However, if you crossed a bomb and you were not a rank 8/Miner, then BOOM! Your piece was virtually obliterated and made its way to the discard pile. If a higher number attacked a lower number, the higher number lost the battle: dying off for a noble cause and placed back into the box for easy replay. Through the turns and single movement of pieces, you would work to track down where your opponents flag was placed: using 8/Miners to defuse bombs, Spys to find and assassinate generals, and so forth.īattling was simple the lower your rank number, such as 1/Marshal, meant the more superior it was. Positioning their flag, bombs, and highest ranking officers (1/Marshal down to their 9/Scouts). This made for quick learning and faster game play as the battles raged on as there was no question about who your next attacking unit or thwarted victim would be:Īt the start of each game, both players would setup their army as they saw fit. They were made of highly durable plastic, stood easily upright, and were imprinted with shiny and easily readable indications as to what each piece was. These were not some flimsy cardboard soldiers by proxy. I can’t emphasize the distinct red and blue playing pieces. You felt like the leader of an Empire or on the opposite end of the spectrum, an incompetent leader who marched 40 pieces into their demise: battles that should have been incorporated into modern history books. Unfolded, the game board was large, but mainly because of its cleverly ornate decorations to remind each player as to what each piece – A Spy, Bomb, Flag, and army personnel (ranked 1 through 9) – could do on this imaginary battlefield of wits. Two players, mano y mano with 40 pieces each, organized as your own army of your own desired strategy, and in an effort to protect your flag whilst setting out to capture your opponents flag. Of course, the old man was a photograph and so my opponent would have to serve as a proxy! I always felt an urge to smack the smirk of his face. The old, smirking General on the Milton Bradley box cover just fed my competitive side. It was a thing of deceptive simplicity, wonderful design, and infinite fun from the moment the box was opened until the moment it was closed.
Addressed to the idiots in charge and their sacrilegious minions for a bastardization of something which was perfect for decades. The kind of shock that removes words from mouths, replaces observations with obscenities, and defines the reason for things ranging from face palms to hate mail.ĭon’t worry: I will explain it all and tomorrow, I will be typing a letter of epic proportions on my 1955 Remington Rand typewriter I refurbished. With all these fond memories swarming around along with an opportunity to see if my dad could school me with his wits, well, we had no idea we were both in for a shocking defeat… to both of us. Admit defeat, walk off in denial, or rise as an annoying braggart.
A game that through its deceptive simplicity can ruin someone’s evening as it is a blatant one on one battle for supremacy. A game that brought together my brother, father, and I and a game that, despite its deceptive simplicity, also divided us through from both victory and defeat. Divided as we were by 50+ miles, my weekend was sweet until dad and I decided to pull out a board game we had purchased in replacement for the original I have held on to that is missing a few pieces:Ī classic.
It’s Georgia and we don’t have real snow (trust me, I know from Iowan and other northern life), but for our family it is a great time to just spend time in docile, fire hearth comfort. Albeit, they were able venture out in a safe manner to find some snow for the boys and friends to burn energy. I was a spoiled little kid again, but unfortunately for my wife and boys, they awoke to a disappointing accumulation of wet false hopes. Surrounded by a gorgeous unique color of light (with ice beneath it), I had a grand time being trapped inside with my mom and dad: knocking out work on Friday, inching through many drafts I have here to update, chatting up life with the parentals, and – being almost sans computers – I got the feedback I needed from my genius dad on many projects I have in the works. We had “snow” across northern Georgia this weekend as one of my previous posts indicated. There will be a follow up to this as you can bet your bottom dollar I am using my 1950’s Remington Rand typewriter I refurbished to send the new game manufacturer a letter of discontent.The title of this is an homage to David Byrne and his lyrical awesomeness.
Not that I needed to, but I did my research on Stratego and its history because my father, wife, brother, and all those I know who grew up with this game know how it is supposed to operate.
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