Four Players are sitting around a table. They each have a hand of 13
cards, which they have adeptly arranged in numerical sequence. The first
player places one card, face down, on the table, eyes the group mysteriously,
and announces "One ace."
The next player casually mutters "three twos" and places three cards,
face down, over the ace. The third player, with an air of profound self-confidence,
places one card, face down, on top of the pile, and states "one three."
The second player sighs.
The fourth player, with a gleeful air of even more profound self-confidence,
turns to the previous player, and says "I Doubt You!" upon which he
turns over the top card of the pile, revealing for all to see, the telltale
Jack.
As the third player shadedly picks up all the cards in the pile and
arranges them into his hand, the fourth, with Sherlock Holmesian clarity,
says "You see, my friend, I had all four threes."
They are playing a children's card game called "I Doubt You." The game
is played with anywhere from three to seven players, and the object
is to get rid of all the cards in your hand. One's ability to succeed
depends solely on luck and deception, for when it is one's turn, one
must put down something, and that something must be at least one of
the cards next in sequence to the card previously played.
The subterfuge involved in playing this game may not necessarily train
someone to be a master criminal. Rather it allows players to explore
a very particular social phenomenon which arises when it becomes necessary
to avoid detection. It is played under an ideal condition in which everyone
knows that, from time to time, in order to keep the basic rule of the
game, someone must break another rule.
There are many social experiences in which a similar conflict of rules
is expressed. For example, in the bartering system, both the salesman
and the customer know that each participant will be prone to some kind
of misrepresentation, and that there is a penalty for being discovered.
The misrepresentation is itself sanctioned by the system but, on the
other hand, the system also demands that the misrepresentation remain
undeclared.
There is still another fold in the complexity of the I Doubt You relationship.
Though a player is penalized for having been discovered, that player,
by virtue of then having more cards in his hand, has more evidence to
determine when someone else is making a false claim.
I wonder if this is in any way related to the idea that it takes a
thief to catch a thief? It is intriguing as a dynamic study of the power
and consequences of being the convict: the more you get caught the more
chance you have to catch others, and yet the closer to ultimate failure
you yourself are. In terms of the game itself, the increased power of
the penalized provides continual involvement for all players.
In poker, the penalized (the lower) is supposed to suffer a loss of
power. In order to make this obvious, the game is made "interesting"
with a little betting.
Five-card draw poker evolves a rather intriguing analogy. At the beginning
of this voyage into fate, each player must "buy in" or "ante". Thus
the ship leaves the shore. A hand of five cards is dealt. Now, each
captain must decide his initial course. He takes stock of his provisions.
He must discover the most favorable wind.
Which arrangement of his cards will be the most profitable? Which has
the greatest potential? And, when he makes his decision, his very commitment
to it is challenged. He must bet on his powers. He must bet on his ability
to discover even greater power across an uncharted sea.
But even that is not enough. Others may increase the bet. Others may
be forcing him to see that they may have greater chance than he to succeed.
Should he go back to shore before the distance is too great and the
investment too heavy? Dare he raise even another sail?
At last the challenge is agreed upon. Those who have already met their
fate, return to a poorer shore. The others, the wise and the over-confident,
plunge forward. They trade whatever they feel they must risk to gain
the riches of the new land. And now, the dream is almost realized, the
course already foretold.
And now they must challenge each other's victories. There is no more
wind. The sea is behind us. Now, let us determined who has the greatest
faith in his success.
We bid again. We bid to convince. We underestimate for a while, engage
in small comparisons. But then, suddenly, we are dared to the showdown.
It has become a duel of confidence between two players. The others have
given up all claim. And then, when the bid is finally agreed upon, when
the last volley has been fired, the merchandise, the fact of power,
the deepest wound, is once and for all revealed. And to the victor belongs
the spoils.
Everything the victor has risked is returned to him, along with everything
everybody else has risked. Thus the size of the victory is directly
contingent upon the amount each player can get the others to risk. What
is recovered on the shores of the metaphor is not the riches of a new
land, but the penalties exacted of those who are less fortunate, of
the meek and of the foolhardy.
Poker is the archtypical confidence game. It is a contest of claims,
a battle of bravado, a showdown between the rich and the clever. The
opportunity for deception is augmented by the use of symbolic money
- those little colored chips which breath an air of playful innocence,
until they are cashed in.
On the other hand, we have that most famous and painfully enduring
of children's showdown games, War.
The cards are divided equally among the players, and placed, face down
in a pile, in front of each player. Then, simultaneously, each player
reveals the card on top of his pile. The player with the highest card
wins the other cards.
Thus, the players are involved with a continuous showdown. No one is
trying to claim or convince. The comparison is immediate and absolute.
Unless, of course, there is a war.
A war occurs when two or more players have the same card, unless someone
else has a higher card. When the war begins, each of the warriors places
three more cards, face down, next to the original card. A fourth card
is turned face up. The player with the highest new card wins all the
cards played during the war. During the war, the three cards invested
are unknown. The players can't tell how much they've risked until the
final showdown. What if all three cards are aces? Only after the war
can the players determine what they've won or lost.
Thus the simple comparisons of power that occur as the players reveal
their top cards are not considered wars. They're skirmishes, chance
encounters which are resolved almost as soon as they are revealed. The
real wars occur when the powers are equal; when other powers, regardless
of their strength, are blindly created; when the ultimate confrontation
is delayed.
Oddly enough, this principle of confrontation is found in many adult
war simulations. A battle in a game like Diplomacy is the result of
a coincidence of equal powers vying for the same positions. Though the
format is different, the expression of conflict remains the same.
Two other children's card games in which equality results in confrontation
are Steal the Old Man's Bundle and Crazy Eights.
In Steal the Old Man's Bundle, each player is dealt four cards. Four
more cards are dealt, face up, to the center of the table. Each player
scans his cards, and if any of the table cards are of the same rank
as any of the table cards, the player displays the match, and takes
the corresponding card from the table, leaving the pair, face-up beside
him.
If a player has no match, he discards any card, face-up, on the table.
If a player can make another match, he places the pair on top of the
face-up cards beside him. Thus, each player creates a bundle of cards.
If any of his opponents has a card which matches the card that is on
the top of a bundle, that player shows the matching card and takes the
entire bundle. When a hand is exhausted, four more cards are dealt each
player.
Since two cards are already used to create the top pair in the bundle,
the chances of losing one's bundle are slightly less. Thus, it would
seem that a player who has been able to gather four cards of the same
rank onto the top of his bundle is secure from attack. This is true,
however, only as long as that player doesn't add any more cards to his
pile. And, if no more cards are added, unless the player already has
a large bundle, he can't win the game.
So, in order to win, you have to risk all your holdings. In this game,
we delight in the insecurity of wealth.
In Crazy Eights, instead of trying to amass power or fortune, you're
trying to get rid of your holdings. When two people are playing, each
is given seven cards (or five cards, if more than two are playing).
The rest of the deck is placed in a pile, face down. The first card
is turned over, and placed beside the deck.
A card may be played from the hand if it is of the same suit or rank
as the revealed card, or if the card is an eight. An eight is a wild
card, and the one who plays that card declares the next suit that can
be played. The game continues. If it happens that someone doesn't have
a playable card, he must draw from the deck until he gets something
he can play.
Since there are only four suits, an eight or a card of the same rank
(and, perforce, different suit) has the greatest effect on the opponent's
ability to play. Thus, the strategy becomes to discover the suit which
the opponent will have the most difficulty following. At the same time,
however, the player must remember to protect himself with an eight or
with holdings in other suits, or he will never be able to put his master
plan into effect.
The cards have two functions: They serve as vehicles for getting closer
to the goal, and obstacles for preventing others from achieving their
goals. At the same time, the cards each have two meanings: suit, which
extends the flight, and rank, which changes direction. And then there
are those mysterious forces from another dimension, the Crazy Eights.
Crazy Eights is a race game. In order to win, you do not necessarily
have to prevent others from getting there. All you have to do is be
sure you get there first. You win by outfoxing, outguessing, and outlucking.
You try to prepare yourself for any exigency. You are Tallyrand, ready
to move in any direction which will allow you to remain in the race.
You are Napoleon astride a crazy eight, armed with a deadly string of
clubs, preparing to penetrate the frozen heartland of Russia.
Your ace of clubs is met by an ace of hearts. You are forced to take
on more and more. There is no escape. By the time you are able to meet
the challenge with a heart of your own, you are already too burdened
to flee.
You are Tarzan, and in your hand you have the diamond scepter of a
fierce king. Can you return it before you are detected? You are a kid,
playing a game of Crazy Eights. Are you having fun?
There are hundreds of card games. I am always amazed every time I pick
up a deck of cards to realize how many relationships I can explore with
such a simple tool.
