What does it mean to be a "great player" in Magic? What does it mean to be "good" at Magic? Why do many of us struggle to "achieve" these designations?

And how much does it really matter?

Today I don't have hard answers. I don't have unique tech or groundbreaking new theory. I don't even mention many cards. But today I share something that's been burning inside me for more than the past year: greatness in Magic is not defined by winning.

Unplug and Stand Back

Let me start with a little story. It's 2010 US Nationals and I was invited to fly out to help out on the team for magicthegathering.com's coverage. I've shared some stories from my time here but there's one that I haven't spent much time on: battling Tom LaPille in the Champion's Challenge.

Tom was a busy man (along Zac Hill who was also slinging the cards all day). I slipped in line for the opportunity to game against him sometime shortly before lunch. Without any particular deck at hand I let Tom pick what to play; Jace vs. Chandra it was and it was somehow determined that he got to grab the Chandra deck (I think he just grabbed what he wanted on a whim).

I remember my opening hand was three Islands, Counterspell, Fathom Seer, Brine Elemental, and Condescend. It was a fine keep that promised early resistance and should let me curve out perfectly. I had played the two decks fairly extensively so I was familiar with some of the bad draws that could happen and this wasn't one.

Of course, that solid started yielded into manascrew. Tooth and nail I fought to keep damage to a minimum, aggressively trading a face down Brine Elemental, unmorphing Seer with only three Islands out (I didn't draw a land off that), burning a Mulldrifter (and whiffing on land there too), hardcasting the other Seer to aggressively trade away, and turning a Wall of Deceit face down to, you guessed it, trade away as well.

Tom was in complete control for most of the game, throwing burn spells and critters at my face like any champ would. I had dropped to 5 life when I hit my fourth Island on turn infinity-plus-one. Rolling out a Spire Golem to help block I began to stabilize without any countermagic in hand.

I was in control by a hair's breadth at a generous evaluation.

If any one of the gamebreakers left in Tom's deck had shown up (Hosility, Fireblast, Fireball, Rakdos Pit Dragon, etc.) I would have been dead. But I had played for the long game and my fist full of flying came in a sundering fury as I dropped Tom from a healthy 18 down to 0 in a few turns. An unbelievably unbalanced game with a highly competent player in the driver's seat the entire time fell to a merely mortal casual guy fighting the come-from-behind fight the whole game.

"I didn't think that was possible." was what Tom said.

"I didn't either." was all I could muster, just as shocked at how I had pulled it off, especially considering I had voiced the logical outcome after whiffing on land for awhile while it had been occurring.

So let's recap the story: I laid the bad beats on Tom with a ridiculously improbable streak of making the correct decisions and having the luck turn tables in my favor just when I needed it to. "Cool story!" right bro?

So what does this moment in Magic tell you about Tom and I? Certainly I don't believe any of you will suddenly think "Tom's not as good of a player as I thought." or "Adam must be a better player than I thought."

"Tom had some bad luck." "You got lucky." "I bet that wouldn't happen again."

Those are the ideas that likely come to mind first. And those ideas are all correct. Tom didn't draw a win. I made the correct decisions but I was lucky that assuming trading for his creatures would pay off was correct (namely because he didn't draw better). That particular style of turnabout is highly improbable: normally a Jace deck that dips to 5 life just dies to something mean from Chandra. A rematch would certainly yield a different game altogether.

But doesn't it also hold that I played like a great player? I created my opportunity for victory. I did made the correct decisions after holding my assumption about the game constant. Tom was certainly no slouch and wasn't teetering on the edge of end-of-an-eight-hour-day-of-grinding-Magic mental state: he was fairly refreshed and took time to sit in the tank when needed, unrushed and without any heavy stakes pressuring him.

That day, that game I played great Magic. Does that mean, at least in that moment, I was a great player?

No. Infinite "No." a thousand times over.

"Beating" Tom has no real meaning, even in the abstract. It's a fun story (for me, anyway) and I'm glad that the one chance I've had to play Tom ended with a great set-up for a rematch. I'm sure he could annihilate me at cube draft, regardless of the cube, any number of times.

My point with the story is to highlight that winning a game, any game, doesn't warrant greatness. Don't believe me? Let's look at a radically different skew: why isn't Mike Long in the Hall of Fame? Mike Long, for those unfamiliar, was one of the greatest early players of the game. He had incredible mental edge and really knew how to play his decks. He won some big events and places highly at many more.

He also happened to be a prolific cheater.

While there are those who rail for and against players with any DCI issues clouding them from entering the hall of fame (and maybe someday I'll have the chance to join in that discussion) the clear majority have not voted for Long and likely never will despite all his skill (and Mark Rosewater's arguments to do so). He's certainly a sound player of Magic and played many, many solid games but consensus is that he isn't a "great player" in the abstract.

Why?

He's cast as the villain of the early years, a pure predator of unethical activity and game behavior. In addressing him, using the word "great" in any other form than "great cheater" is uncommon at best. His victories are considered hollow and his skill marginalized by reputation as being a dirty, rotten, no-good, mad, etc. cheater.

Winning, and winning consistently or often enough, clearly isn't sufficient to make a player great. Here's where my argument will take a rough turn: I don't even believe winning is necessary to make someone a great player.

The Issue of Definitions

How "being great" is defined has a significant bearing on how you view the second part of this discussion. If you honestly believe that playing technically sound games and winning high profile events is all there is to greatness then I don't think you're going to like what comes next.

What sets Long apart from other pioneers in Magic history isn't his skill or win count but something much more nebulous: he doesn't (or at least didn't) have integrity and character.

Integrity is certainly "not cheating" but is that all there is to it? How many players have you met with abrasive personalities? How many players put you off at PTQs, around trade tables, in behaviors and dialogue around (and perhaps even during!) games and matches?

Technical proficiency and technically being an ass aren't mutually exclusive concepts, regardless of how much we'd like the most prominent of players to be all sunshine and rainbows. I could name a dozen or so players who, in my humblest of opinions, fall prey to just being jerks at least some of the time (and depending upon the day I'd heap myself into that list).

One of the great fallacies about Magic players is that "All casual players are bad." Just as fallacious is the idea that "All competitive players are dicks." The real problems with both of these stereotypes are the grains of truth buried within them. Just as kitchen tables are often home to take-backs and "Oops! Can I change what I was going to do?" moments, competitive events have players who are taking competitiveness to mean "You must lose."

What I want to highlight isn't these coarse players who make "noobs cry" but that being competitive (and successful too!) doesn't mean resorting to gruff, surly, unnecessarily adversarial encounters every single match. Consider the curious case of Brad Nelson.

Brad is one hell of a player. I was able to briefly meet him at US Nationals (If you're reading this Brad, thanks for changing your shirt Thursday; I would have said more about me going back and changing mine but I was pretty awestruck in "Holy shit! It's Brad Nelson and the Channel Fireball crew." paralysis. My bad.) and was able to snag some railbird action over him.

He's a damn nice guy.

Plays tight, holds you to the REL, and knows his game but he does it all without a spot of vitriol or nerd rage. He wears a disarming grin beneath a quite attractive beard, shares comments and generally friendly banter between and during rounds, and will point out things after a match has concluded. It's clear that he's there not just to play and win a match but to make playing matches good. Helping you step up as a player without attacking ad hominem is a phenomenal sight.

So what about Brad? Brad is the kind of player I would call "great" because he has integrity, honesty, and brings the best to the players around him. Yes he wins (a lot) and yes he's technically competent, skilled, and knowledgeable. But he's also approachable, genial, and genuinely kind. His professionalism extends beyond the scope of this match in this moment and into the very person he is and personality he extends into the Magic community.

US Nationals, Again

The same day I played some amazing Magic against a big name I found myself floundering in FNM. Tied at a game each I was in an apparent stalemate position against my opponent, using my Prodigal Pyromancer to ping away life points all too slowly as a Chandra's Spitfire among other creatures ran defense against ground-pounders during extra turns.

Catch the issue? I didn't until extra turn four where I realized I could have completely outraced my opponent and crushed him turns ago thanks to supercharging the Spitfire via Pyromancer. I could excuse this through rationale like "I had just worked on coverage for 10 hours straight." or "I was tired for heading over a time zone west relative to my normal pattern." but the fact is that I played some bad Magic.

Did my opponent "deserve" to lose because I should have caught that interaction properly upfront? Did I deserve to lose specifically because I missed it? Should we both have just dropped from the "pointlessness" of playing in the 0-1 bracket at FNM?

My answer was to happily concede to my opponent.

I get to write about the game all the time. I was flown out to Minneapolis to watch, write about, and meet some of the best players in the game. I am privileged and honored to have been given such a fantastic opportunity.

What difference would it make in the course of everything if we tied? I wasn't playing for promos or prize, for glory or cash, or even honor and respect: I was playing to have a great story to share.

The other guy stood to gain so much more from going up then being held back with a tie.

I don't believe I'm a great player but that doesn't mean I can't try my best to be one I can. When I sit down to play Magic I'm certainly playing to win, but not at the cost of destroying others players interactions within the bigger scope of the game. The things I have to give in the moment: a match to a nice guy (who went on to 3-1 the whole shebang), a few cards to someone in need, food or conversation to the hungry or lonely, or even just a genuine smile and friendly handshake before playing this fun thing called Magic.

These things matter because of the players around me. Players like Brad make the game better because they are making players and their entire environment better.

And if I can make just a few players appreciate and enjoy the game a little more a little longer I'll have taken a small step closer to guys like Brad. I may have a long way to go, but the pursuit of being great in Magic isn't a race but a journey.

Being great in Magic is more about who you are than what do you. It's more about the interactions you have with players than your performance against them in competition. It's more about giving back what you can to the community and social world that is giving Magic to you than what you're actively getting out of it.

It's a twisting, difficult path with each one of us required to blaze our own trails. I hope you're heading in the right direction.

Bonus Add-on Story:

Jump back to the FNM concession story. Immediately after I conceded he said that he was going to concede. He said he saw that he could have lost and that if I had seen it sooner he would have lost, therefore he should have lost. The judge watching our match could only shake his head as we briefly discussed who could actually concede to whom and why.

He relented after I pointed out my goals for that night were not incongruent with losing. He said he'd do his best to make the most of my gift.

I felt more like a winner when he did than if I had simply won: I'm still glad that he did.