I heard the owls again this morning, a good sign for a game day named after owls.
The history of this game day has been a little strange. Dana and I started this event several years ago—we still lived in the apartment across the street and only owned a dozen or so board games—when a different group of friends were still in town. The social linchpin of that group had moved away, so Dana and I stepped into the gap. In part, we wanted to help keep this group of friends together—a group that, in retrospect, never really considered us very core to the group—and we wanted to explore gaming as a hobby. We had three things that worked against us: we didn’t have any console games (Playstation, Wii, GameCube, whatever), we didn’t go in for role-playing games that much, and we had a smallish apartment that wasn’t set up well for toddlers. Toddlers who wouldn’t sleep in strange beds.
We kept that game day going for about a year, but after a couple months of having no guests, we decided to let the experiment die: “Take this one out in the storm, Igor, it…won’t be staying.”
So we played some games just the two of us. I suppose it’s easier if your hobby is, say, flyfishing. You tie your flies. You go and fish. You meet people here and there who share your interest, and you’re happy. The practice isn’t inherently social. It’s not necessary to have other people around. And you don’t have to apologize for being slightly obsessed in this matter. And you don’t have to negotiate the odd, “So..you’re into board games,” that happens when friends and colleagues come over to your house and see a ton of colorful boxes. That conversation has an added level of social complexity because your friends have to tentatively feel around—as if at a wound-site on the body—to see if you’re going to insist on breaking out a game to play. Most people’s last impression of board games was a painful afternoon of Monopoly with a demented cousin chortling about crushing their hopes and dreams of a successful financial future. My experience has been, and this seems odd to me, that the woman in a given couple seems more interested in the idea of games—dare I say play?—than any of the men are. This observation is particularly strange if you go to any games convention and figure out the ration of men to women.
Women, though, are active board gamers. And I made a very good connection with a woman in Lincoln when I heard her letter read on a podcast devoted to board games (Garrett’s Games & Geekiness, and I recommend it highly). She and I started a board game day for families and kids, but we were both looking to play heavier games. Conveniently, Dana and I moved into larger rooms last summer, then the owls came, and we had both a place for game day and a title.
For a while, it was just my internet-connection friend, her BFF (and that’s read as “BoyFriend Forever”), Dana, and I. Wendy would toddle about with Dana entertaining her, though both of the other attendees are parents, so they were good with the girl. Wendy would go to bed, we’d order dinner, and play a bit more. In all, it was a much smaller group than the one that had dissolved years earlier.
During this time, I kept adding contacts to my Gmail group. Friends and relations will tell you that they’re interested in games, but a formal game day doesn’t seem to attract a lot of enthusiasts. Part of this restrained reaction is due to how games are viewed in a post-Fordian culture: Play simply isn’t profitable. Part of the reaction is due to the other nature of what’s being asked: Learn a new ruleset. I should devote an entirely separate thread to this concept, but learning rules, entering a new gamespace, and working out strategies—that’s a hell of a set of tasks. But those tasks are near to the core of games, or learning games, and they are tasks that are not always undertaken with pleasure. If you’ve never been given a new task—at work, school, or home—and thought, “Now that’s going to take some time. It’s complicated, but I can see how it would work if we started here,” then you’re not reading this. You’re reading this if you thought, “Now that’s complicated. I’m going to love figuring this out.”
We picked up one of my colleagues last fall. She genuinely enjoys games—of all sorts. Her husband enjoyed the lighter games a bit more, but the social action of the group was also good. The group favors the exploration of rules and play. I’ll pick up this quote more later, but we’re dedicated to this quote from Reiner Knizia, “The goal of the game is to win, but it’s the goal that is important, not the winning.” It’s a subtle distinction, but at our table it means that if you’re running ahead with the score we’ll try, amicably, to take you down, and if you’re getting bad breaks with cards or dice, then we’ll moan along with you. My colleagues husband had mostly played with the Marquis de Sade.
Summer sent the two of them to Orcas Island (they have a B&B there and a writing residency), and so we were back to being a very small group.
Until today.
My email invitation has nine acceptances now. Dana and Wendy are still in Ohio—they’ll be back tonight—so we’ll have an even ten. I’ve hauled the folding table and chairs out, and I’ll start rearranging furniture after I’m done writing. I’m excited, but a bit at a loss. Why so many now? And what to play? The SdJ winners are out; they have fairly small rules but intriguing game play, but they don’t usually play more than four. I have a few party games, but I’m really interested in a more challenging experience. I’ll repeat that I’m excited, thrilled, even. There’s the very real possibility that not everyone will be here at the same time. The day is beautiful. Not too hot or humid, a light breeze, and very sunny. So not everyone might show up.
You might say I’ve been dealt a hand of action cards, my meeples and bits are on the starting locations, and the game’s about to start. Looks like fun. I think my first choice will be to pick up the coffee and beer tokens.
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