Mind over matter

The world is pretty scary right now. The news of emerging and enduring threats surrounds us wherever we turn. Just thinking about it pins my shoulders to my ears most of the time. It's hard to turn off the noise.

I wish I could time travel. I'd go back to almost anywhere. Even the ghosts of past uncertainties seem quaintly comforting compared to the threat of current events.

 Opening my phone usually opens the floodgates to more heartbreak. It's hard to and tune out. So I force myself to scroll past the doom until I land on the last page on the screen.

I select my game.

Backgammon.

Somehow it manages to bring me back. ...

Back to a smoke-filled living room where I, and a half-dozen 20-something friends, killed time before venturing out for a night on the town. Back when we had part-time jobs and full-time plans.

I don't know what made me think of it or what made me search for digital versions of a game I hadn't played since college. Maybe it seemed familiar and safe, something that would test my brain but not tax it. 

But instead of snapping open a leatherette briefcase and lining up rows of black and white disks on alternating white- and brown-colored triangular flags, the computer did it for me.

Memory, it turns out, didn't serve.

Were it not for the automated array the setup would continue to elude me.

I must have lost a dozen games against the programmed opponent before any semblance of my former strategy returned.

I was grateful to be alone with such stunning defeats.

It was weeks before any urgent need to listen for the ringing of phone calls introduced me to the sounds of the game.

The music playing in the background sounded like a light Jazz riff going out for a little stroll. It made me feel as if Charlie Brown and Snoopy were standing behind me, watching as I planned my attack.

I was surprised by the gentle "click" of the tiles and not so jazzed by the horn that blows upon defeat.

The combinations feel familiar but I am rusty. A roll of five, two moves one piece from the top corner and covers the "six" slot in my home turf. Six, five moves one piece on top, halfway from right to left, but leaves another piece vulnerable to attack.

I prevail in fewer than half the games I play. But the matches are quick and certain. Skill and luck working with and against each other. 

I can't figure out a formula for my wins, but it doesn't stop me from picking myself back up after each losing streak.

The machine litters its backfield with uncovered pogs, then rolls a six and a one and edges steadily toward a lead while I struggle to keep up.

When I roll a six and a one during the next round, I split moves between the two pieces stacked in the farthest quadrant from home. My opponent takes them both and builds a wall of stacked pieces, which will keep me waiting on the rail until my computer nemesis has halfway gammoned off.

There is no way to win this one … but maybe my luck will change for the next one.