“Wait a minute, Ferrett,” you say. “Isn’t that shooting a little low? I mean, I come to StarCityGames.com to read about how to be a Pro-level player.”
And that’s true. But giving advice on how to be a pro-level player involves, you know, being a pro… Which I am not. But I am a mediocre player — the kind of guy who can do all right at tournaments and usually doesn’t totally scrub out, and provides at least something of a challenge to those of greater quality. I’m not flat-out awful the way that, well, a lot of players are.
In the rush to become a Pro player, however, a lot of people overlook the intermediate steps involved in getting to just “okay.” And Magic’s a complex enough game that really, just getting to “not sucking completely” is a significant accomplishment. When you’re a mediocre player, you can’t afford to rely on your play skills; you need to hone every edge you have, because the good players will outplay you.
Here are the tricks I’ve learned to improve my game significantly. These are the things that separate me from the truly bad; they’re the reasons I usually finish at the top of my prerelease pool. And if you integrate these into your play, you too can be at least mediocre.
Every Mediocre Player Has A Tendency. Find it.
I love zombie movies. You put a zombie in a film, and it’s gonna be damned hard for me not to enjoy it. The special effects may be cheesy and the dialogue as wooden as a Pilgrims’ ship, but if it’s got brain-eaters? I’m happy.
If the film features zombies that eat all of the main characters? I don’t think I’ve ever seen a film like that that I hated.
But that does not make these films good. It just means that I really get a charge out of them, and so I’m willing to cut them more slack on the things that I normally desire in a film – things like plot, and characterization, and blood that doesn’t look like ketchup – because hey, zombies!
Likewise, almost every mediocre player loves a color, or a card, or a strategy for a reason that doesn’t have much to do with winning.
Me? I like Black. I always like Black. In every format, I’m addicted to the thrill of absolute destruction + some evasion creatures + some –x/-x effects. And it’s taken me awhile to realize this, but I tend to go with Black as a tiebreaker way too much.
That’s the thing about being a mediocre player. You have unholy loves. You’ll tell everyone how really, Corpulent Corpse is the most powerful card in Black, or you’ll always default to Green, or you’ll overvalue a particular system. You like them for weird reasons; maybe you won once with that, or your aggro playstyle just doesn’t mesh well with Counterspells and bounce, or maybe you just get the glee out of trashing your opponent with something that, by all measures, sucks.
But I’ve written about the danger of unholy loves before. You need to dope out what you overvalue (and what you undervalue) stat, so that you can strip those rose-colored contacts straight off and see the cards for what they are.
Cards are always in debate, particularly in Limited formats. I’m not saying that there’s an objective value to be found. But I am saying that you need to keep your eyes open and go, “Wow, I thought the Black cards were really awesome in the past three decks I built, and I lost. Maybe I shouldn’t think of Black so highly.”
Otherwise, you’ll be Back in Black, and you will be Bon Scotted.
Do Not Think You Are Immune To Advice.
The thing about being a mediocre player is that you think because you know the rules, you believe you can skirt them occasionally.
“Well, I can’t figure out what to cut,” you say, looking at a rather juicy card pool, “But it won’t hurt me to go forty-one cards this time. It’s just one extra card.”
But as Mr. Creosote learned, sometimes one tiny wafer-thin mint is all it takes to cause your game to explode in a gout of blood and card guts.
The truth is, the good players probably could get away with an extra card in their deck, or running with some marginal hand, or handwaving the sideboarding, or not pile shuffling. They have the skills that will give them the edge that can make up for the odds that are now stacked just a wafer-thin mint more against them. They can hand themselves poorer cards than you can, and they still win.*
You, on the other hand, cannot. You are a mediocre player – with passable, but not exceptional, skills. You need every ounce of luck to pull out a game, and every time you decide, “Meh, let’s see what happens,” I assure you that luck will show you.
Stick to forty cards, and always shuffle thoroughly, and always think really hard about the sideboarding. Minimize every risk. You can’t afford to take too many, you chump. You’re not good.
Learn To Mulligan.
This is, probably, the skill that will snag you the most games against other mediocre players, since “Throwing back your hand” is such a scary prospect that most awful-to-okay players are loathe to do it.
There are the obvious mulligans: All land? No land? Everyone with half a brain throws them back. But when you start getting the tricksy hands, like “All land but for one cool spell” or “If I draw a land, I’ll be like unto a God,” then people start reconsidering something fierce.
Hey, I understand the terror. You’re going into the unknown. These seven cards may not look like much, but they’re safe. They might not break out of the gate like a lathered Seabiscuit waiting to tromp his way to a first-place finish… But they’re not a crippled glue-stick of a nag with a bullet lodged in his skull, that scary six-card mulligan that gives you even fewer lands or business spells. Why not stay the course?
Because if the mulligan-to-six plan doesn’t pan out, then you’re looking at the you-gah-lee Mulligan To Five, Do Not Pass Go. And that’s dangerous territory, the kind where you get to tout your win even if your opponent sucked – “Sure, he dropped dead of a cardial infarction three turns in, but I won with a mulligan to five!”
But mulliganing aggressively is the trick. It helps if you play a lot of Constructed, where the Art of the Mulligan punishes you so much more for not knowing it, but to be a properly mediocre player you must learn The Basic Rules of Mulliganing.
It’s so much easier to win when your hand is full of gas and your opponent’s waiting in line somewhere with a metal canister in his hand.
1) Assume the Worst.
When you look at a hand, do not think in best-case scenarios. Think in terms of the worst-case scenarios. What happens if you do not draw the two land you need by turn 5 to make this shine?
Because you won’t. You really won’t. Internalize that knowledge – realize that these cards hate you. They look so harmless inside the plastic sleeves…. But really they are hateful, asphyxiating babies trapped in a dry cleaner bag, loathing you for placing them there, wishing for your painful and slow death.
They are longing to betray you. Know that in your bones, and do not trust these living cardboard avatars of spite. Mulligan. Mulligan.
Note that “the worst” does not necessarily mean you shouldn’t do it. If you have a decent hand that ramps to totally awesome come turn 5 if you draw the two lands, you might want to take the risk. But if your hand will fall apart without the cards you desperately need, figure you will not draw it.
2) Assume the Worst, Part 2.
This is closely related, and really obvious to most… But if your entire draw depends on a creature surviving for more than a turn and you don’t have the means to protect it, figure they’ll destroy it. Move on.
The prototypical example is, “I have five lands and a totally awesome five-mana dude.” Then you play the totally awesome five-mana dude and your opponent bounces or counters or kills it, and you’re pretty much dead. This is why you want a hand with action.
Likewise, if you think your hand sucks but this one spell will save you… Figure it won’t, unless you know for sure that your opponent’s not equipped to handle it. Throw it back.
3) Look at the Mana.
Sounds stupid, I know. But a number of mediocre players I know glance at their cards, see four land, and realize only later that they’re holding two double-Black spells and they possess but a single Swampish thing.
Pay attention.
4) Know What You Need To Do.
How is your deck going to win against this opponent? You mulligan quite differently for a slow, controllish deck that swells into gigantic top-end creatures than you do for a quick rush deck that swarms and then finishes off with a spell. Look for what you need; if you know your opponent’s deck is clogged with two- and three-drops, throw back a hand full of high-end finishers. If your opponent was lucky enough to crack a deck with seven fliers, you probably want to seriously reconsider any hand that doesn’t contain death, bounce, aggro, or air defense.
There’s a difference between “A generically acceptable hand” and “A hand that’s acceptable against this deck.” The mediocre player generally knows the difference.
5) Assume You’ll Draw A Land Or Two.
If I’ve got a hand that would be substandard by turn 4 if I don’t have four lands in play and I’m starting with three lands… I’ll keep it, natch. I have a deck that’s almost half mana, so my odds of drawing a card by turn 4 (particularly if I’m on the draw) are pretty decent.
Your cards want to hurt you. Yes they do. But they can’t completely subvert the laws of odds. You’ll get screwed occasionally, but more often than not you’ll pluck a land.
If the hand doesn’t work at all by turn 4 if I don’t get that land, as in “I can’t cast anything”? Well, that I have to think about.
6) Mulligan.
Remember. The cards hate you. They will hurt you. If you’re questioning whether you should run it, default to “No.”
Pay Attention And Sideboard, Dangit
Ask a low-grade player what his opponent was piloting in Sealed. You’d be surprised how many of them have difficulties remembering what color they were facing; it was just a fun game, hey, what happened?
Oh, they’ll remember the card that killed them, which will give them a clue. But as soon as the cards are swept away, the low-grade player will forget an awful lot of what things looked like a moment ago.
You must remember. Thus, before you concede, take a moment and stare contemplatively at the board, going, “He’s got Swamps and Mountains and Forests, and the creatures he cast seem to be…” Jot them down in your memory. Fix this moment in time, hanging the key cards and plays up in your mind, so you can consider both how to mulligan for the next game and realize what cards in your deck aren’t particularly effective and should be sideboarded out.
Likewise, if you’re going to cast a spell that you may think is game-winning, pause a moment before casting it – which is good form, because hey, what if you’re making a stupid move? But if the move appears to be valid and you have cause to think that this attack could be Game Over, study the board again. Commit it to memory.
It’s a little thing. But it helps those Bears of Little Brain a lot.
Never Give Up, Never Surrender
I’m not saying that you should never concede. Sometimes, it’s in your best interests to go, “He’s got me in a slow lock that I’m unlikely to get out of, and I only have forty minutes in the round, so let’s move on to the next game.”
But you should always, always, make your opponent show you his finisher.
Here’s a real-life example: I was playing against a guy on MODO who was playing B/R. He suspended a few things so that on turn 7, he had two spells (one of them a Rift Bolt, the other a Keldon Halberdier) go off, he cast a Chromatic Star, and Volcanic Awakeninged for four, with a Greater Gargadon suspended and waiting to arrive.
I was desperately trying to get to six mana to get out a hand filled with six-mana spells… And now I was down to a single land and a weak defense (though I had a Thallid Shell-Dweller to help) against his five-card hand and a boatload of mana. It looked like it was over, and certainly I’d seen other players slam down their cards in disgust when this had happened.
“But,” I thought, “He hasn’t killed me. And that Keldon Halberdier’s all he’s got. Worst-case scenario, I’ll see more of his deck and know what to sideboard.”
Imagine my surprise when, on turn 18, I finally pulled it out. I didn’t draw a lot of land, but I finally managed to get to four, Suspended some guys, and stayed on line long enough to eventually de-Suspend a Phthisis and hit his Greater Gargadon for game-winning damage.
If I had conceded because it looked hopeless, I would have lost. As it was, I pulled it out because I thought, you’ve crippled me. Now kill me.
Wait for the deathblow. Because you never know how badly your opponents will draw after that elbow-drop, and you never know how badly they might play.
Play The Kai
Kai Budde may not be familiar to you newbies, but he used to dominate the scene. And the thing about Kai is that he taught me a very valuable strategy:
If all looks hopeless, ask yourself whether there’s a card in your deck that might save you. What is the ultimate topdeck that would turn things around?
And if you’re going to lose but for that one card, play as if you were going to draw that card.
Set things up so that when you do draw that Tromp the Domains or that Sulfuric Blast or that Phthisis, it will be devastating. If you have no other out, play to maximize that out if and when it arrives. Hold the cards in your hand that you’ll need post-bomb, and try to maneuver your opponent into being as vulnerable as he can be to that card.
Like the latest issue of Civil War, it may never show. In fact, it often doesn’t. But if it does, then you’ve rebounded and can win from nowhere, which often rattles your opponents senseless.
You can draw the Lightning Helix. But you have to know enough to throw the Char at your opponent’s head first.
The Weekly Plug Bug
This week, Izzy is talking with Seth, the sleazy GM, who has just admitted that he has a polyamorous relationship with his wife and would like to add Izzy to his harem of women. You’d think that Izzy would flat-out reject him — but Seth has some unnerving offers to make….
Signing off,
The Ferrett
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The Here Edits This Here Site Mediocrely
* – But they don’t do dumb stuff like this. This is why they win more.