Solitaire

"Counting flowers on the wall, that don't bother me at all
Playing solitaire till dawn, with a deck of 51
Smoking cigarettes and watching Captain Kangaroo
Now don't tell me I've nothing to do"
— from "Counting Flowers On the Wall," The Statler Brothers

Behold, mortals: the stupidest game ever invented. Solitaire.

"But surely," you think, "there must be a stupider game." War, perhaps? Pure luck, and mind-numbingly dull. Jacks? What's up with that ball? Could kids ever have been bored enough to participate in it? And what about pitching pennies?

No, no and no. War is too boring to drain hours of time from anyone, except maybe toddlers, who are operating on a semi-conscious level to begin with. It's not even a game, really. It's a soul-numbing process. Jacks is too obscure to pose a real threat. Pitching pennies has a sort of old-school gangster charm to it.

No, the stupidest game ever is playing solitaire by yourself. It's important to note "by yourself." Solitaire can be played in groups, with aces as resources, shared and viciously competed for. Although the only communication tends to be semi-verbal grunts and foul oaths hurled at nimble opponents, social solitaire is actually pretty healthy. You're with other people, and that's pretty okay.

But playing solitaire by yourself is a semi-serious mental condition.

"Solitaire is a great way to pass the time and exercise the mind, whether you play with regular cards, or on a computer screen," says Solitairecentral.com.

A great way to pass the time. A great way to melt away precious minutes of life until the Reaper comes, you mean. As for exercising the mind — no. Chess is mind exercising. Go — now there's a game that exercises the mind. Solitaire is an opiate.

To be sure, there is a certain grim satisfaction to be gained from moving a bunch of red whatevers onto a bunch of black whatevers and vice-versa. It's great to stack cards on the aces — you feel like the cleared cards have made it. They're validated, now. They've graduated, or they've ascended to Paradise, or something.

But the game can be cruel and arbitrary. One bad deal and you're stuck. You move a red seven onto a black eight. You flip the card under the seven. It's another black king. Great. Through the deck now, three by three. And presto! It's over. All that dealing, all that hope — for nothing. You're dashed.

But after shuffling, hope springs anew. I might win this time, you think. But why? Why do you think that, you foolish person? The card you need to win is almost invariably buried under the last pile, two from the bottom.

Like any addictive routine or substance, solitaire has a sweet spot. When you win, it feels as though you've brought order to the universe. There's something really nice about staring down at four kings sitting on four perfectly ordered stacks of cards. Out of chaos, order! I, the solitaire player, am God! Ha-hah.

But then you've got to reshuffle. And probably lose another 19 times.

The inherently frustrating nature of solitaire sometimes leads people to cheat. This is intellectually perverse. You've put yourself in a gaming environment to test your luck and skill against a set of rules. But when things don't go your way, you just break the rules and slide some cards around. Excuse me, Mr. or Ms. Solitaire cheater? Why not just put the cards down in order to begin with? Sort out the aces, then the twos, then the threes...

Oh, because that'd be dull. But playing solitaire until you bog down and then cheating your way out — against yourself it must be noted — is a great way to spend an afternoon.

Sick, sick, sick. Solitaire cheaters are sick.

That's all there is to say. Now if you'll excuse me, I've got cards to deal.

— James Norton (jrnorton@flakmag.com)