Years ago, during the pre-noon hour in a prison on the outskirts of Las Cruces, New Mexico, the battle was nearing its end.
Eddy Gilchrist played a Sorcery power card, inflicting enough damage to kill his challenger’s creature. The tall, balded man of caramel complexion stood up to leave, making his way to the stainless steel stairs in a bopping swag, his arms bouncing up and down.
His chosen name was Jund ah Allah (loosely translated as “Soldier for God”), but most people called him The Card Wizard. He played Magic: The Gathering, a fantasy role-playing card game similar to Dungeons & Dragons.
Players compete with cards ornamented with artwork, each representing a magic spell with its own set of capabilities and dramatic quotes.
Jund’s card, Legion’s Judgment, read: “My lance was once wielded by Venerable Tarrian. In his name and by his might, I cast you down!”
I had so many questions. Chief among them: Wasn’t this a game for people that looked like Sheldon Cooper from “The Big Bang Theory”?
“We’re all nerds,” said Jund, a Black Muslim, as I began interviewing people around a table during another round of play.
In prison, people uprooted from different walks of life are thrown into overcrowded institutions. Safe intermingling requires finding shared threads of commonality.
“It’s true,” said Jund, pointing to one of the young white players at the table. “Me and McLovin’, we might not have met on the streets, or hung out in the same social circles, but in here we’ve bonded over our eccentric gaming sides.”
“It’s a fellaship. We’ve always acted like these dudes were geeky, or not like us, because it’s really a white traditional sport. I mean, who comes to mind when you think LARPing-slash-Dungeons & Dragons?” he said, referring to live-action role-playing games. “It’s not exactly a Black man’s hobby.”
The players said Magic opened them up to new friends. At the card table, which the players call the Table of Talisman, you’re less inclined to care how other people view you.
“This narrative of people in prison having to be super tough, no-nonsense — that’s what we’re unraveling each time we take a seat,” said Sonny O, another Magic player.
“This game brought out parts of me I couldn’t have discovered if it wasn’t for my Talisman community,” Jund said.
Jund grew up in New Haven, Connecticut, where he lived in poverty and was forced to deal drugs as a kid.
“I never imagined it would lead me here — a man with proud, unique friends,” he said.
I was curious how its popularity fared compared to more familiar games like poker.
There’s no comparing, the table agreed. “Those are low-budget amusements,” McLovin’ said, to a round of laughs.
But why Magic? I pressed.
“The fun is in buying the cards,” Sonny said. “You never know what you’re buying.”
“Guys might have collectable cards you covet,” Jund added.
McLovin’ chimed in: “We show off our collection at yard like you did with baseball cards in elementary.”
The cards were purchased from approved vendors at the facility. Some individual cards can cost up to hundreds of dollars, but part of the intrigue is that you don’t know what you’re buying. Each deck is a surprise. You can end up with unique cards that are worth way more than the money you paid, or you can end up with run-of-the-mill cards.
I was shown a deck of assorted cards; it seemed like a foreign language.
“This is a Green Commander Deck,” one player said. “I just came up on an Elemental Creature called Vorsclaw.”
“I traded Leafcrown Dryad and Garrison Griffon for it,” a guy named Red said. “Worthy trade.”
“Playing the game,” Jund injected, “is like collecting baseball cards or comics, then using them to wage war and healing.”
As the nerds spoke, I started to understand the game’s Merlinian appeal, and to see these players as something of an enchanted community. The game invokes the sense that race and cultural boundaries have magically disappeared.
For a moment the table was like a lone island, where gods, mages and shamans cast spells and targeted enemies.
Opposite me, McLovin’ untapped his horde, paying the mana cost to launch his sorcery and a Chimera Creature named The Daybreak.
Expletives flew.
Damage to Red’s hand proved lethal. He was clearly upset.
“They teamed up on me,” he said, scoffing at the table.
“We attacked him from all sides [because] his deck was too strong,” Jund said, smirking.
An obvious level of treachery had transpired, but I didn’t catch its subtleties.
When I first met Jund, he was not exactly a guy you pictured playing Magic. He was a chessman, a poker player, a devout Muslim who loved combative discussions. But he was also a troublemaker. He was in and out of segregation, fighting with officers.
Now I found him to be happy, unassuming and calm.
“Being at Talisman’s kept me outta shit,” he said.
