The recent conversation about gender equality in the Magic community has gotten, for lack of a better term, stuffy. Recent scores of guys espousing “real talk,” be it on Twitter or elsewhere, is a reaction to this. Finding a middle ground between ignorance and irreverence is more complicated than ever, but then again, you could say that at any time in history and be correct.

Magic’s player base is maturing. Stuff like Mark Justice’s revolt at PT-LA in ’97 is interesting to hear about now because it’s impossible to imagine it happening now. For better or worse, today’s pros are a bit more calculated in their actions, realizing that Magic looking professional is in their best interests, and that while leading a player mutiny can be very satisfying in the short term, it’s probably in the best interests of the Magic brand to not play host to open player rebellion. These days, cooler heads prevail.

As with all things, with maturation comes different responsibilities. Now that Magic’s maturing, a higher code of conduct gets placed on the shoulders of the players. I like to think that I associate with the kind of people that either don’t mind these responsibilities or just don’t notice them altogether. That’s not to say that there’s a considerably high amount of people that do mind these adjusted expectations. Before, Magic was a refuge from political correctness, where you could be as crass as you wanted. As more players from increasingly diverse walks of life discover the game, though, this once small, predominantly white male hamlet becomes more diverse.

We learn that Magic tournaments are places we can let our guard down; we can trust these people, even if we don't consciously realize it. We play with them at our kitchen tables, and we spend hours with them at the local store. Even if we don't know the people around us personally, usually they know people that we know, so in a way we're all part of one network of friends—we're a community. We don't consider theft as even a possibility (at least, we didn't) since we know we're just going to the Magic tournament.

The game has changed, though.

Now these cards are worth money. When money gets involved, you tend to see the worst in people. We are no longer carrying around the equivalent of bubble-gum baseball cards; we're carrying around enough value to pay for entire houses and cars. We're slightly lucky that our community is small enough so that regular criminals don't understand the value that lies within the bags we carry. They only see cards used for a "silly hobby." However, if a person who has the propensity to perform criminal acts is a Magic player, they very much understand the potential value that lies within our bags.

That is where things go south. Quickly.

Slivers are returning for Magic 2014. These Slivers are different. The differences have been controversial, and there have been reactions and reactions to the reactions.

If this were only a screed about how "Slivers have changed and now I don't like them," I wouldn't have bothered writing it. Instead I'll be looking at the history of these little beasties, how they've changed over each incarnation, and what justifications there are for the Magic 2014 versions—at least what's been released publicly. Mark Rosewater's history of Sliver design (up to 2004, when he wrote it) is essential reading for the mechanical side; with my Vorthos proclivities, I'll be looking more at the creative end.

I have an idea about what's important in Commander. My preferences and desires, iterated over years of decks, led me to believe it. But that's a tricky place to be. What I, or you, or any individual thinks about Commander isn't the whole story. In fact, most of us will have something quite different to say about the importance of things for the format. That's the danger of declaring things that seem true: "Real truth" is multiple truths existing simultaneously.

Simply put, what's important for someone may not even matter to you.