Sunday games

A grand time. I forgot how much I like the Game Parlor, for one thing. It's terrifically nerdy. I will do some Christmas shopping there next week, both to support the place and get a better grip on my Christmas list. And it's so good for me to have human grownup contact. So good.

The games were great. I drew marvelously, as usual, and went 4-1. Alyssa kept me from having a perfect record. The game we played is scary to me. We were neck and neck, trading decent drek-clearing plays. Then she won. I know there were plays in between, but that's my perception of the arc. Tie, tie, tie, game over. And I didn't even break 300.

I allowed two phoney bingoes in the evening, both strategically rationalizable -- tressing* one short of a double word that gave me a good comeback (and I didn't hate the word all that much, either. The "word".) -- and trancer* which I DID hate but theoretically could have lost had it been good. I chickened out of a seven which I know perfectly well and will not admit to publicly. I also chickened out of a five.

We had a field trip in the middle. Brian, Alyssa, and I (and Brian's really cute and friendly dog) went to Wendy's. The highlight of this field trip was the courteous counter person asking Alyssa if she would rather have old cold chicken or fresh hot chicken. I can't imagine it was really an option in his mind...

Then again, one can't make inferences about what a person is thinking, can one?

I sometimes hear Scrabble players say -- usually intermediate level players -- that they are concentrating on "strategy". Once they learn the words, they say, they'll be unbeatable. To which I say... nah.

Here's the problem I have with this kind of thinking.

(I'm rereading George R. R. Martin's sprawling fantasy world series at the moment. You'll see.)

The young lads wishing to become knights train in the courtyards with wooden swords. They learn fancy footwork and how to size up an opponent and what works and what doesn't work. They build their muscles and endurance. When the time finally comes for tournaments, they are as ready as they can be. They go into the ring with sword -- real sword -- in hand.

What is our equivalent? Simming, to an extent. Going over games. Arguing positions. Thinking about why one play is better than another. Open vs. closed. Sizing up opponents.

But when we go into the ring, no one hands us our real sword. If we don't have it -- we are playing in a real tournament with a wooden sword! We can dance around all we like. We can know that what we now need to do is open up this quadrant using only three tiles and preserving our best chances to bingo here AND here... but if we don't have the words -- short and long -- who cares if we know the theory? We're dead.

Craft your sword.

Learn.
The.
Words.

Laura and K.C. were taking on John, as our numbers were odd. (And some odder than others.)

They were debating -- aloud -- whether to play a particular phoney. And John was assuring them, with no sincerity whatsoever, that he wouldn't challenge it.

Laura: "I do think our other phoney may be good, though."

I love Scrabble.