As I have delved deeper into the mindless shallows of Facebook, of course I have become enthralled with the games that I can play. I have farmed in three different communities, managed my own café, settled the frontier, lived the cosmopolitan life in a town called YoVille, battled super-heroes, whacked rival Mafiosos, created my own theme park, hunted hidden items, raised dragons, created medieval and post-modern civilizations, waged modern warfare, and built my own city. I feuded with my families, played Banagrams, rock/paper/scissors, slots, bingo, answered Jeopardy-style, got the price right, and spun the wheel of fortune. Of all of these games, the one that excites me most…the only one that has never bored me into blocking it forever, is Words with Friends.
Words With Friends is not true Scrabble (I played that and eventually dropped it.) It is, however, Srabble-esque in nature. Instead of adhering to the very restrictive Scrabble dictionary, Words With Friends has its own very liberal dictionary. It allows some foreign words, albeit on a completely arbitrary basis, it allows slang, it allows many more possibilities—though the game board and tile values mirror Scrabble almost identically. For those of a literarily challenged nature, one can download the a Words With Friends cheat to make themselves more competitive.
I started out playing with my wife, a few mutual friends, my sister, my mother, my cousin’s wife (my greatest competitor and arch-nemesis), and some friends from work. At any given point in time I probably had 10-16 games going. It was a heady and exciting time of life. Pulling an 86 point word like JEOPARDIZE out of my—well—from out of nowhere for the win is gratifying. Also, if Alec Baldwin is right, it is a game for smart people…and it sure makes me feel smart.
Enter the summer of 2012 and the decision that I had wrestled with since the beginning of that previous year: divorce. I left my wife (NOT my son) knowing that the decision came with backlash. I would lose friends…even though they assured me that they were still my friends, things would forever be different. I would lose standing in my church (Mormons do not accept divorce lightly.) I would lose time with my son (at least until a judge can award some back to me.) I prepared myself for all of these contingencies, but it did not prepare me for the one loss that came from left field—Words With Friends.
First the obvious ones dropped me like a heated stone: friends that came through my soon-to-be ex-wife’s family members. Then the friends that we shared mutually resigned their games and disappeared into the night. Then church members dropped off the grid. Then family members—yes my own family members, fell away from the light and truth of literary gamesmanship. Workmates who apparently took her storyline without listening to mine were next to go in the great Words With Friends exodus. Finally, Words With Friends became Words With Friend—my arch-nemesis…and then she too was gone.
Still addicted to the game, and unwilling to give it up, I resorted to pushing the “random opponent” button and starting games with just anybody. I did not care if they used the cheat. I did not care if they were English doctoral candidates. I just wanted to play. So now my game has changed completely from Words With Friends…to Words With Friend…to…
…Words With Strangers.
