"Stuck In The Middle With Bruce"

I was somewhat disappointed to find a lack of Magic: the Gathering players on LessWrong when I asked about it in the off-topic thread. You see, competitive Magic is one of the best, most demanding rationality battlefields that I know about. Furthermore, Magic is discussed extensively on the Internet, and many articles in which people try to explain how to become a better Magic player are, essentially, describing how to become more rational: how to better learn from experience, make judgments from noisy data, and (yes) overcome biases that interfere with one's ability to make better decisions.

Because people here don't play Magic, I can't simply link to those articles and say, "Here. Go read." I have to put everything into context, because Magic jargon has become its own language, distinct from English. Think I'm kidding? I was able to follow match coverage written in French using nothing but my knowledge of Magic-ese and what I remembered from my high school Spanish classes. Instead of simply linking, in order to give you the full effect, I'd have to undertake a project equivalent to translating a work in a foreign language.

So it is with great trepidation that I give you, untranslated, one of the "classics" of Magic literature.

Stuck In The Middle With Bruce by John F. Rizzo.

Now, John "Friggin'" Rizzo isn't one of the great Magic players. Far from it. He is, however, one of the great Magic writers, to the extent that the adjective "great" can be applied to someone who writes about Magic. His bizarre stream-of-consciousness writing style, personal stories, and strongly held opinions have made him a legend in the Magic community. "Stuck in the Middle with Bruce" is his most famous work, as incomprehensible as it may be to those who don't speak our language (and even to those that do).

So, why am I choosing to direct you to this particular piece of writing? Well, although Rizzo doesn't know much about winning, he knows an awful lot about what causes people to lose, and that's the topic of this particular piece - people's need to lose.

Does Bruce whisper into your ear, too?

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I'm going to take a stab at explaining/translating some of the examples from that article. The first is about "mana screw". In Magic: the Gathering, each player has a deck of 60 cards, of which about 2/5 are "land" or "mana", and the rest of which are "spells". Each turn, players draw one new card, put down one land card if they have it, and play spells whose total cost is less than or equal to the number of lands they have. Costs are typically distributed in a bell curve centered at about 3.5. If a player has too few lands relative to the cost of his spells, he can't play them; this is called "mana screw". If he has too many lands, he won't have spells to play with them; this is called "mana flood". Lands and spells also have color; to play a spell, some number of the lands used must be the correct color or colors.

At the start of the game, each player draws 7 cards, looks at them, and decides to either keep them or mulligan, which means he puts them back, reshuffles, and draws a new hand with only 6 cards. (If the 6 card hand is also bad, he can do it again, getting one less card each time.) If the initial 7 cards are worse than average (too few, too many, or the wrong color lands), then the player chooses between a small certain loss (one less card) and an uncertain large risk (you might not draw the lands you need, and be mana screwed). In practice, most players are strongly biased towards keeping hands they shouldn't, which means accepting the uncertain large risk over the certain small loss.

The second issue is "netdecking". Players can either choose the cards in their deck themselves, or get a deck from the internet, usually by looking at a recent tournament and copying the winner's deck, or if they're really serious about it, guessing which decks they're likely to face, choosing a pool of candidate decks, looking at win/loss statistics, and choosing the deck which gives the best chance. Copying a deck that's known to win is much more effective, but making a deck yourself is more fun. As a convenient side-effect, making your own deck gives an excuse for losing.

The third issue, which the article alludes to but doesn't tackle directly, is that MtG involves a large number of easy decisions, with a small number of hard decisions mixed in but not clearly labeled. Players who think too long about all of their decisions are chided for stalling; on the other hand, players who fail to slow down and think will often lose the game because of doing so. Most players can't tell the difference between a hard decision that requires thought, and an easy decision that can be made quickly; instead, they make all decisions quickly until they know they're on the verge of losing; then they switch to thinking carefully about every decision, but at that point it's usually too late.

Note: playing your own deck, as opposed to netdecking, is called "going rogue" and an original, unexpected deck is a "rogue" deck.

The advantage to going rogue is that your opponent will not be prepared to play against your strategy. As a result, he will be more likely to make mistakes when playing against you, and his deck will not be optimized for beating yours. (Plus, as designing an effective deck that hasn't been discovered already is extremely difficult, winning with a rogue deck is very impressive.) The downside is that rogue decks tend to be weaker than netdecks, because, well, you and your friends aren't smarter than the entire rest of the Magic playing world.

That's funny. I haven't played Magic seriously since pre-Google, and not building one's own deck from scratch was commonly known as 'cheating'.

ETA: this is because deck construction was considered most of the game, so playing someone else's deck is like having a more experienced player play the game for you

Same here - there might have been a few people around playing decks from the web or magazines, but they were a minority and not very highly considered.

But then I never took part in competitions, and don't know anybody who did, that probably explains.

There's one thing in the article that even I had to use some Google-fu on, although it's not really significant. "The Ron" is Theron Martin, who was suspended for five years for cheating - his DCI rating had been artificially inflated because someone had been sending the DCI bogus tournament results in which he won games that never happened. Theron Martin claimed that he was innocent because he didn't know it was happening.

I don't know how "Bruce-like" I am in issues of personal goals and so on -- probably about average. But I have a freakishly bad case of the Bruce when it comes to competitive games.

I don't win games. Ever. I played Catan every week for a whole summer -- never won. I haven't won a poker game since I was seven. You don't want to know what happens if I try Mario Kart. I used to go bowling a lot -- I never, ever won. I run slower in a race than when I time myself on my own. Come to think of it, I don't believe I've ever won an argument.

The variety of games I suck at is too broad for it to be a simple matter of lacking a skill: I lose at competitions of strategy, probability, hand-eye coordination, and fitness. No. I have some kind of hang-up against winning. I've won "competitions" that involve taking a test or mailing in an application, but I just can't win if I can see my opponent face-to-face. On some level, I really don't want to.

It's got to be psychological. I suppose the cure would be to find a "game" of something that I actually am skilled at, and defeat someone face to face. The weird thing is, that sounds terrifying. Unlike MOR:Harry, I know how to lose; I don't know how to win.

Interesting. I used to have a similar thing going on with competitive swimming. Don't get me wrong, I wanted to impress my parents, I wanted my coach to be proud, I wanted to earn my place at the team...but when it came to actually standing on a block beside seven other swimmers, the pressure would build until something snapped. I don't think I ever really believed I could win, and thanks to my body type I rarely did. (I seem to almost completely lack fast-twitch muscle fibers; I once swam 17 km straight, at age 14, and I don't think anyone else on the team could have done that, but even much slower swimmers would beat me easily in a sprint.)

In another thread, PJEby wrote:

So, as of now, I'd say that story was one of the top 5 most valuable things I've gotten from LW.

Seconded.

I'm curious to know what you and PJEby got out of it. I didn't get anything, except "don't sabotage yourself" and "think your decisions through" - not really anything groundbreaking.

What's distinctive about it is that it makes certain kinds of self-sabotage vivid rather than just offering an abstraction.

Technically, I agree it was "don't sabotage yourself". (EDIT: For a non-player of MtG.)

But writing "don't sabotage yourself" just wouldn't have the same impact.

I care about the impact. I would rather spend my time reading one article that makes an impact, than hundreds of articles that don't -- even if they contain more information (that I will quickly forget). I am just a human, and I need to take it into account when optimizing for myself.

Damn, it appears I haven't read the off-topic thread where Magic players were sought after.

So let me state here that Magic was my number one passion between ages 14-20 or so. I sold my collection (including the Power Nine and other goodies) in order to donate to SIAI, though.

(Haven't regretted it, even though Magic is such a hugely fun game.)

I hated Magic, because it took over the roleplaying community and replaced a lot of good games; and I was excluded from it because I couldn't afford it.

Interesting connection here with "Breakdown of Will" (which I finally received and read yesterday): Ainslie hypothesizes (rather convincingly) that pain and negative emotion are also associated with a burst of "reward" -- i.e. attention and interest. This might be where "Bruce" comes from... not to mention other forms of drama addiction.

(I'm tempted to link to this article from my blog as well, but the jargon really does make it a tough read. Maybe I'll wait until it can supplement a more substantive Bruce-related post of my own.)

I also read about some similar research on video games: when hooking machines to the brains of people playing Super Monkey Ball, they found that the biggest burst of reward was when the players died. They explained this by saying that that's when the most learning occurs.

I notice that myself when playing some games - "awesome, I just died ! I have to start over". For some games, Losing is fun.

I... honestly feel like I have no clue at all what this emotion feels like. I wonder if my brain would actually show that burst of reward.

I read the article and thought, "Hm, I have an inner name-of-loser-relative", which was a very frightening thought; but I didn't parse that in terms of enjoyment, that seemed to me like needless psychoanalysis. It was just a loser side with bad habits, probably formed mostly by hyperbolic discounting or poor impulse control. And it occurred to me that I should give this side a name and separate it out from my real me.

Now I'm wondering if the part about "enjoyment" wasn't mere psychoanalysis but something I either unusually lack, or which is unusually obscured from my sight. I know there are men who get sexual pleasure out of being kicked in the balls but I don't really know what goes on in their minds. I'm trying not to sound boastful here, but losing, generally speaking, hurts like a bastard. I can imagine other minds in which a little flash of malicious enjoyment or self-flagellation or something is tacked on, but I have no idea if that imagination is the right one.

Now I'm wondering if the part about "enjoyment" wasn't mere psychoanalysis but something I either unusually lack, or which is unusually obscured from my sight.

Enjoyment isn't the right word, I don't think. My wife and I both described the "Bruce effect" sensation as being more like a sense of recognition or rightness -- like confirmation of something that you expected, something that's just the way the world works. That, upon successfully losing, it's like, "yep, this is where I'm supposed to be". Not enjoyment... more like satisfaction... though that's still too strong. Closure, maybe? Relief? It's a brief and subtle reward, not a conscious pleasure.

It was just a loser side with bad habits, probably formed mostly by hyperbolic discounting or poor impulse control.

Anosognosia. Don't speculate, investigate -- observe the automatic thoughts in action, rather than adding voluntary thoughts on top of them.

And it occurred to me that I should give this side a name and separate it out from my real me.

Be careful of how you do that... dispassionate separation is okay, rejection is not. When people actively reject parts of themselves ("that's not me; I would never do that"), they make it more difficult to observe or change the actual motivation involved. ("After all, I would never do that... therefore it's irrational/bad/whatever.")

The way to remove something like this is to imagine what it's like when that part of you gets its wish, so you can get a glimpse of what the reward is. Then you imagine having that reward, and find out what, if any, reward is behind that... and so on, all the way to the root reward emotion, fully experienced in your body, and chain backwards through the same path by which you came, re-experiencing as though you already have the root reward... noticing the difference in available choices, i.e., "If I already have this feeling, do I really need to do X? Is it easier to get X?"

Once you've fully worked back to the starting point, you'll have changed the response options for the original behavior context -- i.e., the original response will no longer be compulsive.

This is a very short sketch of the technique; my shortest training on it takes over an hour and assumes at least a little prior mindhacking experience. (The technique itself can be applied in about 10-20 minutes after some practice, or with the assistance of an instructor/guide.)

There are a few subtleties, not the least of which is that you need to be able to actually pay attention to your autonomous responses without injecting conscious interpretation, speculation, or critique (e.g., "that's stupid, why would I want that?" etc.).

Enjoyment isn't the right word, I don't think. My wife and I both described the "Bruce effect" sensation as being more like a sense of recognition or rightness -- like confirmation of something that you expected, something that's just the way the world works.

Okay... I understand that, but only because of my struggles with my diet.

Okay... I understand that, but only because of my struggles with my diet.

Now you've got me curious: where have you experienced that in relation to diet?

That when it fails, it feels like the thing that was supposed to happen has happened.

I don't think the "reward feeling" for losing at a video game is the same thing as what our "Inner Bruce" goes after. They may be related, I don't know. But losing as a video game can be fun, more than losing in real life. Fun in the same way the rest of the game is fun, it's not a special kind of fun.

I get that a lot in Spelunky, where you often make a small mistake and splat blood flies and you have to start over again. but it can be fun.

That's an important distinction between hardcore and casual games. Some players don't mind getting killed horribly and having to start over again - it's what they expect. But other players will be discouraged and feel bad if the game tells them that they suck. That's why most casual games are very nice to the player, and often you just can't lose at all. A decade or two ago, the game industry was mostly focused on hardcore players; recently they have found out you can make a lot of money with casual games (targetting "middle aged women"), but you have to make the games differently.

Maybe it's because hardcore players expect to die over and over in video games, and they know viscerally that it doesn't matter at all, so when they lose, they don't have any negative associations. On the other hand, new players haven't made that dissociation, and feel bad about losing.

I never thought much about the relationship between "self-sabotaging to lose in real life" and "enjoying losing in video games", it's interesting ...

Personally, I've only really noticed this reaction in myself in an academic setting with moving goalposts. If I'm putting effort into something I find at least mildly stressful, and success is "rewarded" with heightened expectations and further obligations, I develop a desire to prove that I'm capable of melting down and failing. The hypothetical satisfaction derives more from the thought of specific individuals observing my failure than from the failure itself.

Perhaps you've haven't optimized much against pathological incentives?

Most poker players, even the losing ones, don't like losing, but I think it is sometimes a driver for losing players continuing to play. Sometimes it is self-hatred (vindicating the feeling that you don't deserve to win). Sometimes it is the desire to whine - to have something bad happen to you that can plausibly be blamed on someone else.

Actually, from what I have read, feeling like one doesn't deserve to succeed, and self-sabotaging, and feeling some kind of sick satisfaction when one fails, is pretty common.

It should be noted that death is funny and pretty in Super Monkey Ball.

I am curious about how you see Bruce.

It seems to me that avoiding fear is one of the major motivators of humans and animals. Winning is scary because it creates the expectation that you will continue to win - and therefore the fear you won't. And that fear is justified.

In this highly-connected and competitive world, it's virtually impossible to be the best in any endeavor. Therefore, winning just delays and worsens your ultimate failure. Since you are ultimately going to lose anyway, you would often be better off learning how to be content with losing rather than striving to win at all. In this sense, Bruce is your true friend.

Of course, this only applies when you are playing competitive games. When your definition of winning is something like growing a beautiful garden or stopping children dying of diarrhoea, Bruce is your enemy.

Personally, I feel I get along better with the inconsistent parts of myself when I acknowledge that they have reasons for existing. So I don't hang up on Bruce... I ask him why he wants to lose in each case, and sometimes I decide that he is right. But this may just be a feature of my own psychology.

There's one example of the Bruce Effect that immediately jumps at me because it

a)Has been incredibly active in my life

b)Squares so well with the adaptionist explanation of the Bruce Effect

My chief form of self sabotage has always been with the opposite sex. Someone will hit on me, or my own advances will begin to go somewhere, and I'll do something to bring things to a halt. On present reflection it feels very much like I'm afraid of the challenges that would follow - that flirting with someone I find really attractive feels like embarking on some terrifying balancing act, and the failure is a return to the natural order of things - reassuring and predictable. The kind of thinking that might lead someone to avoid seeking higher status within a peer group which he didn't feel capable of maintaining.

It's possible that naming the part of us that makes us lose is oversimplifying the problem. We can consciously come up with rationalizations for why achieving one result counts as a "win" and another result as a "loss". But clean win/lose states don't exist in real life, which is much more messy. Instead winning and losing is achieving different results.

Is it possible that Bruce is just playing a different game, rather than solely attempting to make "me" lose my game? Bruce may actually be the person who wants things that we can't easily rationalize that we (me and Bruce as one person) want.

I can play a game of bowling against a beautiful woman and tell myself "I want to win this game". However, if Bruce has reason to think that losing is going to help my cause with the woman more than winning, and Bruce knows he wants that woman, then he may try to win his game at the expense of me winning mine. My lazy brain can't come up with the reasons why Bruce want's to throw a gutter ball (to get the woman) and Bruce can't figure out why I'm trying to throw strikes (to achieve my conscious win-state). If Bruce wins then my conscious mind is mad at Bruce for causing the loss without understanding why he did it (my brain is too lazy to figure it out).

Maybe if I beat Bruce then he may similarly be able to make my victory bittersweet without me being able to rationalize the reason for it, thus giving more reason to cave to Bruce in the future.

You made me think: Is there some possible evolutionary advantage of having a Bruce? Or more precisely, is there an instinct that would do something useful 100000 years ago, which makes us self-sabotage today?

Perhaps there is an instinct "not to appear much more successful than the rest of your tribe". Because there is a competition inside your tribe. Success is good, but it also brings enemies, any you may not be ready to face them. So unless you are ready to fight them all and become a leader of your tribe, it is better to sabotage yourself sometimes.

This instinct was fine-tuned to an ancient environment, and is not so necessary today (unless there is a Khmer Rouge revolution around the corner). But if you are smarter that the average, sometimes the instinct may kick in after an unconscious decision that you are already "dangerously successful".

More precisely, the instinct is somehow valid today too (success still brings you enemies), but it sometimes mistakenly assigns too much danger to relatively small success. Maybe it is related to the size and degree of specialization in our "tribe" -- in ancient world, when you were in top 1% at something, you were probably the best in your tribe; nowadays just studying something or doing some sport or game easily puts in top 1% of population with regard to that specific thing.

Sorry, but Rizzo's writing style is absolutely awful, and the content is no better.

Sorry, but Rizzo's writing style is absolutely awful

Agreed.

I removed the "Recommended Reading" part from the title; I feel this can be implied and I'd hate to see lots of "Recommended Reading" every time something was linked. Hope that's okay, if not you can always edit back.

I have a Magic deck, but I don't often play. That's because Magic is not only an interesting game, its been carefully designed to continually suck more money out of your pocket.

Ever since it was first introduced (I happen to own a first generation deck) the game has been slowly increasing the power levels of the cards so that older cards are less and less valuable and one needs to buy ever more newer cards just to stay competitive.

Add to this the fact they regularly bring out new types of cards that radically shift the power balances in the game and one finds that it becomes a very expensive hobby to keep up with if you want to play with a random assortment of your friends.

So, like Warhammer 40K (another game known for being designed to be a money sink), I've deliberately stayed away from being competitive at. Oh, I have a few decks back from when the game was launched and recently was gifted another few by a friend who wanted to play, and I really do enjoy playing, but I'm not going to let myself get sucked in.

its been carefully designed to continually suck more money out of your pocket.

The game was actually designed without the 'collectable' element, which emerged naturally from the design process since everybody always wanted access to more/newer cards as they played. See any of the various histories regarding Richard Garfield's original concept and playtesting.

Arguably, the focus on sucking money out of your pocket came about the time the cards began to develop aftermarket values, it became widely popular, and events like sanctioned tournaments and the 'pro tour' began ('94-'96)

I play magic. Well, at least I used to. Never competitively though, at least not in meatspace (or magic online, apprentice ftw). And I agree - there's a great connection to rationality. One problem with the game though: to truly enjoy it's dynamic nature, which is one of the great things that sets it apart from other games, it takes a significant continuous financial investment in new sets. It's the reason I never played competitively.

I'd wager that there's at least one other mtg player here. How many people are named Zvi?

There's a set of 3 (I think) articles on starcitygames that performed an act of reduction in magic theory. It was a great example that I kept going back to when reading Eliezer's stuff on reductionism. For those that know the terms, the author reduced tempo to a more general notion of card advantage. I'll try to track the articles down.

Edit: here are the articles. If you don't understand magic terminology... sorry. If you do, I think the articles are great from a theoretical perspective. However, from a practical perspective, the traditional notion of tempo may be more useful. I'm probably not a good judge of that, however. For one, I haven't read the articles in a while.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

Arguably, card games in general can be a good tool for learning rationality. I knew that there was no point to dwelling on inaccessible options before I learned cassino, but when I learned cassino, I got to see the good ten sitting on the table and a distinct lack of tens in my hand and really understand that there would be no ten of diamonds for me this time and I should focus on the spades or something.