The Expectant Look of the Lost

Every board gamer aims to conduct, or at least participate in, that ideal and miraculous board game gathering during which every person is thoroughly engaged and focused. At such an event, there are simultaneous games being played at various tables with each table run by an expert who can explain the rules and guide the proceedings. Those same tables are populated with players who are well-versed in the conventions of gameplay; they know the difference between deck-building and action-selection, the probability of rolling one result over another, and the merits of card sleeves and customized box inserts. No one is waiting for the action to come to them; each player is reading the rules, enacting strategy, and generally playing without the expectation of help or hand-holding. This is the best any board gamer could ever want.

Of course, this kind of gathering can be dishearteningly rare. More often than not, the resident board game enthusiast of a social group is THE authority on games, so he is called upon to pick the right game, teach a disparate group of learners about the game, know every rule, explain every tactic and strategy, and ensure that everyone is engaged and enjoying the experience. When this social group convenes for the odd board game night, most of them stare at the gamer, expecting him to conjure up fun as a magician would conjure up a rabbit from a silk top hat….

Stop RIGHT there…

That’s the look that I want to focus on in this article. It’s that glare… that look of waiting for one to do something. Physically, the head cranes forward slightly, the eyebrows are unfurrowed, and the lips are slightly pursed as if the person is trying to communicate escalating boredom through their eyes only. It’s a look charged with pressure, cautious anticipation, slight disapproval at the concept of playing a “board game…” It’s the same look that most people make when they attend a party but the host has been derelict in his duties and has, instead, opted to play X-Box in the guest bedroom while everyone else fends for themselves. It’s a look…

It’s a look that drives me crazy… but it’s the kind of look you’re going to have to handle.

See… most people don’t play board games with the interest or intensity that you do. Most people have jobs, make house payments, watch TV, spend time with their kids, spend time on their phones, and spend time yelling at their kids who spend time on their phones. If anyone is enthusiastic about something, it’s a myriad of other things besides board games, so when these people go to your house, they expect you to entertain them with your hobby.

You’re not alone, though. Every hobby’s enthusiasts have to endure this.

Yet, you’re going to have to accept it. For the longest time, I had (and still have) trouble with that expectant kind of demeanor. As you can tell in the title of this article, I have come to label that look as the “expectant look of the lost” (or ELL) because that’s what your non-board-gamer friends are:

LOST

This is the crux of my article. When I think about ELL, I consider how it is no use becoming bitter or upset when your non-gamer friends have no clue about how to participate in a board game party. It’s also no use expecting them to meet the high standards you secretly harbor about the aforementioned parties. Obviously, I state these points because I struggle with them, too, and my hope is to encapsulate the frustrations you might feel as a board game enthusiast.

Now, normally, I would frame this article as a “What to Do If…” article and list ways to cope with the issue, but I do not want to rely on that formula for this article. Frankly, I don’t necessarily have solutions for ELL because, well, it speaks into the inherent impatience of people (maybe just Americans?). People demonstrate this look for numerous reasons because, even though they are among friends and are generally safe from danger, they have little understanding or control over the proceedings but do not want to look overtly impatient. In my opinion, handling this can be reduced to the type of person you are.

If you are an introvert like me who fancies himself to be a person who is sensitive to other people’s feelings, you may see fit to read the room and decide NOT to play games; it’s the “high road,” but it causes the evening to be less fun for you. If you’re a lively extrovert, you may just enforce your will and drag people into game time; this may affect people somewhat negatively and sour them to gaming. If you a staunch planner type, you may want to plan ahead, assign key people to lead game tables, and organize people by table; some people do not like being treated like high school students, though. If you’re spontaneous, you may have to learn to overlook people’s quizzical looks and just play. I know that there are several viable approaches to this issue, but each one depends on you and who is in the room with you.

This leads me to something that I have not adequately addressed: why I am writing this article in the first place. Indeed, commiseration and catharsis are two motivators; ELL has been a thorn in my side for a long time, and I hope that others can relate. Moreover, the classic raison-d’etre of “writing a blog entry as a personal reflection” prevails. Setting these reasons aside, I know I am writing this article because of a core disillusionment I sense in myself about board games: essentially, they (or any other hobby) do not fill the God-shaped hole in all of us, and they certainly do no fill that hole in others.

This further leads me to a revelation: like almost every hobby, board gaming is a momentary distraction that ultimately leads to dissatisfaction and the desperate acquisition of more games to stave off the oncoming dissatisfaction. In this way, ELL is not the other person’s problem; it’s OUR problem. People are looking to us to entertain them; in a bizarre twist, we are looking to board games to entertain US. If we think about it long and hard enough, we find that everyone will be left wanting eventually. We are all LOST.

I realize that board games are fun, but I also know that I have to put them in their correct place. They are social lubricants, distractions, baubles, discussion topics, and ways to connect with others. They do NOT take away our boredom or impatience. They do NOT make our everyday lives more exciting and intriguing. In other words, board games are not that important. Once we come to grips with that, I wager that we find it easier to cope with the expectant look of the lost. We may never have that perfect board game party, but we can certainly form thrilling connections with others and forge lifelong friendships.

With that said, it doesn’t hurt to have a few gamer friends help you organize and run a board game party. With their assistance, a board game day with casual players can be supercharged and fun.