There is a film that I never tire of watching: ‘The Big Lebowski‘ (the pinnacle of the Coen brothers’ cinematography). And as a limited MTG Player there is one scene in the film that particularly touches my heart. The two main characters, Big Lebowski and Walter, share a love of bowling and grieve for a fellow player who suffers a sudden heart attack and dies on the spot. Since the cost of burial urns turns out to be quite expensive, they put his ashes in a tan box.

The morbid indignity doesn’t end there.

When one of them throws their friend’s remains into the ocean, a strong wind blows the ashes back onto their faces. The comically unfortunate event upsets Big Lebowski, and Walter rushes to hug him. The scene concludes with a reconciled Big Lebowski telling his friend, ‘Let’s go bowling’.

One of the defining characteristics of significant moments in our lives is that they are preserved in our memories with remarkable vividness, allowing us to accurately recreate the feelings we experienced at that time.

I vividly remember the emotions this poignant scene evoked in me: when life becomes overwhelming and dire, people need something to hold onto—a familiar habit, a secure and enjoyable place.

An island of sanity

A similar experience occurred when I first discovered Magic: The Gathering (MTG). From the moment I opened my first shiny white pack (it was during the Ice Age block), I fell in love with the game.

Deep down, I knew this was the game I had been yearning for my whole life.

Unfortunately, I lived in a country with a relatively limited MTG scene, and I was older than most newcomers to the game. Since I had no one to practice with and was in the middle of my PhD thesis with limited free time (not to mention a spouse and two kids), I quickly realized that the constructed format, with its constant pursuit of cards and the time-consuming need to adapt one’s deck to the current meta-game, was not for me. The limited format, however, allowed me to enjoy the game and feel accomplished even within the constraints of my life.

In a surprising contrast to other hobbies I’ve pursued in the past and grown tired of quickly, the more I played MTG, the deeper my love for the game became.

The stable and known space

New players came and went, stores where we used to play closed down, while others opened, and the pro-players I had the privilege of playing with had long since abandoned the game.

Nevertheless, I persisted, exhilarated every time I entered a tournament hall for a draft or sealed event, feeling a childlike excitement when opening the packs of a new set during a prerelease.

As a limited MTG Player it has been a part of my life for over 20 years now.

The game has accompanied me through both joyful and challenging moments, including my wife’s illness and death, and during periods of professional uncertainty, always providing comfort and a sense of normalcy.

Whenever I feel down, I recall that particular scene in ‘The Big Lebowski’ and tell myself, ‘Well, let’s go play Magic’.

This book was written out of my love for the game and is dedicated to Richard Garfield and Mark Rosewater, to whom I owe a debt that I will never be able to repay.

I wish to thank my friend Omri Singer for reading carefully the book and for his excellent comments and suggestions