Game of Chicken

(It's times like this I'm glad this blog isn't popular anymore.)

I have three shelves full of chess books, and a roughly equal number of go books. I consider myself a fan of both games, and routinely list go as one of my three "perfect 10" games. (The others being Combat Commander and Amun-Re. I go by categories.)

However, I virtually never play chess or go, even against the computer. I used to play go every week (or more) when I lived in Austin, but now...not so much. I love it, but I've lost the will to play it. Why?

I'm afraid of losing, basically; I don't want to look unintelligent. To paraphrase an old chestnut, I have chosen to keep my stones in their bowls and be thought a fool rather than play them and remove all doubt.

In some ways, this is partly because of the things that have led to me taking nine pills a day, racking up $1000 worth of mental health care a month (all paid by my insurance, thank heaven), and so on. It ties into why I have trouble writing; I might get caught out in an error; why risk it?

(Why yes I do have a paper due this week that I'd be better off writing rather than this, why do you ask?)

I suppose the real question is why this doesn't present a problem with other games. Part of it has to do with how chess and go are "touchstone of the intellect"-type games that have centuries of experience, literature, and thought invested in them. Millions have played, computers have been programmed to play them, hymns have been sung in their honor, there are professional players who play for millions. Amun-Re, on the other hand, has been around for six years, there are maybe 20,000 copies out there, and the great mass of humanity has never heard of it.

Also, it has to do with the playing culture. Most gaming "scenes" are not enormously competitive. (Exceptions, exceptions.) Mostly, though, games are social enough that the stigma attached to losing is not too great. On the other hand, I feel the cold stare of the millions of better go players than I am whenever I put a duck on the board. I've somehow spoiled the game.

Great chess players often speak about how winning just feels sort of like having driven home from the store without getting into an accident: Nothing special, but obviously better than the alternative. Losing, however, is vastly worse: Like an insult, or an injustice. For the insecure patzer, winning is like escaping, and losing is like having your worst fears about yourself confirmed.

(I'm not fishing for compliments here; just noting something odd about my game-playing preferences. I'll probably nuke this one in a few days.)

On the Bookshelf

...or, at this moment, "on the windowsill." Anything flat is a shelf.

I have a new favorite series of books. Slate and Shell has come out with four books now in a "Master Play" line. Each of these slim volumes covers one (or, most recently two) famous go pro--Takemiya Masaki, Go Seigen, Lee Changho, Kato Masao and Seo Bong Soo. The commentaries are by Yuan Zhou, and the well-go-book-read will have guessed the format. Each pro is represented by just two games--gone through virtually move-by-move with comments.

The miraculous thing is that the annotations actually make sense to me. Partly this is because we take it a step at a time. In chess, there are several move-by-move books, but doing it like that makes it hard to see the overall trends. The usual thing is to take a chess game, let a bunch of moves rattle off, and then explain the last move...which is even less helpful. Nobody does it quite like Yuan Zhou, where (say) five moves are strung together and then we are shown how they work together.

I'm essentially never going to be a decent go player--which, for myself, I define as single-digit kyu. I hope, though, to learn to appreciate a good game when I play through it.

The New Toy

So, a new game has reached my table: The Halls of Montezuma, the latest card-driven game from GMT. It's sort of a perfect storm for me; it's a great subject, in one of my favorite systems, from a favorite company. Sold!

(I actually gave up game-buying for Lent; lucky for me, I paid for it eons ago, so it counts.)

The game has one thing I don't like: The rulebook is problematic. It's like a mystery, where the secrets are not revealed until you get all the way through--at which point, if you've been keeping careful track, all becomes clear. All didn't become clear on a first pass; we're off for a second pass.

It does, however, provide something I like very much: Uncertainty.

First, the key mechanic to the game is manipulating Mexico's political will ("PW") to continue the fight. A great many things affect PW, like winning battles and whatnot. One of the ways is through the various PW cities. Most major cities have a PW marker showing what they're worth. The catch: At the start of the game, neither player knows what they are. Neither the US or Mexico really has a clue about what's going on in the hinterlands.

This also works with reinforcements. When you get reinforcements, you get A Leader and Some Troops. Who exactly that leader is, and what troops he is leading, is unknown to you. For the kind of warfare I study--and I imagine that of most wars--this is about right. You can scream bloody murder to GHQ about needing troops, but it's up to their infallible wisdom to choose which ones you get. (Or don't get.) This is far, far superior to the usual calendar of reinforcements--"Oh good, this turn I get Grant."

Finally, reinforcements. You can order forts and breastworks to be built, but how good they are is not up to you. However, you are allowed to know the final result, which is unknown to your opponent until he chooses to attack them. My question: Why should the builder know the defensive value? But 'tis a small point.

I have yet to see how it works in practice, but I'm intrigued thus far. Any game where I have eight randomizer cups working is a good one in my book.