own way of combining its terms. Of course, we rely on the conventions of English to make these combinations, such as adding “ed” to the make past tense of the verb “Fatal Push,” but, nonetheless, the significance of these combinations remains firmly within the realms of Magic talk. Further consider: has a language ever grown up in isolation? Doesn’t English, undoubtedly a language, rely on grammatical conventions that it borrows from other languages like French, Latin, and Greek?

The Synonyms Case

Another factor that we should consider is the prevalence of synonyms that we use when talking Magic. One may Doomblade a Bear without involving the actual cards Doomblade or Grizzly Bears. Further compiling complexities on top of our speech, we commonly use certain archetypal card names to broadly speak about situations. In our example, a black kill-spell popped off a 2/2 creature. This spell could possibly target black creatures, it could cost three mana, and it could be a sorcery. Doomblade itself is a 2 mana instant that can only target non-black creatures, yet, for the purposed of our speech, we Doombladed that bear.

This is far from an isolated incident. We talk like this all the time, especially when evaluating new cards or discussing the Limited format. Just like our words are used to give utterance to observed patterns in our lives, we use these synonymous cards to easily talk about patterns in Magic. For instance, if I want to tell somebody that doesn’t know about the cards Eviscerate or Seeker of the Way, I can just tell them that I Doombladed the Bear, and they’ll get the point.
Most cases of Bolting the Bird have not involved Lightning Bolt and Birds of Paradise. Right?

This characteristic of synonym use puts Magic talk closer to a language than any jargon that comes to my mind. How many ways are there to talk about a base hit or Simple Message Transfer Protocol?

Deck Names

My last contention is the unique qualities of various deck names that we use to easily signify a certain pattern of cards. Sure, we could describe a deck as Blue-Black Control and this will simply tell us the colors and strategy that we’ll expect to see here. Even if we call it Dimir Control, using the lore-official name for the blue-black color combination, we really haven’t stepped that far from an ordinary English description of our deck. Even a deck that is named after a card or mechanic, like Show and Tell or Storm, doesn’t depart too far from simple terminology.

Instead, I want to think about deck names that only make sense because the Magic community has a collective knowledge about the significance of these names. Think about Affinity, Nic-Fit, Dragon Stompy, or The Deck.

The Affinity deck may be easily lovable (ha!), but it’s not called Affinity just because I enjoy playing it. Even with the existence of the Affinity for Artifacts mechanic that this deck is named after, the only time we actually see this mechanic in use is in corner cases like Pauper, EDH, or the occasional Thoughtcast. Affinity is, above all, a modern deck, and you usually won’t find anything in it that says Affinity or has to do with the English definition of affinity.
The thing that I want to stress here is that we call it Affinity because of a shared history. There was once a time when this artifact-synergy deck relied on the Affinity mechanic, and yet, once that mechanic faded into the background, that experience remained in our memories and left its mark on our vocabulary. To my mind, this is a powerful example of an utterance understood by a community that is based not on the activity itself but on the very existence of that community.

It’s especially telling that these community-centric deck names exist almost exclusively in older formats that have had time to develop cultural meanings for our community. In standard, we don’t have the same historical baggage for Red-Black Aggro or God-Pharaoh’s Gift, but some of these eternal decks have been around, in one form or another, for twenty plus years.

For some people, Canadian Threshold won’t bring to mind anything close to Niagara Falls.

Lingering Questions

After these arguments, I think that Magic talk is left in quite the unique spot. I would hesitate to assign it to full-fledged languagehood because of the specificity of its contents. It’s hard to imagine that we can have a language in which we can’t say “good morning” or “thank you,” though I’m still left wondering if the ability to translate between languages is an essential feature of a language. Of course, no two languages are truly isomorphic. We can’t map every single word from English onto exactly one other word in French—there’s not enough French words to go around, plus there’s words in French that we don’t have in English. Really, how do we decide whether or not something is a language?

Another problem is computer coding languages. These are commonly referred to as languages but share the same issue of not being able to express a lot of conversational words like “good morning.” Does this fact, that we are wiling to call these a language, make us more comfortable with calling Magic talk a language? Or would we be better off calling C++ a jargon?

An additional common feature that we find in language is the existence of dialect. It would certainly be interesting to see if there are any regional discrepancies in Magic talk, and we could also spend time investigating the ways that Magic talk manifests itself in different languages across the world. How does one say “crack a fetch” in Japanese Magic talk?

An interesting possible solution to this problem that occurs to me is to try to play with or Magic talk to somebody who does not share another common tongue. If one could hold an actual conversation about the game using nothing but Magic terminology, without relying on another common language, that would be a major reason to consider Magic talk a language. The ability to play a game without needing to speak a common tongue may be less potent evidence, though it would still be worth considering.

 

Wizard’s Incantations

Perhaps my perplexity on this subject comes from a similar desire that leads one to want to play Magic to begin with: imagining oneself as a wizard. The fantasy surrounding wizards and the arcane is heavily steeped in the connection between language and the magical weave. The wizard reads spell books, practices incantations or “the magic words,” and somehow uses their language to tap into magical forces. By forming a complex and intricate system for talking about our game, we’re engaging in that same process of likening ourselves to magic-users.

The arcane is deeply rooted in language.

I’ll leave you with some Oracle text to consider. This is how the spell Silence reads: Your opponents can’t cast spells this turn. (Spells cast before this resolves are unaffected.)

Home Sweet Home

 

For the avid gamer, the local game store (LGS) often becomes our de facto home away from home. The LGS becomes for us more than a place to buy and sell our cards, minis, etc. but also becomes the place where we all gather to celebrate our hobbies. We speak the same language, see the same faces, and, generally speaking, create a warm and welcoming place.

While I have a special fondness for my hometown LGS, MTGFirst, I appreciate the universality of the LGS. It seems to me that, no matter where we venture in this world, every LGS is essentially similar. Some may be bigger or smaller, have a different selection or focus, some may have more elaborate decoration, but, ultimately, they all share some essential characteristics.

From the walls lined with boxes of games and figurines, to the smell of greasy food and male-musk (put gently, sometimes more gently than othertimes), to showcases full of intricately painted figurines, we can walk into an LGS anywhere we go and think, “ah yes, this is familiar.” There’s guys shuffling sleeved up cards, guys moving model figures or space-ships around big tables full of painstakingly built terrain, guys (and maybe even a couple women) rolling dice and scribbling on their character sheets in the corner. Even the people look basically the same in their features.

See, I’ve been traveling abroad for a little over a month now, and, as a card-board crack addict, my MTG cravings frenzied to a pitch that I could no longer deny. So I hopped on the London Underground and made my way to this place called the Dark Sphere (classic, right?) a little hole in the wall on a side street that you’d never know was there unless you were looking for it (again, classic, right?).

I walked in and immediately felt at home; I felt that, although I’ve never set foot in this building, I’ve been here before, and I’m with my people.

For the nerd among us, the LGS is a safe haven. It’s a place where the socially awkward can let loose in their mutual exaltation of their nerdy hobby, where the language barrier of arcane nerdy interests is broken down. Just as the punk rockers take refuge in their hidden, underground shows that they flood with an ocean of screeching sound, we fill our LGS with the sound of shuffling cards and rolling dice. It’s music to our ears.

That’s really all there is to it. It’s about the community.

For this reason, I always try to support the LGS whenever possible, and I’d bid you to do the same. The ease and comfort of online shopping certainly provides a tempting alternative for us when we want to buy games, cards, minis, rules books, or any of our other geeky paraphernalia, but remember: the LGS is more than a store. The LGS is a home, a hub of the community, and as such it fulfills a crucial role in our culture.

 

Luck and Skill in Cards

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The combination of luck of the draw and skilled play is the defining characteristic of playing card games. This interaction between will and fate draws us into the game: it forces us into creative improvisation, it gives lesser players a fighting chance against their superiors, and, on a deeper level, it reflects our abilities to respond to changing circumstances of our environment, that which is beyond our control, to try to make the best of it.

Because of the indefinite and mysterious nature of these forces, it is often difficult to interpret the boundary between luck and skill; where does one begin and the other end? How do we know the proportion of causality, whether chance or luck, that we can assign to any given outcome? How do we decide the weights of luck and skill when looking at different types of games?

First, let’s clarify our terms: in the game, skill is that which the players influence, and luck is the variability within the game that is determined solely by the game. For example, in poker, luck determines the cards that are dealt, both to the players and to the board, and skill resides in the betting actions.

The crux of the issue is that players choose the best action as a function of chance and then that action results in a new probability function. A winning play is that which increases our probability of winning yet may still result in either a win or a loss. This is the essential paradox of card games; probability of results, not results themselves, is the effect of our decision making; this is the fog through which we will attempt to penetrate.

This is the reason that card players are so obsessed with in the long run, and the term “expected value” is given such importance. Because of the laws of probabilities, that is, that their fullness is manifested given a large enough sample size, we expect that, if we play enough games, the better player will win more often than the lesser. Skill matters at every point in the game, but, like a pointalist painting, it is only clearly and distinctly perceptible from a sufficient distance. To this end “win-rate” is a more substantial term than wins and losses themselves.

This theory is all well and good, but nonetheless, it is often impossible or useless in practice. Sure, one may identify themselves as a winning or losing player by tracking win rate, but that tells us nothing about whether this game was decided by skill or luck, or whether this play was a winning or losing play. If we want to improve, we need to be able to identify spots in which we could have done better. But how do we reconcile that necessity with the knowledge that losing plays can win and winning plays can lose? How do we discern between a scenario in which we made the winning play that nonetheless lost and the losing play that therefore lost?

Discerning the Boundary in Play

The fact of the matter is that these questions are often fundamentally unanswerable, at least as “knowable” propositions. However, there are some approaches that may at least aid us in our quest for discernment, and ultimately, win rate.

The first is building intuition through practice. When luck repeatedly confronts us with similar situations, we start to recognize patterns and, by experimenting with various lines of play, we develop a “feel” for what works and what doesn’t. This method, while perhaps the most powerful for the individual’s play, cannot be expressed and so cannot rightly be called knowledge. It does not answer the question that confronts us, but rather makes do by sidestepping the question. This, in practice, nullifies the question and allows us to play without worrying too much about it.

The second is approaching in-game problems as out-of-game propositions by using first principles to deduce theoretically correct lines of play. This approach often involves a great deal of mathematics, statistically analyzing in-game quantities, such as bet sizing in poker or land count in a deck of Magic cards. By doing this, we may uncover truths that would otherwise be obscured, and, given that our principles are sound, we can say with a reasonable degree of confidence that we have knowledge. We can then use this knowledge to guide in-game decisions.

The last approach to the question is engaging in dialogue. By reviewing lines of play with others, we gain access to both another set of data points and another interpretation of our collective data. Though we ought not to accept other’s opinions as gospel, we should keep an open mind, be willing to experiment with other’s strategies, and, at the very least, keep them in mind when analyzing possibilities of our opponent’s in-game strategies.

Discerning the Boundary in Games

The last question that we need to touch upon is how much of any specific game is determined by chance or skill. Essentially, the question asks us: how much do player choices matter? For example, a game of pure luck, such as rolling dice and saying that whoever rolls a higher number is the winner, cannot be influenced by any decisions that the player makes, and so involves no skill. On the other hand, a game of pure skill, such as chess, prohibits any variation in the game environment as caused by the game itself, and so the player’s decisions have a direct causation on the outcome.

Cards, however, exist in between these two extremes. Player decision and randomization within the game both work to determine the results. The question, then, is how we discern what proportion of each, luck and skill, determine the outcome of any specific game.

One method would be to observe players’ long-run win rates; if we find that any given player’s win rate deviates significantly from 50%, then the game is likely skill intensive. In a game of pure luck, we would expect that, because no player gains any edge, every player will win the same amount in the long run. Therefore, we may be able to measure the amount of skill involved in any game by knowing how far from equal various players win rates stretch: the further from even, the greater the skill.

This approach, though scientific, is often impossible for the recreational card player. How are often do we earnestly track win rates, and how long would it take it have a sample size significant enough to say anything definitively? Instead, perhaps we can find an intuitive way of thinking about the problem.

One method involves comparing the outcomes of various lines of play. If we find that one results in a win and the other in a loss, then this is likely a moment in which player influence, and thus skill, plays a role. And although, as discussed above, there are inevitably moments in which player decisions do not matter in any game of chance, the more player influenced moments we find ourselves experiencing, the more skill intensive the game.

 

Conclusion

As card players, variance is the fog through which we constantly proceed. The turn of the card often more profoundly affects the outcome than any of our carefully laid plans, and, in the paradoxical muddle of our souls, this both enrages us and fills us with bliss. We love to hate our luck almost as much as we love the process of uncovering the truth behind whether any given play even mattered in determined the outcome.

More than any other game, cards give us the opportunity to reflect on the ways that we react to our environment. Do we let chance circumstance throw us off balance, or can we just ride the wave?

Controlling Magic: The Gathering, A General Theory

Just like the Reserved List and discussions of future bannings and unbannings, control decks are a polarizing topic in the Magic community. Some people absolutely hate playing them, especially hate playing against them, and, oftentimes it seems, wished that everyone played a creature based aggro or midrange strategy. Others, such as Corey Burkhart and Shota Yasooka, never get enough of the archetype and seem to play it in every tournament, regardless of format. I will first explore the reasons why players have such strong feelings on this subject, and then move on to a general theory of constructing and playing control MTG across all formats.

There’s a lot of discussion in the community about what a “normal” game of magic looks like; common parlance is players summoning creatures, attacking and blocking, and using spells, especially pump spells, removal, and artifacts, to affect the machinations of combat. Consider, for instance, a Jund deck that uses removal and targeted discard to disrupt their opponent long enough for their meat sticks to seal the deal. This, some might say, is “Magic as Richard Garfield intended.” However, I contend that Magic is a great game because of its immense capability to deviate, either slightly or drastically, from this “normal” case. The fact that a game can be ended with a 1-turn storm combo kill via Tendrils of Agony or dragged out almost indefinitely with a Lantern of Insight lockdown adds depth to the game. This complexity forces players to adapt and adjust their strategies to be able to handle all sorts of situations, regardless of the specific deck type that they choose.

Control falls somewhere in between the poles of Jund and Storm on the normalcy scale. Jund just plays the game as it is, whereas Storm decides to play an almost entirely different game altogether. Control by necessity operates on both axes, because the control deck’s game plan is to prevent any given deck from implementing its game plan. Control is an inherently defensive strategy, and so it must be able to defend itself from both the most common and the most absurd scenarios.

This preventative plan is the reason that some players love and others hate control decks; many people become frustrated when they are unable to effectively execute their strategy, sometimes leading to the feeling that they are hardly even playing the game. On the other hand, control players love their decks because, in order to win, they must constantly overcome the game. In contrast to a deck like storm or burn, a control deck cannot ever win if they ignore their opponent’s plays. That is not to say that these aggressive linear decks cannot or do not interact; I believe that the best players of these decks are the ones who optimally interact, however, not all games with these decks require interaction, and, in some cases, a pilot may interact poorly but still win simply because of their proactive strategy. For the control player, this is not an option.

The control player must first understand what makes their opponent’s deck work and then must apply that knowledge to interact at precisely the right moment. For this reason, these decks often have very slim margins of error and require a great deal of both practice and off table study to play anywhere close to optimally.

The saying goes that nothing worth acquiring is easily acquired, which aptly applies to control decks, because, if a player is willing and capable of putting in the required time and effort, they can put themselves in a more favorable position than if they played any other deck, given that there is no obscenely busted deck in the format (Eye of Ugin in modern, for instance). Instead of having inherently good and bad match-ups, most control decks, if adequately teched to a metagame, are 50-50 against the majority of the field based solely on card choices alone. Because the control deck has game against the entire field, player decisions matter more, and so skill-derived edge becomes more apparent in a player’s overall win-rate.

This fact brings us to the true allure of a control deck: the ability to control one’s fate. In life, nothing is certain; in cards, even less is certain. Nonetheless, control decks nullify an extent of that variance, and allow a player to feel more in charge of their own win-rate. Psychologically, this may shed light on a person’s inner machinations, their desire for control, and conversely we gain insight into the psychology of those who despise control decks.

This is an abstraction of the basic joy of playing a control deck. A control player sets out to control the game because they enjoy being in control—period. Sure, they may care about affecting overall win-rate, they may enjoy the challenge of learning and deconstructing opponent strategies, but at the end of the day there is a very real satisfaction that comes from dictating the pace of the game such that one can win “at one’s leisure.” I invite the reader to contemplate possible psychological causes of this pleasure here.

Some of you may be thinking here: “because they’re a bad person, that’s why,” and, to that I say: control decks are a polarizing subject, aren’t they?

For the record, I do not only play control decks, and I enjoy playing against them regardless of the deck that I’m playing. The games are often interesting and interactive, and, to me, that’s what I enjoy most about Magic. I especially love blue control mirrors or pseudo-mirrors, because forethought and manuvering are important, and it truly feels like a battle of wits. It’s about as close to mental wrestling as the game allows.

How to Build a Control Deck

The general theory of a control decks begins by assessing the objective of the deck, that is, to dominant the game-state such that the opposing player’s cards lose all or most of their value. Basically, we’re playing defense here; we answer our opponent’s threats while simultaneously making card-advantageous plays that allow us to continue to indefinitely find relevant answers. The game eventually ends via our win-condition, but it is important to remember that our objective is locking up the game, that is, making our opponent unable to win the game—at least, this is the case in most scenarios (burn, looking at you).

So here we ask the most obvious question: what cards do I play to optimally execute that strategy? It is apparent that the specific answer to this question can only be answered by the cards available in the card pool and the metagame that you wish to control, and yet we seek to outline the paradigm of what constitutes a control deck in the general case.

The first place to look is quadrant theory, which is a useful piece of theoretical knowledge applied to card assessment; it asks us: when is this card good? Is it in the developmental stage of the game? When at parity? When ahead? When behind? These are the four geneses into which moments of the game can be categorized, and the answer to how any given card performs generally in the quadrants may then be used to influence our decisions in deck building, both to balance our deck and it maximize its effectiveness.

But what does this have to do with control decks? Well, control decks operate primarily from behind and when at parity. Sure, we may play some developmental stage cards in certain formats, such as blockers in draft, but, for the most part, our cards should be designed to stabilize the board when we are ahead or allow us to maintain stability when at parity.

Card Types:

1) Removal

This brings us to the one thing that absolutely every control deck has in common: removal. It doesn’t matter what colors or format you’re playing, you must be able to kill creatures and other pesky permanents, because, no matter how many discard spells and counters you play, threats will land on the board and they must be answered. As mentioned earlier, a large portion of the game consists of coming back from behind, and nothing does that quite as nicely as removing threats. The goal is not necessarily to answer everything, but rather to answer the most important things at the most opportune times. We do, however, want our removal to be as cheap and general as possible unless we have a good reason to play something more specific. This gives us maximum versality for timing and targeting our removal spells.

Removal comes in two basic forms, targeted and global, and, in most control decks, a mixture of the two is optimal. Global effects, such as Wrath of God, Shatterstorm, and Toxic Deluge, are often able to immediately put us at parity or ahead because the ability to wipe out multiple cards that altogether had more mana invested in them than the sweeper is an immediate way to gain both card and tempo advantage. While great in these situations, these types of cards take more time and mana to fire off, can leave us without mana to adequately respond on the coming turn cycle, can cause splash damage to our own boardstate, as well as sometimes be expertly played around by a savvy opponent. Boardwipes fill their role in a control deck, and, in conjunction with spot removal, form the core of many control deck’s strategies.

Targeted removal usually only affects a single permanent (Lightning Bolt, Fatal Push, Path to Exile), though sometimes it can be reusable (Punishing Fire, Karn Liberated) and other times it can have multiple targets (Kolaghan’s Command, Forked Bolt). These spells give us early interactions for tempo and life total control, and their presence can force opponents to commit more creatures in front of our sweepers. It is especially important to consider what conditions need to be met in order for your targeted removal to be effective, and to choose spells that can have the broadest applications.

As a rule of thumb, you probably want somewhere around 15-35% removal in your control deck, which correlates to 10 to 20 cards in a 60 card deck. Your exact number will vary based both on the type of decks you expect to play against and what amount of card draw and filtering is available to you. A legacy deck full of Brainstorms and Ponders, for instance, does not need as many removal spells as one of its standard counterparts because it does not rely on its draw step as heavily. And, of course, you will often increase or decrease your removal percentage post-board depending on how necessary it is in the matchup.

2) Counterspells


While not absolutely essential to the control archetype because not every control deck plays blue, counterspells are ubiquitous with control, and, honestly, I’d almost never want to play a control deck without them. There are many variations on counterspells, including various mana costs, restrictions, and additional effects, but they all share the defining characteristic of preventing the resolution of a spell while on the stack. For this reason, counters answer a wider range of threats than removal, with the drawback that they must be used at exactly the right moment.

Counterspells allow us to lock up the game once we come to parity by giving us the option to deal with cards that we could not otherwise answer given the restrictions in our hand. We must let certain spells resolve in order to save our counters for the cards that matter—herein lies one of the greatest tests when playing the control deck. Knowing exactly what spell to counter and when to do so is difficult and getting it wrong is punishing. Practice, patience, and forethought make all the difference here.

3) Targeted Discard

A favorite of black mages and tap-out control fans, targeted discard removes threats before they hit the battlefield or even the stack. They come in two forms: revealed and non-revealed. The first, which includes cards like Thoughtseize, Inquistion of Kozilek, and Duress, is more powerful for disrupting synergies and sculpting a game plan after peeking at an opponent’s hand, whereas the second, featuring cards like Hymn to Tourach and Mind Rot, is capable of generating sheer card advantage. As such, each of these spells has their unique uses that make them better in certain situations and in certain decks.

Revealed discard is particularly useful for blue mages who need to plan ahead with both their cards and mana in order to optimize their responses accordingly; these cards play excellently with counterspells. The second type is generally used alongside the first by decks lacking other ways of gaining card advantage, such as 8-rack.

The obvious downside of cards like this is that they offer no protection against the top of your opponent’s deck.

4) “Cards”

The value of cards as such is an important consideration for control decks because the way that we ultimately win is by amassing an overwhelming amount of card advantage. The early stages of the game are defined by trading card for card with our opponent, and we take over the game by repeatedly creating advantageous situations, such as trading one of our cards for two of our opponents or using one card to draw more of our own. However, before we reach the point in which we can comfortably begin accumulating advantage, we often must play catch up by answering our opponent’s threats. In order to find the right answer to the current situation, we employ our first type of draw spell, card selection.

a) Card Selection

These cards almost always take the form of blue cantrips, preferably at the one mana slot, and their relevance is directly correlated to the power level of the format that you’re in. For instance, draft is so low power and many of the cards are interchangeable, so a limited control deck has no real need for this effect and would be better off just drawing its removal naturally or with advantage spells such as Divination. On the other end of the spectrum, Legacy control decks are defined by their utilization of the best instances of this type, Brainstorm and Ponder, which they must use to optimize their hand strength against the wide array of strategies that they must combat.

The most important thing to keep in mind when playing these spells is to always take a moment before you decide to put it on the stack and ask yourself, “What am I looking for?” If you cannot answer this question by thinking of a good reason to cast it, you are almost always better off holding onto it for later. These spells can help you dig your way out of the toughest situations, and their value is maximized by utilizing them to this purpose.

The better your card selection is, the leaner you can go on spell redundancy and land count. Everyone knows that hitting land drops is important for control decks, and so it is not uncommon to see people play well over 1/3 land density, sometimes up to 26 lands in a 60-card deck. However, when we add better, cheaper selection spells, we can reduce our land count because these spells will naturally enable us to hit our lands with greater consistency—this is the main reason why this type of effect is said to reduce variance in the game. Additionally, these spells allow us to not rely on playing full sets of our other spells, because we are more likely to find them when we need them. This enables us to tweak our list more precisely to our expected meta by including a variety of singletons.

b) Card Advantage

Card advantage is an absolute necessity for any control deck, and, I’d argue, that the ability to exponentially generate card advantage as the game progresses is the signature of a control deck. Sure, midrange decks also care about card advantage, but their game plan is to generate advantage while they kill, whereas control seeks to generate advantage and then kill: a subtle yet important distinction, indeed. It is not uncommon to win a game with 5 to 8 cards in hand against an opponent with slim holdings.

This aspect of our strategy forms the foundation for the transition that we must make from parity to ahead. Our removal and counterspells can answer their threats one by one, keeping us from falling too far behind, but, without card advantage, they will often outdraw us simply by drawing more threats than we can answer from out draw-step alone. To break this parity, we need to increase the average value of each of our cards above the average value of our opponent’s cards.

Consider the following turn sequence: on our first turn, we play a land and pass the turn. Our opponent plays a land and a 1 mana creature. We untap, play another land, and use a single target removal spell on our opponent’s creature. At this moment, our card value is 1:1. Our opponent untap, plays another land and another creature. We then make our third land drop and play Divination.

Now, we have each played two cards, but, because one our cards drew us two, our card value is higher overall unless our opponent was able to play a value creature, such as Elvish Visionary. Given that our opponent’s creature has not generated any card value, our current value ratio is 3:2, or 1.5:1. Notice that our Divination gave us an immediate advantage in cards, but this number does not tell us the whole story about where we stand in the game, because, when we take the time and mana to cast our Divination, that mana spent correlates directly into a loss of tempo. We need time to cast our extra cards.

Hopefully this concept is becoming illuminated at this point, but nonetheless let us continue our example. On our opponent’s third turn, they attack us with their creature, play a land, and then play another creature. We then untap, play our land, and cast Wrath of God, destroying all creatures. Since this interaction gives us another two-for-one, our card value ratio again increases in our favor, to 5:3, and, because this time our card advantageous play came in the form of removal, we regained the tempo that we lost on turn three when we cast Divination.

Notice how as the game progresses and we pull further ahead, our card value number increases as a faster rate than our opponent’s. As long as we work towards this goal without sacrificing too much tempo, our victory is almost inevitable. Next time you are playing a control deck, try keeping track of this ratio, and you will notice that your control over the game tightens as your cards gain more and more value than your opponents.

Next, we should acknowledge the various ways that we can gain advantage:

1) Spells that draw more cards. This is the most obvious way of gaining card advantage, because we are immediately translation a single card into multiple. This way of gaining advantage is entirely self-contained, and, if the spell resolves, we are guaranteed advantage (barring nuisances such as Leovold and Notion Thief…)

2) Multiple permanent removal. This type of advantage takes more set-up than the former, because it necessitates our opponent’s play meeting prior conditions. In the above described play, our Wrath of God made advantage because our opponent had two creatures in play, but, if our opponent has one or no creatures, then our card does not meet the necessary conditions for generating advantage. Although these situations may be harder to set up than simply drawing cards, they have the added bonus of winning us tempo, making them even more impactful when they do work out.

3) Multiple card discard. Mind Rot and Hymn to Tourach effects are classic ways for black decks to generate advantage, especially when they don’t have access to blue cards. These cards have the downside of relying on our opponent to actually have cards to discard, but, when they do turn out well, they can earn us both card and tempo advantage. Some authors may refer to this type of card advantage as negative card advantage.

4) Planeswalkers. From the first big bad blue boy of Magic, Jace The Mind Sculptor, to more subdued modern iterations like Ashiok, Dovan Baan, and recently Teferi, Planeswalkers have remained a tried and true way to generate card advantage because, basically, each walker gets to cast a free spell each turn. So long as your planeswalker sticks around for a few turns, you should be a few cards ahead by the end of it.

5) Opportunely timed interaction. Any situation in which we can turn a single target spell into card advantage, we are very, very happy: not only do we go up on cards, but we usually also gain on tempo. This can happen when an opponent tries to play either a trick or an aura on a creature, to which we respond with removal, or they sacrifice a permanent/discard a card as an added cost to a spell that we counter. In limited especially, always be on the lookout for ways to use your removal when your opponent has a spell on the stack that targets one of their creatures and try to use your blockers in such a way that your opponent is enticed into doing so.

6) Chain advantage. This type of card advantage has the most potential for generating more advantage, because it involves making advantageous plays that consequently and directly lead to more advantageous play. A classic example is Snapcaster Mage and Kolaghan’s Command: both of these cards are standalone advantage spells, but, when combined, they form chain advantage that creates even more cards than either of them could alone. Kolaghan’s Command can eliminate an opponent’s card while buying back Snapcaster; Snap can then use the Command to remove another opponent’s card while buying back another creature, perhaps even another Snapcaster. This sequence generates immense value, and is a hallmark sequencing in both modern and legacy Grixis decks. Another example, this time from limited, is playing Recover on a creature than has an effect that generates card advantage, something even as minor as Elvish Visionary. This method of generating advantage is a technique that control players should constantly be looking to execute.

5) Blockers

Not all control decks rely on blockers, though many do, and, in lower powered formats, they are one of the primary ways that we establish parity and regain tempo, especially in the early game. Many of constructed’s best blockers, such as Wall of Omens, Baleful Strix, and Augur of Bolas, gain value by doubling as card advantage, but in limited we often resort to various 0/4s and 2/5s to keep our opponent’s creatures at bay. In these scenarios, blockers increase the value of our removal because they narrow the range of threats that we need to remove. When our blockers effectively blank their attackers, we only need to worry about certain cards, and so we can save our removal to answer those specific threats.

6) Win Conditions

“So how does your deck win, exactly?” As explicated earlier, the control deck wins via amassing an overwhelming amount of card advantage, thereby taking control of the boardstate and preventing the opponent from making meaningful play. Nonetheless, the rules of the game require us to have a way to “win the game” in the colloquial sense, and so we are obliged to commit some amount of deck space, however small, to cards that can end a game of Magic.

The best win-cons for a control deck serve a double purpose by also playing the role of one of the above card types. Snapcaster Mage is such a ubiquitous control card because, not only can he attack and win the game, but he acts as immediate card advantage and can even block, sometimes profitably. Similarly, Jace The Mind Sculptor can end the game with his ultimate ability, but the card also serves the purpose of generating cards and is even capable of temporary removal. Vendilion Clique triples up at win-con, card filtering, and hand disruption.

In smaller formats, control decks have less options for finishers, and so some stand out clearly above the rest. In recent memory, Torrential Gearhulk has played a dominant role as a control finisher in standard because it is able to provide more card advantage than any other finisher available. Sure, it’s big, blue, and has flash, but the ability to “snap” your instants is what sets Gearhulk apart from other standard finishers. On the other hand, as your card pool expands, so too does the availability of quality finishers, giving you more options.

It is in these situations that I am a big fan of diversifying your win conditions, because some finishers are better in certain situations than others. Vendilion Clique is amazing against a combo deck because it disrupts their hand and allows us to hold counters up on their main phase, whereas against a Delver of Secrets deck it is often little more than an expensive Lightning Bolt. The superior card selection available makes it more likely you will find a more optimal finisher for any given situation, and, in legacy at least, Brainstorm allows you to shuffle away excess and situationally subpar finishers.

As you can tell, many cards do not break down into one distinct category, and in fact most of the best cards that we have available can slot into multiple categories. It is always good to try to find cards that fill many roles, but still be conscious of how much of each section our deck contains. We need to find a good balance so that our deck runs smoothly and efficiently. I encourage you to try difficult configurations often, because, more important than a theoretical understanding of how and why these things work the way they do, is just playing with them and learning by application. With enough games, you will develop an intuitive “feel” for building and playing control.

 

Tips, Tricks, and Advice

Whenever possible, always be reactive. By this I mean that, if you have an option to make a proactive play, you may be able to maximize that play’s effectiveness or play around something your opponent could do by waiting for your opponent and then reacting. For example, say you are holding a Surgical Extraction and your opponent has a Punishing Fire in their graveyard. They don’t have a Grove of the Burnwillows in play to respond with, so you decide to fire off the Surgical during your main phase; your opponent then plays Crop Rotation, gets the Grove, returns the Fire, and blows you out. However, if you had waited for them to Crop Rotate or activate their Grove, you could have responded by casting Surgical and thus blowing them out. Be patient, even when it seems like nothing could go wrong— trust me, it can.

Hold up mana for counterspells on your opponent’s turn as much as possible, even if you do not have the counterspell. First, by tapping out in the face of an opponent capable of making a dangerous resolution, we telegraph to them that we do not have the counter and that they can do whatever they please, which will have consequences not only on this turn sequence but also on future ones. Moreover, opponent’s will often play around your counters when you have mana for them, meaning that your bluff gains value by reducing the optimization of their lines of play. You may have to take damage from a creature if you wait until their end step to use your removal spell, but it is often worth it to maintain counter magic during both main phases.

Think ahead. Every deck requires some amount of foresight, but for many that horizon only extends a few turns—not so with control. You need to envision yourself five to ten turns in the future. Picture the board state as it is when you are in control of it and sculpt your hand and actions to make that vision into a reality. You always need a plan.

Another factor to consider when playing control is beating the clock. Control decks are infamous for drawing out, and, if you want to win, you have to do it quickly enough that you can finish three games. This means that, even though you need time to think ahead, craft your plan, and optimize your lines, you must play at a quick pace. To achieve this goal, constantly assess the board state, your hand, your opponent’s hand, your potential draws, and your opponent’s potential draws, especially when your opponent goes into the tank. Your brain can never rest when playing control because you need to focus very intently on gaining and maintaining control over the game.

Pack some snacks. If you’re not playing tournaments longer than 3 or 4 rounds you probably don’t have to worry about this, but, because of the length of our average games, control players often don’t get a lot of times in between rounds to grab a meal. Keep the gears turning by packing healthy snacks to munch on in the moments that you have in between games and rounds.

Be gracious. Sportsmanship is always important in gaming, but it is especially important from control players because control tends to be such a sore subject. Don’t make the salty loser saltier by rubbing your victory in their face, cackling maniacally when you counter their only card in hand, or telling them how they should have played with the game is over. Likewise, if you lose, don’t blame your draw or make some other excuse. Just say good game, smile, and later review what you could have done better.

And always remember that it’s a game. We always play to win, but even more-so, we play to have fun. The best way to know that a deck is right for you, whether its control or anything else, is if you enjoy playing it.

With that thought, I’ll leave you with a quote from Corey Burkhart that he wrote in his Modern Grixis Control primer: “As for deck choice, find something that is uniquely you. I personally love the tricky nature of the blue cards. They’re less powerful than the cards in most the other colors in terms of raw power, but the synergies between them and the cards of other colors are high. I love the hopeless feeling this deck can invoke from my opponents as I cast a second or third copy of Kolaghan’s Command in their draw step.”

Know Thy Tilt

The Temple At Delphi

Inscribed at the Temple of the Oracle at Delphi is one of humanity’s most famous and often-quoted proverbs: know thyself. This is important and useful advice for anyone, yet for the gamer it has a special application that directly impacts our win rate percentage: know yourself, know your tilt.

Tilt is perhaps the greatest enemy of competitive gamers. It is defined as any mind-state that causes us to lose edge and make suboptimal decisions. And although we can constantly strive to eliminate tilt from our game by working on our so-called “mental game,” we can never fully rid ourselves of tilt. However, instead of beating ourselves up over our mental slippage or brushing it under the rug, we can use tilt to learn about ourselves and to reduce future tilt.

I recently played a truly great hand of poker, one which cost me around $30 and taught me some valuable lessons, about not only poker, but knowing one’s tilt and one’s self. By looking at why I made the decisions that I did, I perceived the nature of the tilt with which I was affixed at the time. I hope to then use this perception to dig deep into the root causes of this tilt, the one’s embedded deep in my psyche, so that in the future I may recognize my tilt and understand why it happens.

Here’s how it went: we’re playing .5/.10 for a couple of hours at this point, and I’m about +$10, playing the tightest at a table that loves to limp. I am dealt the best hand I’ve seen all day, queens. Happily tucking my ladies under my hands, I am excited to play them. This is the first tilt: this expectation roused my emotions. I just wanted something fun to happen! We’ve played a lot of smallish hands at this point, so when the action comes around to me in the button, the cutoff(CO) has already 2x 3-bet middle position’s 4 big blind (BB) open. I then excitedly 4-bet to 20BB.

pocket queens

MP calls the $2, and then CO pops it to $5 with about $25 behind. I raise to $10. At this point, irrespective of player type, what is the CO’s range? I think I should have called or folded, but I tilted off and raised because a) I was having too much fun gambling and b) my pride was at stake. Upon reviewing the hand, the first reason was immediately obvious to me, but it was only once I realized that this tilt was generated by a psychological emotional instability, exciting gambling, that I perceived another more sinister sin that tilted me off: I couldn’t let him out aggro me on my big hand because my pride was too big.

Here’s the run-out: MP calls the $10, pushing all in, and then CO shoves the rest of his stack. Committed, I call, and we all flip our cards. MP has kings and CO has aces. MP and I are both about 15% headed to the flop, the same as if either of us had deuces. The flop is the ace of diamonds, the king of hearts, and the jack of diamonds. Both of the other players have flopped sets, so queens are no longer outs. The turn comes the king of diamonds, which gives MP quads and gives me a 1 in 47 chance to find the ten of diamonds for the best hand in all of poker, a royal straight flush. Alas, the river came the nine of clubs and my queens paid each of my adversaries half of my stack, for I was beaten on both fronts. Maybe the saying should go: it doesn’t matter if you’re holding the third best hand if the guys in your game are holding the second and very best hands!

The board

I admit, this was very fun and I stand it was $30 well spent, not only because it was so exciting and taught me so much, but also because I shared this exceptional moment with friends. It was a great time, excitedly chattering and sending pictures to our friends. I was happy to be a part of that hand.

So here’s the first lesson: it is important to keep all emotions in check in order to play optimally, not only negative ones that we commonly associate with tilt, such as fear, carelessness, vengeance, or inadequacy. Getting swept up in the excitement of the hand clouded my rational judgment. I stopped considering odds, combos, fold equity, or any numbers at all; I was blinded by my queens and my desire to get all of my money into the pot. This shows me that I need to be careful of having too much fun, because I am liable to get swept up into the moment and go on “fun-tilt.”

The second is more complicated, but comes down to how I saw CO in relation to myself as a player. This guy was winning lots of pots by playing garbage hands aggressively, forcing a lot of folds and occasionally getting there with hands like 57 or J4, and so my strategy was to tighten my range against him and then play a big pot with range advantage. Then at last, I finally had a hand against him. I did not give CO credit for aces because his range was wide open and I needed to prove to myself that my disciplined tightness made me a better poker player. I know my range overall was much stronger than his, but in this exact situation, what else could he have had? My pride protested laying down the hand, even though I knew that at least one of them had aces or kings. This again comes back to knowing oneself and one’s pride, so that I can try to be humbler and to recognize and combat my pride. It is a tilt both subtle and deep, but, just like the classic “bad beat” tilt, it is a function of the mind’s behavior that reduces our expected value and, therefore, the competitive gamer must seek to destroy it. In the future I will strive to stay cognizant of my pride so-as to prevent myself from making decisions based on pride instead of reason.

The overall lesson here is that our varied shades of tilt can always be traced back to some underlying psychological unbalance, providing us with a great opportunity for self-reflection. When we dig into the question, “what is this tilt and why has it appeared at this moment?” we improve our odds of recognizing similar situations in the future, and, as any gamer knows, increasing our odds increases our win rate in the long run. Besides, knowing oneself is useful for personal growth and happiness, right?

 

Game Review: Sushi Go

 

As a lover of both sushi and games, I was ecstatic when a friend of mine gave me a copy of Sushi Go, and it has become a go-to for me when I want something easy, fun, and relaxed. The game is based on kaiten-zushi, conveyor belt sushi, and the objective is simple: pick the best combination of dishes to make the perfect sushi meal!

The game begins by dealing cards to each player. Everyone looks at their cards, places one face down in front of them, passes the rest to the left, and then, once everyone has picked a card, each player simultaneously flips up their selected card. Players then pick up the cards passed to them and repeat this process until there are no more cards left to pass. After three rounds, player’s count the points that they have earned and whoever has the most is declared the winner.

Seems simple, right?

This game is great because of how easy it is to learn while still offering players complex strategic decisions. To understand the strategy of Sushi Go, we should first cover the four basic card types.


1) Absolute Value Cards:

These cards, nigiri, are the most straightforward of the bunch: they are either worth 1, 2, or 3 points, depending on the type.

2) Relative Value Cards:

Certain types of cards, maki rolls and pudding, are not worth anything individually, but rather depend on how many each player has relative to each other player. For instance, the person with the most maki gains 6 points, and the person with the second to most gains 3 points. The third place maki-owner gains no points for their maki, making those cards effectively worth 0 points. The pudding functions similarly, giving 6 points to the player with the most and taking 6 points from the player with the least.

 

3) Combo Value Cards

These are cards that only work in certain combinations, which, due to their difficulty in assembling, often resulting in either the greatest or least points-per-card. A set of 3 sashimi is worth 10 points; a set of 2 is worth nothing. Similarly, a dollop of wasabi is useless on its own, but, when combo’d with a nigiri, multiplies the value of that nigiri by three.

4) Chopsticks

Chopsticks are unique in Sushi Go because they do not have any value when counting points. Rather, they are used in gameplay to save a pick for later. After taking the chopsticks, a player can at any point announce that they are using the chopsticks by saying “sushi go!” and putting their chopsticks from the table into the cards that they are choosing from. That player may then take two cards instead of one. The chopsticks are incredibly valuable at the beginning of each round, when more high value cards remain.

 

So how do you win this game? We have two fundamental strategies in Sushi Go: maximizing points-per-card and denying our opponent’s combos.

In the first, we ask ourselves: how much is each of our cards worth individually? For instance, one card from a set of sashimi is worth 3.3 points. If we have 10 maki cards and have the most maki at the end, then each card is worth 2/3 of a point. By doing some simple math and constantly asking ourselves how we can stretch the most value out of each card we take, we increase our overall card value and put ourselves in a position to have the most points.

The other strategy is more complex, requires a good deal of attention and memory, and sometimes conflicts with our first objective: this is what we call “hate drafting,” and is when we take a card solely to deny our opponent of it. This happens frequently with the pudding because of the set-back potential, but it can be even more useful when denying combos from an opponent and not allowing them to realize the full equity of their cards. Say, for example, the most useful card that you could take in a turn is a piece of salmon nigiri, worth 2 points. However, you notice that the player to your left has 2 pieces of sashimi; even if you don’t need the sashimi and have no intention of filling out the set, it will still be a profitable play because your single card worth 0 points lowers your average card value less than an opponent with 2 cards worth 0.

This is just an appetizer of the strategies and fun awaiting you in Sushi Go. Be careful though: playing this game may make you very hungry!

 

When to Compete and When to Play ‘Just for Fun’

For the competitive player, it can be hard to know “when to turn it off.” Because of our tendency to tunnel-vision on our desire to win, we sometimes lose value in situations where that ought not be our primary objective. We need to remember that the point of playing a game is to have fun, and that different circumstances call for a different level of competitiveness to maximize our enjoyment in the game.

We compete because we enjoy it. For the competitive player, there is nothing more fun than an intensely competitive game with a lot on the line, such as the final stages of a tournament. However, as gamers, we must recognize that, sometimes, we will have a better time if we dial back our competitiveness and focus on some other aspect of the game.

1) Our Adversary is Not Competitive

If we are playing a game in which our opponent has little interest in winning, our optimal play will not be competitive. Because they are not intent on beating us, we cannot find as much joy in beating them, and so we are better off playing on their terms. If someone is playing just to pass the time or to afford a social situation, then we will have a better time focusing on those issues. What satisfaction is there to gain from winning a game that our opponent didn’t try to win?

 

2) The Game we are Playing is Not Competitive

Certain games are inherently non-competitive, and, if taken competitively, lose much of their fun. For instance, people sometimes ask me why I enjoy D&D, even though there’s no way to “win,” in the strict sense of beating an opponent; I answer that I like spending time with my friends playing such a creative and interesting game. Dungeons and Dragons is about creating an adventure together, not about maximizing value from every play or trying to “beat the game,” and so it is important to keep this in mind when playing. Similarly, Once Upon a Time, a game in which players use cards to collectively tell a fairy tale, is best taken non-competitively. Although it has a mechanism for winning the game—playing out all your cards—I have often found that, by focusing less on playing all my cards and winning and more on encouraging every player to partake in and enhance the story, I have a much better time. And then there are obvious games like party games, such as Cranium or Loaded Questions, games which also involve winners and losers, but work to facilitate a raucous or silly atmosphere. When playing games like this, focus more on the party and less on winning.

3) We are not in a Competitive Mental State

This is one of the harder spots to recognize and can be an especially difficult pill to swallow for a competitive player. Sometimes, we are in no place to compete, and, by focusing too much on winning, we deny ourselves a greater value. This situation came up for me recently and took me awhile to realize what was going on: the day after ending a long-term relationship, I was stuck in an understandable doldrum, and decided to go to my local game store to play Magic, hoping to get my mind off it and have fun. Although I had this intention, my competitive nature still pained me when I lost all my matches, a circumstance that I am no longer accustomed to. I felt miserable, and even more like a failure for a while, but then, when I got home and reflected on my day and my feelings, I realized that I made so many obvious mistakes because my current mental state could not handle the high level of focus that the game required and that this was not a reflection of who I am as a competitor. Instead, I thought back on how I felt playing the games, and, even though I felt somewhat sluggish and dissociated, I had a good time playing the game, thinking about Magic and not my ex. Sure, I lost the game, but I had a good time and was happy to have spent an evening playing a game that I love.

Before you sit down to play any game, ask yourself: why am I playing this game and how can I maximize this situation? By setting your intentions at the outset, you set yourself up to get the most out of every game that you play.

 

 

Following the Herd

Today I want to talk about thinking for yourself, blazing your own trail, and trusting yourself enough to act accordingly. Many of these thoughts can apply to our lives generally, but, since this is a gamer blog, I’m going to speak on the subject solely within the purview of gaming.

When we set out to learn a game, we start by learning to rules. This first step is necessarily obedience: we cannot play the game unless we obey the rules, and by failing to obey them we become cheaters, which, I’d say, is bad for both the game and for ourselves. To play the game as a game, we must obey the rules. This is how we begin.

After we master an obedience of the rules, we then move on to developing strategies and tactics to win the game. We primarily do this in two ways: we play the game and practice our techniques in real time, and we study the game away from the table. The former certainly allows one the opportunity to think for oneself, but, in games of deep complexity, we often cannot plunge the depths alone, and so we rely on the insights of others to guide our practice. This is both healthy and beneficial: an amateur certainly has a lot to gain by studying the play of a professional.

However, I want to make clear the distinction between listening and obeying. It is important to listen to other’s opinions on strategy, to absorb their information and consider how to apply it to one’s own play, but we need to keep in mind that, no matter how skilled our instructor, they are not the rules; they ought not be obeyed.

This happens a lot, especially in Magic; The Gathering. Players will play what they are told are the best decks and the best cards, and, if they see some card that they haven’t previously seen in a top 8 decklist or told was a good card by a source they see as credible, they will shunt it off and dismiss it as unworthy of consideration.

On the other hand, if a player can develop the skills to critically think about a piece of strategy and how it fits in with their overall strategy, they can assess for themselves how it will work, and then take the next important step: actually trying it out. Take the risk: you may lose because, hey, maybe the herd was right and the strategy actually isn’t very good, but at least now you’ve tried and you know why it’s not good.

And, of course, you might stumble on the next “big thing”—this not only will give you the satisfaction of creative expression, but will also give your win percentage an edge, because you will be ahead of the herd and your opponents will not be able to adequately anticipate your play.