Love and Hate

by Stevie Weller

I've got a bit of a reputation as being the best backgammon player in the world. Maybe it's because I won the August 2006 monthly Phoenix Tournament, or maybe it was when I won the Wooden Dragon at Bandon Beach, OR in 2009, but I think that after I won the 909 Point Tournament against

Alex Vittal, everyone's been afraid to play me. I'm getting way too much credit, though. I'm really not that great. Vittal swears I should take my game to Vegas, but betting money on a game just seems like it would ruin the fun and my luck. Thomas Boltz once picked me up at the Phoenix airport (Skyharbor) on his bicycle. While I was waiting for him, a taxi driver saw the backgammon board in my hands and challenged me to a game at $10 a point. I said I'd play him but not for money. Of course, I won. I bet that if I'd bet anything, I'd have lost the game and the money.

I was the 5-2 (a backgammon monster) at a Halloween party in 2011. I brought a board, and I played a few strangers. One of them claimed that no one could beat him two out of three games. That was lgood enough to get my blood broiling. I won the first, but he won the next two. Now, if you know a thing or two about backgammon, you'll know that three games is an insignificant sample size, and that anyone can win two out of three games. But that really didn't matter to me then because he won two games, I lost, and I would probably never see him again. There was no way I could regain my honor. Which brings up the question that all of this has been driving at, what are we playing for?

Some people play for money, to make friends, for the challenge, or simply to win. I like playing backgammon for two reasons, love and hate. My sister, Erin Weller, once owned a board with "LOVE" and "HATE" stitched on either side of the case.

Backgammon is certainly a game of love. How many people do I love? About as many people as I've played backgammon with. My first memory of the game is my father explaining it to my sisters and I, sitting together on the rug of our living room. From 2006 to 2012, backgammon was the national past time of my roommates and I. It's the induction ritual of the cult I belong to. Every time my family has a reunion, we play backgammon. And playing backgammon is a marvelous way to flirt. My sister's girlfriend proposed to her over a game of backgammon, right after rolling a 6-5, no less! Whatever type of love it may be, familial, romantic, or friendly, backgammon expresses it.

I don't hate anyone I've played backgammon with, but I hate losing, especially to my arch rivals! Currently, I'm engaged in an epic battle of 25 point matches against the Michael Phelan on Dailygammon.com. He won our first match with a 25-8 walloping. I've got a slight in total points at the moment, but there's no telling how long that will last before I find myself on the wrong end of an 8 cube gammon.

My first nemesis was Alexander Vittal. I told you we played a 909 point match. It lasted eight months, and boy oh boy, did I mop the floor with him! To be fair, he was completely new to the game, and I had already read the complete works of Jacoby and Crawford (backgammoners so powerful they each have a rule named after them). We started in January of 2006, and Alex struck out to an early lead that reached its peak around Superbowl Sunday. But at about 50-49, I took off, never to be caught again. As my lead grew and grew, Alex became desperate and frustrated, throwing our scoring plank into the fire pit several times, only to fish it out and demand another game (which I would win). I admit, I took great pleasure from the victories. From the time I etched the final 909th tally mark, Alex has not only derided me as winning that match on pure luck, he has also beaten me just about as many times as I have beaten him. He now claims to be better than me. I scoffing and point to my victory in the 909 tournament, but that only goes so far. History is empty without current events. A victory over Alex today isn't as good as that win in the 909 Tournament, but it is very nice, almost like restoring order to something that has been put out of place. Vittal has attempted to design at a match to test scientifically who was the better player, which ended in a draw. Honestly though, I know who the better player is. I will, however, admit that Vittal is much better at verbal combat, coming up with stinking jems such as "you've no business winning this game", "underhanded, cheap, and rude", "chair whiz", and the legendary "ass clip".

I still remember the name of the man who beat me two out of three games that Halloween night. We're facebook friends, in fact. Why do I care that I lost to him? I could beat him if we played a longer match. Do I really believe what he said, that he can beat anyone in two out of three games? Do I even believe that he believes it? I mean, who does he play against? Any one good? Probably not. Does he even know who Falafel, Bill Robertie, Nack Ballard, or Neil Kazaros are? Is it possible that the only reason I'm writing this book is just so I can say "HA! Take that. You may have beaten me in two out of three games that one night, but have you ever written a backgammon book? No? I didn't think so! Take that!" Yes, that is entirely possible. A nemesis is a powerful force.

Money is lifeless honey that has no taste. Fame is fleeting, and even while you have it, it's anticlimactic. Solving problems and improving your skills does sharpen your mind, and it is satisfying all on it's own, but what good is any of this without someone to share it with? Our opponents are the reasons we play. The pieces on the table are another brush that paints life's greatest experiences in us, bringing us together with our dear friends and family in love and in hate.