“But It Is All Fantasy.” Not!

I already see it now: “fuddy duddy,” “curmudgeon,” “unimaginative”, and “old geezer,” are probably some of the colorful terms I will be seeing in the comments section for this post. I consider myself, primarily, a historical wargamer. Nothing gets me to the game table faster than the sight of beautifully painted Ancients miniatures. I have been a history enthusiast since I was in junior high many, many moons ago. But before I fell in love with history, my passion was reading fantasy and light sci-fi (heavy on adventure, light on the science) novels.

A few times a year, I step outside my historical bubble and indulge in fantasy or sci-fi gaming. I have found myself most recently intrigued and a bit befuddled by this Dragon Rampant game. For those unfamiliar with Dragon Rampant, it is Osprey's high fantasy battle rule set. Since Osprey does not offer a figure range for Dragon Ramoant, you can theoretically appropriate figures from other miniature ranges, including Ral Partha, GW, Mantic, and the Bones range from Reaper, and use them for your forces. 

The rule book provides some sample armies for tried-and-true forces such as orcs, lizardmen, the undead, and several variations of human armies. The true thrust of the rule set though is to have fun and be creative. Unit sizes are representative, not set in stone. Thus, you could have one Tom Mier knight and make him an individual leader figure, or you can use him to represent, what would usually be six, elite or heavy foot men.

Since you can use any figure range you like, and you can represent your units as creatively as possible, a Dragon Rampant tournament can showcase armies that range from standard, to creative, to downright absurd. One guy used plastic zoo animals, the kind you find in a bag in the Wal-Mart toy section. One fellow made a rock army. He used smooth stones and pebbles of various heights and sizes and painted angry faces on them and attached the stones to wooden Litko bases. The Dragon Rampant book shows an army of sheep dressed in knit sweaters. Shades of Hott.

For some folks, fantasy is another word for “anything goes.” If I can imagine it (a literal rock army), it should be able to hit the game table. These folks would say, “What's the point of having a fantasy tournament if you are going to limit how I choose to represent my armies? If I want to field Christmas elves instead of Tolkein elves, as long as I can make a list for them, that is my business.” 

Now this is where I will take some flak, but let me explain. There is a thin line between creativity and absurdity, and Dragon Rampant, with its representative units invites chaos into fantasy, and I am not talking about Nurglings. Call me old-fashioned, but for me, high fantasy, as we know it, has its basis in canon works, from such authors as Tolkein, Moorcock, Howard, McCaffrey, Martin, Jordan, and yes, even Games Workshop. These are the men and women that, for lack of a better term, created and/or built upon the fantasy tropes we know and love: dragons, elves, dwarves, goblins, skeletons wielding swords, paladins, balrogs etc. 

The high fantasy world is expansive and allows those who want to play in the proverbial sand box the opportunity to be creative. Are your dragons inspired by Western art or Eastern art? Are your elves the noble race devised by Tolkein or the dark trickster figures of early English mythology? Is your undead army comprised of skeletons, zombie shamblers, or a mix of the two?

In my humble, perhaps, old-fashioned opinion, there is plenty of room to be creative with the established races of the high fantasy world without reinventing the wheel until it it looks like some torture device that dark elves would approve of. I think in some ways, Dragon Rampant, for better and worse, invites “dumping ground” armies. What do I have lying around the house that I have no other use for? Pokemon figs your kid brother grew out of three days after receiving them, now elite foot. Tardis Christmas ornament you say? Check your glasses, sir, that's a spell caster. 

The rules invite a level of laziness, confusion, and just pure stupidity that is apt to be exploited by the less mature gamer. The game rewards the non-painters in the hobby. After all, do you really need to paint those tentacle puppet fingers you glued to a foam board base, if they have already been dyed red? Game play can also be furiously confusing if you literally don't know what you are looking at. In a traditional army of men, typically the most well-armored unit on the table will be elite or heavy foot. Easy peasy, but in an army of hedges, how do you easily remember which unit is which? If I can not look across the table and have a pretty good idea what I am looking at, I have to ask, which adds another level of annoyance to Dragon Rampant games. Is that grouping of small Christmas lights on the lazer cut wooden base light foot or bellicose foot? I can't remember. Which one is the greater warbeast, the giraffe or the rhino? 

I never know what I am going to see in a Dragon Rampant game, and that's not always a good thing. Oh for the sanity of Granbretan. Yep Granbretan, dig out your Moorcock, kids and see some real fantasy!

History Ain't Fair

I should start by saying, if you were brave enough to click on this article, thank you! The title of may have some of you anticipating a charged political rant, but I assure you that's not what this is post is about, not entirely. Nevertheless, I should warn you that this post is about a controversial topic that has come up recently in my hobby, so in essence, this article touches on the new politics of gaming. 

I am talking about points-based games. Point-based games have become the norm, not the exception in miniature gaming. There is an unspoken expectation that when you come to the game table, you and the other players should arrive with balanced forces based on a rules-generated point system. While I understand the appeal of everyone having a shot at victory, the utopia of equal forces is not often aligned with the reality of warfare. 

Last year, I hosted a huge 15mm Battle of Gettysburg game. I provided all the terrain, and I painted both forces. The rule set of choice was Fire and Fury, which, in my humble opinion, does a good job balancing fun with historical reality. Some of my old sparring partners from the club actually drove down to my side of the pond to play. I also took on three new(ish) guys who were interested in gaming the American Civil War. Pete, a quiet kid in his mid-20's, who is also a Civil War reenactor, immediately got my approval. Chris, late 20's, had never played a historical game in his life (40k and Kings of War are his games of choice), but he picks up rules super fast and keeps his cellphone out of reach the whole time he plays. So another “yes” for me. 

Then there was Evan, Chris' friend. I did not know much about him, but he professed to have an interest in the Civil War, so with slight hesitation I gave a him weary “yes”. I made Pete one of my Confederate players; perfect choice for a guy that dons North Virginia grays for reenactments. Then I split up Chris and Pete, in fear that if they were next to each other, they might spend more time jabbering than paying attention to the game. Chris got a Union cavalry force, and Evan received a Confederate infantry force. 

The old timers at the table quickly settled into the game, playing their respective forces with almost quiet precision. Pete checked his list a few times, observed some of the seasoned gamers at his side, and learned by their example. Chris was the most extroverted person at the table, trash talking his opponents (in a fun way), and occasionally asking me to clarify a rule or two. Perfectly acceptable table talk, and he asked good questions that the other players at the table might also have been curious about but were afraid to ask.

Then there was Evan. Evan is the player that slowly crushes a GM's dream game with every word that comes out of his mouth. Stupid questions that are easily addressed if he simply read the quick reference sheet I had made for each player. Bipolar reactions to every action made by or taken against his units: angry grunting when he took casualties, and loudly cheering for himself when he inflicted casualties. And worst of all, whining about the discrepancies in size and composition between the Blues and the Grays. “Why do they have more guys?” “Shouldn't we have equal forces?” 

Before I could snap on the kid, one of my old gaming buddies, Joe, said, “You do know who lost the Battle of Gettysburg, don't you?” Evan did not speak, but his wide, dumb eyes said, “That would be a 'no'”. Joe followed up Evan's silence with, “I thought you knew about the Civil War. Gettysburg is a historic push back of Confederate forces. It's the friggin' turning point of the war, and even people who don't know the Civil War know about Gettysburg.” 

Again, crickets. It was the Union's turn, and all the men at the table were making their move, including Chris, who did nothing to come to the aid of his buddy. It came to the offensive fire phase of the turn. The Union players, with superior forces in every way, were aided by some luck of the Irish dice rolling. The Confederates took devastating hits, Pete especially, whose brow was beginning to show a glisten of sweat. The two other seasoned gamers on the Confederate side, Don and James, took their pummeling in stride. Evan, on the other hand, had an epic tantrum at the table. He threw his dice down in disgust, flipped his ruler, and said, loud enough for everyone in the game store to hear, “This game is stupid. Why even play? We do not even have a chance of winning, so why even play this stupid scenario?” 

Again, Joe to the rescue, with deadpan calmness, “Because it is historical, and because July 1^st was yesterday.” “History does not have anything to do with it. Forces should be balanced. These are not balanced forces. What's the point of having a point-based system when the forces don't even have to balanced? That's just stupid,” Evan whined. 

Finally, I jump in with as calm a voice as I could muster, “You know the Confederates were greatly outnumbered at Gettysburg? As was Napoleon at Waterloo, as was the Germans at Kursk. Nevertheless we play these battles because some of us actually get into the history of the period. Do you think an army makes a brigade or two sit out the battle if they notice that they have more men on the ground than the force across the field, Evan?” 

Crickets again. “No,” I said, in what had to be my most patronizing tone. “I don't know what other games have taught you, but in the real world, war is not fair. The opposing force does not care if you are evenly matched; hell, they would prefer to have all the advantages. All they want to do is crush as many of the enemy as necessary, while sustaining as few losses as possible, and secure their objective. The winning force does not hand out “You will get 'em next time, Tiger” trophies to the remaining enemy at the end of battle. There's no hugs or conciliatory pats on the shoulders for their foes.” 

Evan was still at a loss for words, so I just said, “If you are not having fun at this game, then give your remaining forces to Pete. He will be glad to have them, because unlike you, Pete actually knows about the Civil War, and he's willing to play Confederates, despite the odds.”

Pete was a little embarrassed, poor kid. Evan decided to give his forces to Pete and stormed off in a huff. Chris stayed with us. He was having fun; he was also kicking butt, which always helps.

This brings me to the problem with point-based games. They create the expectations of equality, when historically, a clash between forces with equal strength and composition was almost unheard of. Historical gamers do not play historical games because both sides expect victory. We play because we love the period. Ultimately, someone has to build the weaker force, and it takes a man of strong character to take on that responsibility. He knows his chances of victory are slim to none, but he is willing to do his part for the sake of celebrating history and continuing this hobby of ours for future generations.

I am supposed to run a 15mm Alamo game next month. I know, I should wait til next March, but I have been bitten by the bug. Guess I won't be inviting 'Even' Evan to that one.

Brief Word on This Solar Eclipse Business

So there's something pretty big happening today, and a lot of people are excited about it. My sister asked me yesterday if I was going to watch the solar eclipse. I told her I might; I honestly had not thought about it. She was stunned by my lack of enthusiasm.

I can't tell if the eclipse is just a non-event for me, or if I am just sick of all the talk and excitement surrounding it. Social media just make things worse by allowing people to drone on and on about the thing. I know, ironic coming from a guy who is writing a blog.

I had a work buddy tell me that he went moutain climbing Labor Day weekend, and he dubbed that “great fun.” I am an indoor, solitary guy. Guys like me rarely get the urge to take off our socks and tiptoe through the tulips, so to speak. My nephew Tyler had to explain what those 13.1 and 26.2 bumper stickers meant, if that tells you anything.

The last solar eclipse I watched was in 1979. Some friends and I drove downtown so that we could view it in the park. We did not have solar eclipse glasses. We had made homemade viewing instruments out of household items. I made a viewer out of a Pringles can. We were freezing cold but also brimming with youthful excitement. I wonder if any old timers passed behind us while we had our faces plastered to shoe boxes and a Pringles can, and just shook their heads at us.

Here's a bit of eclipse advice. Today, when I interact with any cashiers or baristas, when they say “Thank You,” “Have a Nice Day,” or “Come Again,” (assuming they can be bothered to do that), I will reply, “R'Lyeh,” just to see what their reaction is. If they look at you with stunned confusion, just smile and leave. If they reply with, “Wgah'nagl Fhtagn,” or “Cthulhu Will Rise,” then you have found proof that there are still cool people in this world. 

 

How to Hook Gamers

    So, have you ever announced a game and no one showed, found yourself sitting at your con table all alone, or posted on a public forum but got no takers? Sometimes it's just bad timing, holiday or last session of the show, and sometimes it's the bait. Yes, Gentlemen, bait! You can't just throw out a hook with no bait and expect gamers to show at your table. You need a lure to wet their appetites. So I have paid attention to Jack over the years and here is my advice on what I find 'sexy'.

Make it  Visual : This is the big one, and it encompasses many things, but in essence, what I am asking is your table 'hot' or even appealing? The vast majority of gamers are men, and they like eye candy. I once attended a gun show where one of the dealers hired a car model to hang out at his table and hand out flyers. Needless to say that table was packed the whole show.
Eye Candy, does your table have any? Will the casual gamer walk by and find themselves drawn to look at your game? Because it doesn't matter how good your rules or scenario is if you don't get their attention.

So what is the minimum necessary, because we all can't be laboring years to build that 3D beauty like our train enthusiast cousins.
- nice dropcloth or terrain squares that match your theme. Easily done with a painter's dropcloth, spray cans and an aerial photo of the terrain.
- 3D foam hills and decent trees that work well with your dropsheet. Green hills on desert cloths ain't getting you a date, neither is dollar store Christmas trees on your Waterloo table.
-and no felt, if possible. Felt and carpet hills is how I started back in the day, but I threw that all away after I opened my first Wargames Illustrated magazine. It just ain't cool no more.
-Painted minis. If it's a skirmish game with less than 40 figs then they should be well painted, if an army game then quantity can make up for quality. Just remember in the case of the latter always put the best painted in the front ranks. Unpainted figs, unacceptable, no excuse here people, they are just plain ugly, and I mean that 'nice girl' your mom wanted you to date ugly.
Case in point, Had a kid try and run a game last summer using his unpainted 1/72 modern plastics, not one drop of paint on them. Was it any wonder that he never got a game going, which was a shame because I took a look at his rules, and the boy had done a lot of research on modern team SOPs. But for most of us, the days of playing with unpainted airfix  models is long past.
-One eye catching piece on the table. Ancients game, a nice temple, Renaissance game, a few nice buildings. Just something  really nice to catch one's attention. Saw a Sudan game a few years back being fought on some boring desert terrain, but the guy added a small river bend with a wonderfully painted steamboat on it. As the kids would say a little BLING.
-So put on that nice dress, I, mean cover sheet, and some nice warpaint on your figs and get some players hooked into your flavor of the week.

Jack, Be Good

Jack, Be Good

We all know Jack. He's the guy in our gaming club that blows through new rules sets the way that Harry Flashman dallies with beautiful across the globe. The rouge of the current rule set is still on his cheek, while he is eyeing the next hot thing to enter the game store. If any adult needs Ritalin, it's Jack.

The Jack in my club will remain anonymous, but everyone in our gaming community knows his reputation as a rule set lothario. Jack likes to talk up the latest rule set or historical period that is tickling his fancy at the moment. Everyone around him, including yours truly, is like a baby bird, eating up every idea he's pitching in our little mouths, knowing that his commitment to the flame of the moment will be but a brief whisper in the tick-tock of time. Jack proposes a test game for the following weekend, saying that he will build everything for the scenario, and of course the Cult of Jack enthusiastically agrees to show up.

Why do we poor saps keep falling for Jack's dalliances? Because I am convinced our Jack is one of the fastest builders in the Western world. “I will have 50 figures ready for both sides by the end of the week,” he often says, and he means it. Painting 100 beautiful minis in one week, no big deal for this guy. He can also knock out a table-full of gorgeous, handmade terrain in an hour or two. His tables are a visual feast for the eyes. His scenarios are fun and challenging. They are balanced enough so that everyone is on the edge of their seats until the last casualty is removed from the table.

After the test game is finished is when Jack is at his deadliest. He preys on the excitement of his peers. Over a hot post-game meal, everyone at the table is talking about the army they are going to build. Jack is talking about a new fun scenario and the terrain he's going to build for that scenario. We settle on a game to be played in a few weeks, enough time for us slower painters to build up our forces.

 I will always check in with Jack a week before the game. My emails used to ask, “How many figs have you built for the game next week?” Now my emails ask, “You are still building for that game we are having next week, right?” Sometimes Jack has mercy on his slow-to-build friends and assures me that the game is still on. Other times, I could almost hear the cackle from the other side of the computer screen, as he types, “That game was so three weeks ago, dude. Let me tell you about my new flavor of the month.”

Once, Jack and I were building opposing forces for ECW. We had set up the game, and got the club on board. Jack and I were at our local hobby store buying the last of what we needed to fill out our ranks. Jack had his Pike & Shotte Infantry box in hand, when I caught him glancing over at the new Victrix Warriors of Carthage box to his left. As Jack reached up his hand to pull the Victrix box off the shelf, I pulled out the stun gun I keep in my jacket pocket and told him, “As God is my witness, if you touch that box, .” Jack just turned to me and grinned. He's a kid in a candy store, and our hobby is in a new Golden Age. Who could blame him?

When to dial a Friend!

Gaming: What is the Purpose to Life?

A couple of days ago, I got into a rather philosophical discussion with a long-time gaming buddy of mine named Bob. Bob just turned the big 6-0, and it hit him pretty hard. A day after turning 60, he was home alone while his wife went out shopping. Bob heard the proverbial snake in the garden whispering from the guest bedroom closet, which houses all of his painted minis and a good chunk of his unpainted minis as well. In a moment of weakness, he opened the closet door and found 30+ years of gaming staring him in the face. Had he given me an emergency phone call at that moment, he would have been able to avoid what came next. Gentlemen, he grabbed a legal pad and a pencil and proceeded to catalog his figures. He started in the late morning, and it was almost eight by the time he was done.

The next day, I saw him at our local game store holding the legal pad in hand. He came over to the table I was sitting at and began to tell me about some of his findings from that wayward venture. An old International Paper Company box full of unpainted Battle Fleet Gothic figures, unpainted TSR miniatures (yes kids, TSR produced their own miniature line for a few years), and forces of various sizes for almost every army produced for the 40K universe, just for starters. The guy that was sitting next to me, Gary, who is in his mid-thirties, was visibly in awe of Bob's accumulated bounty. Gary's wife keeps him on a limited gaming budget, so needless to say, the thought of having a whole closet devoted to miniatures was inconceivable. I sat back and listened for awhile as Bob read off his inventory. I stopped him before he could start listing off the historical figures he had accumulated.

I said, “Bob, with all due respect, sir, what is the point of all this?” He answered pointedly, “Exactly.” Then he proposed an insane addition to his already soul-crushing venture, “I'm thinking of adding up how much money I have spent on my miniatures” “Do you know how much I have probably spent on this hobby?” he added. He went on, lamenting about how much money he could have spent on cars and vacations, or stashed away in his savings, if only he had not given it to the overlords at Games Workshop instead.

Bob is not the first guy that I have known who has had an existential crisis about this hobby of ours. I have lost two gaming buddies to logic. They both decided that the hobby was impractical and too expensive. They decided to “grow up”instead, whatever that's supposed to mean.

I did not want to lose another gaming buddy, especially one like Bob, who is willing to help me build forces for future campaigns. I told Bob, respectfully, to “stop the insanity.” Does this hobby cost us money? Yes. Does this hobby require our time and energy? Yes. Could we be doing other productive or worldly things during the time that we are planning our armies, buying minis, painting minis, building terrain, and gaming with friends? Yes!

So in answer to Bob's question, what is the purpose of gaming? By that same logic, what is the purpose to any hobby? My wife has various crafts she likes to indulge in, ranging from sculpting, to painting ceramics, to making beautiful scrapbooks. She does not sell any of her finished products for money. She never asks herself if she has too many unpainted canvases or if that unopened pack of scrapbooking stickers will ever be used. Quiet simply, crafting is her way to unwind. She loves preparing ideas for scrapbooks, buying her supplies, then making her vision a reality.

Gaming is that for me. I work long hours at a job that I try not to take home with me, but in this day and age, that is sometimes easier said than done. Gaming takes me away from the anxieties and duldrums of day-to-day life. It gives me something to look forward, something to plan for, and in that, I find a kind of purpose. It also ensures that I am a social creature, not a nihilistic recluse, and that is a feat in itself. I have more friends now in my old age than I had in my teens and twenties.

Am I ever going to get back what money I have invested in the hobby? Answer: do pigs fly if you are not a Pink Floyd fan? On the other hand, I'd hate to think of my life without the pleasures of gaming. For all the ex-gamers out there that dared to overthink the hobby, may you find something in your life that gives you as much pleasure as building my new Early Sassanid army gives me.

Defining “Cheese”: All About Context

Defining “Cheese”: All About Context

I think it’s fair to say that I enjoy a well-earned victory. Everyone does, but all players have a different means of getting there. Newer players always crave for glory and victory, especially younger ones. But, their haste and cockiness always gets in the way. Time and experience, gentlemen, is what assures victory for the wargamer. Veterancy and skill, gained only through hard-fought battles and many nights of arduous painting sessions, will lead to success – except, of course, there’s the occasional implementation of cheese. Yes, that vile cheese: stinky, annoying, but hard to define. Is it cheesy to know the rules front and back after having read the rule book multiple times over? Is it cheesy to know the best units for any given scenario? Is it cheesy to save up your well-earned pennies to buy a powerful unit you require to round out your force? Is it cheesy to learn your opponent’s tricks and counter them with grace and skill?

To all the above, I say the following: no, it is not cheesy to play well and know how to achieve victory. Learning the game and utilizing strong strategies and tactics is being a good player. Losers will use excuses to defend their poor showing on the battlefield.

So, does cheese exist? Yes, and I would define it as thus: cheese is the belief that some exploit or unit will assure victory, not skill and knowledge of the rules. An example. Some time ago, I was trying out a set of World War Two skirmish rules known as Bolt Action that had come out some time ago. Before that, most of my WW2 skirmish games were relegated to Crossfire or Command Decision. I was out of the loop for a while and thought Bolt Action would be an interesting addition to my repertoire of rule sets. That said, I gathered my late-war German Waffen SS army in 28mm and headed out to my local gaming club. Upon arrival, I talked around for a bit and scheduled a game with another player. We’ll call him Jimmy. Jimmy was a younger player, having recently started with Bolt Action as one of his first major games. He was building up a Soviet army, so I thought we could have a historical match-up – two great powers going at it on the fields of the Eastern Front in 1944 or 1945. We scheduled to play that weekend at 1,000 points, the usual recommended scale for the game.

Upon arriving at the store on game day, I got there early and set up our table. I patiently waited for him, and Jimmy then finally arrived roughly half-an-hour late. “Sorry man, the parents had a late dinner.” A likely excuse. He was probably too busy on his phone or playing video games! Nevertheless, we set up our forces and had at it. By turn three, my elite Waffen SS infantry, armed with STG-44s and Panzerfausts, had reduced his Soviet mechanized platoon to dust. His infantry was mowed down, his tanks flaming wrecks, and only some support units were left to contest the board. On turn four, he called the game and sighed heavily. “Don’t worry,” I told him, “It’s just a friendly game!” He had played decently well, and he at least had painted miniatures. Granted, his list was weak – he had no “heavy hitters” per se. His troop set-up did not allow him to follow up his attacks. In other words, he didn’t know the rules well nor did he have a solid strategy. Still, he wanted to play again next week, so I accepted. Maybe he’d learn a thing or two.

Next weekend comes around, same story. He’s late again, but we set up nonetheless. It’s then that I notice something different. Jimmy fielded barely any vehicles, instead focusing on lots of infantry. And I mean lots of infantry. Most of them armed with PPSHs, the Soviet SMG of the time. These “burp guns” were close range, so he’d have to close in to do anything productive. But, for 1,000 points, he had acquired a massive horde of conscripts. Meanwhile, I still relied on my crack force of a few veteran units.

“Interesting set up there, Jimmy,” I commented, “Think it’ll work?”

“Oh, yeah! I read up on some forums that this was a much better force to take,” he replied eagerly.

“We’ll see.”

The game began, and I set up my MG-42 in some light cover. I began shooting at his conscript hordes, and he immediately lost one squad to casualties and poor morale. But, he had four or five more to count on. To him, it was no biggie. He could take the hit. By turn three, the tables had changed. My squads were overrun, my vehicles had been assaulted time and time again, and I was left with a Panther and a commander unit. There was no thought put into it. No skill. No cleverness on his part. This, gentlemen, was an abhorrence to WW2 skirmish games. While I had a finely tuned list, he simply took the most overpowered and cheapest unit he could afford. It was like losing to an imbecile. It was embarrassing. As the game ended and we picked up our miniatures, he seemed pleased with himself. Heavy sighs were replaced with quiet hums of pleasure.

“So, a forum told you to do that, huh?” I asked.

“Yep! Worked pretty well, didn’t it?” he said with a gleeful smile.

“And, tell me, what unit ran nothing but conscripts during the war with no support?”

“Erm . . .” He was tongue-tied, “Well, I saw it in one movie . . .”

“A movie is not history, kid. You just ran something that took no skill to play.”

“But I won though – that’s what matters, right?”

Jimmy shrugged. He had no modicum of respect for the game or for the player. I left shortly thereafter, peeved at the game and at Jimmy. Gentlemen, as I said before, there is nothing wrong with taking a strong force and knowing how to win. I read the rules for Bolt Action front and back, created a well-rounded and strong force that could exploit most weaknesses, and played with the ruthless cunning of Rommel or Guderian himself (not to mention I’ve read their memoirs). But Jimmy? Jimmy didn’t like losing, so he made a cheap list that would guarantee a victory with no skill required.

That, in my eyes, is the truest and most horrid of cheeses.

Roll 'Em Like a Man: The Sins of Handling Dice

     I did not get to game this weekend. I was down with some cold/sinus bug, so I went to see Dunkirk instead. Great war film. Lots of realistic action, and not heavy-handed in its message. I am sure it will be ignored at the Oscars, but the audience seemed to like it.

     After the film, I thought about what to write for this week's post, and I was reminded of a Bolt Action game I played in a couple of years ago where one of my carefully-painted Fallschirmjagers was knocked down by a careless dice roll. The jackass in question, who does not paint his minis, by the way, joked, “Well that guy's dead.” Hardy har har, twerp! I had only been working on the unit for the good part of a week. No big deal, right? This memory lead me to today's post, where I will be talking about the types of dice handlers you don't want at the game table.

     When introducing a young guy to this hobby of ours, I have a buddy who always insists, “There's no right way to roll your dice.” While I can't say that there is a right way to handle dice, I can think of plenty of examples of the wrong way. Here's my list. If you can think of any that I am missing, post in the comments, please. Let's start with the example I just gave you.

The Duck and Cover Tosser

This is guy would be great at New Year's Eve parties, tossing confetti in the air as if it were magic dust that granted wishes to everyone around him. At the game table, his dice rolls, a hardy shake followed by tossing the dice, as if they are being fired out of a cannon, all across the table and in every direction. Every painted mini, piece of terrain, and player at the table could be struck by the buckshot shooting forth from his hands. His dice fly off the table all the time, which inevitably lead to search and rescue mission that takes the offender's fellow gamers to the undersides of other peoples' game tables. It's embarrassing, dangerous, and just plain stupid. This is not a crap's game. There are literally hundreds of dollars worth of painted plastic and lead minis on the table. Unless I say we are playing the H.G. Wells way, your dice should be contained to a bare area of the table.

You are not performing a magic trick. Roll like a man!

Little Joe and Hoss

Little Joe likes his dice the same way he likes his cars and his women: tiny. He likes the feel of gobs of tiny dice rolling around in his hand. He has a hard time picking up the dice with his giant hand, once they have been dispersed, because he forgot to bring tweezers to pick them up. Little Joe has to suck in his beer gut as best as he can and bend over with his nose nearly touching the table to count his hits. He has to squint his eyes or slide his glasses from off the top of his head onto his nose so he can read the suckers, only to push his glasses back up onto the top of his head when he's done.

     Hoss likes BIG dice. If the dice he's rolling do not equal the size of his big toe, they are not manly enough to roll. Big clonking dice are a horrible and dangerous addition to any game table. One, they are unreasonably loud to the point of distracting other gamers around you. Two, and most importantly, they are figure killers. If you paint minis, the last thing you want is some big dice knocking down your minis, scratching the paint job or breaking off a spear, sword, or plastic limb.

     There are two acceptable dice sizes: 16mm (my preference), the most common size for dice. They are easy to roll and easy to read, and they come in all colors, for those that care. Then there's 19mm, a bit bigger than I prefer, but they are easy to read and they are the standard size used by casinos.

16mm or 19mm? Pick one.

The Swiffer Picker Upper

This is the dice roller, by far, that causes the most arguments at the table. He rolls his dice in a contained area, and before you and he can assess what rolls hit and what rolls missed, his hand swoops down like a giant eagle and picks the dice up off the table. “Ten hits,” he announces victoriously. This guy either has great eyesight and quickly processes his hits and misses, or he is cheating. How am I supposed to know which camp he falls in, if I can't see his dice? The proper protocol on this is to separate the dice that hit from the dice that missed. Push the misses off to the side, and, if the rules call for follow-up damage rolls, collect the dice that hit, give a shake, and let them roll.

Real men don't cheat!

If A Tree Falls In The Woods, And No One Was There to Hear it, Did It Fall?

The rules call for you to roll one die to see if you hit. Then, if you successfully hit, you are supposed to re-roll the same die to see if the hit is fatal. Pretty simple, right. This guy does not pick up one die though; he picks up two. He shakes them in his fist next to his ear, then lets one die fall out of his hand. Why? Simply because it does not feel and sound like he is rolling the die unless he hears that rattle. This is is not illegal or offensive behavior. It's just unnecessary and a bit confusing.

You are at a game table not a concert. Pick one die and roll it like a man!

Four Little Ducks in a Row

Your opponent is required to roll six dice. He takes six dice in his hand, gives them a little shake, then, carefully, he lets one die fall from his hand at a time until all six dice have landed onto the table in a neat little row. You're rolling your dice the way your grandmother scratches her lotto ticket, one painful block at a time. There's no law in physics that says that if you really take your time rolling the dice, that your hit average will increase, unless I missed that class, of course.

Roll your dice all at once, like a man!

Chaos at the Table and The Fashion Show

Call me boring, but I have two types of dice: white with black pips and red with white pips. I usually just use old standard white and blacks at the table, unless my opponent is also using white and black. In that scenario, I will use the red and white to distinguish our dice. Don't want to accidentally take home his dice and vice versa.

     The Fashion Show is the guy that has to have a new of pair of color-coordinated dice to match his army. This is not really offensive as it is just silly. Colored dice for each army is just another expense I don't need. I had one guy stop a game during the third turn because he was convinced that his bad dice rolling had to do with the fact that his dice did not match the paint scheme of his figures. The game came to a halt, while the guy went and purchased dice that matched his minis. I am not kidding!

I have heard of gaming competitions that gave points to the best-painted army on the table. Never heard of anyone getting extra points for prettiest dice. Real men don't color-coordinate.

     Chaos at the Table is the guy who brings literally whatever d6 he can get his hands on. They come in all sizes and colors. Some have pips, some have numbers, some have the Eye of Sauron to indicate a fatal blow. This would not be so bad if the chaotic dice arrangement were not also indicative of the player himself. Every guy I have played that brings a mish-mash of dice to the game table is equally scatter-brained and can't remember if the axe symbol on his die is a 1 or a 6, without picking up the die and looking at it carefully. I have literally stopped a game before, bought a guy a pack of blue and white dice, and handed them to him free of charge, just so we can stop losing time trying to figure out his dice.

This is a wargame, not a tarot card reading. Pick one type of dice and stick with it, like a man.

The Bartender

Some wargamers are under the assumption that the longer you shake your dice, the better your odds will be once those dice hit the table. It is as if they believe their hands have the power to influence the fate of the dice. This is the guy that needlessly wastes minutes by shaking his dice as if he were carefully mixing a drink. The Bartender likes to shake his dice close to his face and swing his shaking fists from shoulder to shoulder, back and forth, until a century passes, and he's finally ready to relinquish the dice.

     I understand that many successful athletes believe in rituals: that dirty baseball cap that has never been washed, the beard that has not been shaved all season, the ring on the linebacker's finger that once belonged to his father. These are rituals that are questionably effective, but they don't take any time away from the game. The guy that shakes his dice until he's dizzy, however, is needlessly wasting everyone's time at the table, and we all know, especially us old timers, that time is precious.

Give those dice one shake and let them go, like a man!

The Flipper

The most dubious character at your game table will always be The Flipper. This is the guy that takes his dice in the palm of his hand, turns a few of them over with the other hand, then flips his hand flat onto the table. No shake and a lot of prep work for a guy that is supposed to be playing a gentleman's game. The Flipper has been banned at my club, and I have seen guys get on to someone for trying to pull this trick at competitions. The Flipper should be banned from EVERY game.

Pick up your dice, give them a blind shake, and roll them, like a man!

*On a side note, I refuse to play any miniature game (rpgs are the exception) that involve d8s, d10s, d20s, or any other such nonsense. All miniature games should require d6s, period. But that's a rant for another post.