Having played card games for over 25 years, I’ve witnessed – and experienced - most of the tricks in the book concerning metas and attempting to improve your gameplay. The tried-and-true methods of practice and repetition continue to serve competitors well, and even some of the more cosmic-oriented “home remedies” of what to eat or what sleeves to bring to a tournament have all circulated amidst conversations on how to get an edge and dial up your success rate when playing in a tournament. As we are mired in Pro Quest season with aspirations for a trip to Amsterdam, the biggest hurdle for prospective champions isn’t about sideboards or meta pies. The biggest hindrance lies in stubbornness.
I may not have the same accolades sitting on a shelf, and my equipment pieces aren’t Gold Foils, but I do share a common thread with the best players in the world. I can admit when I’m wrong and make adjustments to improve. That kind of realization isn’t always easy to arrive at. Still, I can assure you that it was easily the single most helpful shift in preparation that allowed me to not just become a better player but see the results in tangible ways. A few years ago, amidst the Starvo plague of 2022, I was forced to run the deadly gauntlet that was Toronto Pro Quest season. Three weekends of hellacious competition against players who have cemented their legacies as some of Flesh and Blood’s greats. I put in the time and the work, but I couldn’t relinquish the righteousness I clung to. Yes, I wanted to win, but I wanted to win my way. I wanted to play the deck I enjoyed, and I wanted to win with it. The result was four Top 8’s, not a sniff of the Finals. It was hard, but then again, so was my head.
I thought there was solace and reverence in winning on a deck that wasn’t Starvo. At my last attempt at a Pro Quest that season, I decided to swap to the clear-cut best deck and finally won. I felt relieved, sure, but what I took home (besides a Gold Foil Snapdragon Scalers) was confusion towards my former self. Why the hell did I waste my time playing an inferior deck when the truth was gobbling up over a third of the metagame? I stumbled upon the cold, hard fact that there are no points for style. You win, or you lose, and what I set out to do that PQ season was to win. So why didn’t I take the correct path? I was stubborn. When I came to that conclusion, it honestly changed my competitive approach. Humility isn’t just about celebrating your strengths and victories quietly; it’s also about being open to suggestions. In a meta as chaotic and turbulent as it currently is, an open mind is a fantastic foundation to build. Digging in your heels and stubbornly facing the winds of change doesn’t make you a hero; it makes you foolish. Improvement doesn’t come from being wrong, it comes from having the integrity to realize that you’re wrong, and making the adjustments to be better.
I’ve shown up to many major tournaments with my Bravo list. Come hell or high water, I’m representing that barrel-chested adonis. It’s what I know, it’s what I enjoy, it’s what I want. So then, what can I possibly say about being open to change? Well, there is a significant difference between showing up to a tournament with a Bravo list and showing up with Bravo and expecting to win. Intent and goals are the guiding light we follow, but if that light has you crossing the lake, don’t pack your snow pants. If you want to win, then you’ve got to leave your ego with your Anothos, and start coming to terms with the fact that the winds don’t change to suit your sails. You should start getting wise to the fact that you’re likely not going to surprise anyone with yesterday’s news.
I qualified for Canadian Nationals this year. I approached two-time National Champion Tariq Patel about testing with him and his crew. Tariq is a great person, a generous friend, and honest to the end. He told me flat out: “Sure, but you’ve got to drop that Bravo crap.” I plan to... unless it is broken o’clock.
