In Jay Moldenhauer-Salazar's recent article"The Diversity of Magic: Player Types," the author proposes a simple blanket explanation for"complaining" in the Magic community. Different types of players, it seems, are prone to bellyaching when official decisions are made that favor the inclinations of other, incompatible types. He concludes a strong article with a strong statement:
"More likely, if you hate a decision, it's because it was made with a different kind of player in mind. This doesn't mean you have to like said decision - but it does mean you look pretty foolish beating your chest over there in the corner."
Oh, but there is a problem. Do you see a place for constructive criticism in this system? I sure don't. You're either a grinning"good boy" who, were Mark Rosewater to fart in your face, would swear up and down that it smelled like, well, roses, or you're a foolish, chest-beating whiner.
There's always a problem when your theory recognizes only black and white; specifically, anything gray can kick its face in without breaking a sweat.
I'd like to presume to speak on behalf of one group of players: Avid supporters of the Vintage (a.k.a. Type One) format.
You see, I think we're entitled to a little chest-beating under Jay's system because of one key unwritten assumption that it seems to make: That complaining on the whole is short-sighted, because there's a fairly equitable give and take in effect. What goes around comes around. A casual player, the reasoning goes, shouldn't complain too bitterly when a great"fun card" isn't reprinted in a new base set because it would unbalance the Standard environment. After all, look how many fun cards that have no place on a Pro Tour did make it in! Surely Spike must resent Timmy's influence just as much when he's the one opening the packs, right? It all evens out in the end.
Except when it doesn't.
You see, there's one group that has had no decisions made in its favor for the better part of a decade now. One group of players who put Magic on the map, made it the marketing powerhouse it is today, and in return has been shafted nonstop every single day since.
That group is us: The Vintage community.
Time for another explanation.
You see, we prefer the old cards, the old decks, the old ways. Like Moldenhauer-Salazar's"Focused" players, we want Magic to be an"...enduring game like chess." Like chess, that requires the continued presence of the same pieces that started it all.
This isn't to say that we abhor all change on principle; far from it. It's more accurate to say that we don't accept that the past needs to be pushed aside and forgotten to such a sweeping degree in the name of healthy change. We Vintage players aren't delusional recluses huddled in the corner stroking our Moxes and trying to convince ourselves that everything after Alliances was just a bad dream. We love new cards and new sets. Judgment has already brought at least one new archetype into the Vintage fold (Worldgorger), and we've welcomed it with open arms. We simply believe that the classics have their place, too - that and can coexist peacefully side-by-side. We want to embrace the future without neglecting the past. To us, the spotlight is big enough.
We want the core of early Magic to remain a permanent and prominent presence on the tournament scene.
Why? It's simple.
Games come and go all the time. Some endure, most do not.
Millennia ago, people ran footraces with the simplest of goals: Beating their opponents to the finish line. They still do.
Centuries ago, they played chess. Stone, wood, metal and ivory soldiers marched across the segmented board, all intent on capturing the piece representing the opposing sovereign. They still do.
Decades ago, in Dungeons & Dragons, intrepid fantasy heroes braved monster-infested dungeons in search of treasure with naught but a sturdy longsword, a suit of chainmail, a few Magic Missile spells, and their wits. They still do.
All of these classic games have endured into the present day because, like the very few non-insufferable egomaniacs in the entertainment industry, they never lost sight of their roots. Fads fade, but that which is timeless endures. On the other hand...
Years ago, players of a newfangled card game called Magic: the Gathering dropped a and a to cast a fearsome , then winced as their smug opponents slapped down a and retired poor Juzam to the corn fields of Kansas with a single . They don't do much of this anymore. Wizards of the Coast doesn't seem to care one iota if they never do again.
Bad move.
These cards are Magic in a fundamental way that nothing after the"Golden Age" (generally, but loosely, defined as 1993-1995) will ever be able to match. Like first editions of Shakespeare or Mickey Mantle rookie cards, the cards that first introduced Magic: the Gathering to the world are special. They're not just cardboard; they're history. They were first, and everything that came later was possible only because of their remarkable success. If you draw a paycheck from Wizards of the Coast today, it's only because Richard Garfield designed Alpha exactly the way he did back in the early 1990s. These cards started the craze and hooked a generation of gamers on the one and only cardboard crack that keeps 'em comin' back. They were good cards. Fun cards.
We owe everything that's come since then to their brilliant design. We owe them respect.
Wizards does not provide that needed measure of respect. Instead, the cards from the early days are pushed aside, marginalized, or even slandered. The few existing tournament formats that allow and encourage their play are willfully ignored in a fashion that smacks of not just shameful neglect, but genuine, seething contempt. Preferring Vintage play means being either derided or ignored by the powers that be.
So what does the Vintage community want? Three things, really. Three very simple things:
1. Recognition. We're here.
2. Respect. We matter.
3. Support. We deserve it.
The first two are really self-explanatory, but the third might be begging for some elaboration. What do I mean by support?
Well, some call for reprints of early sets, other for increased status for proxy cards in sanctioned tournaments, still others for a return to the aesthetics of the early game (less glossy and homogenous art, summon spells, less intrusive storylines, etc). Some want all of the above. I'm not necessarily against these ideas. In fact, I tend to support them. As for my main suggestion, though...
Is it really, really too much to ask that 15%-20% of Pro Tours and regional and world championship events be in Vintage format? Would it kill them? Would it really impact their bottom line that horrendously as long as players still needed to buy like crazy from new sets to compete the other 80%-85% of the time? Would waves of mass suicide really follow in the wake of a handful of Vintage strategy articles appearing on the Sideboard? Would the sun be extinguished, the moon crumble, the rivers run red with the blood of the innocent and the mountains be brought low forevermore if Wizards actually threw a few real high-profile Vintage tournaments again? I think not, I really do.
What we want, in a nutshell, is only a little taste of what the rest of the community already takes for granted: Real, tangible support. Is that too much to ask?
Friends, if you take nothing else from this article, take this humble parable:
A modest house, once built, can be expanded indefinitely in accordance with its owner's whims and bankroll. New rooms, new stories, new wings, new turrets and pillars and balconies can all be constructed, one atop the other, each adding to the whole. In all this rush to expand and improve, however, it's easy for the house's owner, heart filled with only the best of intentions, to forget the most important thing of all: The foundation. It's not glamorous and it's easy to forget, but it's the only part that's strictly necessary to maintain the viability of the whole structure. Neglect it too long or place too much strain on it, and your entire cabin-cum-cathedral will collapse in on itself like a house of cards.
Wizards would do well to remember this one simple law of both architecture and game design.
We're the foundation. Neglect us at your peril.
Chest-Beatingly Yours,
Will Mistretta
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