The Tao of Gaming

for being named Best Blog by Boardgamenews. I particularly like the comment that "A vote for Brian is a vote for Race."

Just to be ornery, I'll have to post something non-Race soon. Other than that I'll be the same blog, except with more groupies. I promise to keep my scandals interesting, and I'll inspect my hookers for Adam's apples.

Due to holiday family gatherings, I have nothing to write about, save for the "game" of Dreidel.

Bah-roh-ken. It's all about the Gimmel.

Carry on.

Ooh, V is for violence! -- AlphaOops, the Day Z went First

(Pictured) Thomas Ewert, co-designer of Container, signing a copy. Not pictured: Miss Canada Aleisa Fieldberg, crown nicely in place, filling baggies with plastic containers as the games arrived in the late afternoon to a desperate and fevered crowd

From Robot Chicken ...

Are you looking at me? Huh?

Invoke Ra.

I'm giving them away!

Take a standard 2-player sporting game. Put the player in the roll of a coach, desperately trying to win. Make the athletes four-year olds. Just imagine it. Give detailed orders, to no effect! Each player has one piece ("The coach's kid") who understands the rules, but is still more interested in snack time. [Done right, with just a bare modicum of control, this could be fun].

And yes, my kids did well in T-Ball. Especially if by 'did well' you mean 'got snacks.' I'm the proud father of the youngest contract hold out, with a long list of demands.

I'll leave it to those of you who understand baseball to work on the T-Ball adaptation. (I like the idea of having individual player cards, ala PtP or Strato, but with stats like Snack Susceptibility, Attention Span, Cuteness, and Parent Aggression.

As for me, I think I'll design "Pee Wee Football Strategy." Just imagine -- Defense puts down a card. Offense calls out "Long Bomb", then the defending coach flips "Safety Blitz." Let's cross-reference:

"The safeties cross the line quickly, then get distracted into tackling each other. The left wide receiver goes racing down the sideline, only to trip and be hustled away crying by an overprotective parent. The other WR runs a quick slant at five yards. The QB's throw lands at the line of scrimmage. Several minutes later he is tackled. No gain."

Afterwards the coaches order pizza, just like real Pee Wee football!

I got Settlers:Elasund in a math trade! Great. No. Wait. That picture doesn't look like a city. Oops. I traded for the wrong game.

So, how is Candamir? I guess I'll find out.

So, me and the Head Beagle were smoking the peace pipe. A nice haze filled the game store, enabling us to ignore the young magic players squawking around the other table. We had agreed that I would mellow out (the pipe helped admirably) and he would run tests of statistical significance on future lists. I was reaching for the bottle when I first heard the motorcycle.

A big man walked in a few minutes later. Sunburned face like hardened leather and a grizzly beard. He sat down like he owned the place and took a long pull from the bottle.

"Which one of you is called ..." (my heart was in my throat) "Snoop."

Stephen nodded, slowly.

"I got a problem with your list there."

"We we're just talking about..."

"Shut up, math boy."

The table was silent for a few minutes. I was packing, of course; but this wasn't my problem. I stayed quiet. I could see Snoop thinking ... no surprise that he was carrying. The stranger didn't seem bothered by the delay, he used the pause to polish off the bottle and tossed it aside.

"Now look, I gotta problem ..."

"Your name?" Snoop interrupted, scoring a risky point. You don't mess with the Head Beagle. The stranger snarled, but let it pass.

"Don't really got one. They call me Rider." I let out a low whistle. I think one of the card players wet himself. Smelled that way. Snoop recovered pretty quickly, all told.

"Thought you were a myth." Small pause. "OK, let's talk."

"Too many young'uns reading your list. Now they all want to play those damn games. I travel light, so I'm stuck. This list ... " he trailed off and waved one hand, fishing a cigar out of his pocket, lighting it and blowing out a long string of smoke.

"This list means I gotta play games I thought I buried years ago," he said. "Brings back memories."

"They're good games, they get better."

"Hell, plenty of good games now. Not like old times. And hell, Capitol? How can a self-respecting man recommend a game with that scoring track?" The last words were spat out, like venom.

"Not everything is about shiny bits" Snoop offered.

"This from a man who kicks women out of his house the day they turn nineteen" came the reply. Learn something new every day, I do. Rider was just chewing his cigar, but then reached below the table. Slowly, with deliberate calm. Taunting.

I know what was coming, and I could see Snoop's bead of sweat. The hand came back up above the table with a large black sack. Rider measured it's cruel heft. "This thing gives a pretty good beating, you know. And stain resistant," he added, "even if the bag aint."

"Now look, I'm a reasonable man. It ain't your fault, Snoop. Just a clever idea that's caused me a bit of grief. But I'm watching you." He rattled the bag once, pieces schikk'd. "You too" he added, pointing at me. "Less jabber." Another shake of the bag. "I think that about covers it." He dropped the bag on the table.

There was a pause. Rider tossed the cigar stub away and reached for the pipe, took a puff. "So, care for a game?"

I looked at Snoop. We nodded.

Rider plays a mean game of Bausack.

After seeing the comments fly when I dis Taj Mahal, I've decided to insult Boardgamegeek. Hit reload often, so you can be the first to comment!

Update: Decks of cards are Ba-roken! Full post later.

I was looking through my reviews on BGG. Most aren't rated, and a few are rated once or twice (average to good). But I noticed that my review to "Are you Phrazy?" got lots of '1' ratings ... a snide comment against my character!

Amatuer.

Now Candyland Strategy and Tactics. That's funny. Even the nutso detractors bring their A-game for someone else. I just get lame AmEx postings. I never get the cool stalkers.

I haven't really listened to any deliberate mash ups, but I hear them all the time.

There's a man,
Comin' round,
Taken names,
With our Handy-dandy notebook!

Johnny, meet Blue. Blue, Johnny.

I don’t know the Ten Commandments of Gaming (do I look like Moses to you?), but I’m familiar with The Seven Deadly Sins. They’re all annoying, of course. But this week I got to witness a new personal worst slow play, reminiscent of Don Bosley’s Misadventures in Gaming. During a three player game of shadowfist (typical duration 45-75 minutes), one player took ten minutes for a single turn. Number of cards used in any fashion? One. Simply amazing. Slow play, of course, is in the eye of the beholder and the nature of the game. Some games require extended time per turn, others should take a few seconds.

As always, the agonizer made the wrong move (I was apparently defenseless ... in actuality, I was horribly defenseless). I agonize at bridge, and it does me no good whatsoever. This realization has sped up my play on occasion. Later in the game I attacked the agonizer and the third player correctly evaluated the situation: if the attack succeeded, they would be unable to stop my follow on and I’d win. The agonizer pondered, and then made no effort to stop the attack (even with resources already in play). The follow-on attack ended it quickly.

The Deadly Sins of gaming --

• Rudeness

• Slow play

• Distraction (“Is it my turn?”)

• Unwarranted Table Talk

There you are. The Seven Deadly Sins. Theologians among you undoubtedly recognize that Unwarranted Table Talk encompasses four distinct sins. Scholars disagree on which four sins; but you know how they are. And you could get lost forever on ordering, venial/mortal distinctions and the like. Ah, how many sessions have been whiled away debating the finer Talmudic points, telling the old stories again and again, and worship.

OK, via the home theatre. A friend brought "The Gamers" to the going away party. It's a short movie split between a group of roleplayer's in a college dorm and their characters' adventure. Think Knights of the Dinner Table on a DVD ... with really bad production values. It's cheesy, and funny because it's true. If you've ever been known geeky guys playing D&D, you'll probably chuckle.

Not that I'd buy it. But it's worth seeing if you get a chance.

"Am I still unconscious?"

I find that I've rated the Plot to Assassinate Hitler a '7'. I've played The Plot to Assassinate Hitler? News to me! (Rating deleted).

I still only have four games rated a '10' (Go, Shadowfist, Puerto Rico, and Titan). Perhaps I should add poker, which I have played constantly (if sporadically). I just realized that I've never rated 'Bridge', which certainly deserves a '10' in my book. For ~4 years, I played it more than all other games combined, and still play (15 years later).

With the new '10', my average is now 5.30. What's the average for all games, around 6? Go on everyone, rate those dogs!

Several dozen anecdotes about my latest business trip, mostly true.

While hastily packing for my business trip, I forgot razors. No problem, hotels cover small things like that.

The stewardess announced that American Airlines wanted $5 for headphones. Given that the in-flight movie was Ladder 42, I worried that the headphones blocked out the movie, and anyone who didn’t pay had to listen. Fortunately, their business model combines bad movies and paying to see them, not avoid them. After 8 hours of flying (and one book), I arrive at my destination – Vegas, Baby! American Airlines tells everyone leaving the plane to arrive back at the airport at least two hours before our flight. I hear this from several sources throughout the trip, Vegas security is atrocious. My book (The White Rose by Glen Cook) rated a C-.

I stayed at the Luxor (B+), which has Escalators, Elevators and Inclinators, but no Wonkavators. My room location (first floor) worried me. But, while unpacking I heard nary a sound from the hallway. Great soundproofing! A phone call or two and I hit the poker room. Despite the massive poker popularity on TV, Luxor’s poker room (Rating: C) had 10 tables with nothing above $4-$8 except an occasional No Limit game (min $50 buy in). I played 4-8.

My first hand set a nice tone – JJ, with the flop of J9x. After an hour, I’m up $40. It’s time to hunt for some food (and coworkers). I head back and I’m doing fine, up a bit more with some nice lay downs and a few minor leaks. There were hands I played atrociously, but I’ve conveniently forgotten them.

Then the table breaks up and I get moved to the Table of Death. I spent over an hour there and saw exactly three playable hands. My typical hand was 92, 74, and the sporadic Jx. I limped with pocket fours (playable hand #1) but got nothing and dropped. Hand two almost made me smile with the awesomely powerful (by comparison) 88, but it was raised and reraised before it even got to me, so I folded. Hand #3 was KJ suited. The flop was JT5, given me top pair with good kicker. I bet (no free cards!) and got called. Turn was a 3. I bet (no free cards!). River was a King (giving two top pair). I bet and get called. The caller shows AQ! Unbelievable. Not that he called two times, but he didn’t raise with the nuts! That saved me $8. After an hour, I say to a player next to me “One more round of this crap and I walk.” I surprised him by keeping my word.

Thanks to the gracious play above, I end up positive for the night. Or so I think. I then remember I need razors and stop, blinded by my stupidity. The only free things in Vegas are drinks (and only when gambling). My poker winnings could splurge for three razors. I cashed out two.

I go back to my room and realize another flaw in my thinking. I checked in at 6pm. Nobody in Vegas goes back to their room at 6pm. But at 11pm, they start. I hear every loud drunk until I finally fall asleep … still, my day wasn’t so bad. My coworker’s flight got delayed for two hours. The FAA refused to let the plane take off until a part was repaired. No big deal, but the part was an Exit Sign. (It didn’t have an arrow pointing towards the door, so it violated regulations). We libertarians have a natural advantage; the government gives us new recruits every day. Hey, at least my coworker wasn’t taken off the plane and questioned about being a terrorist (this time).

In the morning I head off to my meeting (Luxor Razors? D-). I’ve had bad luck with my presentations at the last few meetings. Dropped from the agenda, squeezed for time, chemical evacuation. Typical business nonsense. This time I don’t have to give the briefing. But during the demo, security comes by and starts asking unexpected questions, like “How did you get in here?” “Who are you?” and “No, really, how did you get past security?” My business meeting gets shut down. I’m tempted to pin this on my coworker (and they are already sniffing at him), but he’s my ride. After a brief pause, we graciously accept the shutdown and drive back to the Casino.

The 4-8 games are full. I start in the 2-4, play loose, drop some change. I realize I’m playing poorly and tighten up. After a few minutes, I get moved to the 4-8 game and win a huge hand with AA when my opponent had a slightly smaller pair. (Flop 775, Turn 5, river J). He keeps raising so much that I worry he had an A7 and stop betting, costing me $16.

I discover the guy two seats down from me is from Stockholm. Apparently my Swedish sucks; he couldn’t understand the one sentence I remember. A few good beats and I’m up several months of smooth cheeks. I think about tipping one of the dealers with my spare razor, but I’ve had enough run-ins with security. Dinner time, we had agreed to meet some other security risks at New York New York. This is a one block walk.

There are two obvious choices on how to walk there. My choice was wrong. 30 minutes and one block later we entered Coyote Ugly (a bar in the hotel). F. I guess it was based on the movie, but there were no women. It’s as though everyone decided it was an unironic statement and avoided it. No coworkers to be found, so we wandered through Mandalay Bay (attractive, A+) and had dinner in a Mexican restaurant. Later, we’re walking back to the Luxor, and pass a store for kid’s gifts. I wonder if they have Vegas themed products, like Las Vegas Care Bear. She’s like Share Bear, but more … transactional. I should have checked under Care Bares.

Having no watch in a casino is dangerous. I have to make sure to catch my red-eye flight. I’ve seen exactly one clock on the strip (on the front of the Excalibur). I go back to the same table I played at before; several of the same players are there and haven’t moved. One player is working on a very powerful low limit technique: Fold poor hands. Fold mediocre hands. Bet really powerful hands and watch everyone chase trash. I’d played against him yesterday and saw him lose one showdown in several hours, but rarely play any hands. Half the table didn’t notice (or didn’t care) that he only played premium hands. When I left he had $150 or so. When I got back he had $400. Just grinding away.

Hand of the night – I limp with 66, a player after me raises. As I’m the last to act, I call. Flop is KK9. Everyone checks, and now I think the raiser has A-something, or possibly a slowplay. Turn is a 5. Again everyone checks. River is an 8. We check to the raiser, who bets. The 3rd man calls and I start to think. I like my Ax read, but the kicker could be anything. I call and the raiser had AJ. Other caller had … Q5 so my Kings and Sixes beats Kings and Fives. (What was he thinking, calling before the flop? That’s low limit for you). Not a big pot, but satisfying.

Right at my deadline, I pick up KK. I’m under the gun, so I limp and it gets raised soon after with six callers. I just call, and the flop … has an Ace. Damn. (Several of the players play any hand with an ace). I fold and walk away to cash out. As I’m loading my chips I see the turn is a King. Damn Damn. But wait, the King makes a flush possible, so my set of kings would have been crushed anyway! I’m out a nice haircut for this session, but up for the trip.

Rush to the airport. Heedful of the repeated warnings, I arrive at the check-in line at 9.23 for my red-eye. Get tickets at 9.33. Get to the gate at 9.45. Damn Airlines. Fortunately I had bought a book with my winnings. (Get Shorty – B+)

So here I am, there and back in 45 hours with only six hours of sleep. I pay for parking via a nice machine that accepts bills and credit cards. I wonder if the parking meters in Vegas’ Airport let you go double or nothing.