Goodbye, Sheldon!

“At the end of the day people won't remember what you said or did, they will remember how you made them feel.”       ― Maya Angelou

I often skip the staff party at the end of an event. I'm shy, socially awkward, whatever you want to call it. After a weekend of talking to players, solving their problems, calming them down, and making their event special, my brain hurts. My coworkers are genuinely awesome people. Most of them are fascinating, intelligent, and a lot of fun. However, following 3 days of working 12+ hours in addition to networking, learning, and teaching, choosing to voluntarily spend several more hours being 'on' isn't usually ideal. I generally prefer a quieter meal with the opportunity for deeper conversations as well as reflecting on the weekend's events. 

However, on this particular weekend, we'd journeyed to a frozen, snowy northern city. The bitterly cold temperatures outside reminded my tired feet that we had no desire to trudge around hoping to locate on open restaurant late on Sunday night. The weekend's overall tone had been positive and the work hadn't been too taxing, and I had a few spoons left, so I opted to sample the free dinner at the staff party rather than set out in the cold in search of an elusive, and likely expensive, meal. When I entered the staff hotel the pleasant aroma of Italian food greeted me across an almost deserted lobby. An abundance of tables appeared available and I let myself relax a little upon noting that the party wouldn't be too loud or crowded. I selected a few items, loaded them onto a plate, and seated myself alone at a table not too distant to seem companionable, but far enough to be out of the walkway. 

Only a few minutes passed before several coworkers joined me and we conversed amiably while enjoying our meals. As usually happens at these types of social events, the cast of characters at the table changed fluidly with people coming and going to get more food, mingle, or join games of draft or Commander. I know I wandered back to the food table a few times and spent time at several different tables chatting, munching, and laughing.

A few hours later I found myself seated alone with a man with whom I shared an excellent working relationship, but we had not conversed much outside of our professional interactions. His reputation preceded him as many of my mentors looked up to him and frequently passed along lessons he had taught them. I knew from our work together that his knowledge was impressive, but that knowledge was far from his most important quality. He cared deeply about our events, and the people running them, and that passion displayed itself every time he stepped on the floor. He could often be found engaging players and staff, answering questions, and making time for each person that had an ask of him. Despite his position as a 'senior' staff member, he always had time for even the smallest need.

On this particular evening, he engaged me in conversation by asking about my region and my specific experiences within certain contexts. Over the course of the next hour, he queried me concerning my interactions as a female judge both with players, and more importantly with other staff. (While if you know me, you know how much I loathe that topic, he did it in such an open and caring way, that I felt comfortable sharing some pretty intimate thoughts!) He expressed genuine concern about certain things, celebrated when I told of small victories, and followed up with more questions. He likely had no idea how much that conversation meant to me, as it let me share a part of myself I often keep hidden, and rarely discuss with anyone in leadership. 

Thinking back on that night later, the thing that resonated so deeply with me was not what this man did, but rather what he didn't do. As a pillar of the community and someone full of wisdom, anecdotes, and experience, he said very little, yet he yearned to learn more. Rather than filling the space with his own voice, he did the simplest, yet most impactful thing possible - he listened. 

I left that table feeling a deep sense of encouragement and validation - like the work I had been doing that often felt unseen or unvalued wasn't worthless after all. More importantly, I felt like I had a story to tell that mattered and that could effect real change in our industry. Despite the long weekend, the late hour, and the heavy topic, I walked away feeling just a little bit lighter and more hopeful. 

Over the following months I became more open about my own story and more willing to discuss the challenges I've faced. I feel more confident and have embraced my past as a part of the person I have become. I've stopped fighting and leaned into who I am. And all of that started with one conversation with one man who despite all of his influence and experience took the time to not just listen, but truly hear me. I don't remember most of the words we said than night, but the way Sheldon Menery made me feel with be with me for the rest of my life. 

I'd like to end this bit of reflection with Sheldon's own words:

It doesn't matter how much life I have left, I will live it to its fullest.

― Sheldon Menery, facebook, April 8, 2002

An Empty Chair

Seated across from an empty chair, looking at a still full glass of iced tea and waiting for a blue cheese potato chip appetizer that would never arrive. In that moment it hit me, he was really gone.

We were supposed to have lunch today, Wednesday, February 20, 2019. His life ended on the 15th. Cut short by a heart attack and leaving behind a family, friends, and a community filled with grief.

I got the news in a hotel room in Memphis, while working a Magic Fest. Looking back almost 3 years to my first Grand Prix I remember running into him in the lobby of the convention center. We sat and talked a few minutes and he told me he was excited to see more women joining our community. At the time I didn’t understand some of the more toxic elements of our culture and I had no idea why he would say such a thing to me. What I did know is that I hadn’t even put on my brand new judge shirt for the first time yet, and this man was excited to welcome me. On a day where my nerves trembled as I struggled to keep up with the mountains of new things I was learning, he provided a sense of calm acceptance and a ready smile.

That was the first of a long list of event encounters where we shared a smile, a chat, or a meal. One night we went to Joe T. Garcia’s, a Mexican restaurant I had frequented in college. “Get the nachos,” he implored. At a place known for enchiladas and fajitas, I didn’t even know they had nachos. He wasn’t wrong - and I’ve ordered nachos every single time since that night.

He wrote me a review one time, for a stressful 65 player PPTQ where he was a player. He loved to write. He loved to make others better. And he was willing to invest his time in writing to make me better. Opening that review was a lovely surprise after a rough day. And now that review sits in my history as a lovely reminder of a lost friendship and the lasting impact he made on my career as a judge.

Two weeks ago he was on my deckchecks team for the Star City Open in Dallas. We enjoyed a fun day together checking decks, sorting lists, and sharing laughs. He was always a whiz at deckchecks, faster than me by far. I never understood how he could be so jovial while doing a task that tested my concentration and my patience. He seemed to know when a deck was problematic and had a knack for figuring out issues that arose. I’m so honored that I got to share the day with him on his last event working as a judge.

He often bought extra boxes of product that I brought home from events. We’d meet here, at Pluckers, to enjoy wings and make the exchange. While it started out as a way to meet up for a sale, it evolved into more of a fun meal to talk about the judge program, upcoming events, conferences, and more. Our topics often included our families, writing and editing, hopes and dreams for the future, sports, and anything else we could think of. We were never at a loss for words and the meals always ended too soon.

So here I am today, sitting alone at this table with a painful ache in my heart. His warm encouragement will be missing at future events and I’ll never get to read his latest writing project. I’ll have one less confidant to bounce conference ideas off of and I can’t ask if he’s attending. I’m sitting at one of our favorite tables, eating the wings we both adored. And while I know he’d be happy to hear that they are still delicious, they will never be the same without his company.

Jeff Zandi, you may not be here in person, but your spirit is with me today at this table. I hope to pass on your traditions of hospitality and encouragement and continue to build the community that you loved so much. Your influence is woven into the fabric of who I am as a judge and you will be with me every time I wear that mantle. I miss you, but I know that you will live on both in me and in the Magic community.

"What are some of your favourite things about your local Magic community?"

"What are some of your favourite things about your local Magic community?"

I was asked to answer this question as a part of a Judge of the Week feature, but my response took on a life of its own. I sent an excerpt for JOTW to use (which met their length requirements), but opted to post the full text here as well. A special thanks to Raoul Mowatt and the JOTW team. I appreciate the work you guys do and I appreciate the opportunity to be a part of this feature.

There was a time, about six months after I started playing Magic, when I commented that walking into my LGS felt like 'coming home.' My friend laughed and said, "A place where everyone knows your name?" And while cheesy, he was also correct. I loved walking in those doors and being greeted by friends, immediately being asked what I was playing or invited to join a game. 

As a newcomer to both the game and the shop, my concerns about fitting in had been unfounded. Guys offered to help me improve my decks, trade me cards, show me how to beat them, and teach me tournament fundamentals. As I immersed myself in the community, the terminology and ethics soon followed. After an exhaustive internet search, I finally asked someone and discovered that "fizzled" and "countered on resolution" mean the same thing. I learned that slow rolling when you have a win in hand is considered rude, just like scooping before you've attempted all your outs is incorrect. (It just took me a while to figure out that I had a win in hand!)

I came from literally nothing in terms of knowing the game. I had never seen or heard of it until a friend of a friend brought over a box of Theros and some guys offered to teach me a 'new game.' Let's just say that drafting might not have been the best introduction . . .  However my 5-colored deck of mostly 8 drops (the big ones are the best, right?) was amazing. I do wish that before we drafted someone had told me that you could add basic lands - I drafted every land from every pack because they were so exceptionally rare.

Terrible beginning aside, I'm extremely grateful that those guys kicked my ass that day. None of them let me win. They didn't even allow me to take back my awful plays. They did explain the rules to me, and require that I play by them. The guys in my local store treated me the same way. No one babied me. No one coddled me. They simply educated me, and demanded excellence. Each time I lost was a learning experience, and gradually I won a few games, and finally a few matches. 

While I can't say it was an easy road, it was the right road for me. I'm sure there are folks out there who would have preferred a different experience - a handicap of sorts for beginners. That's just not my style. Growing up, my dad and I played a lot of games, and he didn't let me win. I learned to respect skill, hope for luck, and that winning and losing must both be accomplished gracefully. My LGS recreated those feelings for me.

Alas all good things must come to an end, right? Well, shortly after I became a judge, that store closed down. I sought to fill the void by judging a lot of national events like Grands Prix and Star City Opens. Don't get me wrong-I love those events! But there is also something to be said for a local Magic community. I missed 'my guys' and a store that felt like home.

A funny thing happened: As I judged more PPTQs all over the area, I started seeing the same players each weekend. Many of the same guys who travel to the larger events as well. Guys that I have played Magic with, traveled with, roomed with, traded cards with, and judged with popped up at a variety of places. Sometimes players who didn't know me personally knew of me. Even when walking into a store I had never been in before, I was greeted with familiar faces.

It's awesome how quickly my feelings went from newbie and outsider to 'one of the crowd.' I can't help but smile when someone surprises me with a hot chocolate (I don't drink coffee, but I may have a bit of a hot chocolate addiction . . .) I love seeing a local player at a large event who stops by registration to say hello or asks me to check out his deck before the main event. It always brings me a sense of pride when other judges meet my players from home. 

While the game may have introduced us, the friendships I’ve made have connected us in many ways outside the game too. From pool parties and fantasy football to baseball games and Christmas cards. We've celebrated birthdays in a shop, brought our kids along to play, and shared our anniversary trip with crazy roommates. In the past year I've attended a wedding and a funeral, sharing both the joys and the sorrows of life with my Magic community. 

So in conclusion, my favorite thing about my local Magic community is the community itself - both the players and the judges, in person, and on the internet. Whether it's my Tuesday night legacy group, the grinders at a PPTQ, or roommates at a GP, the people are as much a part of the experience as the game itself and it's the shared experiences among those people that create the community that has made me who I am as a judge.

Stories

As a judge, we usually focus on rules knowledge or event logistics when we talk about what we do. We aspire to get to L2 or to become a Head Judge. Our goals are to flip rounds faster, present at a conference, or finally understand layers. Sometimes we grumble at another day of deck checks or at being assigned to the prize wall. We find ourselves going through the motions at an event without really engaging with the work.

This weekend at GP Omaha, while serving on the registration team, I got a taste of something more.

A player approached me with some questions about the event. He explained that he was attending his first Grand Prix and asked about registering for side events, getting a playmat, and how to earn prize wall tix. While answering his queries I added that we were so excited that he could join us for his first GP. He launched into a touching tale. When he was eleven years old, he played Magic and planned to attend a local GP, however his grandmother did not support his hobby and burned his Magic cards. Years later, he had returned to the game as a young adult, but a flood in his home destroyed yet another expensive collection. He quit. About three years ago his son took up the game and had been begging him to play again. At first he refused. Upon seeing that a GP would be in their area, he joined his son, now eleven, in preparing for the event, and the two of them attended together.

This story impacted me on so many levels. As a parent, seeing the father and son sharing a hobby reminded me of golfing with my father as I grew up. I'm sure that Magic will bring them closer as they travel and play together. Hearing of the man's loss and struggle to rebuild spoke to his perseverance and strength. His son accomplishing the dream that he could not fulfill at the age of eleven completed a circle of sorts in his life, and being a part of that thrilled me as well.

Later in the day a man approached with some younger guys. He explained that they wanted to register for the Main Event. After chatting a bit I discovered that the group had traveled from Sheldon,
Iowa. The man taught in an elementary school and spent his afternoons running "The Game Club" at the nearby high school. The young men had learned how to play Magic and practiced diligently to attend their first competitive event. Throughout the weekend the gentleman updated me on the group's progress and Head Judge Jared Sylva invited them onto the main event stage for a picture.

As a former teacher, I've seen so many adults fail today's young people. This man engaged with a group of young men providing them a role model and mentor while also sharing with them a hobby. These guys are learning more than a game - they are learning about commitment, decision making, and character. By showing them the larger world of gaming, this teacher has introduced them to the world of competitive play, and to the Magic community as a whole. While Magic may not be anyone's only passion, opening their eyes to the scope of opportunities can ignite these men's dreams and encourage them to look higher in all areas of their lives. What an amazing investment into our future!

That evening another player dropped by registration and excitedly asked to purchase the VIP package. He stated that this was his second GP ever and at his first (GP Denver 2016) he had registered for the VIP package and Magic judge Mike Goodman had gone out of his way to help this player out. The player not only remembered Mike's full name, but went on to gush about how special Mike had made his weekend. He wanted to buy the VIP upgrade to see Mike again. I couldn't keep the tears from my eyes as I quietly informed him that Mike had passed away. "Oh shit!" the man responded, clearly upset. I revealed my MG wristband and shared with him how much Mike meant to the Magic community. I told him how I had first met Mike as a player and then became friends as a co-worker. I let him know about the charity tournament on Sunday to benefit Mike's family. While I have never met that player before, we shared a moment of connection as we remembered a man who had touched our lives.

Throughout the weekend I worked hard registering players, handling issues, and serving on the floor team of the main event. I enjoyed mentoring new judges, receiving council from experienced ones, and making new friends. I did some things well, and some things that I need to work on. But when I returned home and thought about the weekend as a whole, the thing that stood out to me the most were the stories from the mouths of the players.

I'm going to borrow a sentiment that Jess Dunks shared with the judge staff at SCG Louisville a few weeks ago: to us this is another event, but to a player this may be the pinnacle of their Magic career. Of course there are grinders and pros who attend lots of GPs, but they exist alongside local players and folks who traveled to attend this one special event. We as judges have the monumental task of determining what kind of experience each of those players has.

To A Judge

I follow you on facebook. I see your struggles. I see your ups and your downs. You share your life so honestly with the world. I admire you.

We have a lot of mutual friends. I hear the things they say about you. How much you know. How you have helped them. When you are struggling. How much they care about you.

I remember spying the back of your judge hoodie in the Denver airport. It was my first time traveling to a GP alone. You remembered me. You helped me take the bus to the hotel. It was late and cold. I was alone and scared. You made me feel welcome and safe.

Denver was a tough weekend for me. My personal demons reared their ugly heads. I never told anyone how much I was hurting, how much I just wanted to quit, go home, and hide under a blanket and never come out. You were there to make me smile, to show me what strength looks like, and to remind me that no matter the turmoil inside, I could face each day and make it great.

We've worked together since then. You have supported me on rough days. We've shared rides, shared meals, and shared stories - shared moments of our lives. We've had a few chats, but nothing too deep.

But today, on a day where we remember a friend that we lost too soon, I feel compelled to say the words to you. The ones that stick in my throat for fear of getting too close or being too real. The ones I think every time I see you hurting and want to reach out to you, but don't.

Thank you for being real. Thank you for being there. Thank you for sharing your story so openly with the judge community. Thank you for serving as an example of how to overcome challenges and for being a pillar of strength in an uncertain world. Thank you for never giving up and thank you for continuing to dream big. You are an inspiration to me and an example of what I hope to become.

I believe in you.

What Judges Do

Iron sharpens iron, So one man sharpens another.
-Proverbs 27:17 New American Standard Bible (NASB)

Last night I had a long chat with a good judge friend. I went to bed with my mind simmering and full of ideas. I awoke still ruminating on the things he said. Even now, I cannot clear my mind of his comments, or focus on another piece of writing. The ideas are too fresh, and too poignant. 

So after dinner, family time, and DDR, he got right down to business by asking about my recent L2P exam. We went to the computer and walked through each question whether I answered correctly or not. He explained my mistakes, corrected my misunderstandings, and showed me strategies for working things out. What he did not do was offer underserved praise or sugar-coat my mistakes. When we finished, I felt defeated yet stronger than I had been before. My weaknesses had been exposed, but I possessed the tools to correct them. 

We then left the computer and headed for the living room where he motioned me to sit on the couch while he pulled something from his bag. Around this time in the evening we often play Magic, so I was hoping for legacy decks. Instead he sat down and opened his small black judge notebook. "We still haven't talked about your review." Now clearly I was confused again because I thought a review was a dry document keyed into a clunky interface by a judge after an event.

His 'review' involved a lengthy conversation. He asked me about the weekend, walked me through several situations he observed, and took into account my self-observations. We talked about my roles each day, who I worked with, what I learned from each person, and how I could apply those techniques. He followed up on several things that he had noted asking how I had resolved situations later. He even sought my feedback on his performance. Interestingly, I think he was evaluating my ability to evaluate other judges. The level of depth surprised me in both his notes and his questions. He knew how to help me see my own strengths and weaknesses.

Our conversation then turned to my upcoming L2 exam. He asked about my preparations, my next events, and my testing plans. He didn't let me get away with muddled answers and he probed for details when I didn't readily admit them. For most of the conversation, he pressed hard for me to select a test date and make it happen. As we wrapped things up, he added that readiness is a mental state and not to let him push me into testing before I'm ready. By the way he said it, I suspect that he thinks I'm ready, but the readiness from within is the only thing that matters. That solidified a judge lesson: Trust Yourself.

I'm currently re-reading Ender's Game (a personal favorite!), and the line that came to mind is "There is no authority but excellence." In the judge program competence abounds and a great many judges run quality events, but true excellence born of an intolerance for anything less occurs only sporadically. I respect this particular judge not only for his excellence, but for the excellence he brings out in me. I strive to do a better job because he knows I can. I also know that no matter how I preform I'll be called upon to answer for it later, and I'd much rather have the conversation that follows doing well.

Like so many judge interactions, there is no judgment - just honest evaluation. As my mind drifts back over times with my judge friends, lots more stories come to mind:

• Getting daggered in Slack while preparing for my L1.
• Driving 10 hours to Albuquerque while Brian and Antonio loudly debated judge scenarios in the back seat.
• Jim showing me how to prepare sealed product for distribution on my first day on the floor.
• Countless hours on hangouts with Josh as he answers my never-ending questions.
• Staying up past midnight going through Judge Box scenarios with Adena.
• Phone calls with Carter to discuss the philosophies behind the rules.
• Sitting in the airport with Brian, Zac, Tasha, and a bunch of players sharing our best judge calls of the weekend while waiting on a delayed flight home from Columbus.

The only obvious conclusion here is that judges like helping each other get better. Unlike so many places in life where people compete to hold one another down and getting to the top is exclusive, the judge program is the opposite. Judges sharpen one another - it's what they do.

Magicversary

One year ago today was the beginning of my Magic journey.

Now technically I had played Magic before.  I had tried it out with some of my husband's buddies, and I had been to a grand total of 4 FNMs. All of those times involved me cluelessly piloting decks through a bunch of interactions of which I possessed no comprehension. It felt like "magic" because my opponents did all kinds of crazy things that I couldn't explain and that made no logical sense.

A year ago today, my husband and I attended Grand Prix Las Vegas.  I actually went to watch him play, and then decided to sign up because he had paid for Platinum Planeswalker Registration. This entitled him to use a VIP lounge.  I literally entered the tournament so that I could accompany him into this lounge.  By 'lounge' I actually mean a mostly curtained off area on the floor with a few tables and chairs.  The best surprise of the weekend is that this 'lounge' also contained a nice lady with a small oven who handed out freshly baked cookies all day. Additionally popcorn provided the salty complement to the sweet cookies. The cookies alone made the extra $70ish worth it!

Because I didn't want to embarrass myself too badly at this event, my husband helped me study beforehand.  We looked at spoilers and he explained to me the deck archtypes in the set.  Luckily, this sealed event didn't require me to bring (or own) a deck. It did however require me to know enough to build one in 45 minutes given a pool of cards.

Also, to add to the fun, my husband's team graciously gave me a T-shirt. I in no way earned this shirt, but I had at least met one of the guys before. It may be a silly thing, but wearing the team shirt made me feel important, and thus I felt more inclined to play better.

We signed up for a Sealed Trial, which would simulate the Grand Prix conditions. It required building a deck from a pool of cards. but no one told me that we had to open the packs and register a list. So while opening 6 packs of cards and marking them on a sheet of paper sounds simple enough, it proved to be enough to place me in a panic. I followed the instructions for opening, sorting, alphabetizing, and marking the cards on the list, but I did so at a snail's pace.  I focused on the wrong things because I had no idea which things mattered. When we were supposed to be finished, I had to raise my hand and wait for a judge to watch me as I did the last cards. (Waiting for the judge made me take even longer, and that guy was intimidating!).  By the time I tried to start building a deck, I was more likely to have a coronary condition than to clearly evaluate a card pool.  I at least got colors I knew how to play (Bant) and managed to put together a decent deck. When I won the first match, I was elated! I had already exceeded my wildest expectations.  I lost round 2. I won 3 and 4, and drew in round 5 for a record of 3-1-1. That led to significant prize tix and me leaving with a sense of accomplishment.

As we returned to our hotel that afternoon, my feelings about the game had changed. It went from something foreign and difficult to something I could do. That tiny taste of success left me with a longing that could not be easily satisfied.  That evening we attended a broadway show, but my mind wandered to the cards and I contemplated ways to optimize my deck.  Over dinner, we talked about playing in more events the following day and planned how to spend our days at the GP.  In bed that night, I drifted off to sleep with artifacts and Tarmagoyfs dancing in my head.

I wish I could tell you that the rest of the weekend I played well . . .  but beginner's luck ran out rather quickly. I only amassed a total of 3 more wins over the next 3 days combined. It didn't matter though, when we returned home, my passion remained and I attended the next 2 FNMs before taking a break to have a baby.

This past year has brought me form clueless Magic novice to L1 judge looking to test for L2. I have learned so much about the game, but also about myself. My judge mentor and I chatted one day about my history and his comment was, "I'm surprised you stuck with it."  In truth, I am too!  It was a rocky road faced with challenges due to having a family and trying to find time to play, being a minority (female), and a complete lack of understanding or experience.  I've developed my rules knowledge, but also my perseverance over the past 12 months. Through the ups and downs of winning and losing, and passing and failing, through crazy trips with even crazier roommates (GP Houston), through late nights, early mornings, good pulls and bad plays, this first year of Magic has been a year of growth, learning, and change.  The lessons I have learned and the friends I have made will last a lifetime, and I hope that my Magic career will as well.


A special thanks to my Magic friends: Cole, Jackson, Shannon, Avery, Michael, and pretty much everyone at FNM. To Chris at Area 51 for giving me that first chance to judge a FNM. To my judge friends: Ben Zeero, Antonio Zanutto, Mitchell Nitz, Trevor Nunez (daggers!), Spin Rodriguez, and everyone in USA South Slack. To the Cascade Games guys for the fun times in Albuquerque and Austin: Tim Shields, Kyle Knudson, and John Cater. To my judge mentors: David Carroll, Jim Shuman, and especially Josh McCurley. And most of all to my husband: Brian Leonard. Without these guys I might have made it this far (ok, unlikely), but it certainly wouldn't have been as much fun.  Looking forward to many more years of making Magic memories with you guys!

Passed

Since you already know the backstory (if not read Failed!), and I'm sure you guessed the result by the title of this post, I'll skip the announcement and cut right to the fun part.  The story of how it came about. The truth is, it was a group effort. I could not have passed that test without the support of a bunch of L2s, so here it is, a list of the most important things they said to me.

Jason Daniels: Our job is to make sure players play legally, not to make sure they play well.
As I contemplated preparing to be a Magic judge, I believed that I would first need to become an accomplished player.  I thought that I would need to be able to educate players on the proper plays in various situations and serve as a sort of 'coach' to new players. Since I was a new player myself, I had a long way to go towards that end. However, Jason explained that our role as judges is to ensure that players make legal choices and follow the rules. That makes the game fair and fun for everyone. Our job is not to help them actually play; their own skill will be needed for that. We serve as neutral arbitrators to help players with difficult situations and provide them a resource for resolving problems.
Thanks Jason for taking the time to chat with me at that GPT and open the door for me to become a judge.

David Carroll: I think it's fair to say I liked you from the start.
I played my first game of Legacy ever with a deck David let me borrow.  I also got my first penalty ever with a decklist David gave me.  Afterwards he taught me an important lesson: always verify your own decklist.  While he did apologize, he did not take responsibility. And he's right.  My deck and decklist are my responsibility, and I tried to take the lazy road and turn in the one he handed me sight unseen.  In every interaction with David, he has pushed me to be a little bit better.  Correcting my terminology in Slack, providing feedback on my cover letter, pointing out the 1 question I missed as room for improvement. David liked me enough to never let me settle for less than top tier.
Thanks David for holding me to the highest standards.

Jim Shuman: When are you taking your L1 test?
Jim walked up to me in the middle of a match at the Hunter Burton Memorial Magic Open and asked me that. I struggled to figure out how to play while having that conversation.  Ok, I struggled to play anyway, but trying to talk and play . . . almost impossible.  But when Jim walked away, my opponent looked at me in semi-awe and said, "You're a judge?"  I had wanted to judge that exact event, but couldn't because I failed my certification test. Playing in the event while my friends judged made that stand out to me even more. Jim helped me realize that while I'm not actually a certified judge yet, I am a member of the judge community and have the support of other judges.
Thanks Jim for giving me that boost of acceptance and encouragement when my frustration level was the highest.

Antonio Zanutto: You can't do math while running from a lion.
The night before my L1 test, coincidentally also the day I met Antonio, he was helping me study.  We stayed up late going over scenarios and I expressed my nervousness.  He explained that I would need to relax enough to think clearly while taking the test.  His poignant way of stating such a pragmatic fact really struck a chord with me and made me smile during the actual test.
Thanks Antonio for the last minute advice that made all the difference.

Josh McCurley: You ARE a judge. 
I don't think either Josh or I want to count the exact number of times he made that statement to me. After I failed my first L1 exam I fought the urge to give up.  Magic is a complicated game and maybe learning the rules was too much for me. I was also frustrated that my plans for judging upcoming events had been changed.  That I had learned some things wrong and needed to re-learn them.  That I'm a girl in a man's world of judging. That my husband was better than me - lots better.  Josh was there to talk me off that ledge-several times.  He offered me a listening ear, late night jokes, and answers to all of my million questions. No matter how upset I got, he was the level-headed one who reminded me that even at L0, I was a judge. He showed me a multitude of ways to get involved in the program and offered his name as a reference, and little by little, I stepped out of my box and into my new role.
Thanks Josh for all the good conversations and for never letting me lose sight of my goal.

Brian Leonard: I'm proud of you baby.
My husband, the L2. While it was a roller coaster of a ride, sometimes filled with frustration, jealousy, tears, or long study sessions, there is no one I would have rather been with than you.  You were the first person to support my goal, and you put up with me through the good times and the bad. You shared your knowledge while still allowing me to chart my own (albeit rocky) path. You never gave in to my fits of frustration, and you never let me win unless I was right.  The night I won my first rules debate against you was a turning point for me and since then you have let me build up a belief in myself.
Thanks baby for loving me, supporting me, and sharing this journey with me!


I'd also like to add a few quick "thank yous":
 . . . to Chris as Area 51 for letting me help with some FNMs.
 . . . to L2 Preston May, the guy who saw me fail and saw me pass, and encouraged me both times.
 . . . to Jessica Livingston, Mitchell Nitz, Trevor Nunez, Steve Wise, and all of the #trainingroom crew.

By His Side

We've been married for 5 years.  FIVE YEARS! I'd say 5 long years, but really, they have flown by so fast that if he hadn't reminded me, I wouldn't have known it was that long.


We met playing World of Warcraft online.  (If you are not familiar, it's a massively multiplayer online role-playing game, or MMORPG.)  I was the leader of a large, competitive raiding guild.  He was a player looking for a new guild home.  Three years of playing together later, he was the Raid Leader (a very prestigious role) in the guild and we worked together to run the group, along with the help of some exceptional officers (Penimus). I attended an unrelated conference in his city . . . and he asked me on a date.  He ended up moving to Texas to be with me.  We took a 3 week tour to drive around the country and stay with many of our raiders (Blizzazed). He proposed at Blizzcon in 2010 in front of some of our raiders (Paz).

Then, we retired from WoW and settled down to start a family.  Those were some good years in terms of our lives - we had 2 kids, bought a beautiful home, he found a great job and started working on a degree, etc.  But they were some tough years in terms of our relationship with each other.  The strains of daily life, kids, mortgage payments, college, etc. took their toll.  We drifted apart even while living together.  We shared common goals and both strove to meet them.  We both did our parts to make life work, but it was work.  Somehow, we lost the 'spark.'

Two years ago, some of Brian's friends invited us to play Magic: the gathering, a trading card game.  Brian took to it immediately and before long was attending (and winning) tournaments.  I was a bit slower to come around.  I tried to be supportive, but I think I only succeeded in being mildly resentful, and jealous.  He went to play every Friday night, and some weekend days too, leaving me alone.  It wouldn't have been as bad, but with work and school I barely saw him anyway.  I began to hate the game.

One day Brian and I talked.  More accurately, he called me out.  He reminded me that we met playing a game.  He was a gamer when I met him, and so was I.  He proposed at a gaming conference. Many of our best memories were from our gaming days.  Wow! (ok, pun intended)  That hit me pretty hard.  He was right.  And I changed.  I stopped giving him a hard time about playing and became much more supportive.

One Friday night, I went to watch him play.  It was fun.  Enough fun that I gave the game another try.  It still took almost a year of intermittent play for me to come around, but last May I played in a huge competitive tournament with him in Las Vegas, and my spark ignited.  After that trip I couldn't wait to play again.  The passion for the game began to consume me as I learned the rules, tried new decks, and attended every Friday night that I could get a babysitter. Now don't get me wrong, there were frustrations: complicated rules, lack of babysitting, expensive entry fees, and I am still not allowed in the group chat due to my gender.  But overall, the good outweighed the bad, and excepting the time I took off when our third child was born, I've played weekly since.

Which brings us to our 5 year anniversary, and our anniversary trip - to a Magic Grand Prix of course!  My wonderful mother agreed to keep all 3 kids for the weekend, so we entered the tournament.  We decided to cut costs by joining forces with some friends, so we and 3 guys rode together and shared a room.  Now if you are imagining a 4 hour car ride filled with beef jerky and fart jokes, you're right on the money. We piled into a decent sized hotel room where Brian and I were able to pay extra for the "bed spots" and all dumped our bags to head for the convention center.  After playing Magic until 9pm, we headed out for our anniversary dinner. I had originally hoped for sushi, but by that late was dying for pizza.  Brian managed to find a fantastic local dive-y place 12 blocks from the hotel, so after a brisk hike, we squished into this hole-in-the-wall and managed to order some food.  It was well worth it as the pizza was amazing!  And yes, for my anniversary dinner, I ordered pizza and beers and served them to table full of guys.  And I wouldn't have it any other way.

Saturday and Sunday we played a lot of Magic, and I overheard a lot of guys talking about their wives being mad at them for playing, or discussing what they had to do to get their wives to let them come.  It made me sad that these men had to beg, bribe, or sneak to enjoy a hobby.  Saturday night we piled into a too small Uber for a night of fajitas and margaritas, and had a blast.  Sunday morning came early, but we all survived the day.  As I drove home that night, with a carload of sleeping guys, it hit me . . . when we are gaming together we are sharing a passion, not just a purpose.

I'm so lucky to be married to a man that not only invites me to join him, but encourages me to pursue my own interests as well.  As with WoW, we each play our own way and do our own thing, but sometimes a mid-round shoulder rub, or holding hands in the registration line is a nice bonus too! So after some trial and error and a 3 year gaming drought, I realized that I where I most want to be is playing by his side.

Failed!

I failed today.

I fail every day in the little things like 'I forgot to empty the cat box' or 'I wore my underwear inside out all day.' But failure in the BIG things is pretty rare for me.  It only happens when I step outside my box and reach for something new.  I love a challenge.  I love the feeling of learning, working, struggling, and coming out on top.

I've had a lot of success.
My accomplishments include:

• Yearbook Editor
• Spanish Club President
• Golf Team Captain
• High School Valedictorian
• Bachelor's Degree
• Master's Degree
• Won UIL, MathCounts, and Future City competitions and awards
• Married to the man of my dreams
• World of Warcraft Guild Leader of a Top 200 US ranked guild
• Bought the perfect house
• 3 beautiful kids and a TON of parenting milestones
• Gotten every job I have ever still wanted after the interview
• And too many more to list . . ..

The last failure of this magnitude that I can remember was in the 7th grade (over 20 years ago).  I tried out for cheerleader.  I was not cute, terribly athletic, or perky in any way, but I saw those cool girls and wanted to be one of them.  I went to a few classes and thought I knew what I was doing, but I was in way over my head.  I came home, cried, and thought the world was ending.  (I was a preteen girl - the world WAS ending!)  My parents helped me to see that the world was not in fact ending, but that there would be other opportunities.  After some mourning, I got busy - I attended cheer classes, tumbling clinics, practices, and anything else I could for an entire year.  And the next year, I tried out again and made the squad.  While I still get that sick to my stomach feeling when I think back to that day of finding out that I didn't make it the first time, I'm now glad for the experience because it taught me how to fail - and fail hard - and still bounce back.  And as an adult looking back, I can see that I am a better person for it.  

I'm so glad that I have the guts to try - to go for it - to stretch myself into new territory.  I'm used to great success and little else.  In fact, so used to it that I've forgotten what it feels like to fail.  

To be fair, I knew I was reaching on this one before I even started.  I have been playing Magic for less than a year.  Many players were playing when I was in 7th grade - literally.  Most players testing for judge certification have played a lot more Magic than me, for a lot more years.  It's a complicated game.  It has a lot of complex rules to memorize and even more intricate interactions among those rules.  I have studied - a lot.  I have done everything I knew to do including asking others to help, reading the rules online, taking practice tests, playing JudgeTower, following forums, interacting with other judges, and trying to immerse myself in the mindset of a judge.  While I learned many, many things, it wasn't enough.

I failed.

And that's ok.  I knew going in that rules were not my strong suit.  I was still struggling with some concepts that I needed to know.  I also had some misconceptions in my head form mistakes I made while studying.  In the end, I failed by 2%, which means I was close, but I didn't get there.  

My judge mentor said, "I think you are ready for the task in attitude. And that is what makes great judges, not all the v rules stuff. :-)"[sic]  While his undeserved compliment certainly assuaged my bruised ego, it also led to some serious introspection.  I 'studied' the wrong things.  I worried about how judges look, how they act, and how they interact because I was worried about the interview.  I was worried that this man would see me, a female new player, as not worthy of being a judge.  I tried to figure out what questions he would ask me and how to answer them to convince him of my worth.  Looking back, my efforts paid off, and I must have seemed fairly competent because he only asked me 1 question, "Do you have any questions for me?"  Needless to say, I had no idea how to answer that one.  There were millions of them running through my head - tricky rules interactions, queries about working at larger events, fears of handling tough situations, details of infractions, and even wondering about the possibility of further advancement - but I didn't dare ask any of them right then.  He was busy simultaneously working with 4 judges/candidates and I was too nervous to think clearly, so I just took the test.

But I didn't know the rules well enough to pass.  I missed 3 questions about the exact same mechanic, giving the same incorrect answer 3 times.  I missed 2 questions by not reading carefully enough.  I missed 2 more questions by just getting them wrong.  And the last question I missed my mentor said he would have chosen the same answer as me.  So overall, I missed enough things in enough different ways to conclusively say that it was me - not the test, bad questions, weird wording, or any other reason.

I would actually guess that the rules test is a 'non-issue' with many judge candidates because the longer you play the game, the more rules you learn, which leaves me, the new player, at a decided disadvantage of my own making.

So while I could use this time for anger, frustration, sadness, or laying blame, I think I'll skip all of those and do what I did 20+ years ago when I failed.  I'll pick myself up and go study the rules a little harder, because when the opportunity to test comes up again, I will be prepared.