Tomek reports what’s up in Warsaw: „We also play Boomtown, we play it till we drop. The Folks like it for its interaction. The women win. Same with Manila – there’s always some woman with most cash at the end, and boats with my men can never arrive. Some kind of conspiracy.” A week earlier he wrote: “Aska wins in Adel Verpflichtet every time. I have no idea how she does it.” Two weeks earlier it was my turn to flood his inbox with my sorrow, to report with sadness that I had been crushed by Merry in the Pillars of the Earth.

I have a regular correspondence with Tomek. We comfort each other and feel for each other, sharing our true astonishment for our Beloved Women and their unfair game table practices. Let’s say it aloud – women do not play fair.

When Tomek sits down to play a game, he has a plan. He has an idea for a win, and he follows that idea. You can see it in his every gesture and every word. You can hear it in a triumphant Ha! shouted after an especially successful move. You can see it in the proud way he reaches for his wine glass or how he hits his fist against the knee after an especially successful move.
Asia lacks all these sincere gestures. She smiles innocently and makes us put our guard down. Asia asks for a glass of wine or some tea biscuits. She won’t admit to having a victorious plan, she won’t betray it with any gesture or sign telling that behind those glasses of wine, behind those tea biscuits there is a machine rising. A machine that is about to crush me, Tomek and every other man at the table. It’ll flatten us like a steam roller. Women do not play fair.

As for me, my mouth doesn’t shut as they say. I comment, give advice, tell off and mock. I live the game, I live every placed tile, every played card. I live more with every turn, to the point where every opponent knows what to do, what not to do. I live it so much, that towards the end of the game everyone knows what the person on my left is supposed to do, even the neighbours from the opposite house.
Women pretend that the game doesn’t interest them that much. Merry manages to feed the kids, help both daughters with the homework and even do the washing. The board? Oh, she’ll move two pawns, play a card and goes back to pretending that something else has her attention. The dog needs walking, the canary needs water. Sometimes the deception is of epic proportions. I say deception, because it’s all a smokescreen. This nonchalance of moves, this apparent lack of involvement, it’s all there just to have us put our guard down, to make us not take her seriously. To allow her to stay unnoticed, underestimated, secretly striving for victory.

She always does it, and week after week we put our guard down. There’s admirable mastery in it, and insincerity deserving condemnation. Women do not play fair.

If things don’t go well for Tomek, he literally breaks the board with his forehead. He leans over it so deep, like he wanted to move pawns with his stare, to make them reconsider and get out of the spots that were reserved for him. He raises his hands to the sky imploringly, and frowns back at the pawns. Tomek does not approve of those opponents’ moves that cross him. And he demonstrates this lack of approval to everyone around. Including the neighbour from Nr. 3.

Asia doesn’t wave her hands. She doesn’t hit her knee. She doesn’t eye other players inviting them to share the drama that’s happening on the board. Like all women she calmly accepts what consecutive turns bring, calmly adjusts her plans and step by step gets closer to victory. Of course we, the fair playing men, have no idea such plans exist at all. She doesn’t fret and fume, doesn’t waste strength on rubbing her forehead and doesn’t brood over other players’ sins. Asia, and all other women with her, plays calmly and is carried to victory by her serenity. This is not fair.

I’m not asking you to stop winning. I’ve got enough pride not to beg for mercy or handicap, for letting some of my, or Tomek’s plans succeed once in a while. No, we don’t want your mercy. The only thing I’m asking you for, our Beloved Better Halves, is to at least pretend that you had to make some effort to defeat us. Don’t make it look so easy. I’m asking you, begging even.

I’ve been wondering recently what makes me a fan of board games. Why do I enjoy them so much? Why do I like Mondays, when I meet with my friends and spend whole afternoons leaning over boards? I’ve written down some obvious answers.

I like to hold a new box in my hands. I like to unwrap it, eagerly look inside, and pick up the tiles sheet. I like to pick up the board, unfold it and examine from all possible angles. I like to touch the pawns, the dice, and dip my fingers into all that colourful stuff. I like to hear the magical clicking of the tiles being pushed out of the cardboard sheet. I like to tear the wrapping film off a deck of cards… Ok, I’m lying now. I don’t like unwrapping cards.

But I like the moment, when a new game lands on the table. Those frantic moments when players fight for pawns and argue who takes the green ones and who the yellow ones. When they trace the board with their fingers asking tens of absurd questions. Are the yellow cubes built in these buildings? Can I play a bricklayer family, since I have the red pawns? I’m playing with the yellow ones, so being the Chinese I should get double the number of pawns, may I? And so on, and so forth. Madness. A new game means big expectations, a lot of positive emotions and joy in its purest form.

Oh, the cake is also a reason why I like board games. The cake and the tea biscuits. And most of all I like board games with a board so big, that there is no more space for the cake and the biscuits left on it. I’ll hold It, I usually say and put the biscuit bowl next to me. I sip my tea with my hand among the different sweets. Biscuits are usually brought by Multidej, baking by Bogas and Dagmara and chockolate in big quantities by Salou. Eventually it all lands inside the reach of my hand. And I admit plainly – these are my beloved moments.

I like to know about games. I gather this knowledge by various means. I browse through foreign web sites looking for information, pictures of new releases, fans’ opinions and professional reviews. I read Swiat Gier Planszowych (The World of Board Games magazine) from cover to cover. I roam sites like Games Frantic, Kraina Gier, gry-planszowe.pl and many more, absorbing information, ensuring my need for knowledge is appeased. Unfortunately, it never is. And that’s why I discuss games.

I debate with Tomek by mail, bragging about what I’ve played, telling him what is remarkable and what to avoid. I like long, sincere men talks, when we talk over our Better Halves and prove to ourselves that our attitude towards games, not theirs, is the appropriate one. It surely is. I like the “skype” chat with Pancho, when we indulge ourselves in all kinds of gossip, from recommendations, to comments regarding recent publishers’ news. I debate every Monday, in the club, talking to Mst about games, asking for his opinion on various titles.

What I also like about board games is writing about them. Like here, now. When I sit at the computer in the evening and share my passion with you. I like the fact that, thanks to board games, I could start the MDK club in Gliwice, that I could organize “Pionek”, a magical event, to which smiling gamers come from all over Poland. I like the fact, that I always misinterpret the rules and as a result I can always play one game according to two or three sets of alternative rules. I also like how the boxes form such marvelous piles…

Actually, what I also like about board games is the fact, that you can play them too. But I get the feeling that it’s one thing I could manage without. Without biscuits by the table, without email debates with Tomek, without piling up boxes on the shelf it would be a lot harder for me…

It’s the second half of August, the town of Rowy, a table just by the sea side. It’s blissfully quiet, a nice roar of the waves while we play a game of Citadels. There’s a mixed party here, two players from Gliwice, four from Warsaw. I have a Merchant in my hand, I’m picking two pieces of gold, plus a third one, decide to build a Palace, when I suddenly hear it’s not allowed…

“Excuse me?” I’m asking in surprise.

“You’re not allowed to build after taking a third gold piece. You take gold after you’ve completed your actions.” An answer comes.

“Yes I can.” I smile. “I assure you I can.”

We pick up the manual. I point at the relevant paragraph with my finger. We read it aloud, and all becomes quiet.

„Great. We’ve been playing it the wrong way for a year…”

A few moments pass, an assassin kills a king. “The crown goes to the dead king”, I point out seeing that no one is willing to pass the crown. “No, no, the king is dead, he killed him, he doesn’t get the crown”, I hear. “The king is dead, but he receives the crown nevertheless”, I argument. “No, he doesn’t. Yes, he does. No. Yes.” We take a look in the manual. I get my own way. I feel like a half-wit spoiling the fun for everyone else. Like an accountant eager to ruin someone’s holiday. I feel very, very awkward. Eventually a third discrepancy with the rules comes up. „You’re going to kill me”, I say, then hide under the table…

Two weeks after that the holiday was over. Now people are returning, there are meetings and visits in the hometown of Gliwice. I’m receiving Bogas and Dagmara, a married couple from Tarnowskie Gory. We’re playing Verflixxt, but not before we’re five minutes into the game, when another charming fun with settling for common rules begins. I want to move the bird and the pawn every time a question mark is rolled. Bogas wants every player to pass his or her token to the player on their left. Multidej shows off his German and quotes the manual. Dagmara cuts him short by saying that she’s graduated from German philology. Merry munches on crisps and enjoys the whole scene.

Eventually, both Bogus and I, we shake our heads and give up on the whole fuss. It is settled – since we’re playing in Gliwice, we’ll play according to the Gliwice interpretation. We’re having tremendous fun, unaware of the fact that both versions, Bogus’ and mine, are wrong, which turns out a couple of days later. A few days after that a final, irrefutable translation of those rules lands in my Verflixxt box. And a week later, over two years after I had bought Verflixxt, I have an uncommon pleasure to play it according to the genuine rules. The match is sweet, a breath of fresh air, it brings new experience. We’re all satisfied with this new version of Verflixxt.

The number of games I have played not according to their rules is overwhelming. There was a period when virtually every board game I played, I played according to my own custom rules, since I would go and mix up and change things recklessly time and time again. Rules are eight, sixteen, and often twenty pages long, thick with text, full of sentences and every single one of them purposeful. Full of words, that are not just decoration, pretty feint or accurate metaphor. It’s a dozen or so pages of simple and precise rules, full of indicative sentences describing how to play the game.

Miss one and the game is out of control.

And a king’s ransom for the one who has never overlooked a sentence, who has never missed an exception, who has never misinterpreted an example.

And so, to celebrate the beginning of holidays, I have an offer for you. Take the rules of your favourite game and read it very, very carefully, one paragraph a time. There’s a chance that you find a detail or a few proving irrefutably, that you’ve been playing it the wrong way.

Do play it according to the genuine rules. Experience the taste of freshness, discover new possibilities in your beloved board game, and name the new rules “Trzewiczek’s expansion”. It applies to any game. And you get it from me for free.