Tips. From you. On how to rule at Magic.
Now that we’ve wasted the first line reiterating the title, let’s get to it.
Tip Number Seven: Remember that you have an opponent.
Sounds nutty, but it’s true. And what that opponent can do to (or for) you is enormous. But not as enormous as those Burger King fat boy breakfast sandwiches. Saw one on a billboard and it was so terrifying that I hid my children.
Yes, your opponent: the one who is trying to kill you, just as you are trying to kill back, but much harder and with much added humiliation.
In playing a billion games, I learned a thing or two, okay, just one, but I get to lie about stuff because I’m not very good at Magic. One thing that sticks out based on my own shoddy play is this:
You draw your cards, look at your hand and consider the options available, perhaps not only for this turn, but the next and maybe even the next.
You play land, do something and say “what are you waiting for, fruity ass? Go!”
Your opponent does. But you’re still looking at your cards and wondering how you can do so much cool stuff in one lifetime.
Your opponent drops a land. Maybe he does something. If so, you look at the result. Then you look back at your hand. If he dropped a bad dood, you look at it again. Then your hand. Then ask “are you ever gonna be done, you sexy bastard!”
Eventually, you get another turn. You look at your hand before you draw. You draw and look at the new card on the block. You calculate what this does to the master plan you already figured out, then wonder why you bothered to calculate in the first place when you knew you were going to get new info that made your mental gymnastics change.
You do stuff, etc., and finally end your turn. But only after the cards in your hand have melted under the white hot glare of your steely eyes.
What was your opponent doing this entire time? Looking at his cards.
During a game in which I was using all the fancy new cards and Berto wasn’t, he noticed that after I drew my card I glanced quickly and immediately into my graveyard, then looked back to my hand, Johnny Innocent Boy. This is akin to peeps looking at their chips after they see the flop. Or turn their head slightly to check out that hottie’s ass that just passed by you and the wifey at the mall. So clandestine.
But you didn’t notice any of that because you were looking at your cards and still formulating your master plan for the master race.
If a nine-year-old can tell that I just drew something that made my graveyard relevant, so can you. However, you can’t, because you love your pretty cards. I love them too, my pretty cards I mean.
The school of thought is to strategize, at least a little, on your opponent’s turn, so your downtime isn’t wasted. Much like reading in the bathroom – why not do something constructive? Although the bathroom is an excellent place to read, your opponent’s turn isn’t. Example:
You didn’t see me glance into my graveyard, so you don’t know I just drew something that made me immediately and nearly subconsciously glance into my graveyard
Your opponent is a sniveling little sucker duck, and quite the skeezer at that, so watch that bastard and learn about that bastard, for Magic nerds do indeed wear their hearts on their sleeves.
Watch the illegitimate one as he draws his card, then looks all stealth-like at something of yours. Then duck, ’cause it’s most likely gonna die. But not right now: I got a secret, n’yah, n’yah!
Plus, your opponent is a savage cheetah, and will cheet you like he’s entering his dog’s social security number on the proper line of his 1040 under the list of “dependants.”
At the prerelease, there were a few things I noticed about the good players and the bad players. Most noticeable was the fact that bad players spent most of the game gazing forlornly into their hands as if they were trying to will them to become the power nine, while the good players only did this during their turn, preferring to watch “every little thing you do is magic” during their opponent’s turn.
Yes, they’re good players, and they help their own cause by watching your bad acting ala shirtless-in-every-scene-soap-hunks-who-are-forced-to-speak-unspeakably-bad dialog.
They know when you draw a removal spell.
And which guy will be the target.
Or a land killah.
And which land will hit the bin.
That you drew a burn spell.
Because you looked at your scoresheet.
Or that you drew Gravedigger (LOVE!).
And how bad you are for playing that guy.
Even though he r00lz. L33t. f33r.
These are things you might know as well, if you remembered that you have an opponent.
Tip Number Six: Forget that you have an opponent.
Now that you remembered that you have an opponent, forget to remember.
I saw Mike Emmertt watching his opponent staring at the board during an apparent creature standoff. For about a full minute. Then Mike said “here comes the team…” two seconds later, opponent tapped all his guys and sent in the clowns. You can guess the result. Mike took an obviously complex combat phase and whittled it down: most of your guys die, most of mine live, I’ll take two and what took you so long to remember you had an opponent?
This is akin to a bastard who constantly asks, “how many cards in hand?” I once saw someone go first, play land and ask, “how many cards in hand?” I promise I did. I often see peeps ask multiple times during the same turn. And it was always his own freakin’ turn.
Why would they do this? The question is: why wouldn’t they?
They’re trying to get you to remember you have an opponent, but in this case, they’re playing simpleton once removed, perhaps twice, which is simply this:
Take a coin and hide it in one of your hands, I’ll guess. The answer is either “left” or “right.” I might guess wrong the first time, but it’s the second time when I got you.
Say you went with “left,” since you’re a commie pinko, and I won or lost – it doesn’t even matter. The simpleton will vary his play (which hand hides the coin) with this line of reasoning:
I put it in my left last time, so I’m going to fool him by putting it into my right this time!
The simpleton once removed will say: I put it in my left last time, so I’m going to fool him by not going with the obvious ploy of switching, rather I’ll up-one him and put it in my left again!
No matter what the result of the guess, our hero (me, even though I suck at guessing) now has you down. Oh, you say you can win a land war in Asia? Your reasoning goes a lil’ sumthin’ like this: he’s smart, so he’ll know that the obvious play is to switch to the right, but I know he knows this, so I’ll go left. But he knows that I know, so I’m going to switch to the right. Welcome to simpleton twice removed.
If your opponent is a better player or more adept at observing the human condition, you can’t win this game: it’s tic-tac-toe, and he gets to go first and second. In a game like Magic, it’s much worse. The bad players usually know who the good players are, and phrases like “here comes the team” are often a not-so-subtle ploy based on the simpleton once, sometimes twice, removed.
He wants me to attack, so I won’t. Then again, he knows I know he wants me to attack… Send in the clowns! The clever ones will find your simpleton level long before you do, and will stay one level ahead, but not two. The trick is to forget you have an opponent and act with rationale and objectivity. Easier said than done, huh?
Vizzini wasn’t just stalling.
But it didn’t matter.
Because Westley was playing tic-tac-toe.
And he got to go first.
And second.
And he cheated too.
Tip Number Five: Lose Before You Sit Down.
I can’t beat this guy, his rating is sex with a hottie, while mine is locking the bathroom door. Of course you can’t beat this guy – he is, after all, much better than you. Cuter too. And he has all the cards, a cool car and a real life girlfriend who lets him get to second base when she’s drunk.
Then don’t beat him. Accept that you already lost. It doesn’t take a man to admit he’s outgunned – it takes a realist. While it may sting a little coming clean that someone is a better player than you, it doesn’t have to get infected and force you to take Thursday and Friday off work to recuperate. Maybe Monday too.
At least you can try to make the games close. Or interesting. Or last more than five turns. Being a speedbump on Super Good Player’s road to the blue envelope isn’t something to be ashamed of: he beats everyone. He’ll beat you too, accept it.
That was easy, wasn’t it? Now that you’ve warmed up your digits in preparation for signing the match slip in the “good game, loser!” column, let’s get it over with.
Ever noticed how a nearly euphoric haze surrounds you when you have granted yourself the freedom, nay, the permission, to lose? Feels good, huh? Like a sexy ass in satin rubbing up against you, proving that frottage is more than just foreplay.
Now that you’ve saved yourself the anguish of trying your best only to come out sucking third tit, you are free to roam about the cabin. Don’t have to worry about getting my ass handed to me anymore!
Ever notice how a nearly euphoric haze surrounds you when you have granted yourself the freedom, nay the permission, to eliminate every conceivable sort of pressure that you could imagine? What kind of things are likely to happen to someone who has nothing to lose and plays that part to perfection? Yep, guessed right: good ‘tings.
Tip Number Four: Win Before You Sit Down.
Your opponent has no right to even be in this building: the same building in which you currently inhabit. Have disdain for your opponent because he’s earned it. The mere fact that he’s even willing to wage battle against you is the epitome of sheer lunacy, not to mention stupidity.
He can’t win, he won’t win, and while going threw the motions of actually playing this game is an exercise in futility for the bad guy, you’ll humor him because you’re the cat’s ass at niceness.
You’ll play textbook Magic, while his play will be mired and bathed and lathered and showered in nothing short of complete and utter pathos. If there is a card you would prefer to draw, it will be exactly where you need it to be precisely when you need it to be.
You will capitalize on his mistakes and play the perfect game, not just the error-free game, but a game bereft of second-guessing, for your skills are beyond reproach.
Your deck has the matchup in the bag: your cards are more powerful and perfectly suited to destroy his delusions of grandeur. Your scorepad is crisp and clean, your demeanor is one of unrestrained concentration and each facet of your d-20 glistens in the autumn moonlight. Hell, even your sleeves are better than his, and he has those fancy pants ones.
You don’t have to hate your opponent, but you must, in the purest and most heartfelt semblance of the word, pity him. Because he sits across from you, fully aware that this is not going to end well for him.
You really have to admire a guy like that: eager to charge into a battle he can’t win; to thrust himself onto his sword in the name of honor; to play Mike Tyson to your Whoever Beats Tyson Like A Bitch This Month. And while you may admire your opponent’s willingness to refuse to cower to the glove slap in the face, you can’t respect him.
This is your house, your game, your life. For him to consider – even for a moment – that his chance of victory is anything but a negative integer is the paramount of ignorance.
So kick this little bitch to the curb like a man. But be nice about it.
Tip Number Three: Know The Math.
Four-times card q in my deck equals this chance to draw it by turn r.
I drew x cards more than my opponent, thus my advantage is y.
The power and toughness of creatures a, b, and c, combined with the probability that he is holding additional cards d, e, and f computes to g turns until I am mangled like Al Sharpton’s hairdresser the day Al finally looks into a mirror.
Yes, you must have a grasp of the math. What is likely to happen when, and what is more likely to not happen after that is a rudimentary skill you must not only acquire, but understand fully, or at least more so than your opponent.
Five sources of this color of mana is enough, but five-point-one is too much. Five allows me to obtain what I need when I need it, but anything more than that is not only redundant, but detrimental to my overall strategy.
The ideal mana curve must be present, as must the proper creature-spell ratio, just as the instances of each card must be justified; all while the odds of improving after the draw must be in your favor. And must remain so for each successive turn thereafter.
This is Magic by the numbers. Trillions of dollars have been lost by ridiculous craps players who think that giving away less than a percentage point to the house can be overcome. Ditto for roulette players, especially those who try to buck the double zero.
Know the math and it will save your ass.
Tip Number Two: Screw The Math!
The WSOP 2005 opening round is on ESPN, and Jennifer Harmon just got her queens-full cracked by Cory Zeidman’s 22-1 straight flush.
Math is ass.
If math wasn’t ass, she wins. But it is ass, so Look What Happened To Me Boy takes a huge lead. Of course, he’s supposed to get the straight flush once every twenty two hands. Just so happened this was that hand.
Knowing the math is nice, but everyone knows the math. Knowing the intangibles is something they don’t.
Understand that the law of large numbers dictates that after five consecutive heads on the flip of a coin, it won’t start pumping out more tails to compensate. It will, however, the longer you flip, get closer and closer and closer still to fifty-fifty. Flip it a billion times and it’ll be much more freakin’ close to fifty-fity than it was a week ago.
When you get that, you’ll realize it’s obvious you’re not flipping it a billion times – you’re flipping it once. Or twice, ten or fifty times. When you flip it a billion times, you’re likely to see a run like this:
HTHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHTHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH
Or even that line with all heads. Or T/H/T/H for two days.
Flip it a hundred times, and you probably won’t get such visually “wrong” results. But you might. And all you have to do is be aware that probability isn’t the science of what will happen, but what is likely to happen given this, that and your mother’s thing.
This difference may seem slight, but it’s responsible for plenty of accountants in Vegas for a weekend conference phoning their bank and maxing out their line of credit. Not to mention lying to their wife and punching themselves in the head for an hour then calling the police to report they were just mugged and damn, sir, he got all my money!
“Know when to hold ’em, know when to fold ’em” is a catchy lyric, but it’s also right. “Know” in this case may refer to the math, but it’s more likely (probability said so!) to mean: trust that little voice. No, not your Bruce, the other Bruce; the anti-Bruce – the Good Bruce.
The Good Bruce says “you don’t have to look at that card you just drew because you already know what it is – the card you needed; the exact card you knew would be there. P.S. you’re welcome.”
Math doesn’t exist in the Good Bruce’s world. They can’t coexist, at least not peacefully.
Joe Stillman drew out on Jesus, then Jesus drew out on Joe. The math was retarded both times. My point is thusly proven as such:
Joe called all-in AA with K9: bad decision, Bruce.
The flop came K94: he listened to the Good Bruce?
The turn shot blanks: the Good Bruce still r00lz.
The river came 4: Bruce.
He said “I don’t care” or some such when he called. This is Bruce. Maybe he thought it was the Good Bruce, after all, the flop did give him the cards he knew were there. But when that last 4 showed, the Good Bruce took off his mask and revealed himself to be the actual Earl of Bruce himself.
If Joe had listened to his inner voice, the voice that said “K9” is ass versus Jesus Ferguson, muck ’em, he would’ve saved a couple hundred bucks. But at least he has a story to tell his buddies back home. And his aunts and uncles and coworkers and random strangers at the bowling alley for the rest of his life.
When opportunity knocks, don’t be one of those guys with a doorbell.
Tip Number One: Word To Your Mother.
She knew what she was talking about, too bad you didn’t figure that out until you figured it out. The wheel was invented, don’t reinvent it.
Stop making that face, it’ll freeze like that!
No, but people will think you’re a freakin’ idiot.
Always wear clean underwear, you might get in a wreck!
No, but maybe you’ll miss a hook up because she sees your hashmarks.
Stop spending so much time in the bathroom, you’ll get hemorrhoids!
No, but you’ll probably end up needing glasses.
frigginrizzo: <-wears contacts.
Mom was right about a lot of things, but not necessarily for the right reasons. By default, being right for the wrong reason is not strictly better than being wrong for the right reason.
The entire premise of Motherhood consists of a single philosophy that can be condensed into two sentences:
Mothers exist to wipe your ass.
And to teach you how to wipe your own ass.
This can be simply summed to read: take good advice, ignore it, then make your own advice. And then take it.
Most likely it will take the more complex form of: “never forget to remember you have an opponent, lose before you sit down and win, know how to screw up math, and do more than send a cheesy greeting card for Mother’s Day.
Don’t be one of those guys with a frozen goofy face, wearing dirty drawers being rushed to the hospital with a serious hemorrhoid attack. Listen to mom, ’cause mom knows best. Dad ain’t to shabby either.
Tips. From me. On how to rule at Magic.
I don’t rule at Magic.
But now you can.
You’re welcome.
John Friggin’ Rizzo