Board games are more fun than smartphones
Swiping a screen to match sweets or chop sushi can never beat the childish joy of rolling a double six
There are few opportunities, in our harried modern world, for families to sit round the table together. Dinner time has been decimated by the rise of ready-meals. Conversation has been obliterated by social media. A healthy political debate over the Sunday roast? Forget it.
I would throw board games into this sad mix. The old-fashioned family pastime has long threatened to fold. A survey last year found that fewer than half of children now regularly play them.
It’s why my cockles were warmed to hear that, next month, the V&A Museum of Childhood is opening an exhibition dedicated to board games. It charts their history, from 18thcentury examples with a strong moral message to the new breed of fantasy games that pit players against a common enemy, as well as the classics – Trivial Pursuit, Scrabble, Cluedo, Monopoly. What British household doesn’t contain at least one of these?
There’s something delightfully tangible about board games. Taking the battered box from the cupboard, opening the lid to find that most of the counters are missing – didn’t the cat eat them on Christmas Eve 1992? – replaced by an assortment of pennies and cracker toys. Then comes the solid feel of the dice in your palm, the rattle of a tiddlywink landing in the cup or the elation or pushing your piece up a ladder, as your opponent slides down yet another snake.
No chargers. No cables. No flashing lights (unless you’re playing Operation, that is). Bliss.
Of course, before we spiral into full fat nostalgia, it’s worth considering the flip side of such games – and by that I mean the tendency for boards to be hurled upside down in anger.
The exhibition blurb refers to the “occasional frustration” of board games. Too right. We’ve all been there – sitting round the fire, deep into a heated contest, when some row or other erupts.
Board games are a machine for family discord. It could be sheer exasperation, or the realisation that Uncle Bob has been hiding a wad of Monopoly money under his knee. There’s no fury quite like that unleashed by board games – an instantaneous explosion, usually out of all proportion and unselfconsciously mad in a way you can only be around those to whom you’re tied by blood.
It’s no coincidence that, in Germany, Ludo (famous for the delicious moment when you send your mother’s counter all the way back to the beginning just as she is about to win) is called “Man, don’t get irritated”. While in the US, the game has been sold under the names “Sorry” and “Aggravation”.
But all this unfettered anger is, according the exhibition’s curator Catherine Howell, part of the fun. She tells me that board games have always been an outlet. “But it’s not real aggression, only play. You just have to hope it doesn’t lead to a family feud.”
Temper tantrums or no, at least board games get us talking – or shouting. Surely that’s preferable to sitting in silence, each family member glued to their tablet?
How can swiping repeatedly at a screen in the attempt to match sweets or chop sushi possibly compare to the childish joy of rolling a double six? Smartphone games might help pass the odd boring commute, but they’re just not as fun.
Of course, some of our most beloved board games have now been digitised to huge success. It’s been estimated that the Scrabble-inspired app “Words with Friends” has 55 million matches going on at any one time. Howell approves of these heartily and I’m inclined to agree. If smartphones can introduce children to traditional board games and encourage them to seek out the originals, surely that’s a good thing?
That said, I never went in for anything remotely new-fangled. As a child, my most beloved games were weird, wonderful and won on the school tombola. Favourites included a 1970s Alice in Wonderland affair that featured a looking glass and story book by Gyles Brandreth, and Hog Holler – a race game that involved screaming into a tube to move a plastic pig (my parents soon confiscated that one).
The day I discovered my mother had given away the Game of Life was one of the saddest of my young existence. Because board games never age. Even now, we sit down as a family to play Junior Monopoly each Christmas. Board games are to be treasured and woven into the fabric of our lives.
Many of my fellow millennials would agree. We’re the generation that spends weekends huddled around pub tables playing Jenga. We visit kitsch board-game cafés (yes, they exist). You can even study board-game design at university.
For us, this is a social activity – a bonding experience that takes us back to the family table. But while nostalgia is seductive, the humble board game has so much more to offer than mere sentimentality. It’s also a form of mindfulness, placing you firmly in the present. When you’re focused on rolling the dice, there simply isn’t room to think about anything else.
And that’s where board games, for me, triumph over smartphones every time.