Greenwich Monopoly (The Budget Edition)
I picture each Connecticut town as a vintage board game, so the development of a Greenwich version of Monopoly seems almost like a trivial pursuit.
Stamford mirrors Chutes and Ladders (“We’re near the top, we have UBS! ...
whoops . ... OK, RBS! ...
down, down, down . ... At least there’s always the mall”).
Whenever I get lost trying to find the way from one Byzantine Norwalk neighborhood to another, I feel adrift in the loops of Candyland.
Bridgeport is its own special edition of Jenga. Every time it seems to finally start rising, a vital piece is yanked out, causing another crash.
Danbury conjures thoughts of Mouse Trap (because, you know, the federal prison), and if you absolutely must have an Operation, your red nose is safe at Yale-New Haven.
Farther up the line, Groton is Battleship and every session beneath the gold dome in Hartford inevitably devolves into Rock ’Em, Sock ’Em Robots (why do you think they’re red and blue?).
So investing in a Greenwich Monopoly game is hardly a roll of the dice. Many people already think of Gov. Ned Lamont as Mr. Monopoly, the mascot formerly known as Rich Uncle Pennybags, turning his pockets inside-out to prove he has no scratch left for state pensions.
Left in the dark by a storm with a name even Scrabble can’t spell, my wife, Lisa, and I play our own home version of Greenwich Monopoly. Since the real one will be marketed for residents of the town, it will likely use real cash, so feel free to play along on this budget version via Zoom.
We select game pieces, each with a sponsor. Lisa snares the mini Midnight Silver Tesla. I pause over the Vineyard Vines whale, but favor the Chris-Craft.
As we size up the real estate, I’m reminded of a former Greenwich Time copy editor who giggled at town street names in the police blotter she thought sounded dirty (Dinglebrook, Game Cock ... and for some reason, Zygmont). It makes it hard to buy any of those properties.
I land on a utility. Unfortunately, it’s Eversource, so I lose power for one, two, three, four, five, six .... days.
Lisa slides over to one of the two railroads. It’s Metro-North, so she’ll be on the platform for a while.
This slows the game considerably. But then, this is Monopoly. My brothers and I are still playing a game we started in 1975. I pick a Chance card. “Your twins are entering sophomore year at Brunswick and Greenwich Academy. It’s time to hire that college admissions guru. Pay $8,250.”
I set aside the Benjamins to bribe someone in three years.
Lisa beats me to buying Greenwich Avenue. Motels and hotels are considered tacky, but there are chain clothing stores. She keeps raising the rent but insists she still can’t afford Christmas lights. She also can’t decide whether or not to replace the Lilliputian traffic cop directing jaywalkers to jail.
I buy all nine golf courses in town, figuring I’ll get to 18 by playing two holes on each. I slice a 9-iron that lands on Stamford turf at Innis Arden and get another fine. Even worse, I double bogey the hole. Threats of going directly to jail loom everywhere, but I’m more afraid of the Chance card that threatens to appoint me to the Planning & Zoning Commission. Those meetings last longer than that game with my brothers. At least Lisa had to cough up a hefty tariff for paying the nanny off the books. She thinks she’s gotten a good break when she’s named superintendent of schools, but I know that won’t last long. Meanwhile, I feel guilty collecting rent during a pandemic, which is a loser’s strategy.
I pin hopes on the next Chance card.
“Paul and Ringo are playing at the next Greenwich Town Party ... but you were too late to buy tickets.” Lisa gets dinged for smuggling out-of-towners from Rye Brook into Greenwich Point. It’s the highest fine yet, so I’m still in the game. Oddly, the teens hosting coronavirus theme parties on Long
Island Sound sail off with a warning.
A Community Chest card seems more promising. It is not.
“You didn’t stomp the divots at the polo match. Go directly to jail!”
This is Greenwich, Jake, there are ways out of the joint. I hire lawyer Mickey Sherman. He’ll make a good fall guy.
Lisa tries to claim victory: “You’re out of coin, Dude. I win.”
“Not just yet. I’m a hedge fund . ... OK, I don’t really know what a hedge fund is. But I’m following the original Monopoly rules and opting to just doodle more money. Isn’t that what a hedge fund would do?”
I need a bailout from someone who likes monopolies. Someone who has lived in Greenwich. Someone with a board game named after him.
“Hello, Mr. President?”