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.
“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.
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