Uno (3 points)
In the basement of a Chipotle in London, I played Uno with my friends. Through a flurry of Draw +2, Reverse, and Wild Draw 4 cards, Alley racked up over 100 cards in Uno Debt.

Nevertheless, the other patrons and waitstaff were not big fans of our incessant screaming, and we were promptly kicked to the streets.

Sorry! (8 points)
Nothing can possibly be as satisfying as knocking all four of your mom’s player tokens back to the starting position in one game. The utter rage and frustration she displayed was outstanding. I never said sorry.

Chess (10 points)
Each game was spread across the long cafeteria tables, the sun beaming down onto our solemn faces from the glass ceiling above. The instructor patrolled the scene, his footsteps the only sound echoing throughout the near-empty gym. When time was up, you could hear the sound of little elementary schoolers slowly collect the pieces into velvet pouches and deposit them into a big plastic tub.

Mouse Trap (13 points)
On a cold winter’s day, as the skies turned grey and the windows were coated in frost, my brother and I pulled out Mouse Trap from under the desk in our bedroom. I’ve never actually played a full game of Mouse Trap. Instead, I enjoyed snapping the pieces to the machine together and watching each element in the reaction play one after the other in perfect sync. The boot kicks the bucket, the marble rolls down the slope, the ball falls in the bathtub, and the diver finally traps the mice under a bright red cage.

As a kid, I loved the setup and payoff. Although I was provided with the pieces, it was my job to snap everything together. I enjoyed the act of creating, so that's what I did. I wrote mini-adventures for me and my brothers, using imaginary characters and stuffed animals and leading them around the house on a whirlwind journey. I cut and colored cardboard pieces and made my own board games for my friends to play. The floor of my bedroom became a dumping ground for cardboard, paper, dice, figures, and glue that I refused to clean up.

I began collecting various board and card games, from classics like Monopoly or Settlers of Catan to more obscure ones like Candy Land. I also collected Magic: the Gathering cards, which I have shoeboxes full of. I spent hundreds of hours collecting, sorting, organizing, and building decks, and dozens more competing with friends. My collection has grown quite large, and I proudly display it from under my bed.

Jenga (13 points)
Jenga appealed to 1rd grade me in more than one ways. Not only could you pummel your friends to the ground in the acts of slowly destroying a teetering tower, but the pieces made for great tantrum throwing objects on the off chance you do lose. I once got a red caterpillar counter on my ‘Good Leaf’ rewards chart - symbolizing I was a ‘bad child’ and would not receive a plastic reward at the end of the week - for nailing my teacher in the face with a wooden brick. The conversation did not go over well with my parents.

Monopoly (15 points)
It sat on the coffee table, it’s surface coated in faded red and grey. No one knew why we even went through the trouble of digging the dusty box out of the bedroom closet, but nonetheless, there it sat. We were blind to it’s power, it’s greed and treachery and betrayal. To us, it was just another game. And, as easily as we brought it out from it’s vault, we opened the box, unknowingly releasing the evil that would plague our friendship forever.

Candy Land (16 points)
Candy Land always left a bitter taste in my mouth. Something about its simplicity, colorful characters, and it’s slow turns. Instead of rolling a die like in snakes and ladders, you draw a card, which contains a color. You then move your character token to the next space of that color. That’s it. The order in which the cards are shuffled into are predetermined. The game is nothing more than a mindless slog from one side of the board to the other. It requires no player skill or any sort of thought to play. No wonder I played it so much as a kid.