Over the course of a four-month period in 1993, three life altering events occurred, forever shifting my creative outlook on the world. Magic: The Gathering debuted, the Toronto Blue Jays cinched their World Series, in as many seasons and I was born.

Fast forward to 2025 and I’m surrounded by hundreds of fellow Blue Jays fans witnessing the fall of the franchise in the seventh and final game of the World Series. After a series of small, but meaningful errors; the possibility of the championship returning to the city after thirty-two long years dashed. Better luck next season.

When the Vancouver Canucks lost in game seven of the 2011 Stanley Cup finals, riots broke out across the city. In the wake of the loss, their home burned. Nothing so dramatic occurred in Toronto. After the LA tearfully accepted their trophy, cut to sponsors and the multitude of sports betting companies making their year off of a single night, I followed nearly one thousand crestfallen fans, a number that could storm any Canadian institution with little trouble, home. There were no flipped cars or smoldering trash cans; I had plans early Sunday morning.

Reality Fracture prerelease, I wait for the typical introduction and spiel to conclude, before cracking my packs and I watch my chances of a 3-0 record evaporate in the late September air. I commiserate with my podmates, another evening playing with absolute dogwater. With seventeen lands and twenty-three spells, I compose the barest definition of a deck. By the time the store shutters, somehow, I nab two packs and a couple of wins, mostly from lucky draws rather than a finely tuned gameplan.

Yet in my second game, after an early blowout from my opponent, I knew I was having a grand old time.

When the Blue Jays lost the World series, a close friend in my commander pod deleted all traces of his social media presence. The tech giants recognized his fandom, but recognition did not engender empathy. The algorithm would be feeding him replays and analysis for weeks to come; an unbearable future. He committed to a sabbatical from his favourite team until the next season rolled around. Whereas I wore my ’93 championship hat out the following morning, too tired and hurried to approximate a hairstyle.

Did I care less than him? Was the near-miss affecting me less because of my inability to connect with of a Canadian dynasty? Sports fandom is often generational — my Maple Leafs jersey is an inherited affliction rather than a birthright. I was born into a baseball family; the game is an ever-present pillar of conversation with my grandma whenever I skip town and get home for a visit.

I’ve never thrown out a cap or piece of memorabilia in disgust. My garments have stayed mercifully unrended regardless of the score of the game.

In the wake of the Jays’ defeat, I began going to a weekly Commander night at my LGS, both games are liable to last nearly three hours unless something goes terribly wrong. My LGS is a spot replete with former tournament grinders who believe there’s no such thing as a casual Magic format. Often at least one table is disrupted by a player leaving in a huff after a well timed counterspell and scoop. Children look on to witness the behaviour of their elders.

Is this outpouring of emotion and poor sportsmanship drawn from his ties to the game, which undoubtedly run deeper than my own. I have, after all, abandoned my collection several times through the years, when the idea of lugging boxes of cards from house to house weighs heavy on my mind. But the suggestion that I would respond to the news of another sold out Secret Lair or rank-tanking run on Arena with anything other than a shrug runs counter to why I love playing in the first place.

Are these signs that I have achieved competitive and consumer Nirvana; Maslow’s hierarchy conquered. I am stardust, I am water.

Nothing could be further from the truth.

I get frustrated plenty, often over time quibbles not worth a second thought. Even writing Signs of Wear, a project with no ties that I have freely committed my scant spare time to can be aggravating on occasion. Holding onto an idea, then arranging the ideal, necessary words to bring it out into the world — also known as the act of writing — can be torturous, turning me into a muttering Ebenezer Scrooge. A pox on all those first draft writers their growing archive of published works!

This simmering creative ire aside, I endeavour to keep my temper separate from my teaching. Every evaluation I’ve received in my still nascent teaching career highlights my patience. Particularly if you’re in elementary grades, it’s vital. In the classroom the only person I allow myself to get frustrated with is myself, and even then, I try to cut some slack. I’m still learning after all.

Flying off the handle will never serve you well when teaching children, and I doubt it will do you any better at commander night. Then again, you want to succeed, whether it’s rooting for your team, teaching a lesson, or playing a game of Magic. It’s what comes next that should be trivial, fittingly an afterthought.

I’ve gone through phases of Magic, often when I’ve moved to a new LGS or into another playgroup, when recalibration is necessary. A string of brutal games where winning is never in the cards. Since moving to another store in early August, I haven’t won a single commander game. I’ve come close, a near-lethal attack or impressive board, but I fall short of being crowned the victor in this casual, social space. Often my prize has been a good night amongst friends, a slowly growing social circle and the chance to pour more of myself into a hobby I love regardless of any packs waiting for me at the end. No matter how busy my schedule might be, I try to find time to lose at Magic.

I haven’t fallen into a ritualistic act of game-based flagellation — too many missed triggers weigh heavy on the heart — only that my relationship with the game has shifted since it became about, not necessarily more, but other motivations beyond winning or losing. I play to catch up with friends, find out what cards are getting hyped, the staples fallen out of favour and the hidden gems I may need to try out, along with chatting with my podmates about everything outside of the cards and surrounding each set. It’s all about Magic, but beyond who wins, loses, or the aftermath.

By nature, I’m a competitive person. After playing soccer through university, pouring too much of myself into a couple of masters degrees, at the expense of my sleep schedule, a long run is still somehow my idea of an ideal Sunday morning. But I try to keep perspective at my LGS. There’s no grand trophy or prize pool on the line. I still keep track of my triggers and storm counts, clarify rules when I can and my phone stays tucked away in my coat pocket. Playing well and winning don’t necessarily need to got together.

From beginner friendly prereleases to the Magic World Championship, we are better served as players and a community with a bit of competition. Rhyme off some of the sterling win rates from competitive history and they sound unremarkable to anyone unfamiliar with the game. Winning and losing are both integral to playing Magic and you better become well versed in both.

You wouldn’t want to play a game where winning is utterly irrelevant; games have to end, after all. There’s nothing worse than finding yourself against a winless, durdling deck and wasting the precious minutes of your one, wild glorious life as they tick by. There’s too much to see out there to spend your brief time watching another scry resolve. We grow old as we pass priority.

But we can’t all be winners. Statistically in a four player pod it will be the exceptional outcome. As I’ve become more learned in the strategies of different formats and my chosen decks, I’ve grown both as a player and an opponent. I’m still often outplayed, there’s only so much time I can devote to the technical aspects of the hobby, but I have a greater respect for the players who are able to come within reach of a win, falter and still hold themselves a high standard regardless of the outcome of the match. Better to embrace the loss, congratulate your opponent, shuffle up and deal out another hand.