Navigating Your First Commander Night at a New LGS

As a seasoned Commander player for nearly a decade, I have played in a lot of pods with a wide variety of people. I’ve shared tables with electricians, scientists, accountants, gamers from other countries, and on one occasion, an emergency responder who received a pager alert in the middle of comboing off and had to excuse himself from the table.

One of the beauties of Commander is that it's a format for people to express themselves, to demonstrate their creativity, and to tell stories and share a laugh with other players via the collective language of Magic. 

And yet, looking around online, you’d guess that the vast majority of Magic players are maladjusted, grumpy, smelly jerks just based on the way that social media portrays them — even in posts and content made by people who love the game. Commander players in particular suffer a reputation for being whiny, soft, lazy, and dishonest, and I can’t help but feel sad at the thought that so many eager players probably go online to read about Commander or watch YouTube videos about the game we all love and feel attacked for the way that they like to play the game.

These were the ruminations swirling in my head as I parked at the local game store (LGS) closest to my new home. I moved to a new part of the state two and a half weeks ago, and while I don’t consider myself a regular event player at present, I do occasionally like to get away from home, stretch my legs a bit, and throw down in a pod with some potential new friends. 

In terms of LGS experiences, I'm very lucky. In all my years playing Magic, I’ve previously only had one experience that remains on my mind as a “bad time.” Many years ago when I was a new player, there was “that guy” at my college LGS, a competitive Modern player who considered Commander to be an inferior way to play the competitive and cerebral game that he liked to use as a mallet against the spindly nails that were those foolish enough to be randomly matched against him on a Friday night. I could tell you the story of the single game of Commander I had the displeasure of experiencing with this gentleman, of his extremely blinged-out planeswalker typal deck that ground the table to dust, or of his grin of satisfaction when he declared his infinite combo after a grueling two-hour game.

Though I have never played Magic at this particular game store, coincidentally I attended a single event for the card game that shall not be named at this same store over 15 years ago as a grimy-faced teenager. The dissonance between who I was then and who I am now is something I will surely tell my therapist about, but you’re not here because you accept my health insurance.

Entering a Whole New World

Inside the homely game store are shelves lined with comic books, a wall full of recent Commander precons, and a single small counter to the right side. Several full pods were already in full swing; the din of voices quieted down very briefly, as all smallish LGS events tend to when a stranger opens the door, almost like a scene from a Clint Eastwood western. Two players standing at an empty table ushered me over. The players — whom I will refer to as Gideon and Jace for simplicity — were relieved to finally have enough players to start a pod, even if only with three filled seats. I don’t really like to play three-man Commander, as I played three-player almost exclusively while learning the game, and I've since learned to value the four-player experience, but some Commander is better than no Commander.

Gideon introduced himself and shook my hand while Jace hauled over a huge, heavy backpack full of deckboxes, and I paid my $10 entry fee for what I'd assumed was an organized event. Gideon told me that he had last played Magic over nine years ago during the original Theros and Khans of Tarkir blocks, but had recently returned to the game just three weeks ago after his friend had sent him some cards to get him interested in playing again. I bless that friend for his kindness, but curse that friend for getting poor Gideon to lay his wallet bare for the sake of friendship. Jace did not initially offer an introduction, but stated that he’s played Magic for “a really long time,” and had amassed a large collection of decks at a variety of power levels, offering to choose a deck based on what we were playing.

Gideon brought out the Limit Break precon sporting some aftermarket upgrades, though he said his edits to the deck were made without much understanding of the deck itself, and were likely more of a detriment to the game plan. I pulled out my newly-sleeved Dyadrine, Synthesis Amalgam deck, a Bracket 2 brew I threw together from leftover desktop bulk to play in precon pods.

While Gideon was telling me about his recent return to Magic, Jace had pulled out a deck box and a sealed box of sleeves. He then asked for our help with sleeving his new Quandrix Unlimited precon, stating that he felt he should play a precon to match power with Jace. I raised my eyebrows at that statement, knowing the general power level of the Secrets of Strixhaven precons and of Zimone, Infinite Analyst in particular, but I also knew that not everyone is as plugged-in to the endless ocean of online Magic content extolling the power level of every commander under the sun. I shrugged, ignored Jace’s repeated apologies for asking us to help him, and Gideon and I split up sleeving the deck. Jace then asked me to pile shuffle his deck for him, and after obliging, I loaned him half a Boulder to keep his freshly-sleeved deck from sliding around the table, and then we finally got to playing.

A free mulligan, a table-sanctioned second mulligan, and a desperate third mulligan yielded a barely-playable three-lander with an Organic Extinction as its most impactful card. Everyone’s early turns were pretty typical precon pod things; Gideon cast Bugenhagen, Wise Elder and a Hero’s Blade while Jace dropped Zimone and a Hardened Scales and quickly started accumulating counters with some instant spells. I putzed my way through casting a durdly Steel Overseer and a Rishkar, Peema Renegade which Jace swiftly removed with a fight spell.

Things took a sudden twist after a few turns when Gideon untapped with Tifa, Martial Artist and Summon: Kujata with two lore counters, clearing the way for a devastating series of attacks across three combat phases that ended with myself and Jace at 20 life apiece and Gideon sitting pretty at 38. Jace and I got Gideon through the specifics of Tifa’s melee ability and extra combat phases, but we had a bit of a disagreement about how many extra combats happened. Admittedly, I mistakenly missed that the Saga creature had seven power, which granted Gideon that crucial third combat phase, and Jace seemed miffed that I initially said he was wrong about the number of extra combat phases Gideon could take, even after I recognized my mistake and apologized. This by itself didn’t mean much, but it always strikes me as odd when players of any skill level get annoyed at mistakes resulting from misreading Magic cards, especially in 2026.

I wasn’t about to write this fellow off over a misunderstanding, and we had a game to play. The game progressed, though not by any effort I had made to that end. My deck refused to give up any form of card advantage. There weren't enough artifacts on board to contribute to Organic Extinction's improvise ability. Meanwhile, Zimone continued to increase in velocity, accelerated even more by a Kami of Whispered Hopes. The game ended not with a bang but a whimper once Jace’s commander had ascended past a staggering 24 +1/+1 counters, empowering each of his X-cost spells with a free 24 mana baseline. I was certainly disappointed at my own deck’s performance, and resolved to take it apart once I could come up with a better way to use the cards, but there was still a good chunk of time left in the evening for more Commander.

As we all put our decks away, I mentioned that I usually prefer to play full four-man games, and wondered aloud if any of the other pods had finished their games. I had hoped to take some of my stronger Bracket 3 decks out for a spin in paper and Gideon only had more precons. He thanked me for taking the time to play a lower-power game with him and for helping him learn how some of his cards work, but Jace seemed to see my attempt at a polite social cue as an affront. Before I could even turn my head to look at the other tables, he quickly said that all of the other pods were still in games or had already started an additional round and that we’d need to stick to that same three-man pod if we wanted to get another game in before the store closed. Having spent the registration fee to play at the store, I was dissatisfied at the lack of mixing and mingling facilitated by the store employee running the event, who was happily playing in his own pod. I shrugged it off and turned back to our table. 

As we started to discuss shuffling up for a second game, Gideon brought out the Food and Fellowship precon stored in a neat wooden Lord of the Rings deck box. I opted to bring out my Excava, the Risen Past deck for its first outing in paper. As we discussed changing decks, Jace went digging in his backpack and pulled out a deck box, a Silverquill Influence precon still wrapped in plastic, and another sealed pack of sleeves. Gideon and I exchanged a brief glance as Jace once again stated that his deck wasn’t sleeved. This time, there was no polite question.

“If you want me to switch decks, you need to help me sleeve it.”

I briefly considered calling in a favor with a friend to make up some kind of emergency so he could call me away, but then I remembered I’m a grown adult that can handle my own problems. I didn’t really want to go home to confront the disheveled mountain of bulk atop my desk anyway, so I excused myself to the restroom to psych myself up for game two. When I returned, the two had sleeved most of the deck, and once again Jace asked me to pile shuffle his deck for him. As I started my piles, he repeatedly apologized for “torturing” Gideon and myself by making us sleeve and shuffle his deck for him. While I am always offering to help my friends sleeve and shuffle their decks before and during a game, having the expectation placed on me by someone who wanted to dramatically offer apologies to make me feel guilty for any lingering feelings of annoyance was grating by that point.

Once again, Gideon went first, and his Food deck started out strong as he cast an early Gilded Goose and accumulated several Food tokens. I ramped early with Sand Scout and played Perpetual Timepiece to start milling into reanimator targets for the Horse, which Jace swiftly removed with interaction, but his deck stalled out very hard — a high-land keep and an early Land Tax draw kept him firmly in flooding territory.

Once my Guardian Sunmare came out, I repeatedly tutored toolbox-style and pulled out value piece after value piece, and while I wasn’t doing much in the way of serious damage, I was starting to accumulate several moving parts that would compound my advantage. Jace was able to use protection granted by Flickering Ward to block my measly one or two attacks in his direction, so the board was at a bit of a gridlock for a while. Then, things took a turn for the worst.

Though Gideon had been struggling with putting together the big picture of how Food and Fellowship worked, he had realized that commander damage dealt by Frodo, Adventurous Hobbit was likely his best chance at winning. Unfortunately, he made the somewhat common mistake I often see less-experienced players make when they are too scared to apply pressure to a threatening player and diverted his aggression towards the only other target: Jace. Jace still seemed to be drawing mostly lands, and I had a reanimated Static Prison to deal with his Pearl-Ear, Imperial Advisor. Gideon declared that Frodo was swinging at Jace, and that sealed the fate of the vibes at the table.

Jace did not take Gideon’s attack well. Jace had directed Frodo in my direction with goad triggers for several turns, and though I could not block it, Gideon hadn’t yet found a good way to buff his commander. But that single power’s worth of commander damage aimed at Jace upset him. He asked Gideon why Frodo was attacking him when I was clearly more threatening and said that he should change his attack to target me instead. I empathize with the frustration that players feel when they feel targeted by aggression after a lack of activity in a Commander game, so I don’t really hold that against Jace. What I can fault him for is his insistence that Gideon change his decision, even after Gideon explained that he was only attacking for a single damage and wanted to draw cards with Frodo’s attack trigger, and was worried I’d remove his only source of card advantage at the time if I decided to remove it.

Gideon was caught in a hard position. Stick to his guns, and risk setting Jace off further, or give in to the pressure and sacrifice his right to make a decision for the sake of keeping the peace. I realized afterward that this is the core of the issue of players like Jace — those with a lean towards being "that guy." His behavior had been mildly annoying at best until that point, but little by little, his displeasure and impatience eroded away at the freedom of myself and Gideon. Not in some grand, patriotic way, but one of the smallest and most essential rights: the freedom to have fun. How could we have fun, with every mannerism, huff, or indiscretion pushing at the boundaries of a casual game of Commander? Sid Blair was right to do a little bit of visual exposé on the Magic community; after all, every Jace has his crack.

By this point, there were only ten minutes left until the store’s regular closing time, most of the other pods had wrapped up and left, and I was in a clear position to win the game, so Gideon and Jace agreed to scoop it up so that we could let the store employee finish closing and go home. Gideon thanked me for helping him with playing his decks, said he’d had a great time, and invited me to meet up with him at an upcoming Commander event hosted at a local brewery (which is how I discovered Voodoo Ranger’s Vastwood Seer IPA, for you freaks who like beer). I offered him my Discord if he wanted to ask any questions or get help with changing his decks, and then he left. Jace and I lingered for a moment; I said that I wanted to buy some packs (I just can’t help myself), but secretly I hoped to catch the employee alone to ask about Jace. I was trying to gauge how likely I would be to return to give the store’s Commander night a second chance, weighted against the likelihood that I’d be paired up with Jace again were I to do so.

When I purchased some Play Boosters at the counter, Jace hung around to watch me open them and left once I’d been disappointed by my lack of good pulls. When the door had closed behind him, the store employee and I shared a brief, unspoken moment of shared relief, and I already had a partial answer to my next question of if Jace was a regular of the store. The employee said that he’d seen Jace at store events a few times, but that he was only filling in from a sister location once a week and wasn’t sure how often Jace attends events at that particular location. He did commiserate, though, describing several issues he'd seen or experienced while playing games with Jace that were similar to what I described.

One bad interaction with someone doesn’t make my assessment of them accurate or objective. But in my generous time spent over the years consuming Magic posts and content online, I’ve never heard of “that guy” making people sleeve their decks for them, much less pile shuffle for them, and while I’ve certainly read about petty squabbles over Commander games, having it actually happen to me for the first time certainly hit me differently than hearing about it secondhand. I’d always considered my friends to be dramatic for refusing to play Commander with anyone but our regular play group, and while I still think that in the grand scheme of things, this interaction was barely a blip on the cosmic radar, I can at least understand why fear of an event like this one keeps people from engaging with Magic with anyone but those they know and trust.

I’m sure you’re asking why I wrote a doctoral thesis statement about a relatively mundane interaction with “that guy” during my maiden voyage to a new LGSThe truth is, my story is no more unique or worthy than any of the countless others online. What’s different about this story is what I want to ask of those who read it.

I wanted to write about my experience as a call to action not for the Jaces of the world, to be more patient and less demanding of those who are just trying to take a load off on a Wednesday night (though it would certainly be nice if you Jaces took life and Magic just a hair less seriously); this call goes out to the Gideons of the world.

The Magic community has suffered in a variety of ways in the past several years, and I’m sure most people will be quick to point to the breakneck pace of new releases, the constant IP-ification of the game via Universes Beyond products, or FIRE design as the root of all evil. The truth is, none of these matter that much. Magic is a game above all else, and Commander is a unique facet of the game that allows four strangers from different backgrounds and experiences to share a few hours together, participating in a collective storytelling activity akin to a D&D session. The Gideons out there are people who embrace that special, if transient bond with their fellow humans. Gideons aren’t bothered by things like winning, losing, building a good deck, or increasing their imaginary winrate in a card game originally designed for teenagers. Gideons punch you in the teeth via triple combat phases with glee, then laugh with delight when Jace casts Entrancing Melody to steal his best creature and hit him right back with it.

I truly do not think that today’s Jace is some irredeemable jerk just because we had a few awkward interactions over a trading card game. In fact, when I was driving home after I left the store, I couldn’t help but feel guilty over how I’d thought of him while I was there in the store. Maybe Jace has been having a hard time in his own life. He’d made allusions to some health issues during table talk, and while I was certainly bothered by how he’d spoken to both myself and Gideon throughout the evening, it’s not as if he’d called us horrible names or demanded we let him win the game. I thought of Gideon, and how he’d spent the duration of the pods asking me questions about my life and my job, lamenting with me when my permanents were removed, cheering with me when I showed off a cool synergy in a deck I’d built from scratch, and gently chiding me when I called myself stupid for making a simple mistake. Do I think Gideon must be a god amongst mortals for his behavior at a game table? Certainly not, but while I was agonizing in silence over the occasional faux pas, whether consciously or just by acting normal, Gideon gave me a chance to see and feel seen by someone.

Our planet in the year 2026 is a stressful, negative, and exhausting place to be. We should be able to step into a game store, a place emblematic of the joys of childhood, stuffed to the gills with comic books and figures and posters, a bastion of games and relief from our daily misery, and bond with our fellow humans for a few hours, enjoying each others’ company at a table.

In a world swimming with the likes of Jace the Mind Sculptor, be a Gideon, Ally of Zendikar and invite your next pod at Commander night to join you for a brewski and a brew battle at the craft beer place down the street.

Want to share your latest experience at Commander night with your fellow humans? Join our Discord server, crack open a cold one, and tell us all about it.

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