There’s a fine balance that must be maintained between theory and practice. If you spend too much time doing, then there are many missed opportunities to better understand what you’re doing and why you’re doing it. If you spend too much time thinking, too much time theorizing about your potential actions, then it’s easy to overthink yourself into the trap of doing absolutely nothing and letting all that theory rot from disuse. So it goes with Magic — both in playing, and in judging.
My job keeps me from doing much actual judging; if I’m at an event, chances are pretty good that I’m the one taking your sign-up or entering in your match result. Head judging is an occasional event — less so, now that the DCI is reasserting its stance that the role of PTQ Head Judge should normally fall to Level 3 judges — and actual floor judging only happens in those circumstances in which we’re so ridiculously overstaffed for an event that I can actually “stripe up” — a useless term, now that the new-and-definitely-improved DCI judge shirts are monochromatic black rather than the more visible (but less comfortable) black-and-white zebra stripes — and spend the day dispensing rulings and passing out result slips.
Actually playing in a sanctioned tournament is usually out of the question. A cursory examination of my player history tells me that I’ve competed in precisely three Magic tournaments since my relocation to Roanoke in May 2007, all FNMs at the Star City Game Center. In that same time period, I have participated as a judge, scorekeeper, or event coordinator for more than 350 tournaments (if you include each and every one of the side events with which I’ve helped). For every one tournament I’ve played in the past three years, I’ve judged at more than 100. While I’m not surprised by that ratio in the abstract, it does leave me with a sense of feeling isolated from the game. Considering that my work as a judge is partially a means for me to serve and contribute to Magic, it feels much like setting the table and cooking the meals for a massive feast and then simply choosing not to eat. Suboptimal, to say the least.
When the opportunity arose last week for me to play in a PTQ at the Game Center, I was quite excited. For one, it was a Constructed event. Limited has never been my strength and, while I had no expectations toward making Top 8, shuffling up sixty cards and gaming for an afternoon sounded like a capital way of spending my time. Whilst I had absolutely no aspirations toward qualifying for the Pro Tour — and besides, I’d already been accepted for Austin as a floor judge — I still felt a certain competitive thrill at the prospect of spending a day on the other side.
For those of you suspecting there might be some kind of strategic commentary in this article, let me put those concerns to rest right away: I did not finish in the top eight (or even in the top sixteen). I went 3-3-1, and then dropped. Granted, this was not without some excitement — I did start the first four rounds with three wins and a draw. My deck of choice for the event was Sanity Grinding — specifically, the exact seventy-five with which John Jackson won a PTQ in Lincoln, Nebraska in August — chosen because it seemed to offer the least amount of interaction with my opponent. Essentially, all I’d have to do is counter spells until I hit some combination of Sanity Grinding, Time Warp, and Twincast, preferably with Jace Beleren or Howling Mine in play. None of this trying to figure out combat math, or — on a morally reprehensible level — playing Faeries.
I also feel it’s important to make a disclaimer here, as much of what I’m going to say in this article reflects my own opinions on the roles of judges in organized play. Allow me to be clear: what you’re about to read is solely my own opinion. I do not pretend to speak for the DCI (or, for that matter, Star City Games), or anybody else. My opinions here are my own, and should be taken as such.
The big take-away that I got from playing in a PTQ is this: it is extremely difficult to play a technically correct game of Magic. I have read the Comprehensive Rules multiple times, I have proudly served as a judge in the DCI since 2005, and I write this article guaranteeing you that, over the course of seven rounds at a PTQ, I committed multiple rules infractions. Chief among them was Game Play Error — Missed Trigger (for forgetting to draw cards off Howling Mine), though I know there were one or two instances of Failure to Discard. There was even one notable situation in my round five match (against Elves) where, staring down a lethal attack on my opponent’s next turn, I resolved a Sanity Grinding and proceeded to place the revealed cards back on top of my library. You can imagine how sheepish I felt when fellow judge (and, for this PTQ, player) Michael Mills politely pointed out that I might have made a mistake.
In encountering my own struggles with playing a correct game of Magic, I considered this: if I’m having such a hard time playing correctly, what does that say about people who don’t have the same familiarity with rules and policy as I do? Certainly, we don’t expect PTQ players to be rules gurus — nor should they have to be. While it’s true that there are advantages to be gained by knowing the rules better than your opponent does, it’s unreasonable to expect every competitive player to cuddle up with a copy of the CR before entering the fray. An alternate consideration — and quite possibly a more relevant consideration — is that when applying policy, judges might do well to be mindful of the significant divide between our understanding of said policy and the understanding of the players we serve. This is not to say that judges ought to display more leniency on the basis of assumed ignorance, but perhaps that a bit more patience in explanation would be appropriate.
Another interesting side-effect of playing in a PTQ was this: I can confidently state — despite my own sloppy and inaccurate play — that my rules knowledge and policy knowledge was better than that of my opponent in each of the matches I played. Whilst I certainly could have exploited this to an advantage, would it really be appropriate to do so? If I spent my games sharply watching for even the slightest misplay or infraction, surely it would be to my advantage. In essence: if I am capable of being a rules lawyer, am I justified in doing so provided that my behavior does not violate DCI policy? My answer is a resounding “no, not at all.” I feel that my role as a judge in my (awesome) community holds me to a higher standard. Instead of playing in the most cutthroat and mercenary way I could, I feel it’s my responsibility to play the way I’d like everybody to play — friendly, but competitive. I don’t begrudge anybody who decides to play very, very tight. That’s their choice and, if they feel that it provides them the best chance of winning, then I respect it. I just happen to see it differently.
That being said, it bears asking how many times I actually called a judge over the course of the tournament. The answer? Once. I had an opponent who I felt was taking a little more time than was necessary, and so I stepped aside to ask a judge to keep an eye out for slow play. I’d like to point out that calling a judge to your table and asking them to watch for slow play with the opponent present is an entirely counterproductive way of doing things. For one, your judge has no way of seeing the behavior that led you to request their intervention in the first place. Second, your opponent — now aware that you suspect them of playing slowly — will react by playing faster, thus keeping the judge from obtaining an accurate picture of the pace at which your opponent plays. If you think your opponent is playing too slowly, the optimal way to deal with it is as follows: call for a judge, and ask to speak to them away from the table. While indicating various cards in your hand, mention your concerns to the judge, and ask them to keep an eye on things. This is a much more effective way of ensuring that your opponent plays at the appropriate pace.
Interestingly enough, many of the issues that I had with my opponents regarding rules were resolved without judge intervention. If the infraction in question was to my advantage, I typically offered to call a judge on myself — in all such cases, the opponent declined to do so. While I think that judges provide an important and valuable service to the communities they serve, I also feel that the most important thing is to let players play. It makes no sense for a judge to forcibly involve themselves in a match when the players — assuming that they’re not committing any egregious fixes — can come up with a reasonable and fair solution themselves. Judges exist to help players have a fun, fair experience at tournaments; anything we can do to advance that, even if through not hovering over every play, is correct.
[Editor’s Note: There’s relevant text in the MIPG is the first paragraph of the General Philosophy section: ‘Judges at tournaments are to be neutral arbiters and enforcers of policy and rules. Judges do not intervene in games unless a rules violation occurs, they believe a rules violation may have occurred, a player has a concern or question, or to prevent a situation from escalating. Judges do not stop play errors from occurring, but deal with errors that have occurred, penalize those who violate rules or policy, and promote fair play and sporting conduct by example and diplomacy. Judges may intervene to prevent or preempt errors occurring outside of a game.’]
I had an absolutely fantastic time playing at the PTQ. It reminded me of just how much fun I have playing Magic, and I’m certain that I’ll do it again when the opportunity presents itself. I’d like to thank my opponents — Drew, Scott, Kevin, Amer, Greg, Matt, and Geoffrey — for such fun times.
Until then, this is Nicholas Sabin, thanking you for reading and reminding you that in EDH, Death Cloud is nobody’s friend.