A Victory for the Ages

On Sunday night, I was invited to play Cities and Knights with Doug and Tom, two of my brother’s friends who are pros at the game. Not only are they pros as Cities and Knights, but they are also pros at life in general. They live in a posh east side neighborhood in large houses, drive cool cars, have great families, sweet jobs, and are genuinely kind and caring people. The invitation to play that I got while sitting in my room that I rent from my friend on the opposite side of the city is one that I wouldn’t possibly turn down. We played at Tom’s house, which is beautiful. I had starry eyes all night. The outing was like the AA Springfield Mud Ducks playing against the New York Yankees in Yankee Stadium. Because of my general excitement just to be there and because I hadn’t played the game in several months, I made several dumb mistakes at the game’s outset; first, I placed my city and settlement on hexes with identical numbers, so only three numbers out of twelve would produce resources, second, I placed my city in a location that would only produce one type of commodity, and third, I wasn’t adjacent to a single ore hex, a highly critical resource. On this night, not only were the Mud Ducks playing the Yankees in Yankee Stadium, but I penciled in my left hander that throws like a little girl as my starter. I was in deep trouble. I knew it, Tom knew it, Doug knew it, and even Tom’s little girls who came in at the start to see what game we were playing knew it. The game progressed along as expected with the two thoroughbreds dieseling around the track in the lead with the pony trailing along behind with its jockey just trying to get it to stop smelling the daisies or keeping it from running in circles. Tom and Doug had serious strategy steaming out their ears while I sat on the side being the banker and trying not to be humiliated when asking to be reminded about certain rules or what on earth certain cards even did. Towards the end of the game, Tom was one point away from winning, Doug was close behind, and I was still not adjacent to a single ore hex. And then, on one fateful turn, I was able to earn 4 points while Tom and Doug were busy trying to keep each other from winning. At first I thought I was just saving face, but then Doug decided to count up my points, and it turns out that I had thirteen, the amount needed for victory. In shock, Tom recounted, and then Doug recounted, and both arrived again at thirteen. I recounted and came up with eleven, and then blushed as Tom and Doug counted one more time to assure that I indeed had won. Luck is all it was, but nonetheless a come-from-behind victory on par with Superbowl 3, or the Music City Miracle, or the Maverick’s being bounced in the first round of the playoffs by the Warriors. I couldn’t believe it, but also couldn’t stop grinning. As I walked to my car, I raised my forefinger high into the air, just like Broadway Joe. Okay, not really, but I wanted to. I then fired up my wobbly station wagon and drove away from the poshness back to my rented bedroom. Small victories . . .