Write a story blog about a chouette?  Might be a good idea.  Start with the birth of the chouette.  Let’s see.   Me … You  …  and Her.  Definitely Her.  Maybe …  Him?  Sure, why not?  Him.  He looks ready for a big game. 

Next, cleave the players from the herd, rustle them to a table in some dark corner, fill them with hopes, with talk of winnings and of hard luck stories.  Open the backgammon board.  All toss dice.  Arrange the Box, the Captain, then the naval ranks of the pirate crew.  Unpack the precious order book.  Fold to a new page.  Ready the pen.  And let’s get this chouette spinning. 

Soon the four amigos, the founders, a quartet of combatants, recall past battles and prick new annoyances as the dice fly, the checkers dance, and the laws of probable outcomes unfold their dystopian magic.  The play is raw, ebullient, sinister.  Backgammon as it was played in the seedy era of film noir.  With snake eyes cold as obsidian. 

“I see you have played before, Sir.”, I note when we are both motley crew.  “In this chouette our checker suggestions must remain silent until our own cube is turned.”  

You nod. 

“You, Sir, I know.  I know your game.  You have a good head on your shoulders.  Balanced play.  Naturally, that makes your backgame rusty from neglect.  A good thing too.  Revenues are up.  And avoiding those backgame losses is an important reason.”

You smile with a devilish twinkle.

“Hey.  Don’t be so chatty, Sir.  You can discuss the game generally.  It’s allowed.  Just not yet this specific position.”

You thank me for the Miss Manners advice on etiquette.

“I admire your handling of the doubling cube.  You love to turn that cube for its pressure.  And that is a secret sauce.  Pressure doubles.  Thrust the opponent into a tough choice.  You will go far in this chou, soon carving up the slaughter.”

The Box sighs.  And doubles her trio of opponents.  A bit of acting, I suspect.  Taking a curtain call on the bridge of sighs. 

As the Captain mulls his copy of the cube, I look directly at you, wondering what your response will be.  The Captain takes.  You take without hesitation.  And with my take I pile on to make it three’s company. 

Then the Box rolls.

“What did you think of that cube?”, I ask. 

You seem to think it is money in the bank. 

“Pressure doubles.”, I wax eloquently, “Once that idea is mastered, playing the checkers is mere technique.”

I am hoping you will agree, but you are silent.  The game turns toward a close race.  The bearoff is about to begin. 

“During the cleanup the endgame must be given respect.  But you know that.”

Our brave Captain steers the game to a favorable but close bearoff. 

“Best of all, you pay when you lose.  We all like that.” 

The Captain tosses doubles on the dice.  The hurrah is audible.  Our last checker is removed.  Captain and crew win the game.  You stand to take the vacated Captain’s chair.  The Captain becomes the Box. 

“This makes you a rarity, Sir – well balanced and crafty, a tactics wizard with an acute knack for pressure doubles.”

But who is recruiting whom here?  Good question.  All I care is:  I am one step closer to the Box.  And to thirty pieces of silver.

(to be continued … and continued …)