I’ve often said that because B. and I chose not to have kids, we ourselves often act as if we’re five (okay, I act as if I’m six). My point being that playing is a priority these days. So on our most recent vacation, we thought we’d up the fun quotient and take a stash of classic games with us. Perfect for evenings after coming back from dinner instead of watching TV; fun in front of the hotel-room fire; a guaranteed good time for all. What could go wrong? You’d be surprised. To wit:

When I say we brought games, we brought games – a ton of them. Trivial Pursuit, Mastermind, Outburst, Yahtzee, backgammon. (No Scrabble though. Surprisingly, given what I do and my love for words, Scrabble isn’t something I enjoy. Go figure.)

First up, Trivial Pursuit. The original Genus Edition. The original as in it’s been sitting in one closet or another for close to 40 years. What you may not know about me is that decades ago I worked on the introduction of Trivial Pursuit at the public-relations agency that put it on the map. The game was credited with bringing about the so-called board game revolution, when people returned to the simple of joy of getting together to play games as a form of socializing. It was the hottest thing on the market.

The last time I (or B.) played Trivial Pursuit was back when it first came out in the 1980s and I guess our tastes have changed. (Not our love of trivia – we watch Jeopardy every night – but maybe this way of pursuing it.) First, lots of the questions seemed way out of left field. Second, going around and around the board trying to land on the six exact spots needed to receive the color wedges was just too tedious. And third, we just didn’t care. No excitement, no laughs, no nothing. Interest level: trivial.

Next up, Outburst, another entry from the 1980s. To play, one person from each team pulls a card and reads the topic aloud – let’s say, Things You Find in a Classroom. The card lists 10 items. Team members then shout out (outburst, get it?), their guesses for those items and the team who gets the most right overall wins.

Except, like everything else in our life, B. and I choose to play differently. One of us pulls a card, tells the other the topic, and then gives rapid-fire clues to each item, sort of like the first round of $100,000 Pyramid (or $25,000, if you remember the Dick Clark original). The other person then has to guess as many items listed on the card as possible before the one-minute hourglass runs out. It’s a lot of fast talking.

We love our version – the only problem is that we both have the propensity to out-talk the timer and not care. For example, if one correct answer to Things You Find in a Classroom is “stapler,” I’d give B. a clue like “the thing that you press down on to hold pages together” and then veer off into talking about the time one of my classmates grabbed the stapler off the teacher’s desk and then stapled his own pants to his chair. (While he was still wearing them. Seriously). Which might lead B. to go on about the time he stapled his finger and has the scar to prove it to this day. Which might lead me to tell B. the story about the time a copier machine where I worked went crazy and stapled 500 reports in record time. Out of sequence and upside down. Which reminds B. of … you get it. Out of control. But very fun.

Mastermind. What I wouldn’t give not to have to play this game. Mastermind is a game of pure logic, something B. excels in. When he first taught it to me in 1985, it was so agonizing that once I finally got it and won, I planned never to play it again. Until now, because he’s been asking since then and he really loves it.

To play, one person sets up a row of 4 colored pegs. Through process of elimination, try by try (you get six tries) the other person then attempts to guess the exact order and colors of those pegs. It is pure agony. It hurts my head to follow the path of reasoning. I would rather do almost anything else than play this tiny torture tool of a game. Of course, being the Type A personality that I am, I would not rest until I won a round. (B. kept winning his rounds all evening long.) And once I did, I made a beeline for the fireplace to destroy all those f*****g, finicky, fall-between-the-couch-cushions pegs. (Not really, but still.) Once we got home, I insisted B. store it somewhere I’d never see it again. For at least another 40 years.

Which leads me to Candy Land. Yes, you read me right. While we don’t own that classic, first game for kids, I insisted on buying it the day after the Mastermind nightmare, with several more vacation days to go. I remembered the game for its colorful board and gingerbread men game pieces and candy castle – no brain twisters, no logic, nothing to think about too hard. But, after looking at the box, even I had to agree that it was just too juvenile (sigh). Calling a candy-colored audible, I moved on to purchase a different classic – Sorry!

Sorry! also has a colorful board, but is certainly more challenging (the fact that you have to be able to read in order to play was a good start) and there’s some strategy and gameplay involved. Plus, it’s got those bright red, green, blue, and yellow plastic game pieces (love those!). “Really?” B. groaned. “You’re going to make me play this? I stopped playing this when I was 10!” “Oh, I’m, SORRY,” I said a bit wickedly. “Is this game too simple for your master mind?” And then I beat him, two games to nothing. Sorry, not sorry.

Other highlights? B. retaught himself backgammon and attempted to teach me (I’d played it in college but didn’t remember how). And Yahtzee went well, especially when I rolled – count ’em – not one, not two, not three, but four Yahtzees in one game! Score.

Now that we’re back home, game night is on the weekly calendar with a few exceptions. No Mastermind (my edict). No Sorry! (B.’s). But yes to playing the other games in our closet (I’ve particularly got my eye on you, Parcheesi). Yes to cracking each other up. And yes to rolling the dice or spinning the wheel and joyfully jumping in.

Yes to the game of Life.

©2025 Claudia Grossman