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The New Misadventures in Gaming
The New Misadventures in Gaming
http://www.gamefest.com/news/feature_detail/2514_0_3_0_C/Editor's Note: Many gamers may remember reading a series of articles on the Terminal City Gamers website (your editor's former home) called 'Misadventures in Gaming'. These were written by gamer Dan Bosley and they chronicled his comical gaming trials and tribulations, usually with non-gamers. Well, Dan is back with an entirely new set of misadventures - 'The New Misadventures in Gaming'.
Dan will have new installments of the series on a semi-regular basis, that is to say, whenever he writes them. Here is the first installment.
We walk around to the rear of the house and we see the backyard for the first time.“Wow,” I exclaim, “this must be a fun lawn to mow.”
“It can be a little tricky, yes, indeed,” Ken says.
The house is at the top of a rather steep slope that leads down to the water.
The backyard is big - the fence at the far end of the property nearest the water is about 150 feet away, all downhill from where we stand.It’s not just a straight slope, however.
It is obvious that over the years, there has been some yard work done here. The top half of the backyard has been terraced into a series of giant steps leading down towards the bottom of the yard.
Each step basically runs the entire length of the yard, and each step is about 4 feet wide, followed by one four-foot grassy step after another downwards in the sequence.After the bottom step, the yard just continues to slant down in one continuous slope to the fence. It is the perfect yard for laying onto the grass and rolling down the hill, over and over and over again, right down to the bottom of the lawn.
Since I am supposedly grown up, I refrain from doing so.
We are on Mayne Island.
Bob (Mr.Nostrils of Transamerica) and Carol (The Bucket Queen) and my wife, Diane, and I have been invited to spend the weekend on Mayne Island at Barbie and Ken’s getaway house there. Barbie is Carol’s sister. This is the first time Diane and I have met Barbie and Ken.
Bob and Carol have started to quite enjoy a lot of the games I’ve introduced them to over the last couple of years. Carol’s favourite by far is still The Bucket King though. They now even have their own copy! And even better than that, Carol has insisted that I bring along a bunch of games on this trip. And I have.
However Carol has also advised me that Ken and Barbie were a bit apprehensive when she told them that I was the gameman and would be bringing a bunch of games with me on this trip for all of us to play in the evenings. Ken and Barbie’s game-playing experience is apparently limited to playing Monopoly with their grandchildren. And that is about it. They don’t even play “regular” card games!
Bob and Carol have brought along their Bocce Ball game set, and that is why we are all now out in the backyard. We’re going to play Bocce on this hilly backyard.“So how do you play?” asks Ken.
“Simple,” says Bob. “You see this little white ball?” Bob holds up the small wooden ball.
“We call it the pea,” says Bob, and tosses it down the hill. It lands on the 5th step, rolls down onto the 6th step, continues rolling, and ends up on the 7th step.
“The pea is the target,” explains Bob. “We play in teams and we each take turns throwing our balls at the target,” he says, indicating the larger coloured wooden balls still sitting on the grass at his feet. “After everyone has thrown all their balls, whosever colour balls are closest to the pea scores a point for each of their balls that is closer than anyone else’s. And that’s all there is to it.”
“Sounds pretty simple,” says Ken.
“Do we roll our balls, or throw them or what?” asks Barbie.
“Whatever works for you,” responds Bob.
“Do you care if we lob the ball into the air and it comes pounding down and makes a big dent in the yard?” I ask Ken.
“No, I guess not,” says Ken. “It might help flatten the yard out a bit.”
“What are we playing to?” asks Diane.
“Let’s play to 15,” says Bob.
“What teams are we on?” Carol asks. “Can’t be with our spouses,” she advises.
Bob and Diane are on one team, Ken and Carol are on another, and Barbie and I are team number three. Bob starts. He throws his first red ball. It lands on the 7th step perfectly. But then it keeps rolling. And rolling. And then it hits the main slope. And it keeps rolling some more. Finally it stops in a clump of grass.“Hmmm,” says Bob. “This might be a little trickier than it looks.”
“Good thing I didn’t get around to mowing the lawn yesterday like I originally planned,” Ken comments, “or that ball might have rolled all the way to the back.”
“What’s all this stuff on the grass over here?” Carol asks. “Is this what I think it is?”
“Yup,” says Ken. “The Canada geese leave their droppings everywhere.”
“That’s interesting,” Carol says.
“Great,” I comment. “Obstacles.”
Carol bends down and is studying something in the grass more carefully. “Now what are you looking at?” Bob asks.
“I’m just getting a closer look,” Carol informs us.
“She’s looking at goose poop,” Ken says. “I know what I‘m looking at,” Carol says. “I just wanted to get a closer look at it.”
“Why? Is it moving?” asks Bob.
“No, of course not.” Carol gets on her knees and her face is rather close to the grass.“Now what are you doing?” asks Bob.
“I just want to get a really good look,” Carol tells us.
I am afraid to ask why. Some things are better left unknown.
“Your turn, Ken,” Bob informs him. Ken weighs the blue ball in his hand, and then starts shifting the ball from one hand to the other, finally finishing with the ball in his right hand. He then puts his right leg forward and swings his right arm back and forth. And back and forth. And back and forth. He still has the ball in his hand. Then he stops and changes his stance. Now he has both feet together, and he is holding the ball in both hands up to his chest, as if he were at a bowling alley, preparing to roll the ball.
Ken stands motionless for about 15 seconds.
“What are you doing?” asks Bob. “Just throw the thing.”
“I am becoming one with the ball,” Ken says.
“That’s what Ken does,” Barbie advises. “Ken always does really well with things he becomes one with. It’s a real skill,” she informs us.
Ken suddenly raises his right arm into the air, his elbow back, as if he was a shot putter. Then he starts to crouch on his right leg alone with his left leg extended straight out. The ball is still in his hand. “That can’t be comfortable,” I comment to no one in particular.
Ken puts his left foot on the ground and suddenly spins around. Now he is facing AWAY from the pea, standing straight up. The ball is still in his right hand. His eyes are closed. I hear a sound. I think Ken is humming. Or meditating. Or something.
“Do you hear humming?” I ask Diane.
“I think so,” Diane says.
“Is that a tune, or is he just sort of omming?”
“I don’t think it’s a tune. I think it’s just omming.”
“Are you omming?” I ask Ken.
“Shhh, you’ll break his concentration!” Barbie warns. “He is becoming one with the ball.” Bob looks at me and rolls his eyes. “I am thinking of becoming one with the beer. Do you want one?”
“Sure,” I say.
“Ladies? Anything to drink?” Bob asks.
They place their orders. “What about Ken?” Bob asks. “He can get something later,” Barbie says.
Bob goes into the house to get the refreshments.
Ken is still omming with his eyes closed, facing away from the pea.
“So,” I ask Barbie, “how long does it take Ken to become one?”
“Sometimes it’s really fast,” she says.
“And other times?” I ask.
“Not so fast,” she responds.
“I could take my turn while we’re waiting,” I suggest.
“That’s not a good idea,” Barbie advises.
“Why not? Will that interfere with Ken’s oneness?”
“Why yes, of course. Right now, only Bob’s ball is on the field. If you throw your ball, then there will be two balls in play, and that means all of Ken’s concentration on the existing situation will be wasted!” Barbie explains.
“Does that mean Ken needs to become one with the ball every single turn? This isn’t a one time thing? Once his turn is over, he is no longer one with the ball? He loses his one-ness? And he has to re-one himself all over again?” I ask.
“Oh yes,” Barbie agrees.
I am thinking of the bag of games in the house that I have brought with me. This might be a rather painful weekend. Maybe there’s a reason Ken and Barbie don’t play games….Ken suddenly spins around, facing the pea again. He goes into a Karate Kid stance, both arms raised in the air to his sides, standing on one leg, with his other leg folded up, his knee near his chest. The ball is in his right hand. He stands motionless. He has stopped omming.I ask Barbie, “Does it usually take this long for him to get oneness? We have to be back home by Sunday, you know.”
Barbie chides me, “Don’t be silly. It will probably be any time now.”
Carol is standing up, apparently satisfied with her goose dropping studies. “Is it my turn yet?” she asks.
“Nope. Still Ken’s turn,” I tell her.
“What? Still? That’s ridiculous.” Carol walks over and pushes one-legged Ken over so that he falls onto the grass. The ball rolls out of his hand in the general direction of the pea. It ends up several feet away from the pea, but it is still closer than Bob’s first throw is.
Ken is unhurt. He protests to Carol. “Hey, what do you think you are doing? I wasn’t ready yet!”
“Yes, you were Ken, you just didn’t know it. Look, you’re ahead of Bob anyway,” Carol explains to him.
As if on cue, Bob returns with the refreshments. Bob has brought a beer for Ken as well.This I will soon learn, is only the first of many.
“Beer helps Ken become one,” Barbie tells me.
“One what?” I ask.“One with whatever he is doing, of course.
”This may or may not be a good thing….The game goes on. The five of us decide that Ken will no longer be allowed the luxury of becoming one with the ball. We institute the Ken-rule: he is allowed 15 seconds at most to throw his ball. If he hasn’t thrown it by then, then we will all tackle him and confiscate the ball from him, and one of us will then throw the ball for him. And we will throw it as far away as we possibly can from the pea. This I think is a good rule, and it could easily be adapted and applied to many other games as well. Tired of waiting for a slow player in your group? Give them a time limit. They go over it, tackle them and take away 3 victory points. Might put an end to analysis paralysis…. Plus the tackling element would also add a bit of physical fitness to the boardgaming hobby.
Ken doesn’t care for this rule, however. He thinks we are picking on him. “Do you change the rules of all the games you play when you play them, Dan?” he asks me.
“Sometimes,” I say. “We call them variants.”
“Variants. Ha. More like cheating. What are the rules for if you don’t follow them?” Ken demands.
“There’s no rules about how long your turn should be,” Bob informs us.
“Well, then,” says Ken, “there you go, you just can’t make up a rule that picks on me. The rules don’t say you have to throw your ball within 15 seconds. You can’t just make that rule up.”
I speak up. “The rules or the lack of them aren’t engraved in stone. In my game group, occasionally a question will come up in a game that we‘re playing where the game rules don’t seem to address the problem. If that happens, we make a house rule to cover the situation,” I tell him. “We all thought you were taking too long to throw the ball, so we made a house rule.”
“House rules, you’re just making them up. If we’re going to play this game, we should play it by the rules. If the rules don’t say anything about how long you get to throw your ball, then you should get as long as you want,” argues Ken.
“What if someone took an hour for their turn?” Carol asks.
“That’s O.K.,” says Ken. “It’s allowed.”
“Mind you, no one would ever play with them again,” I comment.
“Well, that’s fine. But if the rules don’t say anything about it, then you can’t complain, and you can’t go making up your own rules. A game should only be played by its rules, and that‘s that.”
I take a gamble. “You play Monopoly with your grandkids?” I ask.
Ken looks at me funny. “Yes. What’s that got to do with anything?”
“What happens when you land on Free Parking?” I inquire.
“What do you mean?” Ken asks.
“When you’re playing Monopoly, and you land on the Free Parking space, what happens?” I question him.
Ken looks at me warily. “Is this a trick question?”
“No. What happens when you land on Free Parking?”
Ken says, “You get the money under the space.”
“What money?” I ask.
“The money under the space. The money from the fines and stuff. You know, when you have to pay money because of Chance and Community Chest and Income tax.”
“Why are you putting money under the Free Parking space?” I ask.
“Because that’s where you put it. I suppose you have a house rule that says you put the money under jail or something instead,” Ken says, a bit sarcastically to my thinking.
“Actually, no. According to the rules of Monopoly, nothing goes under the Free Parking space. No money ever goes there. No one ever gets any money for landing on Free Parking.” I explain.
Ken looks at me strangely. “Nah, that’s just the way you play it. I’ve always played Monopoly the right way.”
“Have you ever actually read the rules to Monopoly?” I ask.
Ken blinks. “No. Don’t need to. I already know how to play.”
“Well, a lot of people do play Monopoly that way, but actually, that way is a variant. You’re not supposed to get anything for landing on Free Parking. You’ve been playing a house rule for Monopoly all along and didn’t even know it,” I say.
“Sure, I believe you,” says Ken. It is quite clear from Ken’s tone of voice that he doesn’t believe me in the least.
“There’s nothing wrong with house rules,” I say. “People make up house rules all the time for the games that they play. If changing or adding or subtracting a rule makes a game more fun or enjoyable for a group of people, then great, go for it.”
“This is all very interesting, but can we just get on with the game?” Carol asks.
“In a minute. This is my house, right?” asks Ken. “So I should be the one making the house rules, not anyone else, right? So my house rule is that I get to take as long as I want to throw the ball.”
Ken looks at us all smugly.“Nothing to say, hey? That shows I’m right,” remarks Ken.
“It’s my house, too,” states Barbie.
Ken looks at her.
“I get a say in the house rule, too,” Barbie declares.
“I do too,” says Carol, “because I’m your sister-in-law.”
“I do too,” says Bob, “because I’m your brother-in-law.”
“I do too,” I say, “because I’m a complete stranger to you.”
Diane wisely stays quiet.Ken looks at each of us, one at a time, and shakes his head. “Sad, very sad.” He looks up at the house. “I’m going to get another beer. Anyone else want one?” No one else has finished their first drink yet. Ken heads for the house.
Bob motions to us, and the five of us huddle for a few moments. We all stand up and nod.
Ken returns with his beer.
“Ken,” Bob says. “We want to apologize. You’re right. We shouldn’t have made up that house rule. It wasn’t fair to you. Take as long as you want to throw the ball.”
Ken looks at Bob rather suspiciously, and then glances at the rest of us. Then satisfied, he says, “Thanks, I appreciate that.”
“It’s your turn, Ken,” I tell him.
Ken nods and picks up the ball and faces the pea.
(A note to the reader: Please go back to the start of this Misadventure and re-read the entire thing. By the time you get back to this point, enough time should have passed that Ken should be just about ready to throw the ball. Hopefully. Thank you.)
Ken now goes into the cactus-like position for the second time. The ball is now in his left hand. He is squinting at the pea.
(A note to the reader: Sorry. Ken is still not ready. Please try counting to 1000 slowly. He’s got to be ready by then. Thank you.)
Ken has now placed the ball underneath his right armpit. None of the rest of us have any idea why. Ken is now breathing in and out slowly, in long deep breaths. He is deeply focused on the pea. Deeply, deeply focused. He closes his eyes.
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