We're so close, y'all. 2020 is almost over. I feel fairly safe in saying that this year did not turn out the way many of us expected it would when it began.

Magic is an escape. It is, for most players, a hobby that allows us to disengage from the "real world" for a few hours at a time. For others it's a lifestyle or even a career. From Arena grinders to cosplayers, content creators to kitchen table phenoms, 2020 changed a lot of things for a lot of us. Some changes will have been for the better; others, not so much.

But when we look back at this bizarre, dispiriting, innovative year it's clear Magic - and Commander, in particular - will never be the same.

Liftoff

2020 began as 2019 ended - with hype. We've already reflected upon the promise and payoff of THE YEAR OF COMMANDER, but putting that artificial hype aside, there was plenty for players to be excited about. The inaugural batch of Commandfests had been successful by most accounts. Our format was growing up before our eyes. Just a couple of years ago, Commander was the format we played on the fly at empty tables at Grand Prix - hey, remember when we called them Grand Prix - or maybe, MAYBE, played for prize wall tix. Then Command Zones debuted, dedicated corners of MagicFest halls just for us. Now we had our very own events.

There was every reason to believe Commandfests would not just continue but grow dramatically in frequency and scale. Combined with the onslaught of product we knew we'd be getting, it sure felt as though 2020 would be the year Commander took its place at the head of Magic's table in every significant way. It would be the most-played format, the format that drove sales, and the format that drew people to stores and events to play with friends and strangers.

Theros Beyond Death started the product deluge with promise. The cards were good, some were very good, and while one broke Standard none broke Commander. At least not right away - some cEDH players are beginning to wonder whether Thassa's Oracle may be living on borrowed time.

As January turned into February, it felt like this year might just prove to be something special - not because of product, but because of what players were doing with it. Commander was maturing, evolving right before our eyes.

Then came March.

Shutdown

I attended MagicFest Reno. As the last weekend of February bled into the beginning of March, COVID-19 was a topic, but not yet an existential threat. A handful of people who'd planned to travel here for the event changed their plans because of the virus's threat, but for the most part, it was still something that felt abstract, far away. We hadn't yet considered the possibility that it could change our lives in unprecedented ways.

Three weeks later we learned how short-sighted we'd collectively been. One after another, states began closing everything down, and as those dominoes fell so did Magic events. Organizers rightfully took some heat for failing to cancel MagicFests and in-store events as quickly as the fast-growing crisis demanded. Then, because we live in truly the most confounding of timelines, organizers took newer and more different heat when they did cancel events months in advance, eventually wiping clean the schedule for the entire year. To be clear, this was the only correct move, and while I am as sad as anyone that I didn't get to do all the Magic travel I had intended to do this year, my life and the lives are others are not worth it.

But we Commander players were undeterred. Persistent problem solvers that we are, we adapted. Webcam Commander, previously the purview of a handful of content creators, instantly became THE way we played this format. How could it not? Arena doesn't support Commander and almost surely never will. MTGO is, as it has always been, a mess and requires players to spend money for digital versions of cards they already own in paper. (And it still doesn't work on Macs.)

Necessity, being the mother of invention as always, brought SpellTable to the fore early into quarantine. While it wasn't (and still isn't) perfect, SpellTable lowered the barrier to entry for a great many players. Unfortunately, however, players who didn't already have webcams found themselves competing with millions of people who suddenly had to work from home and needed webcams, too.

Slowly, though, more and more Commander players migrated online. The loss of in-person events crippled other formats; Commander thrived on it. We could play with anyone, from anywhere, anytime we wanted without leaving our homes. Standard players had Arena. We had webcams. Magic was gonna be fine.

Bad Moon Rising

Just as the United States began to reopen, the nation's attention turned from the pandemic to issues of equality, justice, and civil rights. We found ourselves confronted with a number of uncomfortable truths, uniquely so for Magic. This game and its players have a history of problematic behavior toward women, people of color, and other minorities. The game has never been the most inclusive or welcoming environment. 2020 didn't just shine a new light on those long-festering issues, it lit them up with a dozen flashbangs.

I wrote here about Wizards of the Coast's deep failings on these issues. I was not the first, nor would I be the last, and I have no way of knowing whether anyone in Renton even saw it, let alone acted on it. What I do know is that six months have passed and I'm not sure I can point to much concrete evidence that things have improved in any substantive way. What I also know is that shortly after the initial burst of outrage from the Magic community, we got distracted as we almost always do, and not by anything particularly new or novel. Cards kept breaking formats and needed to be banned. Foils still curled, Secret Lair drops were still shining examples of unbridled greed, and Arena still had bugs.

The point of this section is to inform you - and maybe, just maybe, someone at Wizards - that I haven't forgotten. A lot of people haven't forgotten. Wizards has a lot of work to do in 2021 and beyond and we will most assuredly be watching.

Faith Based Initiative

I'm an incurable optimist. I unfailingly look for the good. And for as much as the Magic community makes me cringe on what feels like a daily basis, I've seen a lot that's made me hopeful in 2020.

Chief among that is the explosion in content creation, especially for Commander. Players who've long felt they had something to say finally took the leap and began to say it. And why not? Many of us found ourselves with plenty of extra time on our hands and not a whole lot else to do with it.

So, we created. We wrote. We streamed. We made videos, launched podcasts, played Magic together, played games that weren't Magic together. We formed relationships, found kindred spirits and awakened something long dormant inside of us. And while no human being alive has enough time or a sufficient attention span to consume every single piece of content, we raised our voices and shouted into the void and sometimes the void shouted back.

If 2020 has taught me anything, it's that content creation is rarely a means to a profitable end - but it most certainly can be an enriching and rewarding end unto itself. While I, like many others, harbor a raging case of impostor syndrome, I've gotten much better at doing what I do because I love it, because I'm passionate about it and because if I say or do a thing, then at least it's out in the world and not just in my head and who knows what may happen next.

The simple truth is this: In a game like this, with a vast and diverse community like ours, more voices are unequivocally a good thing. We've seen creators, large and small, thrive in 2020. We've also seen creators, large and small, chase and eventually eat their own tails. The line between confidence and arrogance is thin and nebulous, but it truly does give me hope to see more and more Magic players - especially women, players of color, and LGBTQ+ players - finding their confidence and raising their voices. I hope this trend continues to flourish in 2021 and beyond.

Here Today

Now, with just a few days left in this incomprehensibly tumultuous year, we find ourselves reflecting about what's happened and what's yet to come. In some ways, this was a terrible year for Magic, and yet much good has come from 2020. There is room both for hope and disappointment, for both concern and optimism, for both joy and despair. We can be excited about Magic while also having deep and abiding problems with it. We can love this game and not believe it's perfect. These things are not mutually exclusive.

And that's squarely where I am as 2020 winds to a merciful close. Our world has changed this year. Our lives have changed. And, yes, our game has changed. Change may, indeed, be the only constant in our lives. Magic is not the same game it was when 2020 started; actually, it's probably more accurate to say Magic is not the same entity as it was, because if 2020 has made anything crystal clear it's that Magic is far more than just a game.

It's a community, with all the pitfalls that come with community. It's a hobby for many, a career for some, and a profit center for those who make it. It's that last part that dictates everything else, to be sure - if anyone hasn't walked away from 2020 knowing for sure that Wizards is a corporation and Magic is the way that corporation makes money, I don't know what else has to happen to drive that reality home. Wizards will continue to pander to us. It will continue to manipulate us. It will continue to exploit us - right up until the day Wizards pushes one step too far and the house of curled foil cards collapses in on itself.

I don't, however, believe that day is coming in 2021. Until it does - and even after it does - I and many others will continue to find joy and hope and satisfaction in this game, warts and all. We'll forge new friendships, strengthen old ones and make memories together, virtually or otherwise. We'll keep trying to break cards and we'll keep building meme decks. And hopefully a lot more of us will keep holding Wizards to account, to ensure that it's doing everything it can to fulfill the endless promise Magic has within it. This game can be a force for good. It can help bring people together in unity rather than set them at each other's throats. It can clearly and loudly espouse the values of its players, rejecting the sound and fury of those who would have it be a place for closed-minded exclusion and bigotry. It can stand up and say with no equivocation or qualification whatsoever that everyone is welcome in Magic, not just to play it, but also to make it and market it and facilitate it. Magic can do so much good for so many people.

But that's not solely the responsibility of Wizards of the Coast. It's up to all of us. Players must be willing to travel the roads not taken, to consider the perspectives, likes and dislikes of others and find ways to coexist. Creators must reject the temptation of sowing and exacerbating division in the name of views and clicks and revenue. And, yes, Wizards of the Coast must do better - much, much better - at ensuring that its offices and, by extension, its game reflect the full diversity of its customer base.

Will 2021 be a better year for Magic than 2020 was? I don't know. 2020 wasn't all bad, but it certainly wasn't all good, either. I have no way of knowing exactly what the future holds.

But I will always have hope.

Dave is a Commander player currently residing in Reno, NV. When he's not badly misplaying his decks, he works as a personal trainer. You can bother him on Twitter and check out his Twitch channel.