Snakes and Ladders
We played Snakes and Ladders this afternoon, on a board that I drew and the Oyster coloured (he is all about making games at the moment).
We couldn't find any dice. So we played without one. We mimed rolling and throwing, and then declared what number had come up.
Nobody went down any snakes - though we had a few lucky escapes :-) The odd thing was, we only went up one ladder each. Both of us, apparently deliberately (well, definitely in my case!), passed up the opportunity to land on a ladder at least once.
The Oyster won. But only just. He got to 98, then kept rolling more than he needed to get to 100 (we were playing the rule that you have to turn and come back if you have jumps left over), until I was up in the 90s. He won eventually, and then we played on until I reached 100.
I'm fascinated by how the Oyster acted given that we both knew, from the outset, that he was going to win. Our agreement was unspoken, admittedly, but nonetheless inviolable. I expected him to roll a series of sixes, or at least to roll numbers that would take him up ladders whenever he could. But not a bit of it. I think he was more concerned with realism than with victory. And he didn't want to trounce me, either.
I'm reading Alfie Kohn's No Contest: The Case Against Competition at the moment. Provoking of much thought. Perhaps when I've finished it I'll be able to make better sense of our Snakes and Ladders game.
We couldn't find any dice. So we played without one. We mimed rolling and throwing, and then declared what number had come up.
Nobody went down any snakes - though we had a few lucky escapes :-) The odd thing was, we only went up one ladder each. Both of us, apparently deliberately (well, definitely in my case!), passed up the opportunity to land on a ladder at least once.
The Oyster won. But only just. He got to 98, then kept rolling more than he needed to get to 100 (we were playing the rule that you have to turn and come back if you have jumps left over), until I was up in the 90s. He won eventually, and then we played on until I reached 100.
I'm fascinated by how the Oyster acted given that we both knew, from the outset, that he was going to win. Our agreement was unspoken, admittedly, but nonetheless inviolable. I expected him to roll a series of sixes, or at least to roll numbers that would take him up ladders whenever he could. But not a bit of it. I think he was more concerned with realism than with victory. And he didn't want to trounce me, either.
I'm reading Alfie Kohn's No Contest: The Case Against Competition at the moment. Provoking of much thought. Perhaps when I've finished it I'll be able to make better sense of our Snakes and Ladders game.