Notes on Losing a Board Game Gracefully

"Only those who dare to fail greatly can ever achieve greatly."

-- Robert F. Kennedy

In the past several years that I have been playing board games, it has come to my attention that most people are terrible losers. Dreadful, petulant children in adult nerdy skins. Pouting, sulking, accusations, and the most childish of eye rolls come at different points of some of the most brilliant games. I have seen people indignantly declare the game "broken," stomp off to disprove some element of the game, and I've even seen a pawn or two chucked in anger. Certainly more than once a companion has waived his or her arms in the air and walked away from the table, refusing to continue and see the game through. Poor sportsmanship at its most raw and awkward.

That red-cheeked child lives in all of us. We all want to master and excel, and we all want to think that our own reasoning and strategy are the best. Especially those of us who call ourselves true "gamers," we want to believe that our hobby makes us the elite, the best at what we do. And perhaps we buff our own fingernails on our shoulders a little too often, self-praising our own intelligence with coy grins. So if we fail, surely the game is broken. If we can't master the rules after a few trials, then the effort is clearly not worthwhile. Or when defeat clobbers us over and over again, certainly someone has sabotaged our game.

For those of you reading this who shake your heads and think boastfully that this isn't a reflection of yourselves, consider, are you so noble after a couple of losses? What about after a dozen consecutive losses? Perhaps the greatest character-defining moment of any gamer is the grace with which he or she conducts herself after losing for the twentieth, thirtieth, or hundredth time in a row. Loss is a humbling exercise in sharpening our wits and crafting strategies.

"If you are not big enough to lose, you are not big enough to win."
-- Walter Reuther

I realized this after taking stock of my own record among my favorite gaming group: Two men, two women. We play worker placement games, trivia games, party games, and more. My record? I lose more than my fair 75% share. I would estimate my victories rate at about 10%. And perhaps I'm even being a bit generous. It is not because I am a bad gamer. And most games I am not shaming myself in defeat--these games are often close, hotly contested matches during which I may come in a close second, or at least a very respectable, strong third place. The losses don't weigh heavily on me, no matter how many there are, though, because as the evening cools, I am simply glad to be surrounded by sharp, humorous gaming companions who tease, nosh, and challenge many times a month over a game board. I am, you might say, the perfect loser.

And so it pains me that when I am finally afforded a victory by the gods of chance and strategy (or alcohol), that others scoff so harshly. Shouldn't we all "take turns" at losing? Doesn't that naturally come with game play?
And would our games be nearly so enjoyable if we won all the time?

So the next time you begin rubbing your temples furiously after a loss, or consider challenging the rules, stop and think about the merit of your distress. Is a game truly invalid because you have not yet mastered it? Is the pursuit void if your strategy never pans out? The luxury of the board game is that we can afford failure. What gamers cannot, however, afford, is causing tension and animosity among our dear friends.

"I was never afraid of failure, for I would sooner fail than not be among the best."

-- John Keats  

Therefore I will make a New Year's resolution for all of us gamers, wishing that all of us may recognize the glory and challenge of complete loss and failure in gaming. Enthralling, enticing, and exciting. A dare from the universe: Try again. Dare to fail again. The gripping thrill of defeat is that we still have a challenge to conquer, and goal to achieve. And if you fail to understand the beauty of failure, then there is no place for you at my gaming table.

"Our greatest glory is not in never falling, but in rising every time we fall."

-- Confucius