With real pieces to move, cards to read and dice to throw, board games offer something computers simply cannot match, says wargames superfan Stuart Harrison

During a cold winter’s evening a couple of years ago, I was doing a ritual clear-out of “rubbish” when I stumbled upon an old cardboard box in my study. It was a board wargame of one of the great battles in the American Civil War. A “hex and counter” game to aficionados, published in 1973. Looking at that box, I was hit by a wave of nostalgia for evenings spent bent over a table in my bedroom as a boy, and then as a teenager, pushing cardboard chits about, throwing dice and consulting CRTs (combat results tables). It was a secret passion shared with only a very select few.

In my geeky nerdiness I knew it was the very height of uncool, a childish, useless, pointless exercise, yet the narrative created by those grey and blue counters hurling themselves at each other always gripped me. I was deeply ashamed of the passion it aroused in me, of the intensity of my bookish research into this regiment or that commander or campaign, and while I pursued my hobby with a deep inner joy, I was desperate that no one found out I was… a war-gamer!

But I certainly was. And 50-odd years later, I still am. How terribly uncool. But there it is. I’ve said it. Of course, as I grew older, life intervened. Sex, career and family all diminished my interest in this nerdiest of hobbies, but it never really ever went away, despite my various attempts to suppress it. My deep love of history and the intellectual challenge of pitting ones wits against an opponent – albeit in a contrived and quite ridiculous make-believe cardboard table-top battle simulation – could not be overcome. The thrill of being able to consider the “what ifs” of history intrigued me. Could I have done better? Might world events have turned out differently? I adored the suspension of disbelief, the release from normality, the chance to “relive” and perhaps “change” history – and the thrashing, or being thrashed, in an intellectual and luck-based challenge with my opponent.

In middle age, I flirted very weakly, HG Wells-like, with miniatures gaming – painting and playing with toy soldiers, if you like; creating miniature worlds in order to wreak pretend destruction upon the serried ranks of lead figures across the table from me. It never came to much though. It wasn’t really me and I had too much real life pressing down on me with all its banal expectations. It was only upon retirement that I reignited my passion for proper board wargames.

What I truly rediscovered that winter’s evening, on blowing off the cobwebs and opening that box, was that, deep within me, nothing had really changed. I was still that 1970s teenager with a passion for history, for eras and conflict in the distant past, and for pushing cardboard chits across hexagonal maps against an opponent. Something was rekindled.

Oh, but how the world has changed since those heady days. The computer shoot-’em-up and strategy wargames that are all the rage now are anathema to me. I have zero interest in staring at a screen to play wargames. My passion is for analogue games alone, games with printed sets of rules, with wooden blocks in particular, with cards, and with dice you can throw. Something tactile you can feel and, dare I say it, smell. Being in the presence of others, standing over a map, holding discussions, interaction, the odd beer, some back slapping and a collective cheer on victory.

Happily, new board wargames are still being produced, often with better-quality components and rules sets than before, and with more diversity of subjects. In fact the gaming interactions and gameplay experience have come on in leaps and bounds. And though it may be hard for a luddite like me to admit it, the biggest change in the world of board wargames has come about through the interconnectedness of the Internet. There are now board game sites galore, like the highly revered BGG (Board Game Geek), as well as fan-sites for particular games, eras, and styles of game, plus sites to help you find opponents. There’s also a thriving second-hand market for board games and even conferences.

The wargames genre is still very much a minority among board-game enthusiasts as a whole, but what I’ve come to realise is that, nerdy or not, foolish or not, there are a lot of like-minded people out there who share my passion. No longer need I be ashamed of my hidden dark secret.

I now have a very modest collection of recently produced board games centred around my deep interest in The Great War, especially on the Eastern Front, and in the Russian Revolution and subsequent Russian Civil War, an interest I developed during the latter third of my career while working in the former Soviet Union. Anyone for “Triumph of Chaos”, a behemoth of a game about the Russian Civil War? Or “Strike of the Eagle”, a genius of game design which concerns the Russo-Polish War and comes in a two-inch-thick cardboard box with production values to match?

I’ve even recently attended my first board wargame convention, PunchedCon in Coventry, and what a revelation it was. Lots of like-minded fools and history obsessives like myself. The people I met, the shared enthusiasms, the games we played late into the night, the camaraderie and sheer fun – it was a joyous experience. I made friends, shared ideas, and was even encouraged to pursue the design of my own game – something I’ve wanted to do for the past 20 years. Featuring the Russian Civil War campaign in which Stalin made his reputation and forged his power base, it is grandly titled “Red Victory, White Defeat: The Campaign of Tsaritsyn June 1918 to January 1920”.

In short, I am at peace with my inner wargamer, and can now tick “game designer” off my bucket list. Designing my game has absorbed me in hours of research, reading fascinating original documents kindly provided by fellow historical obsessives and gamers from as far afield as St Petersburg, Moscow, Belarus, New Zealand, and the USA. It has taught me some aspects of carpentry, map-making, game theory and design that were hitherto mysteries to me. I have spent countless hours pondering, twiddling, carving, painting, sitting admiring, reading, testing and adjusting, and doing not very much at all really, save steeping myself in an era long since passed and doing so with great pleasure.

So what then is the point of me writing all this guff? Exposing my inner insecurities about what, on reflection, is a pretty innocuous pastime, especially when one considers some of the odder forms of human predilections? Well in true idler style, I suppose there is no deep and meaningful point, other than a realisation that human beings often share the most odd interests, many of which have absolutely no utility whatsoever except in providing the persons interested in them with diversion, dopamine and delight. So if you’ve ever thought you were alone in your weirdness, take heart – you most certainly are not. And remember: an idle passion shared is a life enhanced.
Komisaя

This article appears in Idler #106.

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