Not Exactly an Obsessive Gamer
I could never get into computer solitaire because of a substantial mental block. I know that there are certain games that just cannot be won no matter how the cards are played. Every time I start a game, I end up thinking to myself, “well this is just futile. This is probably a game that can’t be won.” Practically, I know that that position isn’t necessarily statistically viable, but I have a hard time getting past it.
FreeCell, on the other hand, is a computer card game I can get behind. And, in fact, I did. When I first started playing computer FreeCell, I just tried to get my winning percentage as high as possible. Unfortunately that goal lacked a certain ridicule je ne sais quois that tend to define my best endeavors. Enter Tool. My friend Jake gave me the idea of getting my FreeCell record to 46 wins and 2 losses in honor of that classic Tool song. It makes more sense than one might originally think to take a Tool song and apply it mathematically to something rather arbitrary. For example, the rhythm of the syllables in the song Lateralus follows the Fibonacci Sequence.
It took several years (and one incidence of a week of depression after losing at 45 and 2) but eventually I had the run I needed. Unfortunately, said run landed me in a moral crisis akin to Sophie’s Choice, John Q, or Spaceballs. After 47 games, my record stood at 46 wins and only one loss. I started my 48th game and just froze. Do I lose intentionally? Do I try to win and put it in the hands of fate? I don’t even believe in fate. Do I try to win and put it in the hands of chance? I let that game sit, unplayed on my monitor for several hours while I weighed my decision.
In the end, I figured the genesis of this whole experiment was to get my record to 46 and 2 (…”just ahead of me”). So without further concern, I started clicking just to lose. And I lost. And for quite a few years, I didn’t touch another game of FreeCell.
One thing I noticed during this adventure was how FreeCell would infiltrate my psyche. I would start seeing things go together in the manner that is legal for cards in the game. I would be falling asleep and without thinking I’d start organizing cards in my head. It became a substantial part of my unaware thoughts.
Lately the same has started happening with my new obsession. I may be a little behind the times, but I’ve recently cultivated an addiction to Minesweeper. I play a lot at work and when I get home and relax I start seeing little squares with numbers and start talking to myself, “okay if this is one and this is one then this could be one and that means that one would have to be one, but then - BLAM!” And I’m blown back into consciousness and my proverbial yellow smiley has Xs in his eyes.
With FreeCell, I was originally enticed by the fact that every game could be won and therefore I could try to win every game. With Minesweeper, I win very few games. Indeed, if you count all the games that I never fully start, then my statistics are ridiculously poor. What’s more, there’s a huge emphasis on time. So instead of taking the time to fully analyze which square is least likely to be a bomb in unsure situations, I just end up guessing randomly.
To start a game of Minesweeper, I like to have two relatively substantial open spots to work with. Hopefully these two open fields are on opposite ends of the board. I click in somewhat random spots until these spots open or until I expire. Occasionally when I die before really getting started I look at the board and realize that there really wasn’t anywhere I could have clicked to get my desired beginning. I’m concerned that there’s a whole set of minesweeper patterns that I’m missing out on. Perhaps the secret to getting my expert time under the tantalizing 150 seconds is to step outside my comfort zone and change my technique?
Or maybe I’m devoting too much of myself to contemplating strategies for this game. With any luck, I’ll discover the answer tonight in my sleep.
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