When I was a kid, there were old commercials on TV that used to promote really eccentric board games like Cluedo, LIFE, Boggle and SORRY. The games seemed to be all the rage, and you’d have that familiar American man’s voice over telling you it’s the best game to play with friends and family. It always sounded really exciting, but neither my family nor my friends were board game people.
My second boyfriend was an avid Scrabble player. His family played rather competitively — the sort of family who challenged each other and whipped out the dictionary to prove each other wrong. The only time I ever felt remotely victorious was when I spelt VAGINA out. My victory had little to do with the points I earned but rather that I spelt a “big” word that wasn’t a conjunction.
As I got older, the board game trope was very much catered to a specific person — the awkward, gangly crowd of pimply boys with long hair and who displayed their toes very prominently in their velcro-strapped Jesus sandals. But somehow in the last ten years, it’s become a really cool thing. Board game pubs and cafes have cropped up all over the city.
It wasn’t until B and I started dating that I realised how much I enjoyed them. Our second date was at a Draughts, a board game pub in a graffiti tunnel near Waterloo station. Over espresso martinis we attempted to play a medieval game — which we promptly abandoned given its extremely complicated rules. That was followed by a speed-round of Monopoly, involving the most intense ten minutes of real estate purchases that that pub had ever seen.
The games we engage in have been carefully chosen by B to expand my understanding of board games. I don’t really enjoy or find it easy to get into strategy just for the sake of it. I just want to get on with the game — I honestly think that there are few things tougher or more boring than having to learn a bunch of new abstract rules by having them read out to you from some long, fancy booklet. B usually picks ones that are suitable for two players, and feature concepts that I’d personally find enjoyable, and most importantly, striking the delicate balance of being strategic for him, yet approachable for me.
I’m always nudging for a round of Monopoly mostly because it’s the game I know the best. There’s a weird thrill in aggressively buying up properties, to have your opponent forking over cash as they land on your real estate, to claim the £200 when you pass GO and to revel in smacking the “Get Out of Jail Free” card on the table. One new years, we played for three days. We took it to another level and mortgaged our properties, we borrowed money from the bank and traded properties. It was so intense that we had no choice but to leave the game on the dinner table to allow for a “cooling off” period.
Since my initial introduction to the board game world, we’ve played with his friends and mine. On first meeting a group of B’s friends, we played Deception — a detective investigation game, where players find themselves in a scenario of intrigue, murder and deduction — and I won. I felt impressed with myself and my lying skills. Dare I say that I think they were impressed too. Just a few weeks ago, I had a reunion with a group of University friends. Over numerous two-for-one cocktails, we gathered at Draughts to play Codenames and Villainous where we stayed till closing.
The aspect that has caught me off guard the most is the oddly chaotic and fun experience. While some games resemble intense workouts (like the mildly stressful game of Risk, which gives me a headache with all its planning), others feel more enjoyable because they’re played at a faster pace and require you to be quick on your feet. Settling in for a movie night might be simpler, but it pales in comparison in terms of gratification. For about an hour or two, we can immerse ourselves in something utterly purposeless, something that holds significance only in that particular moment.
Trivial pursuit is my favourite, after Monopoly
I loved this post, Natalie! I love board games, too - Scrabble, Upwords, Monopoly....!