Curse my Boardwalk, Park Place obsession
Curse my Boardwalk, Park Place obsession
Like any good superhero worth his or her salt, I have one — and only one — weakness.
Superman has Kryptonite, Spider-Man has budgetary woes and Batman has … Well, nothing can stop Batman.
If I ever face off against my archnemesis, heaven help me if the fiend breaks out a Monopoly board.
My weapon of choice: I am partial to the silver dog, but I like the sack of money in the computer version of the Parker Brothers legacy board game.
I like the game, even if it's difficult to find people willing to sit around for hours and hours playing it. Admittedly, the exciting part comes in the first hour, when people are buying up property right and left, drawing blood in effort to snap up all the railroads and utilities.
Later, it's all pay rent, receive rent, go to jail, go directly to jail. I have no actual statistics regarding the matter, but I'm sure more than 50 percent of my Monopoly-playing life has been spent either going to jail or sitting in jail, trying to roll doubles to get out early.
In these games, however, I am at a distinct disadvantage. And my younger brother, of all people, knows how to capitalize upon it. My own flesh and blood!
If I'm doing particularly well, and even if I'm not, he will casually make the trade offer, eyeing those properties I hold in my possession that keep him from his monopolies. There will be nothing in his tone to give away the importance of the meaning of his words:
"Hey, I'll give you Boardwalk and Park Place for your Ventnor Avenue and St. James Place."
I freeze, knowing full well that this will make certain areas of the board virtually impenetrable, and expensive to visit. My brother loves to abuse his hotel privileges.
But at the same time, Boardwalk and Park Place are the most prestigious places on the board. To own both means holding a monopoly, which means placing four houses, which turn into hotels, which means I just need him to land on the squares once and I've earned back everything I owe to the bank.
But … how often does someone really land on Boardwalk? If it's me and I don't own it, all the time. If I own the property and it's him, he skips directly by, on his way to Mediterranean Avenue, the cheapest property which, after he gets his hotels on it, becomes the most expensive part of town.
Even with evidence mounting that I should make a decision to the contrary, I succumb to my inner demons and make the trade, watching as property values spring up all around me and I'm forced to pay way too much for trespassing onto his precious property. He chuckles with glee as he prances his piece — the shoe, the cannon, the accursed thimble — along the board, nimbly passing by the two properties I'm struggling to keep afloat.
One day, I shall wrest myself free of this crippling addiction. I shall scoff at his offer, intended to tip the balance of the game in his favor, and then we'll see who gets to pass go, and who gets to collect $200.
Zap! Pow! Matthew Weaver is the business and agriculture reporter for the Columbia Basin Herald. He's not certain, but he's pretty sure his archenemy would be the dreaded Corn Dog Boy.
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