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07.02.08
The Candyland Problem
posted by Absinthe | 11:39 AM
I like to win. Everyone does. But more than I like to win, I hate to lose. It’s something of a cosmic joke that I make my living, in large part, from poker, a game that can still be profitable even when you lose nine times in ten.
My dedication to the game comes from a curious mix of shortcomings and talents. Poker is mathematically complex; I’m no Rainman but the calculational precociousness that got me mugged for my pocket change on the playground so many times is finally paying off. Poker is unexciting - or, at any rate, played best in an unexcited state - and I have a fascination for the intricacies of the game that keeps me engaged during those long stretches when the casual observer would conclude that nothing special is happening. And finally, poker is a solitary pursuit, and I’m temperamentally unsuited to working full-time for anyone but myself. This has somehow left me in the position of, having decided that I do not wish to suffer fools, instead being forced to rely upon them.
I play pretty well, well enough that my rent is paid mostly by people who don’t play so well; the rest is covered by those who might be better than me but just got unlucky. (Yes, poker is a game of both luck and skill; I’m always trying to minimize the impact of fortune on my fortunes, because doing the opposite is the way otherwise talented players get stone cold broke.)
My wife and our friends have long accepted that any impromptu game of Scrabble or Trivial Pursuit or what have you is going to be a very serious affair; if I’m going to play a game, any game, I’m going to play to win. This doesn’t mean a grim-faced confrontation over the proper spelling of KWYJIBO or gnashing of teeth over the outcome of an unlucky roll; if you can’t absorb your setbacks with good humor you have no business making a career out of an often capricious game. It does mean that if I lose to you, and shake your hand after and say “good game,” I damn well mean it, because you can rest assured I did not intend to lose.
This is going to become a problem at some point in the near future. Currently the source of the problem weighs 24 pounds.
I have a son now; he is fourteen months old, as of this writing, and I live to see his unabashedly gleeful smiles. They are unrestrained and beautiful; they are joy. His grandmother tells me I was the same way, that - at this early date - like father like son.
My untraditional work schedule (”when I feel like it”) means that I am primarily responsible for the boy’s care during office hours, since my wife’s job comes with a different set of requirements (”or I’ll get fired”). This is simple now; he’s easily entertained and just beginning to master climbing stairs, meaning that while you’ve got to keep a hand at his back at all times, he doesn’t move real fast. But he has already come so far and before long there will be more words, more toys, and - the rub - games.
Sooner or later it’s going to come to Candyland.
Candyland is entirely a game of chance. Players draw from a deck of cards in turn and move their piece to the indicated spot on the board; lather, rinse, repeat, until someone reaches the end. There is no skill involved apart from recognizing the appropriate color, and - here’s a hint - it’s the same one on the card you’re holding in your hand. It’s all luck. There is no way to guarantee an outcome for any particular player without cheating.
I know what you’re thinking. But no, I’m not afraid of losing a game to my son. One of the benefits of losing significant sums of money, repeatedly and often, to some of the most repellent examples of humanity - just for the opportunity to win it back and more, later on - is that you become inured to individual losses and the vagaries of chance. If the deck tells you to go back to Gumdrop Mountain that’s what you do; when you play Candyland you are in the hands of the deck.
I’m not afraid of losing a game of Candyland. I’m afraid of winning it.
If I win the game, my son loses. The game is to get to the end first; if I do, he doesn’t. Once he understands the rules of the game, he is going to want to win it. This I know. I do not know if he will be a doctor or lawyer or clown or, heaven forfend, a gambler, but I know he is going to want to win. And sometimes he won’t.
It doesn’t even help me to know that Candyland, game of chance though it is, is rigged. Honestly, it is; the rules state that the youngest player goes first, and the player who goes first has a mathematical advantage, forever being one draw ahead of the others. Being one card ahead means that, on average, you will get to the end first more often. But the edge is miniscule, about three percent. Granted, I have grudgingly wagered thousands of dollars with just such an edge - eventually, you come out ahead - but I am unsure as to whether I can wager my son’s happiness on it.
The problem is that the alternative is to cheat. Stacking the deck, surreptitiously sliding my piece back a few spots, allowing my son to disobey the whims of the deck. But I don’t think I can do any of those. Arranging the outcome beforehand will give him a false impression of his own good fortune and someone else will crush him for it; move my piece wrongly and he’ll eventually catch me, and think it’s an acceptable way to play; let him break the rules and he may come to believe that fairness is a dismissible concern.
So what to do? I think, ultimately, I will have to teach my son something no one ever taught me: to take joy in any outcome. Come the end of every game I will laugh loudly and hug him fiercely, win or lose; I will praise him for sportsmanship, for thinking about the rules and playing fair, for realizing that the end of the game is not its only purpose.
Eventually he will grow a little more and I will be able to teach him to play chess. Probably he will quickly grow more adept than I; it is my hope, at any rate, because like most parents I want him to be better than I am. And, secretly, because a loss at his hands will please me more than a victory over anyone else; against him, out of all people on this planet, whether it be by chance or design, I shall be happy to lose.
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Topics: Human Interests, Poker, Random Thoughts |
July 2, 2008 at 1:07 PM
As the father of twin four-year-olds, I am a Candyland grinder, and you’re exactly right about the game.
I have been able to use Candyland to teach my girls how to be good sports, how to take good cards with grace and bad cards with humor. Or at least that’s the idea.
They pwn me, too. I am a Candyland donk.
July 2, 2008 at 1:16 PM
I’m in the exact same boat! My son’s game of choice is Chutes and Ladders. He loves hitting EITHER mode of transportation on the board, just to be able to slide his piece around. In fact, we have yet to actually finish a game, he gets bored before anyone comes near the end. And I’m dreading the time when he cares about getting to the end first.
Being able to teach my kids good sportsmanship will be a parental accomplishment I will be extremely proud of.
July 2, 2008 at 1:49 PM
But isn’t it good for your kid to learn how to lose, since not everyone, i.e. his friends, won’t be willing to sacrifice the utter joy and thrill of a Candyland victory for the continued good spirits of your boy?
I think so. Losing, too, makes the wins that much sweeter.
July 2, 2008 at 3:28 PM
Fantastic prose as usual, thanks. My son turns 6 months this week so I am really enjoying the foresight your blog provides. It also creates a sense of anticipation about the amazing experiences that are coming my way. As much as I enjoyed reading about your poker and movie reviews I think I enjoy this insight even more. Keep it up!!
July 2, 2008 at 6:33 PM
The long debated ‘youngest player first’ advantage is actually not as great as you might think. Going first confers a 2-3% edge according to advanced Candy Land computer simulations. The exact number is dependent on whether you play exact ending rules or not.
Most poker players have a name for this edge: they call it a coin-flip.
When your child learns to read, he will snort derisively at your whining in this post.
You can read more here:
http://www.lscheffer.com/CandyLand.htm
July 2, 2008 at 6:58 PM
(where do you think I got that number? I’m not a scientitian, I can’t just pull things out of my ass.)
July 3, 2008 at 5:02 PM
Candyland is so monotonous for anyone over the age of 5 that by the time someone - anyone - reaches that last rainbow square, you won’t even care who wins. Trust me.
July 4, 2008 at 1:02 PM
My son won his first game of Candyland against me and his mother. The little snot has refused repeated request for a rematch. He is retiring as Household Champion.
Also, I think that Sorry might be the best first strategy game out there.