The Art of Game Playing

I was never good at playing games. Even as a little child, I always lost. Monopoly, Life, Shoots & Ladders – even Candy Land. As an adult – nothing has changed. Don’t get me started on Poker… I never could win any of those games, no matter how hard I tried. I never had the fortitude to strategize and bluff; never had that competitive edge that drove me to outwit and outsmart my opponent. The only game I was ever able to master (even to this day) is that game where you pump water into the hole of the clown’s mouth in order to pop the balloon that stood above his head. The beauty of that game is in its simplicity. Shoot the water in the hole. The person with the steadiest hand and the best aim wins. Thirty seconds of full intensity and concentration is followed by the declaration of a clear winner and an absolute loser. No fancy maneuvering needed. No underhanded tactics necessary. It’s simple, straight and to-the-point. If only life were that easy…

I’ve become engaged lately in quite a heated debate with all of my friends regarding the concept of “playing the game of love”. One could wander for hours in a bookstore and find countless tomes dedicated to guiding hapless players through this complicated activity. Like any other sport, there are rules. Countless, endless rules on how to properly steer yourself through the complicated and oftentimes heartbreaking terrain. Some offer helpful conditioning tips. Some boast of foolproof instructions and guarantee success. Some even offer shortcuts. All pride themselves on being masters in their field, retired after years of honing their craft. And all unequivocally suppose the overarching premise.

So I wonder: Is Love really a game?

The issue I have with this whole “game-playing” concept is that it seems as if the only real contenders are the women. All of the directions, all of the advice is geared towards women. They are told that the only way to be successful in finding love is to view the whole journey as a game – one that you must learn how to navigate properly in order to win the ultimate prize – a relationship. Women are taught to be crafty, manipulative, and devious in their actions in order to bilk men into falling in love with them. Give a little at first, but not too much. Create an illusion of mystery. Never play your hand outright. Always plan your next move. Never show how you really feel. Never say what’s really on your mind. All of the directives and commands are focused towards ensuring that women abide by the “rules” of the seemingly one-sided farce, warning that those who shirk the rules will inevitably lose the opportunity for a loving relationship.

What really gets my goat, though, is the underlying tenet behind this whole “game playing” façade. If we are assuming that love is a game where women must abide by certain rules in order to win and the ultimate prize is a lasting relationship, then what role do men play in this scenario? They are the ones waiting at the finish line, armed with adoring smiles and promises of forever for the first woman who successfully crosses. All of the preparation and training and note-taking, in essence, are for the woman to snare a man. But why?? Why are women taught to engage in the game-playing in order to ultimately win a man where the contrary does not apply?

My friend put it to me as delicately and simply as possible: Men like the chase. Even Thoreau would marvel at the simplicity of such a statement! Men like the chase. Men thrive on that sense of accomplishment when they finally tame the shrew or obtain the unattainable or mount the insurmountable. A man might be interested in a woman, but if she seems too readily available, he loses the thrill of the pursuit, and might become bored. So, the woman is therefore forced into this whole “game-playing” synopsis in order to assure that the man’s interest continues and grows to the point where he is certain that she is the one for him.

It’s nauseating to think that women are obligated to abide by these ridiculous rules to play a game that was ultimately created to stroke the competitive yet fragile male ego. Some women take great pride in their game-playing abilities, bragging of their keen maneuvering as if it were a coveted skill that only few could truly master. Others have become weary after spending years of navigating the terrain, but continue to trek on, patiently awaiting the fruits of their labor. And a small minority sneers at the thought of succumbing to such imbecile tendencies and assert that they will find a way to reap success without playing the game. I wonder the record of success among that proud minority…Not so surprisingly, one rarely finds their tactics immortalized on the shelves of a bookstore….

Ultimately, I loathe the idea of playing the game of love. In part, my abhorrence is due to the fact that it is unequivocally one-sided; it’s like a game of cat and mouse, where women are in fact cats pretending to be mice, under the romantic belief that being caught is much more enviable than roaming free. But I think my real revulsion to the whole “game-playing” concept is that I’m simply not good at it. I am the one who squirms in her chair with heart-pounding, sweat-dripping enthusiasm, waiting for the first opportunity to scream “FULL HOUE”. I wear my heart on my sleeve and my emotions on my face. The game wasn’t created for women like me. Some, such as my friends, might call that a tragic fault. Those in the sneering minority might applaud my game-playing ineptness. I guess in the end, we all navigate the terrain the best way we know how and hope that one day, the details of our quest will be celebrated in the New York Times Bestsellers list. For now, I’ll continue to meander about the field, water gun in hand, aiming it right into the clown’s mouth.