Rush 'n Attack: 1HN Knife Knavery

Nostalgia is a funny thing. Even concerning unfavorable events and outcomes, many of us can still wax nostalgic about the results of those situations. However, in my mind, there are some games and hobbies about which I cannot reminisce enthusiastically or even lukewarmly. One of those games used to be Rush ‘n Attack by Konami, but after a decades-long journey I can discuss this one-time stinker.

Rush ‘n Attack was a Nintendo Entertainment System game that was released in 1985. It was a well-rendered platform side-scroller that was somewhat realistic by 8-bit standards compared to relatively cartoonish games like Super Mario Brothers; Rush ‘n Attack had detailed sprites, semi-realistic Cold War-inspired backgrounds, heart-pumping music, and relentless bad guys. Much like Konami's other offerings at the time, characters were strinkingly humanoid in appearance; in fact, character design was similar to characters in Castlevania and Double Dribble, which were two other games from Konami's stable. When I first received Rush ‘n Attack, I was excited because Konami meant quality. Because I liked Double Dribble, I believed I would like Rush ‘n Attack. Even when I first inserted the cartridge into my NES console, I was certain I would enjoy myself thoroughly.

However, I realized rather quickly how arduous a task it would be to play this game. The game opens with your character outside an enemy base somewhere in Russia or someplace. (Of course, it required little imagination to comprehend that "Rush 'n" meant "Russian".) It's a bleak, gray winter day and all you're armed with is a knife. then the bad guys rush at you. what are you supposed to do? Well, you're supposed to rush and attack (Get it?). And so I did. With one button for jump and another button for attack, I rushed at the enemy with deft presses of the D-pad. Suddenly, a barrage of bullets arrived. I leapt to dodge the incoming bullets, but one bullet grazed my boot. In game-speak, it was but one pixel of my boot. Yet, that was enough to kill my character rather unceremoniously. Rapidly, I re-spawned and attacked again. Once again, another bullet grazed me by one pixel and my character was downed. This process repeated once more until all three lives were lost. End of game. No save points. No starting where I left off. When your character died in Rush ‘n Attack, you started from the very beginning. There was not even a Konami code to give me more lives. I was done right there.

Frustrated, I tried again. I got a little farther, but I died again. So, I tried again. Each time, I would advance a little farther and die again. Sadly, each time, I had to start at the very beginning. Eventually, I would get to Level 2 and then Level 3. However, after losing three lives, I had no choice but to return to the very first level. Frustration would turn to angst, and angst would compel me to eject the cartridge in extreme disgust and disdain.

To be fair, controls were responsive and gameplay was brisk, but the mountains of cheese in this game were undeniable. Of course, there was the aforementioned death by a pixel. More annoying than that was having to start at the absolute initial position of the game after losing all your lives. Yet, what was most disheartening about this game was that sinking feeling of powerlessness. Except for your knife, weapons have ammunition limits with no hope of replenishment except for picking up a new weapon. Moreover, there were no super weapons in this game; there was no spread gun like in Contra, no Batman batarangs, and no Marioesque invincibility. Tragically, in the end, it was just you and your knife.

It took little time for me to trade the game away. I could tolerate it no further and had to remove it from my sight as soon as humanly possible. At the time, Rush ‘n Attack seemed like a rare dud from Konami and a stark reminder of how flawed this world truly is. Nonetheless, like God's grace, there was a silver lining to this story: I managed to trade the game away for Solomon's Key, which also proved to be frustrating, but in a challenging, positive way.

For decades, I lived with the psychological trauma of Rush ‘n Attack. However, a few years ago, I found a video on YouTube. Sometimes, people post videos of their speed runs through games, attempting to finish them in record time. For example, one person posted a video of finishing Super Metroid in 90 minutes. Similar to that, someone posted a speed run of Rush ‘n Attack. As I watched, I witnessed something that stoked uncontrollable and hearty laughter. Throughout the entire speed run, the player simply tap the knife button repeatedly and rushed forward to the very far right edge of the screen. Foes scattered like so many leaves. The player persisted in this way with nary an incoming bullet, literally rushing through level after level with just a knife. I was awestruck with how easy the player made it all appear. I wondered why I had not read about this in Nintendo Power magazine so many years ago. (Kids, there was no Internet back in those days!)

Oddly, witnessing that herculean feat redeemed the game in my mind. I took comfort in knowing that there was greater cheese to overcome this game's cheese. I had found solace and rest as if some profound injustice had been addressed. Even stranger was the urge to play that game again after having beheld that indescribable spectacle. Indeed, that game is long gone and it's just as well that it is. Nevertheless, I can now wax nostalgic about Rush ‘n Attack, and it's a miracle that I can wax nostalgic about it, even though it took me decades to do so.

Carcassonne: Two-tile Cities are Four Points!

Okay, I don't normally do this, but I have to settle a controversy, specifically related to Carcassonne, which happens to be both a wonderful gateway Euro game and one of my favorite games. Several months ago, I entered a discussion with a friend of mine about how much two-tile cities are worth in Carcassonne. He was convinced that they were worth a total of two points, even though each tile in a city is worth two points. I countered that two-tile cities were four points in accordance to third-edition Rio Grande rules. In the end, I acquiesced to my friend's interpretation only because we were playing with his Big Box of Carcassonne and I don't like to cause conflict with good friends.

However, I have to resolve this conflict right now. I was reading a Comments section regarding Carcassonne and someone smugly pointed out that two-tile cities are two points. Quite separately, another commenter quipped that this rule made sense because the rule encouraged others to build larger cities. Well, their knowledge of current rulings is actually wrong and I'll tell you why.

In the first edition of Carcassonne as published by Hans im Glück and Rio Grande Games, two-tile cities were counted as two points. However, with the advent of third-edition Carcassonne, the rule changed to make two-tile cities worth four points. Here is the evidence in the rules of the Wheel of Fortune version of Carcassonne published by Rio Grande:

And here's evidence in the manual published by the current publisher of Carcassonne, Z-Man Games:

In both the last version of Rio Grande's Carcassonne and Z-Man Games' current Carcassonne, two-tile cities are four points, as illustrated in both manuals. Granted, if people want to play with the first edition rules, adhering to how the game was played when it won the Spiel des Jahres, they are entitled to do so, but remember that this ruling is out-of-date.

I should comment on the point that rendering a two-tile city two points encourages players to build larger cities. This may be true, but in my opinion making two-tile cities four points not only gives a player a little bit more control over the destiny of their own cities, but this rule also strengthens the farming strategy; I both score four points for the two-tile city and I get three points if it is on a farm I control at the end of the game. Furthermore, a four-point, two-tile city may entice a player away from invading a growing city (by placing the tile near an opening into the city, hoping that he or she will play a subsequent tile that connects his or her once-tiny city segment into the greater metropolis that one or more opponents is constructing). I'd rather finish off a two-tile city (maybe a second one, as well) and add to my burgeoning farm than try to horn in on one of the mega-cities that may or may not get completed by game's end.

Thank you for indulging me.

Super Mario World 2: Yoshi's Island: 3HN Egg Layer

 Several weeks ago, my wife and I discovered a garage sale at a nearby house. Being a collector of retro videogame cartridges, I am usually open to browsing at garage sales, but certain garage sales are more likely to have older game cartridges than others. Primarily, I look for the age of the house and neighborhood; if the house and neighborhood is around 15 to 20 years of age, the owners are more likely to still have the artifacts of their children's pasts, namely toys and games. I also look for economically middle-class areas because people there probably had enough disposable income to purchase video games back in the day, but not enough to live in a more affluent neighborhood. Also, I tend to think that wealthy people just throw their old junk away, while middle-class people tend to save their junk in the hope that they will sell the junk... in a garage sale. At least, that's what I do.

Anyway, it was at that garage sale many weeks ago that I recovered two SNES cartridges: NBA Jam and Super Mario World 2: Yoshi's Island (heretofore Yoshi's Island). As I wrote in my previous post, NBA Jam for the SNES was a shadow of what it was in the arcade, and that's saying much because I wasn't a huge fan of the arcade version of NBA Jam. Thankfully, I only spent about $1.50 on it, so it wasn't a massive monetary drain. Conversely, Yoshi's Island was (as many other reviewers have written) and is a wonderful gaming experience. When it was released in North America in 1995, I was at UCLA starting my third year of study. I have no recollection of its release, mostly because I was a Sega Genesis owner and a sports gamer. Like many SNES games I have since purchased, Yoshi's Island had passed me by at its time of release and was unknown to me for over a decade.

Yoshi's Island is a platforming sidescroller in the grand tradition of most games in the Super Mario Brothers/World franchise insofar as you need considerable skill to leap from platform to level, you encounter ground-scurrying baddies, and it involves Mario. However, Yoshi's Island turns the Mario concept on its head: instead of you playing as Mario and riding Yoshi as in Super Mario World, you are Yoshi and you must carry baby Mario to the end. When you are hit by a baddie, you lose Mario as he floats away in a bubble. Knowing that your very survival in the game depends on retaining and delivering baby Mario to the end of each level, you must recover Mario and keep him safe from danger. All the way, instead of just squashing your foes, as with Super Mario World, you can ingest your opponent by latching onto your opponent with your sticky tongue and pulling them into your mouth. In addition, you can lay eggs and throw them at foes, which is odd because isn't Yoshi a male? Okay, so sea horse males carry their embryo offspring, so I suppose that Yoshi is exceptional like sea horses (and whatever other animals about which I am ignorant).

Yoshi's Island also departs from its predecessors in how it is rendered; the foreground of each level is an oddly harmonious mix of digitized platform elements and ground textures painted as with watercolors and broad black strokes. The background is a bit more reminiscent of Super Mario World with rich and intricate details, yet with virtual brushstrokes that sometimes engender the feeling of strolling through some kind of digital painting. The bad guys range from the familiar mask-wearing guys from Super Mario Brothers 2 (the North American version, that is) to spitting fish and even end bosses that seem to be full of hot air. Yoshi's Island also departs from its predecessors with its music, which benefitted from the capabilities of the SNES with many layers of melody and rhythm. In 1995, I'm sure that players of Yoshi's Island may have been blown away when considering that, only 10 years previous, the music had come a long way from the simple, albeit memorable melodies of the original Super Mario Brothers. If anything, I'd liken this game's music to a much more upbeat Super Metroid or even a game that was released around the time of Super Metroid: The Legend of Zelda: A Link to the Past.

Speaking of Super Metroid, level navigation is also a departure; you don't just go from left to right, but up, down, and all over the place. There are also numerous secret staircases and passageways to challenge the seasoned platformer. Moreover, the jumps and movements require precision and practice, much like Yoshi's Island's ancestors, but the ante is raised with even more frantic platform movements. Added to the tricky gameplay is the concept of non-linear level progress. Watching a playthrough on YouTube, I am reminded of Super Metroid in the ability to retrace your steps in a particular level, though you don't seem to revisit past rooms to find new items that are now attainable because of previously-acquired abilities like in Super Metroid. That said, Yoshi can acquire some nifty abilities as the game progresses, such as blasting tunnels out of rock and those allow you to advance more readily.

This review does not do justice to Yoshi's Island. Since I recently acquired this game, I have yet to scratch the surface of this adventure, but what I've seen thus far has impressed me immensely. As with many games of the past, there is much more challenge (and sometimes cheese) than today's games. I believe that many children and adults are missing out on some of those classic gems, like Super Metroid, Link to the Past, Sonic & Knuckles, and Yoshi's Island. Furthermore, games on the SNES (and some on the Genesis) were able to save your progress, so gaming in the mid-90s had hit that sweet spot of being able to play a meaningful game for a good amount of time, yet being able to walk away and enjoy your day, knowing that you could continue where you left off tomorrow or next week. Nowadays, games are so engrossing and so entrancing that people wile away consecutive days on-screen. Because of this, I continue to mine the past for treasures like Yoshi's Island: games that are wonderfully challenging but easy to set aside for other things, like Euro-style board games.

NBA Jam: 2HN Basketball Buffoonery

During my UCLA days in the early to mid-1990s, the video game console wars were in full effect with Sega and Nintendo jockeying for the top spot in the marketplace, specifically the media war between the Sega Genesis and the Super Nintendo. At the time, people either owned one or the other and rarely owned both, as if either company loyalty was that important or consoles and games were just too expensive to invest in two separate systems. As consoles became closer to arcade quality in their presentation of graphics and sound, video game cabinet manufacturers seemed to up the ante, having already introduced laserdisc-based games like Dragon's Lair and Firefox (based on the Clint Eastwood movie) and rolling out games with superior graphics, sound, and two-player gameplay like the once-ubiquitous Street Fighter II, Mortal Kombat, and NBA Jam. Initially, Sega and Nintendo, though capable of (then) superlative home-based video games, struggled to convert arcade-based games like Street Fighter II and NBA Jam to their consoles... but they eventually succeeded with differing results. While Nintendo (and, to some extent, Sega) did well to port Street Fighter II to the Super Nintendo, NBA Jam was not nearly the game it was in the arcade.

For anyone who wasn't born before 1990, let me introduce you to the concept of NBA Jam: it's essentially two-on-two basketball with 1990s NBA basketball stars. Do you like the Lakers? Well, you can play with James Worthy and Vlade Divac. Do you like the Golden State Warriors and long for the days of Run-TMC (Tim Hardaway, Mitch Richmond, and Chris Mullin)? Cool, because you could play with Hardaway and Mullin. Oh, you say that you love the Bulls? Of course, you can play with Michael Jordan and Scottie Pippen... or NOT! Instead, you got Pippen and Horace Grant. How about Orlando Magic? Okay, you got Shaquille O'Neal, but you only got Penny Hardaway depending on which console you played the game. Much of who appeared in NBA Jam was dependent on licensing issues and the issues individual players had with royalties and such monetary concerns.

When it came to gameplay, it didn't matter with whom one played because NBA Jam was all about two things: thunderous dunks and fiery three-pointers. The fun of this game was in its uncomplicated, yet undeniably cheesy gameplay which often went like this: with one of your players (it really didn't matter who), you dribble the ball up the floor and either pass to your other player and dunk with heart-pumping authority or you loft a three-pointer from "way downtown." The first dunk of a streak of dunks was rather perfunctory, but the more a particular player dunked, the more acrobatic and gravity-defying the animations became. Likewise, the more a player drained three-pointers, the more the ball would burst into flame and the console or arcade cabinet's speakers would declare that he was "ON FIRE!" or "En fuego!"

The graphics of NBA Jam in the arcade were bright, garish, and eye-popping with each player looking like bobbleheads that are handed out at baseball stadiums as promotional items. Besides that, the uniforms of the players were shadowy reflections of the real-life uniforms, though the home floor of each team was emblazoned with that team's logos and colors to remind us that this WAS the NBA. What was even more indelible in my memory, however, was the sounds of the game: the crowd cheering, the realistic screech of sneakers on hardwood, and the play-by-play announcers' exclamatory remarks all created a hyper-realistic feel that went beyond anything one would watch during an NBA game on television.

In the 1990s, NBA Jam was ever-present in arcades on UCLA's campus and in local arcades and amusement centers I used to visit. I may have played the arcade version of the game once or twice on a lark, but I don't remember doing so. Yet, I'll always recall the NBA Jam announcer blurting, "Rony Seikaly... for three... He's on fire!" even though Rony Seikaly was not known for his three-point shooting. People used to line up their quarters to challenge the reigning player in the arcade; those battles were certainly fun to watch, at least for a few minutes. I never really developed an interest in NBA Jam, but I appreciated its presence in the arcades, at least because the game only added to the animated, noisy buffoonery that was, and still is, inherent to the video arcade lifestyle and motif.

Just last weekend, my wife and I happened upon a garage sale in one of the older homes in our area. Being a semi-avid video game cartridge collector, I reasoned (and hoped) that this older home would have a treasure trove of older games and consoles because the older homes were where peoples lived long enough to accumulate junk from the 1990s and before. Sure enough, I rummaged through a box of discarded and dusty game consoles to find a filthy Super Nintendo console and two cartridges: NBA Jam and Super Mario World 2 (about which I will write later). Both cartridges set me back a few bucks, which I handed to the homeowner with a thin veneer of calm hiding the unrepentant joy and enthusiasm that welled up from within me. Those cartridges were an uncommon find, especially now when savvy sellers are well-aware of the value of retro game cartridges on eBay. I gleefully took both cartridges home, gingerly yet aggressively cleaned the copper pins with Windex and Q-Tips, and washed the outsides of both cartridges with some Greased Lightning and a microfiber cloth. Thankfully, I got both cartridges working in my trusty Retro Duo.

I discovered two things that day: one was that Super Mario World 2 was as awesome as what I had read in a couple of reviews; the other was the NBA Jam on the Super Nintendo was a poor imitation of the arcade version. I played NBA Jam on the SNES for a few minutes to "test" the game's functions and playability and, sadly, found it dull compared to EA Sports' NBA Live series of games. It was just pass-pass-dunk, pass-pass-three, pass-pass-have ball stolen-watch as the computer dunks on my flailing sprites. Oh well... At least the cartridge was cheap and buying it triggered enough of those nostalgic feelings about the arcades of my youth to offset how mediocre NBA  Jam for the SNES was, and still is.

A Brief Defense of Vibram FiveFingers: Why I Won't Be Claiming $94

Two days ago, Runner's World reported that Vibram, the company that manufactures and sells Vibram FiveFingers footcoverings, has lost a class action lawsuit and must pay out $3.75 million to consumers who were subject to the company's claims that FiveFingers would "reduce foot injuries and strengthen foot muscles." Now, any previous buyer can receive roughly $94 in compensation. Then, just yesterday, a co-worker prompted me to claim my $94 because I am a Vibram FiveFingers wearer and it would be easy money. I staunchly refused because, despite the profanity-laden retorts of writers of questionable credentials like this one, my running life was enhanced by Vibrams to a great degree.

In defense of Vibram, to run in Vibram FiveFingers, one has to acclimate to zero-drop running and undo years of running and walking in the elevated soles and cushioning of shoes. Most people, however, put on Vibrams and started running with the same distance and intensity as they did with shoes, expecting magical results. Of course, they got injured because minimalist running is very different from shoe running: one has to develop a more mid-foot landing (with a secondary heel strike), bend his or her knees, lower his or her center of gravity, and increase cadence. If anything, you have to perfect your stride BEFORE you add mileage and pace with Vibrams.

​You know, it's funny that every year hundreds of recreational runners suffer from plantar fasciitis, Runner's Knee, Achilles tendonitis and tendinosis, shin splints, stress fractures, and worse in shoes... and very few people question the credibility of shoe companies and the shoes they design. Yet, Vibram FiveFingers are so easily linked to such maladies and thus pilloried whenever an erstwhile shoe runner launches full-bore into minimalist running without any appreciable period of adjustment​. It's a ridiculous hypocrisy that is not perpetuated by shoe companies as much as it is by people who know nothing about running without conventional shoes. In the Comments sections of the articles to which I linked, I read such enlightened comments as "EVERYONE wears shoes" or "I never see elite runners wearing minimalist shoes." My advice to such people is to put an earnest effort into transforming their strides to a more minimalist approach and then running judiciously with Vibrams or any other zero-drop minimalist footwear. They would find that they feel the ground more and that their calves and quadriceps absorb the shock of impact without having to rely on the high-tech cushioning of modern running shoes.
​
Why can't the human body run without shoes? Why must we rely on elevated soles and contoured orthotics to run as fast as we can? Is humanity so flawed that we require such inventions to do what our bodies are optimally formed to do? By the way, if you really believe that people are not born to run, I'd recommend Born to Run because McDougall lays out compelling arguments for human beings as born to be endurance runners... well before modern shoes were concocted. (For a recent article about McDougall's nicely-balanced opinions on running, read this article.)

In summation, I won't be claiming my $94 because I wear Vibram FiveFingers proudly and happily. Sometimes, I run with shoes, mostly to give my feet and legs a break because minimalist running requires my very best form and physical condition. With shoes, people can run with stride deficiencies and gross heel-striking because the shoes compensate for those things. If anything, running shoes make running more accessible for the recreational runner who really has no desire to tinker with their strides. However, Vibrams require your constant attention; Vibrams require acclimation, adjustment, tinkering, and readjustment to work. If you put the work into running with Vibrams, you find that your leg and foot muscles do the work that your shoes do. In this way, I believe that Vibrams have the capacity to assist you in seeking a better stride and foot landing which would, in turn, "reduce foot injuries and strengthen foot muscles." Sadly, Vibram was a bit bold and foolish to make such a claim, especially considering that most consumers are looking for a quick fix and not for footwear that demands a transformation of one's running style.

Agricola Six-Player Variant: The Genius of Three Contributors

Unlike many of the entries I've written for this blog, this post does not relate to first-hand nostalgia (1HN) or anything from my past. Instead, I am writing about Agricola, the superlative game created by Uwe Rosenborg. It burst on the Euro boardgame scene in 2007 and has garnered numerous awards, namely the 2008 Complex Game Spiel des Jahres, which is the German Game of the Year award -- the Academy Award of board games. It's a game that involves placing workers on action spaces to plow fields, build fences and pastures, grow crops, raise livestock, expand a family, and improve the farm to score points. All the while, players have to worry about feeding their families during each harvest, which is nerve-wracking, and developing their farms in a diverse and balanced fashion, since diversity is emphasized as people who score in the most categories often do well. I'm not doing justice to Agricola, but there are numerous reviews out there that strive to explain this game. Of course, if you are too busy to read those reviews, I can sum up Agricola with one sentence: it's a wonderful mental exercise that causes headaches and is certainly worth your and your family's time.

That said, in this post, I am consolidating the contributions of three different Board Game Geek members who have produced resources that make it possible to play Agricola as a six-player game. Out of the box, Agricola allows one to five players to play, which is really cool because you can play solo if you have no one around or you can play with four other family members or friends in a game that truly absorbs over two hours of play time. However, thanks to the genius of Agricola fans, you can play with a sixth player. To do so, here are the steps I took to play six-player Agricola:

1) Go to the Lookout Games website and order items

Lookout Games is the German manufacturer of Agricola and the brainchild of Uwe Rosenborg and others. At that site, you can order most of their products with English text or language-independent products, such as game pieces. When you go to the website, navigate to the Shop webpage and click Agricola to narrow the results to display Agricola items only. Surprisingly, it was at this website that I ordered the following items at the best prices I could find online:

• One set of Resource pieces
• One set of Grain and Vegetable pieces (if available)
• An extra player board
• Pieces for a sixth player

Including shipping, all of these items (at the Euro exchange rate at which I bought these items) cost me about $27 (US). As of May 2, 2014, all but the Grain and Vegetable pieces are available, but you can find these pieces under another category on the website if you search for them. I highly recommend you buy extra resource, grain, and vegetable pieces because six players will gobble up the pieces that come with the game rather quickly.

By the way, the Lookout Games website is in German, but German is translated into English easily by most browsers.

2) Register for membership at Boardgamegeek.com

To download the items that I mention in the following steps, please register for a free membership to Board Game Geek. Once you have your membership, not only can you download anything at any available file size, but you can also comment on people's reviews and even write board game reviews of your own.

3) Print out stickers for multiplier pieces and paste them to your default discs

A Board Game Geek member named ScottE created stickers that act as multipliers. For example, instead of having three wood tokens to signify three wood, you could take one 3x wood piece. What I did was after I received my extra pieces from Lookout Games, I printed out this user's multipier stickers, cut them out, pasted together two of the discs that represent wood in the Agricola box, and then pasted the cut sticker to the top of the stacked disc. Now, I have a 3x wood multipler token that saves the nicely-card wood pieces for those who have smaller amounts of wood.

To make the stickers fit on top of the default wood discs, I printed both pages of ScottE's PDF onto one 8.5 x 11 in. piece of paper. As it turned out, each sticker was sized perfectly to fit on the default discs out of the Agricola box. Moreover, when I played six-player Agricola, I found that having these  multiplier tokens were extremely useful and helped my friends and I not run out of any resource pieces during gameplay.

4) Download the Six-Player Variant board

A Board Game Geek member named patox created a six-player variant board that looks very much like the boards that come with Agricola. If you are a member of Board Game Geek, you can download the largest version of the six-player board file. I downloaded it and played a six-player game recently with it. Though I am relatively inexperienced with the game, I was more than impressed with how the board addressed player needs without making the game easier. My only observation is that there are only two Build Fences action available to six players: one is on the main actions board, and the other one is part of the Renovate action that comes out during the last round of the game. The six-player board does not provide another action space for building fences, so gameplay can be very challenging for those who want to use farmyard spaces at the end of the game and not get penalized for unused spaces (which is a -1 point penalty for each unused farmyard space).

In any case, this board is absolutely awesome, but keep in mind that you'll have to print out the board on 8.5 x 14 in. paper and then paste it on large, thick cardstock.

5) Download the Major Improvement card image

A third Board Game Geek member named Tinkerer created images to lay over three Minor Improvement cards that are used as Major Improvements on the Six-Player Variant board. Understandably, the three Minor Improvement cards (Simple Fireplace, Cooking Hearth, and Wood-Fired Oven) do not have the burgundy border that denotes Major Improvements. However, if you print out the image to which I linked and size the image to a height of 3.63 inches, you can then cut out each card and slide them as overlays over the Minor Improvement cards in card sleeves. You now have three new Major Improvement cards that work with the Six-Player Variant board and look pretty close to how these cards would look if Lookout Games had manufactured them.

6) Get five friends together to play.

As it turned out, not only did I get six co-worker friends to play, but I had to teach all of them how to play the game! Also, since I was the seventh person, I decided to sit out the game and help my friends learn Agricola... with the Six-Player Variant board. After three lunch breaks of play, each of my friends walked away from the game stating that they liked the game and felt that, for a fan-created board, the Six-Player Variant board was well-crafted and effective. As for me, I was very pleased that, with some well-placed orders, some Internet hunting, and some cutting and pasting, I could make Agricola playable for six players and not have the game feel ruined.

To Lookout Games, patox, ScottE, and Tinkerer, thank you for making six-player Agricola a reality. Also, to those of you who have yet to play Agricola, just know that if you're ever interested in learning the game, there are fine fan-made resources out there that can enhance your gaming experience without depriving you of too much money.

Baseball: 1HN Normalizer

For much of my elementary schools years and the first of my junior high school years, I often felt like an outsider, different from most kids. I don't think it was my affinity for Dungeons & Dragons or for video games that set me apart, or my taste in music (Def Leppard!), or my love of school and learning. Deeper than those things, I didn't talk or act like "normal" kids, whatever "normal" means. Maybe it was my vocabulary or maybe it was my eccentric interests after all... I couldn't put my finger on it. I'm sure some of you can relate, but there was always that notion that would emerge from deep within my psyche whenever I was around people: "Why don't I fit in?"

Interestingly, this seemed to change sometime in eighth grade: I started collecting baseball cards. At first, it was something to do with my cousin Mark, who was a collector himself; we would go to Price Club (now Costco) and buy a box of Topps cards... 1987 Topps cards, to be exact. I remember opening the packs with a petrified stick of pink that left an oily residue on the unfortunate piece of cardboard that happened to be placed next to it. I often ignored the gum. I would then organize the cards by teams and look at the Team Leaders card -- the one that listed the home run, RBI, and batting average leaders of each team on it. Then, I would trade for those players with my cousin. At the time, I didn't really think I was swindling him, but I was. Around that time, my interest in baseball cards caught the interest of my friend Ed, who was himself becoming a collector. We used to trade with each other, go to baseball card conventions, and laugh about the Walt Terrell rookie card that we almost acquired (I don't know why, but it was funny at the time to want to labor so hard to buy the rookie card of an OK player).

Inevitably, collecting baseball cards led to an interest in watching baseball, which led to a more profound interest in playing baseball. Throughout my eighth-grade year, I played baseball almost every day in the street in front of my house with two kids much younger than I was, a tennis ball, and a street reflector serving as home plate. We used to practice switch-hitting; to this day, I still marvel at the fact that I was able to hit the ball over a distant lightpole left-handed. Sure, it was against an 11-year-old pitcher, but it was still awesome to a 14-year-old.

Honing my skills on the mean streets of my hometown compelled me to try my hand at organizing baseball; Little League, that is, or at least "little" for 15-year-olds. I played one season of baseball with the A's and played first base, second base, third base, and all three outfield positions during that season. I was a decent hitter (I hit over .300, I think), I could steal bases (which was a surprise because before ninth grade I was officially slow), and I had a cannon for an arm, but I was also hot-headed and hated to make mistakes. Nobody was harder on me than me, and that was my greatest obstacle in baseball: I had a hard time overcoming my own mistakes. Sadly, though that baseball season wasn't a bad one and my team placed second in its league, the luster of the game was lost on me because I was not happy with myself. I'll come back to this point later.

After that baseball season, I turned my back on baseball. In high school, I ran cross country and swam on the swim team. In college, my favorite sport was basketball, mostly because I was good at fighting for rebounds and I could always make up for a mistake on one end of the floor with a key play at the other end of the floor. I did play intramural softball, though, and I even felt the buzz of baseball enough to play a few practice sessions a couple of co-workers at a local park. Besides lofting pitches over the Little League fence of that field at which we played, I still remember making a nice diving catch of a line drive over second base, which earned the applause of my buddies. I know it was just practice, but it felt good to know that I could pull out a spectacular play once in a while. After college, I rarely, if ever, played softball or baseball. Basketball, and then running, became my favorite sports and I enjoyed playing them.

However, recently, I've been watching (for the third time) Ken Burns' superlative documentary series, Baseball, which was originally released in 1994. As I watch that series, I am not only reminded of how much I liked baseball and how fascinating the figures of yore are, but I also remember the greatest impact baseball had on me: it normalized me in so many ways. First, I have come to realize that that some skill in a sport can earn the respect of other boys and men much more than intellectual or social talent can do. As a socially-awkward seventh-grader, I had few friends, and the friends that I did have were just as fringe as I was. Yet, as I made it to ninth-grade, I began to earn the respect of other boys because I could play baseball. In fact, one of my Little League teammates once vouch for my skills in front of some popular boys; of course, those popular guys didn't heed his endorsements, but I could certainly hit as far as, if not farther than, they could hit. Secondly, I had something "normal" to discuss with other boys; it was definitely more accepted to talk about Kirk Gibson's dramatic home run in Game 1 of the 1988 World Series than it was to talk about Armor Class or saving throws (D&D references here). However, beyond the physical skill and the ability to discuss a "normal" subject, baseball not only gave me access to guys who were not so academically-inclined, but it made me more accessible. To this day, I can talk baseball with some of my running friends and I actually have something to discuss; without baseball (or sports knowledge, in general), many guys (Americans, at least) are inaccessible. By this, I contend that the most noteworthy power of sports is that it allows us to reach others, hopefully with the hope of Christ and as an encourager.

There is one more aspect of myself that baseball normalized: the epiphany that mistakes are a part of the game and of life. As a ninth-grader on a Little League team, my love of baseball was diminished because of my inability to recover emotionally from my own mistakes. For much of my life, I had trouble overcoming the fact that I had deficiencies and that I would lose games. That was why I often avoided playing board games, video games, or even sports against people; I didn't like losing. Sadly, it took years of experience to comprehend that I cannot be afraid to lose or make mistakes, and that I learn best from mistakes. I try to instill this in my sons, hoping that they would not be paralyzed by the fear of failure. Every sport presents experiences of failure, particularly baseball because if you make a defensive error early in a baseball game, that error may be the reason your team loses despite your best efforts.

Yet, instead of backing away from failure, I tell my boys to rise to any challenge, and that it is okay to fail or lose because you can learn from it and be better in the future. To most of us, this is sententious and trite because we hear it in so many ways from so many inconsequential people, but one thing I rarely heard as a child was that failure was okay only if I learned a lesson from it and strove to not replicate the error. In this sense, baseball normalized me because it made me confront failure, embrace its lessons, and be diligent about moving past it instead of dwelling on it or, even worse, giving up altogether. I pray that my sons will step forward willingly to meet every challenge, every ground ball, every line drive, and catch that ball or make that play. Win or lose, we can grow from the moment and revel in the idea that we never backed down. To me, that is "normal."

Settlers of Canaan: 1HN Catan Redux

Among Christians, there seems to be a trend towards taking "secular" games and adding a Judeo-Christian flavor to it. The obvious examples of this are such games as Bible Scattergories and Bible Taboo (which is funnily ironic name), but some lesser-known ones are Ark of the Covenant, which was based on Carcassonne, and Redemption, which was the Christian community's response to Magic: The Gathering (it was not a copy of its gameplay, but it copied the collectability of Magic). Yet another prime example is Settlers of Canaan, which is the spitting image of Settlers of Catan.

Settlers of Canaan is, by and large, the same game as Catan. Much like Catan, the Settlers of Canaan board is laid out in hexagons with each one producing one of five resources: grain, sheep, wood, clay, and ore; and, each hex has a number from 2 to 12. You start off with placing a settlement and a road at the vertices of three hexagons. After each player has laid out two settlements and two roads (the two settlements may or may not connect to each other), they gather up one card for each resource their settlements touch. Then, gameplay begins. For those who are familiar with Catan, Canaan is very similar: a player rolls two dice, and then all players, including the rolling player, collect resource cards for each hex that their settlements touch that matches the number rolled. After that, the current player gets to trade resources with other players and build settlements, cities, and roads, or acquire development cards depending on which resources he or she possess. Canaan's Development cards are also similar to Catan's development cards, except that there are "Priest" cards instead of "Knight" cards and there are thematic cards that are similar in effect to Catan cards, but named differently. As in Catan, Canaan has bonuses for the longest road (two points) and most priests (two points). There are also developments that award victory points, just as in Catan. 

It would be too easy to state that Catan and Canaan are essentially the same game, but there are four key differences. The first difference is that the hexes in Canaan are fixed in position on a gameboard, whereas the hexes and numbers are randomly placed at the start of each game in Catan. This gives Catan a fresh feel every game, while Canaan's board is set (yet sufficiently balanced in its placement of resources, in my opinion). The second difference is that the Canaan has Jerusalem and its wall at the lower part of the board; players can add a stone to the wall of Jerusalem by spending the appropriate resources during their turns. Whoever has a majority of stones in Jerusalem's wall gets a two-point bonus and a favorable trade ratio of two of any resource chosen for the "King's Blessing" in exchange for one of any other resource. The third key difference is the Robber: in Catan, if you roll a 7, you control the Robber, a nefariously black token that can be placed on a hex, rendering that hex ineffective until the Robber is moved. In addition, the player who places the Robber can then take a card from a player whose settlement is touching the occupied hex. Thus, it is called the "Robber." However, in Canaan, the Robber is called "the Plague." It works the same way as in Catan, except that a dark stone is placed in Jerusalem's wall. Lastly, there is a copper hex that provides one resource of a player's choice if a 10 is rolled and a player has a settlement touching that hex; this is somewhat minor, yet noteworthy because there is no "wild" tile in Settlers of Catan and this may affect early-game settlement placement.

Gameplay continues in Canaan until a player gains twelve victory points, which is two more than Catan, thus extending the game a bit. Points are tracked on the gameboard on a separate counter, so the need for math during the game is reduced (unlike Catan, in which there is no scoreboard and you have to constantly count people's settlements and cities). As with Catan, the accumulation of settlements and cities is important, but the most fun part of both games is negotiation. Can I get the ore and grain I need to transform my one-point settlement into a two-point city? Will someone trade me that clay I need to build that settlement? Will I get that clay and stone I need to allow me to lay that precious stone in Jerusalem so that I can take the King's Blessing from someone? All of these questions are more often solved in trading than with mere dice rolls; this is the beauty of Catan and Canaan.

The Settlers of Canaan, much like Catan, is a wonderful family game that also serves as a gateway game to more complex Euro-style games, which are often economy-based with indirect competition. In Canaan, you don't trounce your opponents as much as lock them out of certain hexes with key settlement placements. In this way, I can see how Cactus Game Design saw that they could tweak the classic Catan with a Judeo-Christian theme and it would be palatable for Christian families. I certainly understand that sentiment and am appreciative of it, but I admit that, of all games, Catan was one game that didn't need a makeover. By itself, it's a fine family game that is non-violent and only as cutthroat as the players who play it. I have played Catan and Canaan and found that Catan would be just as agreeable as Canaan, if not better because Catan has a bevy of expansions from which you can enhance the game. One thing I should mention is that I suppose that the concept of "stealing" wasn't Christian enough, so the "Robber" was changed to a "Plague, but is "Plague" really better than a "Robber?" I mean, I know that it's wrong and sinful to steal, but it's a legitimate game action to take someone's card with the Robber/Plague; if it's a legit move, is it really "robbing?" In my opinion, it is this kind of kneejerk reaction to secondary elements in games that often drives the Christian-theme market (and sells games to overly "religious" people).

This takes me to a point I made in a previous post about magic: I don't have a hard and fast rule against all references to magic in games. If magic is an integral part of a game, I make a determination about whether it would affect me and my sons or not. However, if it's an ancillary part of the game, such as it is in the Zelda video games or in such board games as Dominion, I may allow it depending on the imagery and the rules. I look at Catan in the same way when it comes to "robbing"; I know it's not stealing in the sinful sense, and I know that it's defined in the rules. Why can't we just call it "robbing" instead of a "Plague," which just sounds even more awful, in my opinion?

Castlevania: 1HN Self-Sufficient Devil Hunter

Right after I got my NES, one of the first games I received as a gift was Castlevania. I don't remember why I got that game: did I ask for it? Did Mom think it would be a game that I'd like? Did another family member give it to me? I'm not sure, but I do remember that it was one of the first games I had.

What more can be said about Castlevania? For those who are not familiar, Castlevania is a side-scrolling platformer that was one of Konami's flagship titles. In the game, you play Simon Belmont, a whip-wielding nobleman who enter's Dracula's castle with no other mission but to destroy Dracula and break his curse. Along the way, you encounter every cliched horror monster conceived: bats, mummies, zombies, creatures from the Blue Lagoon, dead knights, Frankenstein, and Igor... Or, at least, a bunch of leaping hunchbacks. All the while, you whip candles and walls to get upgrades to your whip (which ultimately becomes a rather elastic ball-and-chain morning-star-like weapon), special weapons like holy water, cross-shaped boomerangs, axes, and daggers, as well as hearts for ammunition, pork chops for health, and treasures for extra points.

As with many NES games, each level of Castlevania is capped with an end boss, whom you must fight to proceed to the next level. After traversing the first level of the castle, you encounter a giant bat who swoops down at you repeatedly. It is defeated somewhat easily, but then an entire castle awaits with more levels and bosses. At the end of the game, you are challenged by Dracula, but he's not the last boss; after you behead Dracula, an immense leaping rock monster attacks you, knocking you around as your life meter decreases to a dangerously low point...

...and, then, you die. At least, that's what always happened to me because I was never able to beat Castlevania -- not as a teenager and not in recent history.

Castlevania is a game about which I used to be quite conflicted. On the one hand, all of the horror film and literature conventions are in the game: ghouls, monsters, Dracula, torches, skeletons (both animated and as piles of bones), holy water, crosses that clear away the undead, and the like. My Christian radar often blipped at every demonic image on the screen I  encountered when I played recently. I thought about what kind of influence this game would have on my boys: would they develop an interest in horror films? Would they pursue knowledge of the occult? Would they pretend to be Simon Belmont or Dracula?! All of the stereotypically Christian concerns crossed my mind as I considered the implications of a horror-themed video game. On the other hand, you are Simon Belmont, who was sent to vanquish evil, armed with holy water and crosses. These are Catholic elements to be sure, but one cannot deny even a slight Christian influence on the protagonists of some horror movies and themes. After all, who is a more frightening adversary than Satan and his minions? In that sense, Castlevania is spiritual warfare played out on-screen: it's good versus evil presented in a blatant and obvious way. In addition, Castlevania is an excellent platformer with fine graphics, a memorable soundtrack, and gameplay that challenges you and gives you some freedom of movement. Except for some cheesy villains, Castlevania plays rather smoothly for an NES game and has replayability, even after you defeat Dracula and his winged beast.

Despite how well-crafted the game is, I sold Castlevania and Castlevania II as a bundle on eBay, along with their original retail boxes and instructions for the first Castlevania. Once again, a personal conviction led me to rid myself of something I didn't think would be a positive influence on my boys. As a teenager, I didn't live a life pursuing Christ, so I did what I wanted to do. At the time, Castlevania seemed harmless to me, but I looked at the game with renewed eyes and determined that it was games like Castlevania that did affect me as a younger person. If anything, like magic, I may have looked at horror themes and demons as entertaining and fun. Even though demons and supernatural monsters were villains, there was always an implied coolness to them; today, with the proliferation of zombie and vampire TV shows, that seems to be Hollywood's opinion. However, I see things differently: in most, if not all horror-influenced TV shows and movies, God rarely plays the role of vanquisher; instead, it is often through human ingenuity and perseverance that supernatural evil is defeated. In this way, what I find as a negative influence in horror-themed entertainment is not the imagery or storylines as much as the insidious idea that we don't need God to vanquish evil; we'll just do it fine on our own, thank you very much. "We don't need Jesus; we just need each other." It's a perspective that infects the mind, convincing us that we are better than we think we are.

Thus, is playing or owning Castlevania a sin? I don't think so, but it's one of those things that plants a seed of doubt in one's mind. For an adult, it may not be so dangerous, but to plant such a seed in the mind of a child could be spiritually damaging. Not everyone else is the same when it comes to the effects of horror themes in entertainment, but when it comes to my boys, since I'm accountable to God for them I shouldn't risk exposing them to the idea that we can conquer Satan and his demons just fine on our own.

Magic in Games and Media: One Christian's Perspective

Nowadays, more than any other time in history, the concept of magic and magical powers has reached a kind of acceptance among the populace at large. With the popularity of Chronicles of Narnia, Lord of the Rings, and Harry Potter, we see magic playing some kind of role in the plots of those stories and movies. We see magic in table-top gaming in games like Dungeons & Dragons, the much villified role-playing game brand in which players can choose to play a fighter, a thief, a spell-casting cleric, or a magic-user. How about board games? Moreover, board games like Terra Mystica, Dominion, and Tzol'kin feature some form of magic either as a side element or as a central aspect of gameplay. And, of course, you have Magic: The Gathering, which is the granddaddy of collectible card games; it's over twenty years old now, but its pro tournament circuit is stronger than ever and new expansions and sets are released every year. The idea of magic is now a part of the fabric of various pastimes and entertainment.

Now, if you are not a Christian, then the following discussion may not apply to you, but please feel free to read just to get what I feel is a different perspective from some Christian folks out there. However, if you are a Christian, let me share a few verses with you for your consideration:

...Do not practice divination or seek omens. (Leviticus 19:26b, NIV)

Let no one be found among you who sacrifices their son or daughter in the fire, who practices divination or sorcery, interprets omens, engages in witchcraft, or casts spells, or who is a medium or spiritist or who consults the dead. (Deuteronomy 18:10-11, NIV) 

But the cowardly, the unbelieving, the vile, the murderers, the sexually immoral, those who practice magic arts, the idolaters and all liars — they will be consigned to the fiery lake of burning sulfur. This is the second death. (Revelation 21:8, NIV)

As a Christian, you may have heard these verses or something like these verses ever since Sunday School days. Often, these verses were proffered as warning against practicing magical arts, summoning demons, or pursuing any dark art that touches Satan. Considering the intent of these verses in their contexts in the Bible, these verses reflected the wisdom of God as He knows better than anyone of the seductive nature of ill-gotten power. However, starting (I'd say) in the mid-1970s when Dungeons & Dragons (D&D) was released, verses like the ones above were often used to disparage medieval-themed role-playing games (RPGs) and the presence of spells and magic-users. Some conscientious parents would warn their children of the dangers of indulging in such role play and their warnings were justified with such awful occurrences as the deaths of some RPG players in the steam tunnels of the University of Michigan or the suicides of young people whose game characters had died during a (fictional, mind you) campaign. More and more, games like D&D were targeted by Christians.

Yet, D&D didn't go away. In fact, its second edition came out in 1989 and, by then, it had become a beacon of hope for introverted, academically-minded, socially-challenged students everywhere who wanted to escape the reality of school bullying and being disliked for their intellectual prowess. More fantasy-themed RPGs emerged, and then came Magic: The Gathering, which revolutionized card gaming by presenting a customizable game experience: you could build a deck with your own strategy, tactics, and cards and then pit that deck against someone else's deck. When it first came out, acceptance was slow, but then it exploded by its third edition and a secondary market of individual cards flourished as a tournament circuit was established. Other companies attempted to cash in on the collectible card game craze as new games popped up every year. Those games would surge for a short time, and then disappear under the tidal wave of Magic fandom.

As D&D marched on and Magic set its footprint, fantasy computer games became more and more complex and immersive. In the 80s, it was consoles games like The Legend of Zelda and Sword of Vermillion, and PC games like Ultima, Bard's Quest, and the D&D computer games that captivated RPG players when they couldn't get a campaign going. In the late 90s as home computers became faster with improved graphics and sound, even more complex and eye-popping games like Baldur's Gate and (ironically) Diablo were developed, and Ultima went online. Then, Warcraft became World of Warcraft and fantasy-themed gaming not only dominated RPGs and card games, but had a strong influence in online gaming and native-PC (i.e. installed on one's own computer only) gaming. Moreover, fantasy themes and magic are prominent in numerous Euro games, such as the aforementioned Terra Mystica, as well as Mage Knight, Descent, and other popular board games.

Eventually, fantasy fans in their teenage years grew up to be successful businessmen and, interestingly, movie producers and writers. It would be no surprise that the same kids who hid in the metal shop room in high school and rolled characters grew up to be movie makers who loved fantasy-based themes. Of course, with the fantasy themes comes magic, which is an integral part of the all of the previously mentioned games and media. Thus, (and for other reasons, I'm sure) magic seems to not only be present in numerous forms of entertainment, but it's accepted by people. In a strange way, the popular opinion on magic seems to be that there is "good" magic and there is "bad" magic, much like there's the "light" side of the Force and the "dark" side.

So, what's a Christian to do? Before I became a Christian, I was very much interested in D&D and Magic and Ultima. I loved fantasy-based adventures and enjoyed collecting the books and cards that featured swordplay, questing, and magic. When I became a Christian, I stowed away all of that paraphernalia (which wasn't hard to do because I was in Japan and my stuff was at my parents' house) and forgot about fantasy themes and magic. Yet, when I returned home, I unearthed those items, felt the waves of positive nostalgia associated with Magic card game duels, late-night role-playing sessions, and hours of battling monsters in Baldur's Gate and found myself drawn into those worlds again. I had even started rebuilding Magic decks...

Is magic in games and movies really that bad? One may answer "no" because these are depictions of magic use and not actual magic use. Just as one acts out Claudius in Hamlet and can finish the play without becoming a murderer, one can play a game that features magic and emerge with zero interest in pursuing it. Likewise, the mere act of, say, playing Magic is not sinful behavior; I have yet to meet or read about a single person who has sought a wicca lifestyle or pursued spellcasting as a result of playing that game. Also, even though some Chick evangelist tracts would suggest that RPGs lead to Satan worship, I have yet to read about or meet a person who became a Satan worshipper as a direct result of playing D&D.

Despite this, I have sought to minimize magic themes in my life and games. It started with the Magic cards. Put aside some of the questionably-clad females on the cards and some of the demon imagery and, sure, you have a game of wonderfully deep strategy and creativity, but you also have to address  an underlying concept: magic is okay. I couldn't reconcile the beauty of the game with how, even indirectly, the game seemed to condone magic. I ended up selling some of the cards and discarding (pun intended) the rest. Next, I dealt with my RPG books. I thought, "Wouldn't it be great to suit up armor again in a virtual sense and go on an imaginary adventure?" Yet, I was confronted with that same question: would I want my boys to play RPGs? I began to remember how I would lose myself in a fantasy world, make characters for hours, and dream about a world that was not real. Indeed, it was (and is) fun to escape reality for a while, and the mere act of playing RPGs didn't bother me, but the idea that "magic was okay" didn't sit well with me, so I sold those books and used the money to buy family-oriented European board games like Puerto Rico and Agricola.

The push to minimize magic in my life and the games I played was borne from a "personal conviction," which, among Christians, means that though there is no direct scriptural reference against playing RPGs or card games, I felt compelled by God to turn my back on magic. Because this is on the level of a "personal conviction," I have to say that I believe it is not a sin to play Magic or D&D or Ultima or World of Warcraft. In a similar vein, it is not against God, per se, to watch a sword-and-sorcery epic. Yet, this conviction has led me to the question, "Would I want my boys to play these games?" What kind of effect could magic in these games affect my boys? The answer to that is what I called "the planted seed."

What does that mean? We all understand the concept of magic: through force of will or the summoning of supernatural powers, a wizard or other form of magic-user casts a spell to turn an outcome in his or her favor. It is the accessing of something apart from God to influence a self-driven outcome. Outside of magic, people seek to do this all the time, whether it be by paying someone to do some work, by striking a deal with a neighbor, or by talking someone into ignoring something wrong someone else did. Magic is a spectacular, supernatural way of making things happen, which works in opposition to God's will because God's will is almost always different from my, your, or anybody's will. However, magic, unlike other forms of influence, is an attractive concept to the powerless and power-hungry, and the acceptance of magic plants a seed in one's mind: it's okay to seek power by whatever means necessary. In other words, by accepting the idea of magic, we accept the idea of our supremacy over nature and over God's will.

Is that a bit too extreme of a view? Consider this: you may have a child who likes Harry Potter. More than the demons and supernatural creatures present in the world of Hogwarts and Harry Potter, there is the idea that magic enhances one's life, makes one stronger, and can be used to defend others. In some ways, Harry Potter is a noble young character, yet he is not submitting to the will of God or even living by a strict moral code that involves sacrificing his desires all the time; instead, my impression of Harry Potter is that the end often justifies the means, that magic is a necessary tool in generating favorable outcomes, and that there is nothing but one's own will that determines whether evil succeeds or fails. For a non-Christian, this is a fine idea: I can overcome obstacles to achieve my ends. However, for a child who is young in his Christian faith, magic represents something that is antithetical to submitting to God's authority and not submitting to the will of supernatural power that isn't from God.

Let me state it another way. Most Christians focus on magic being "bad" because it involves conjuring demons or seeking power from evil spirits. This is a well-taken point if one is consistent with it insofar as any depiction is treated this way, even in works by Christian (or Catholic) authors like Tolkien and C.S. Lewis; these authors employ magic as plot devices, as do other authors. Yet, I contend that the more crucial issue to consider is how magic empowers the individual apart from God, as if one has mastery over the elements and doesn't need a Creator to help in any way. It is an idea that is truly un-Biblical. Since even a shadow of the idea of magic is present in games, I am wary not of my children becoming Satan worshippers, joining a wicca quorum, or even dancing around in pagan garb, but of the insidious notion that they don't need God. For a Christian, that's reducing faith to a lifestyle choice unworthy to share with others because it becomes more about societal rules and rosy philosophy and less about the majesty of God and how we are His creation. At that point, we wouldn't need God because we are in control of our own destinies and we don't want to follow a God that restricts us; this is the tenet of every atheist, in my opinion. It is about self-empowerment. Moreover, magic can be seen as an inflation of a fantasy world to negate the spiritual reality of a living God who asks us to live in this world and, more importantly, affect change for the better.

With all of that said, when it comes to the occasional movie, I don't really have a problem with the fictional portrayal of magic. I also don't have an issue with a Christian playing Magic or D&D as long as that person understands that we submit to God and are not driven by our own ambition, but I feel convicted about playing such games because it sets up an example for my sons and could plant a seed in their minds that could grow into full-blown doubting of God. Of course, when it comes to the intentional practice of magic or witch arts, the Bible is clear in its admonition and warnings, but what about Lord of the Rings and the Chronicles of Narnia, which were written by Christians? Why are those books acceptable? The Bible verses I provided earlier would suggest that these works may be counter to God's word, but the simple answer is that magic and the fantasy milieu of those books are allegorical representations of the antagonism of Satan against God's creation. The lines of good and evil are clear in those books. Just as Christ often used verbal illustrations to convey points even to thieving tax collectors and financial managers, Tolkien and Lewis use allegory and metaphor to convey the spiritual battle between Christ and Satan.

To conclude, I believe that there is no straightforward answer to addressing magic in games unless one pursues the extreme one: to abolish all games that have magic. I don't necessarily believe that such abolishment is demanded by the Bible and in the verses I shared because one is not truly casting spells or divining spirits. Every gamer would tell you that: if anything, magic in games can be like laser guns in a science-fiction-themed game or economics in a European-style board game. The fantasy depiction of magic in games is not THE concern; it is the seed of doubt planted by the depiction and play of magic in games that is the most dangerous part.

For me, I sometimes question why God would ask me to give up such a well-designed game as Magic or to surrender my D&D books to Him, but I remind myself that when I play these games I open myself up to the seed of doubt in God's will as my mind, on a subconscious level, accepts that notion that I can alter reality to meet my ends, not God's ends. Some would disagree and that's fine, but I also remind myself that God has given me two boys to raise and shepherd into manhood. When I die, I will be accountable for what I've done in this life and how I raised them. I am not perfect, which is why I am thankful that Christ died for me and intercedes for me, but I must do my part to not obfuscate God's love and message for my boys. That is why I have turned my back on magic in games and limit the literature they and I read to magic as a plot device or as allegory. It is not a hard and fast rule that excludes every fictional depiction of magic, but I am guided by a personal conviction to ensure that I can do as much as I can to keep that seed of doubt from taking hold in my boys and in me. Therefore, I implore you, the Christian reader, to consider how magic or anything can plant that seed of doubt in your or your family's minds before you fret over the mere depiction of magic in movies or magic as a game element.

As an aside, I happened upon an intriguing verse in the book of Acts, which alludes to a group of sorcerers who eschewed their dark arts to follow Christ. This verse struck me because, just as these ex-sorcerers gave up much to follow Christ, I should give up what I feel impedes my following Christ:

A number who had practiced sorcery brought their scrolls together and burned them publicly. When they calculated the value of the scrolls, the total came to fifty thousand drachmas. (Acts 19:18-20, NIV)

Even 2,000 years ago, people understood what I had to learn the hard way. Maybe I should read my Bible more.

Nerd and Geek: Why You Shouldn't Call Yourself These Terms

For those who are inclined to enjoy activities that employ intellect, technical knowledge and skills, academic learning, or any combination of the three, it's easy to refer to oneself as a "geek" or "nerd." I used to do it a lot. For example, to express my enthusiasm for Euro-style board games, I would refer to myself as a "board game geek" (there's even a website that goes by that name). Also, even though I consider myself an avid long-distance runner, I would call myself a "running nerd" because of my interest in the accumulation and analysis of statistics that are generated during a run (heart rate, cadence, pace, and so on). Comic book nerd... Retro videogame geek... Movie nerd... Computer geek... "Nerd" and "geek" became frequently used terms in my personal lexicon and I didn't think much of them except that those terms seemed to best convey an enthusiasm for things that were traditionally regarded as brainy.

However, lately, I began thinking about "nerd" and "geek" and realized that they carried more layers of pejorative meaning than I had initially considered. One layer is the most salient one: when one thinks of a nerd, one thinks of a bespectacled, socially awkward, and physically inept braniac who takes pleasure in computers, studying, and math, but NOT in anything sports-related or car-related; also, when one thinks of a geek, one thinks of an extreme hobbyist or, even more archaically, a sideshow attraction in a traveling circus or carnival. This pejorative layer of meaning is self-deprecating and may have been meant for humorous effect. A slightly deeper layer of meaning is what nerd and geek imply: extreme interest. If one is TOO interested in something, one can be considered a nerd or geek. Yet, at an even deeper layer of pejorative meaning is self-excuse, as if one is excusing oneself for one's extreme behavior. The best way I can explain this point is in a mock conversation:

Jim: Wow, Bob, you really like old video games.
Bob: Yeah. They're the best.
Jim: Why are you so interested in old games?
Bob: Uh... I guess I'm just a video game nerd.

You may have caught yourself saying the same thing, as if you were excusing your interests with a self-deprecating comment, but I contend that it's one of the deepest insults one can use against oneself. Why? Well, not only have you called yourself a traditionally negative word and then identified your behavior as being unreasonably extreme, but you have also, in a way, asked someone to forgive or excuse you for your extreme behavior. By doing this, you have minimized your own value, reduced your hobby or interest to freakshow behavior, and then asked someone to forgive you for engaging in it, as if it shouldn't be worth your (or their) time. To me, that doesn't sound like an acceptable way to share a hobby or interest that one obviously values highly.

Let's look at it another way... Pretend you like programming, say, operating systems or, even more interesting, retro-style videogames. You like this hobby because it's mentally stimulating, it allows you to release any frustration you may have experienced during the day, and because it helps in introducing the current generation to old-style gaming -- a simpler, less graphically violent kind of gaming. You have spent hundreds of hours learning how to program, and you spend numerous hours scouring forums and magazines for programming tips. You may have even forge friendships with like-minded enthusiasts -- friendships that now encourage you in areas of your life besides your hobby and let you encourage others. Someday (maybe even now), the techniques you have learned may apply towards a career as a developer. Now, suppose that you meet a long-lost friend on the street. You tell him what you've been doing for the last couple of years... And then, you excuse it all away by saying to him, "I'm a retro videogame programming nerd." I contend that such self-deprecation does nothing to advertise how great a hobby is to other people, and it minimizes someone to a caricature.

Referring to yourself as a "nerd" or "geek" is neither good for yourself nor is it good for publicizing your interests. Even worse than that, using those words perpetuates stereotypes and makes it "uncool" to like cerebral things. Have you ever noticed that very few people talk about "car nerds," "football geeks," "hiking nerds," or "guitar geeks?" That's because these are not considered cerebral tasks (which is also a stereotype because those hobbies involve much skill, research, training, and intelligence). Thus, there are no nerd or geek stereotypes to continue. Of course, one can be a fantasy league football nerd or a car stats geek, but that's fodder for a different article...

Before I conclude, I should note that pursuing any hobby in excess is never good because one ends up compromising time with family, social time with regular non-enthusiasts, and, most importantly, time to grow spiritually. That said, if you like something that is generally regarded as cerebral or academic, don't bring yourself or your hobby down by calling yourself a "nerd" or "geek." You're an enthusiast, you're a hobbyist, and you're someone who happens to like doing something that uses your brain. If anything, by properly valuating yourself and your hobby, you may convey to someone else that the hobby is worth his or her time. Then, that person may want you to share that hobby with them, which would be good because we need more people that use their brains, but DON'T beat themselves up about it.