Commitment-phobic

I’m disappointed, but not surprised. I’m sad, hurt, a little angry, but not surprised. Not really. I should have known it was coming.

When six months ago he conspiratorially suggested to me, “Maybe you’ll head judge the next one for me” I believed him. So getting the phone call from the out of region head judge asking if he could crash at my house came as a bit of a shock to me. The head judge he selected is better than me. He’ll do an awesome job. He’s my friend. I’m happy that he’ll be in town. The head judge even said that it felt weird to ‘apply against a friend.’ Wow. I’m honored that he calls me friend. We spent some time chatting about the event and I’m still excited to work it as a floor judge. Disappointed, yes. Surprised, . . . not really.

When I applied to the out of region event, ate the massive travel costs associated with mis-booking my flights, drove through the night, and showed up to work on time despite the difficulties, telling myself, ‘I am a professional.’ I arrived only to be asked to work an extended shift. I worked my buns off that weekend and loved every minute of it. While speaking to the judge manager he commented on his surprise that I applied. I replied, “You asked me to.” He didn’t remember. Disappointed, yes. Surprised, . . . not really.

When he told me last year that next year he hopes to ‘give the whole thing to [me],’ I got excited. The plans percolating in my mind quickly cooled when someone else ran the show and the staff didn’t include me. I went as a player, and had a great time. Disappointed, yes. Surprised, . . . not really.

When I asked him two years ago to write me an L3 Rec, he told me that those take time and a lot of work, but that he would put me on his list. I eagerly agreed. I’ve worked his events, talked with him about everything, trusted his advice, and taken risks believing him to be in my corner. He’s implied numerous times that the end goal is my L3. So when I told him this month that I was planning to formally request the Rec around the end of the year, it stung when he said he would prefer not to write it. His reasons made sense and I believe his choice to be legitimately in my best interests. Disappointed, yes. Surprised, . . . not really.

When he told me he planned to pass RC to me, I felt a surge of adrenaline I can’t explain. An odd feeling of legitimacy, like someone saying that the work I’m doing has value and truly matters. I never aspired to be an RC, but it does seem to be a good fit. From people I barely know to mentors with whom I work closely I get asked about it. I have always answered that I believe our current RC is doing a fine job and that I trust him completely. So only a month after that revelation when he stated that he’s decided to consider another path of succession for RC, it felt like a dagger to my soul. Disappointed, yes. Surprised, . . . not really.

Despite each disappointment, I’ve kept working hard, kept pushing, kept grinding, and ignored the hurt, the loss, and the sadness. Tuned out the doubters, the gatekeepers, and the ones who would use me for their own gain. Instead I kept believing that I could work harder, do more, and be better. Kept believing in the next opportunity. Maybe naive, but I still believe.

You see, at this point in my judge career I know how it goes:

Something inside you breaks.

It's just not worth it anymore. No matter what you do, you just can't get a foothold in this community. Most of your successes are met with scrutiny and doubt. You've been judging Magic for two years and still regularly get asked if you are a new judge. You complete your tasks just fine on your own but the men at the event insist on giving you unsolicited tips – assuming that you need them. An uncomfortable amount of other judges still react awkwardly to working with you. When you started working sanctioned events, you rationalized it all away by saying, “It's just because I'm new.” But you're not new anymore. And the same shit keeps happening no matter how much you try to blend in and be accepted as a real judge.

You still love judging Magic. But after all this time, the small interactions have taken their toll and you finally conclude, “Maybe judging Magic tournaments isn't for me.”

I’m not there yet, but I know that someday I will be.

Impact

As she walked up to me I vaguely recognized her, but couldn't place her exactly. She said, "I just want to thank you for helping me find a team at that GP." Ahh, my memory jogged, she was the player whose teammates had missed their flight and she almost didn't get to play in a team GP. There had been another player who was there without a team as well, we'll call him Rick (not his real name). Rick had asked me all day about finding a team, but as the registration lead there was really not much I could do. When she showed up that afternoon, I had introduced the two of them. They had been able to find a third and compete in the event. Later that weekend she had dropped by registration to thank me and tell me that they had almost made day 2. I felt a sense of satisfaction at being able to unite two players and turn their disappointment into a fun weekend.

Now, almost a year later, halfway across the country this woman had sought me out again. She continued, "That weekend really changed my life. I appreciate your help." As a Magic judge I'm always excited to help players out and make sure they have great experiences, but this praise seemed over the top. Then Rick walked up and thanked me as well. As they walked away hand in hand, she smiled over her shoulder and said, "We've been dating for six months."

Recognition

I received my first ever recognition at a CFBE Grand Prix this weekend. It was such a humbling and exciting experience. But in order to truly understand the weight of what this recognition means to me, let's flash back a bit before I explain the recognition.

In June of 2017 at the judge conference at Grand Prix Las Vegas, I participated in an investigations workshop. At the time I had never done an actual investigation and excitement churned within me. I entered into it feeling confident and eager to show off my skills. Boy was I wrong! My scenario turned out to be a deck check where I found issues with both decks and had to speak with both players. Now, I am notoriously bad at deck checks so after laboriously checking 2 decks, I was mentally exhausted, stressed from being put on the spot, and confused because I had no idea what to do next. I picked a player and started asking questions. After spending far too long on a roundabout mess of queries and responses I still had no idea what to do, so I moved on to the other player to repeat this nonsense. I reached incorrect conclusions in both cases and wasted a ton of time. Afterwards one of the actors from the scenario, an L3 I had never met before, said to me, "You were pretty terrible." He was right; and the worst part was that I had no idea how to get better.

In September I worked Grand Prix Washington DC. My team lead, Khan Le Thien, and I chatted about investigations and he offered to send me some materials he uses to help judges improve their investigation skills. He suggested practicing on some test cases and looking for the critical information needed to make a decision. That conversation changed the way I approached investigations. I stopped trying to simply gather information in a vague generic sense. I started focusing on the critical pieces to make a decision. First I had to gather enough information to understand the situation. Khanh suggested describing the scenario in as few words as possible, which taught me to try and examine a situation and boil it down to its critical elements. Then I had to ask myself what comprise the important decision points (such as if a player is cheating or if I want to perform a backup), and what information I needed to make those decision. Next, I attempted to elicit the information from the players. Sometimes looking at a lifepad or asking a spectator helped, but usually I had to create lines of questioning that would yield the information necessary. Learning to investigate efficiently and not ask unnecessary questions came next. Finally, I had to get comfortable making and delivering a decision.

Using Khan's system, I studied and theorycrafted a lot. In practice, I investigated a few minor incidents, but nothing ever really felt like a 'real' investigation. I also attended a couple more investigations workshops where I got the scenarios impressively wrong. While I had a lot of new ideas, they just didn't seem to ‘click’ for me during an actual investigation. Something, I can’t even say what, still eluded me.

In March of this year, while Head Judging a PPTQ, I was faced with a situation in which I believed that a player lied to me. An odd thing happened, as I listened to my floor judge relay his explanation of the scenario, my brain laid out a path to follow. A 'checklist' of things to find out that pointed to clear conclusions. I spoke with the player, opponent, and spectators and reached a decision. While it wasn't my first disqualification, it was the first time that I as a HJ had to pull the trigger myself on a cheating disqualification.

I want to be very clear here. Disqualifications should never be taken lightly. They never leave you. While judges sometimes try to make light of them, I believe it's just to offset their gravity. I strongly believe that I made the right call. But it still weighs on me, and I have the player's name written in my judge notebook because I will always remember the responsibility that comes with judging and will never take it lightly.

So this weekend at Grand Prix Dallas-Fort Worth I took a call on Saturday in the main event regarding communication and a life total discrepancy. After speaking with both players, I reached out to Joe Klopchic to confirm a ruling. I expressed a concern to him and he suggested a line of questioning for me to investigate. He sat at the table and I took the player a few steps away to chat. After I delivered my ruling, HJ Carlos Ho handled the appeal. This complicated call actually led us to confirm with another burgundy and resulted an a 15 minute time extension (which luckily went unused). After the call ended, Carlos and I discussed my prior concern and my investigation. He seemed surprised that I had considered that angle, but appreciated my thoroughness.

Sunday evening, after working 3 days on the floor of the GP, I attended an investigations workshop hosted by the Investigations Workshop Project. This project sets up scenarios for judges to practice investigations and provides coaching and feedback allowing the investigating judge to get in some realistic practice as well as receive feedback from their peers. (As a sidenote, I appreciate these folks being willing to stay late on the last day of a long weekend to help judges get better.) Having done one of theirs previously, the opportunity came as a surprise and makes me even more appreciative.

What happened next can only be described as unbelievable. I observed the first two scenarios, and both times the correct line of questioning just popped into my head. Like Magic! I so clearly saw what to ask and why to ask it. I learned some neat tricks watching the other participants and loved seeing the reveals of what actually happened in each scenario. But for me, I just could not believe that it seemed so natural (even easy!).

Then came my turn . . . . That terror feeling started to creep into the pit of my stomach as I awaited the call. When it came I faced a not particularly helpful 'player' with a story that didn't seem quite right. I questioned him and his opponent and again the path just revealed itself in front of me. I fell into a comfortable zone in 'judge mode' as I asked my questions. While I didn't feel 100% sure, I make a choice and delivered a ruling, hoping that it was the right one. During the reveal, I realized that I had exactly nailed it! While I had lingered a bit too long and asked some unnecessary questions, I did in fact get it right! The folks running the situation later told me that this one presents more difficulty than most and that most people who have done it don't reach the intended resolution.

I floated out of the room on cloud nine. After several embarrassingly bad investigations workshops, I finally got one right!! But more importantly, I had seen the situations for all three on a deeper level and hadn't just gotten a correct answer but had understood the whole context and implications. I wasn't just taking a shot in the dark based on a pile of facts. I was soliciting details and curating a theory to offer an explanation on which I could base a critical decision.

Ironically, I also received an e-mail from the Player Investigation Committee affirming the disqualification from March. While the message itself wasn't a big deal, the timing (literally during the workshop) seemed fitting.

As I entered the judge party, I noted the actor who had previously called me terrible at investigating. How perfect that he should be present on the day that my investigation skills finally manifested as slightly more functional than before.

So back to the CFBE recognitions . . . . Head Judge Carlos Ho chose to recognize me for the investigation on Saturday. As I stood up to accept my award, I saw the actor grinning wildly and insisting that he had nothing to do with the recognition. I saw the folks from the workshop smiling and nodding. I saw my friends and coworkers applauding. I saw a mentor's face filled with pride. I felt Carlos embrace me. There in that moment, in that room, I knew that I had taken a tiny step forward as a judge. A hard fought step that I could never have taken without the support of the friends and family in my judge community.

Thank you to each and every person who has joined me on this journey. This recognition is for you, a little bit of return on the investment that you have made in me.

Competence

I had a strange feeling today. A feeling that’s new to me at the end of a long weekend on a big event. I felt competent. Not ‘I barely survived another weekend.’ Not ‘At least no one noticed how many calls I punted.’ Not ‘Thank goodness for my team lead who saved my rear on that call.’ I articulated it at the judge party by saying, “Wow, I don’t think I punted a call all weekend.”

Feeling competent encompasses a lot more than getting calls right and not making mistakes, but I’ll get to that in a minute. First, I’d like to take a moment to celebrate my correctness. Rules have presented a challenge for me. I’ve struggled to understand the concepts that make the game work and grappled with the complex terminology used to convey precise details about each situation. Over the last few months I’ve put a lot of extra effort into this area and with the assistance of mentor Nate Hurley, I’m finally starting to see results.

It came on subtly at first. When I started out as a brand new judge, I’d answer a judge call hoping for a bathroom time extension request or Oracle text of a card whose name I could spell. Trepidation filled me each time a player raised their hand. Slowly, over the months and years, I’ve felt a change. I’d take a call, and the answer would slide unbidden into my thoughts. I didn’t trust myself, and would rush to confer with a colleague only to be surprised that my inkling was correct. Over the past few months that feeling has evolved. Now a player’s call triggers excitement and an opportunity to provide assistance. I listen to the situation with a deeper understanding of which factors matter and know what questions to ask. The answer flows from my brain like a natural phenomenon. I know what I can handle and when to ask for help. I welcome chances to learn along with the players when situations get complicated or interesting.

I feel it in my mannerisms at the table. I go through a standard greeting setting the tone for the call while taking a look at the board state. I understand the player’s need and ask the opponent’s input if relevant. I consider if there is an infraction and assess the appropriate penalty, remembering to consider upgrades and downgrades. I apply fixes after a clear explanation to the players. I don’t forget to note time extensions and check for understanding before moving on. (Thanks Mikhail Chernov for helping me understand and master my steps to taking a judge call.)

What felt remarkable to me this weekend was the fact that each call felt routine. I knew my steps and executed them confidently. While doing so I was able to focus on the heart of the call and clearly understand the issue or problem facing the players. I’ve been working on my technique for a while, but marrying it with comfort with the rules as well felt new. It freed my mind to consider cheating more carefully, to seek better questions to ask, and to stay alert for potential pitfalls along the way.

I approached each call with the skills and the knowledge to handle it, and that gave me the confidence to enjoy the work more than ever before. That does not mean that I didn’t confer with my colleagues! In fact, I found myself doing so quite often, but with a different tone than before. I was no longer seeking rescue, but confirmation. I was suggesting the fix and saying, "Does that sound right?" I was discussing corners of policy rather than struggling to follow the discussion.

In an interesting twist, many times I was consulted by other judges. Sometimes a quick drive by ‘this works this way, right?’ and sometimes a more complex request to join them at the table. Being seen by my colleagues as a person they can turn to for help is one of the highest honors I have ever received as a judge.

Outwardly I appeared the same, but inside, I could feel the difference. I could feel the competence.

Advice

This recently appeared on the Judge of the Week blog in an article featuring exemplar recipients, but I'm sharing it here as a part of my personal journey as well. 

What are some of the best pieces of judging advice you have been given?

When I became a new judge, lots of people offered suggestions and ideas. The best of those tidbits came from my judge mentor Josh McCurley who recommended, "Whatever shoes you wear every day, buy them in black and make them your judge shoes." Well, I have a pair of Clarks that are blue and grey and super comfortable. I wear them with jeans for everyday things like walking, taking my kids to various parks and activities, and pretty much any other time that I need to wear shoes. So I called the Clarks store and was excited to find out that they came in solid black and they had a pair in my size in stock. I picked them up as I was headed out of town for GP Albuquerque and my first day as a certified judge. I have worn those shoes literally every single day that I have judged. And Josh was right, they are super comfortable on my feet, and I am super comfortable in them.

However, Josh's advice extends beyond just shoes. Whoever you are every day, be that person when you're wearing judge blacks. I'm a homemaker. I spend my days managing 5 preschoolers - juggling laundry, bills, PTA meetings, and dance classes while trying to cook dinner and find a child's missing shoe. I'm a certified educator with a background in retail and I've done social media and marketing for a nonprofit. As a judge, that means I'm good at management and logistics with an eye for customer service. Unlike many judges I'm not a programmer or an accountant, and learning the detailed intricacies of the rules of Magic poses more difficulty for me. The important thing to me is understanding who I am and my own personal strengths and weaknesses, both as a judge and as a person. If knowledge is power, then knowing yourself gives you the power to leverage your unique talents into being the most effective judge.

Choose Your Own Adventure, a USA-South conference experinece

It’s a beautiful sunny morning, a little cool, but that feels nice after the recent heat. You check your phone, the date reads October 14, 2017. You stroll into the elegant foyer of the Hilton Garden Inn in Ardmore, Oklahoma and are directed through the lobby to a conference center. You note the light grey walls and lime green decor as you approach a man sitting at a table. His nametag reads “John White” and he greets you with a smile. He asks your name and, following your response, hands you a large white envelope. You are also handed a USA-South judge notebook and offered candy from a large bowl. “Welcome to Choose Your Own Adventure, a judge conference experience.”

You examine the envelope and find that it bears your name on a small sticker in the top left corner. Inside you find a customized nametag noting your location and role in the conference (attendee, presenter, staff, etc.). There is also a yellow sheet displaying a customized schedule showing the workshops you indicated on your signup survey, and the general schedule of presentations. A small blue square of paper is marked “Door Prize Ticket.” You are also asked to take a small white slip of paper containing a QR code from a box.

You glance around the pre-conference area and see a table well stocked with coffee, tea, and water. Other judges are helping themselves to the beverages and socializing at the nearby tables. You note that behind the check-in area, there are 4 doors, each marked with the name of a planeswalker. As 8:00 am nears and the conference is about to begin, you have a decision to make . . .

If you enter the door marked Nicol Bolas . . . .

You find three judges seated at a large boardroom table. During each two hour time block, they are joined by five participants. Kenny Perry begins each session with a presentation on investigation techniques, followed by Anson Henthorn and Ashten Fisher acting out several situations. Participants engage in active investigations, then the group debriefs on each session and participants provide feedback for each other.

If you enter the door marked Jace . . . .

You hear a judge making an opening announcement for what sounds like Friday Night Magic. Then he sits down and another judge stands to provide a similar announcement. On closer inspection you realize that the group of fifteen judges is participating in a head judge announcements workshop led by Ben Quasnitschka. He has covered the basics of gaining and keeping the audience’s attention, what information is the most important and when to say it, and of course, judge puns.

If you enter the door marked Vraska . . . .

There is an accordion on the table. Twenty judges sit in a large U-shape discussing scorekeeping. Mike Ames appears to be in charge, assisted by John Hessler. You listen to comments on how to use WER as well as an explanation of what to do when it crashes. The content is well prepared and clearly presented, but you wonder about the accordion.

If you enter the door marked Huatli . . . .

Raucous laughter greets you. You hear beeping sounds, rapidly fired questions, random trivia, and a lot of merriment. Judges seem to be enjoying hearing bits of information about the history of the program interspersed with current rules and policy, with some wacky off-topic discussions. In addition to the content, the seminar builds a sense of community as judges share laughs and make memories together.

At 10:00am, the rooms all empty and the judges filter into the Huatli room. The room is a bit crowded and stuffy, thanks to a broken air conditioner. Erin Leonard, the conference organizer, greets the crowd and introduces the staff. She points out Preston May, in charge of live-streaming the event, Amanda Coots, testing coordinator, and John White, the conference co-organizer.

John steps up to distribute door prizes. He collects the blue tickets into a bag, then draws names at random. You listen for your name, hoping to be chosen to select from a table of colorful gift bags and open the mystery prize inside. Most contain regional swag such as notebooks and keychains, but some also contain general Magic goodies like gravity dice, sleeves, or packs of cards.

A handsome man in a pale blue shirt and cowboy hat is introduced as Regional Coordinator David Hibbs. He proceeds with a presentation called “Story Circle.” On the first slide, a list of topics is presented and the attendees are allowed to vote on how the presentation procedes. After each section concludes, another vote determines the next topic. You enjoy an hour of judge program history lessons encompassing badges, uniforms, judge exams, and stories of times gone by.

After the presentation, the group reconvenes outside on a sunny patio where Ben Quasnitschka organizes you all for a group photo. Much rearranging and jostling results in you being sandwiched between friends kneeling on a piece of lawn furniture. You smile for a few minutes into the blinding sun, then are released to return inside.

Other judges are heading out in cars or on foot to grab some lunch at nearby restaurants. The format of the conference allows for freedom to create your own schedule by combining presentations, workshops, testing, or other activities to result in a minimum of six hours of content. Since the conference lasts from 8am to 6pm, you can choose to arrive early, take a long lunch, leave early, stay late, or any combination thereof to meet your personal needs and goals.

You wander back inside and note a few judges scattered around the lobby area taking judge exams, debriefing after practice tests or meeting with mentors. The large glass and grey room offers plenty of space to relax, study, or chat quietly. Amanda seems to be everywhere at once coordinating a variety of activities and allowing each judge to pursue their advancement goals.

You wander back toward the meeting rooms and face John, seated at his table answering questions and offering candy. You fill a cup at the beverage table and once again contemplate your choices . . .

If you enter the door marked Nicol Bolas . . . .

You realize that you’ve been here before. Ashten and Anson still sit at their table and Kenny repeats his presentation. The only thing that has changed is the five participants in the workshop.

If you enter the door marked Jace . . . .

You encounter a small Magic tournament. About 12 players open starter decks and complete deck registration while a team of judges guides them. Jessica Livingston expertly guides the team of new judges and you quickly realize this is a mock tournament. You note that the players are a mix of experienced judges and local players, including one judge’s five-year-old daughter. The judges are organized into teams and each one is led by an L1, gaining invaluable experience in leadership. Despite issues with the decklists, things seem to be proceeding smoothly.

If you enter the door marked Vraska . . . .

You watch while Frank Chafe demonstrates his method of deck checks at the head of the room. Around 20 judges follow along. You are handed a starter deck and offered a chance to give it a try. Your fingers fumble through the motions at first, but you quickly see that Frank’s method can make a deck check quicker and more efficient.

If you enter the door marked Huatli . . . .

A presenter stands at the front of the room speaking to a group of judges. You realize that the other rooms are much cooler and the doors to this room have been left open to allow better air circulation, but it’s still hot and stuffy inside. You sit down and listen for a few minutes as Bryan Spellman dances his way through a presentation entitled “Baby Got Backups”. In the front corner of the room, Preston sits behind a wall of electronic equipment, monitoring the livestream and recording the presentations for judges who were unable to attend.

After enjoying your afternoon attending workshops and presentations, you decide to join your friends for dinner. Before heading out, you use the QR code you received earlier to access a Google feedback form asking you to evaluate the presenters and presentations. Since you selected a random QR code and your name is not included anywhere, the feedback is completely anonymous. You quickly answer the questions, then return to John at his table.

Above the table you note signs congratulating two new L1s, Brandon Cox and Joseph Dunlap, and two new L2s, Andrew Villarubia and Travis Perusich. John checks on his computer that you have earned at least six credits by looking up your QR code number.  He marks you as complete and hands you a packet of foils. Then he thanks you for attending and you head out into the balmy Oklahoma evening.

Echo Chamber

My friend started a project. She knows I hate her project. She knows we disagree about everything related to this project. She know that I think her entire premise is entirely wrong and that she's making our lives more difficult by this project even existing.

So she invited me to join her project. Not surprisingly, I ignored her request. Then she said:

Please consider helping me prevent an echo chamber

Those words changed me. She intentionally opted to include a person in her group who disagrees with the group's fundamental purpose. She knows I will argue with her. She knows that I won't complicitly support her decisions. She knows that managing her project will be more difficult with me around.

She also knows that I will share my opinion and not remain silent. She knows that I will speak for those who dissent, but may lack the confidence to say so. She knows that I will represent those who opted not to join the project because they disagree with it.

This is true leadership - doing what's right by every stakeholder. Truly listening and seeking to understand the viewpoints of others. Making decisions based not on what's easy, but on what's best.

It seems so rare in today's world. So many people are only out for themselves, or they believe that everyone else agrees with them without obtaining confirmation. I've seen it a lot in the judge program: projects that are basically 1 man shows, mentors and mentees using one another for their own gain, leaders ignoring those under them while claiming to care. It's frustrating and off-putting.

So while I still hate everything about it, I joined and I'll serve as an active member adding my input and voicing my opinions. I'll share the unpopular opinions, ask the hard questions, and refuse to 'let it go.' Sometimes respectful disagreement makes us both better and I'm proud that you asked me the be one of the irons as we sharpen one another.